Part Three
Genevieve
EVERYTHING IS A FUCKING LIE.
Both my head and my heart aches when I return home the next day. I remained overnight just as a precaution. Upon my release, my doctor—with the mind fuckery of everything, I struggled to remember his name—had warned me of the withdrawal symptoms of Bullet might match those of going cold turkey on other drugs.
The fact that Harris requested him present while he exposed Ford was a blinding realization that he was also Red Alert. The fact that the hospital had never dealt with media scandals of patients randomly dying eased me with the comfort that my doctor was there to genuinely help people. As Ford once said, for some people, Red Alert just means protection and the use of their skills in dire situations; not calling in favours to murder someone.
Back at home, I seek solitude in my room, though Talia and Quinn were quick to offer to keep me company. Dad had to prepare for his lectures this upcoming week and Mom was working. Both of them were more than willing to basically babysit me for the day and ensure I was okay through my withdrawal symptoms—mainly just headaches and hot flushes right now.
Talia's got another trashy magazine with her, and no matter how much she comments on each of the celebrity scandals that are boasted in the pages, my heart isn't in it. Even when she gasps, "This model turned up drunk to a photoshoot and they still had to go through with it," I don't experience the same tantalisation to divulge the details as I used to.
As Quinn executes her duty of encouraging further engagement with the scandal, my eyes bow to the bracelet that still adorns my wrist. My heart clenches painfully in my chest and a weight settles in the pit of my stomach. Slowly, though I can feel my best friends' beady eyes piercing my every action, I unfasten the chain and lean across to drop the bracelet on my bedside table.
"That bracelet you're wearing?" Harris had said. "It might be gold, but he gets all his girls the same bracelet. Usually they're silver. Yours might be different, but he's still conforming to the traditions ingrained in him."
Even when Harris first exposed Bullet to me, a memory resurfaced in my mind. It was when I overheard Ford and Harris speaking after I followed Ford to Huntington's Street. Now the entire discussion makes sense to me. They were referencing the drug, and Harris was right: Ford did stoop so fucking low to drug me with it until I was yielding to his will and putty in his fucking blood-stained hands.
Silence descends upon the three of us as I turn my attention back to them. They're watching me, and though there's not so much pity in their expressions, I resent how guarded they've become of me. I can't help but experience the gentle hum of frustration as it zings through my body, but I'm grateful for them being here.
"Magazine and celebrity scandals aside, how do you feel?" Talia tentatively asks.
"Physically, I'm fine. I just feel betrayed," I answer with a sigh.
"Ford Brody is... he's not someone who can maintain a regular relationship. Did he ever say anything to you about a past relationship?"
"That's the thing. He can't handle relationships. I know that. But he was so honest with me about... things," I lamely finish upon realizing that my morals outweigh the deception and I can't bring myself to expose Ford like that, which is absolutely ludicrous. "My heart tells me that I know there must have been something genuine there, but my head is reminding me of what he did to me."
Talia scoots over until she's directly next to me and places a comforting hand on my knee. My eyes burn with the tears I forbid to fall, though their attack is too much for me. A few leak out the corners of my eyes but I hastily wipe them away. Then it's Quinn who's shuffling closer to us, leaning her head on my shoulder as I relax mine onto Talia's.
