The Mechanic

Chapter Forty-eight - "Needs."

"The Mechanic"

Chapter Forty-eight

'Needs.'

Scene...

Continuing

Demi's POV

I shuffled out into the living room, my eyes low with fatigue, my feet dragging in my slippers. I carried the bundle of roses in my hand, my heart thudding with both excitement and anxiety at the sight of Denise.

She was pacing the floor, her once 'neat-as-a-pin' curls now shoved up into a messy ponytail.

"Denise," I muttered, and only then did she stop her pacing, and look up at me. "Hey."

Her red lips parted slowly; cautiously.

"Demi," her eyes were filled with grief. "I'm . . . I'm so ashamed."

I didn't know what to say; I wished Joseph had accompanied me. But I knew this closure was between Denise and I; Joseph wanted it to be genuine, without the filter that he was. Still, it was awkward, yet somehow, humbling.

My eyes returned to the roses, so I decided to start from there.

"Thank you for these," I said, stroking their individual petals. "I love white roses."

Denise took a deep breath, stepping nearer to me.

"They don't even begin to express the guilt I feel." She layered her hands over her heart. "Demi, I am so very sorry. I made such a mistake with what I said and I don't know what to do . . . or say to make things right between us."

I had words.

And they came out frail.

"You broke my heart," I admitted, lifting my eyes up to hers. "And you nearly broke Joseph's."

"And I'm filled with regret," she groveled, her eyes watering. "What I asked of you was hypocritical."

At this, I scrunched my eyebrows.

"Hypocritical?"

"The day I met you, I made you promise not to break my son." She kept her red eyes on mine, her gaze sharp; determined. "My hypocrisy was asking you to do just that, barely even a few months later. And I was wrong." She then sniffled, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Asking you to leave was a selfish action. You are a jewel, Demi. The bond we share is a jewel. And my choice to throw such a precious thing into the dirt was a mistake that I should never have even thought to make. Please," she looked up at me, a single tear cascading down her cheek. "Please forgive me."

Surprised and heartbroken, my bottom lip dropped gently. Her sincerity was a kind I'd never experienced; a kind so pure it took guilt by the horns and forced it into my gut. As I looked at her, I saw what Joseph had often tried to explain.

I saw her heart; the very composition of all of who Denise was.

"I am so, so sorry, Demi," she said again, her voice cracking. "I do love you, dear."

For half a second, I saw my mother's face in place of Denise's. For half a second, I felt that this apology was from her; the first woman to ever leave me behind.

And in me, it struck a chord.

Somehow, I'd forgotten how incredible Denise was; how royal she was. It was odd to see royalty admit its mistakes; grovel at the feet of the subject she'd wronged. But it didn't take long for true royalty to submit to humility, and right her wrong-doings. Even more so, it didn't take long for me to remember just who I was dealing with.