Page 90 of Law Of Love

“And how does that make you feel?” my therapist questioned me, crossing her legs.

I hummed. “Umm, powerless.”

She nodded in response. “It’s perfectly normal to feel powerless after going through a traumatic event, but something you need to remember is that nothing that happened to you was your fault. You did nothing to warrant it; self-defence is not a crime.”

Murderer.

Killer.

I clamped my eyes shut, inhaling deeply before opening them again.

I knew the way I was thinking wasn’t logical. If I hadn't shot Will, then either my father, Kaleb, Brent, or I would have ended up dead. I did what I had to do to survive, but the guilt that consumed me was asthmatic.

I hated Will—with a passion, feeling no sympathy towards him. But it was weird to think of him as dead after everything. He'd been a human being, and I’d drained the soul from his body using a single bullet.

“I’m really pleased with the way you’re progressing, Freya.” My therapist smiled—proud and joyous. “When we first started having these sessions, you would barely say a word on the subject. I truly believe this is something you are going to get through.”

I nodded. “Thank you. Talking about it is less painful, but it’s still difficult.” I swallowed harshly. I’d reached my limit for today. My mind was frazzled.

“Let’s book you in again for next week. In the meantime, I think going out and meeting your friends will really help you. Push yourself. I know it’s scary, but just remember, you can do it.”

Forty-one: Kaleb

Ifiddled with the shoelaces of my boots; my forearms settled over my knees as I adjusted myself on the pointed boulder in front of Brie’s grave. The teddy bear Freya had given me sat next to me, and I stole a glance at him, feeling embarrassed that he’d just witnessed me pour my heart out to a gravestone.

I told Brie everything. Every thought I’d ever had, but the silence I received back was deafening, causing my eardrums to ring as if a bomb had just detonated right beside me.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me now, buddy.” I huffed, staring at the ball of fluff next to me, grimacing when he did nothing but smile back at me creepily, his bold brown eyes boring into my soul. “Fuck,” I hissed to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose and gently swatting the bear off the boulder so he toppled over the edge. “I’m sitting here talking to a fucking stuffed animal.”

The force of the fall caused the bear to sing, Brie’s voice emitting from his skin and whirling around me with the wind. I stared at her headstone, reading over my mother’s morose words again and again, chewing on the inside of my cheek as if it were gum.

My body wanted to break down, but it was as if it didn’t know how to. Too many emotions were running wild throughout my mind, and my fists clenched on their own accord as the sun above disappeared behind a cluster of grey clouds, cloaking me in gloominess.

I refused to quit on Freya, though. No matter how long I needed to wait. It didn’t matter to me. Time was nothing.

Don’t give up on her. Brie’s bossy tone bounced off the inside of my skull.

There was no way in hell I was going to. Satan would have to drag me down himself, tie me up and throw me into a lake of blazing fire to cease my efforts. Even then, I wasn't sure I'd surrender.

I picked up the bear from the floor, dusting the dirt off his fluff, resisting the urge to apologise to him for thumping him. He was one of the few ties I had left to my girl—both of my girls, really—and even though I definitely didn’t take myself for a soppy person, I found myself squeezing him and falling asleep to the sound of Brie’s singing more nights than I cared to admit.

It was hard to look at him sometimes, though. He reminded me of both of them. Both of the people that I loved and had lost.

I cursed, but after hearing Brie’s don't give up command for the second time poking at my brain, I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

Giving up wasn’t on my agenda.

Forty-two: Freya

Iglared at my sketchpad with fatigued eyes, my retinas burning due to the lack of sleep. Falling into a restless slumber wasn't easy for me, and my body was feeling the effects.

I ripped at my cuticles—watching as blood rushed to the surface of my skin—and glared down at my artwork, the pieces deepening my already sullen mood. Sketching my emotions onto paper was helping me come to terms with what I was feeling.

After the incident with Will, I’d refused to even look at a pencil, but after some conversations with my mom, she'd managed to convince me to lean on my sketchpad for comfort.

Blue was the distinct colour covering my page, though.

A lonesome man standing in the rain, clutching onto a blue umbrella.

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