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She doesn’t open her eyes.
She doesn’t respond.
That day, the doll dies.
45
Silver
It’s strange how fast things can end.
One moment you’re there, in the middle of your happiest moments, and the next, everything ends.
Not really, though.
It’s been two weeks since everything went down. Since Helen turned out to be a psychopath who had an obsession with me.
Who hurt other women so she wouldn’t hurt me.
Who wrote books so she wouldn’t kill the other women as much as she wanted to.
A part of me died that day. The part that believed in Helen. The part who loved her and felt sorry for her.
As that part died, Cole revived me back to life.
I took my first breath of resurrection the moment after she died.
A death for a life.
We didn’t go to the hospital, though. Frederic brought the hospital to me — or rather, a team of doctors. He made them all sign NDAs that would cost them three generations of intensive labour if they were to disclose anything.
I ended up with a few stitches and a sore, scratchy throat, but that’s not the pain that’s stayed with me.
It’s everything else.
It’s the fact that I didn’t see Cole after that day.
The fact that he’s not answering my calls or talking to me.
The fact that he told me through Papa that he’s moving out until he has to go to university.
The fact that he didn’t let me console him or be there for him.
Even during Helen’s funeral, he nodded at us, accepted my parents’ condolences, and spent the entire day with his arsehole friends. And while I was glad he had someone by his side, I wanted that someone to be me, not Aiden, Xander, and Ronan.
Police procedures didn’t take long to be wrapped up. Frederic worked his magic on all the media play and it was labelled as an accident.
Papa wanted Helen exposed, but Frederic and Mum talked him out of it. He’ll have no chance to stay in politics if he does that.
If he’s known to have been married to a psycho, a serial attacker who threatened his daughter’s life under his own roof, he’ll be shunned forever and our lives will turn into hell.
However, if he’s known to have lost his wife during his campaign due to an accident, he’ll gain sympathy.
“And I’ll pretend to console you,” Mum said. “Then everyone will say I suit you better than that bitch who, by the way, I said was a psycho. I can’t believe she hurt my baby.”
She hugged me to death then. Mum has been hugging me every night and has practically moved back in with us.
Her and Papa’s affection and consolation help, but they don’t close the hole in my chest. They don’t heal the wound that’s been open since that day.
