Stand by it.
I nodded.
Today, my skin was its normal colour. My hair clean and brushed. My pink jumper and tight jeans my only decoration. I was just a simple girl visiting an old friend from school.
Yesterday had been a different matter.
I’d showered at the hospital so they could apply creams to my rope-burned wrists and ankles and check me over. They’d given me a hospital gown to dress into and guided me to a room to wash. I’d closed the door on the nurse helping me and seen my painted flesh for the first time.
I hadn’t known what Gil had painted me with.
But there, standing under the bright neon, I found out.
Olives.
Thousands and thousands of olives.
He’d cried while forcing me to eat a sandwich laced with sleeping tablets. He’d apologised while he’d carried me deep into the forest. And he’d painted me in the namesake of the only girl who would ever own his heart.
That had been the moment.
The moment.
Where all my misery and patience just...stopped.
It was like a switch flicked from forgiving to done.
Gilbert Clark had been through a lot. He’d dealt with things no one should have to deal with. He’d never had anyone to rely on and kept far too much sorrow to himself. He’d pushed me away out of some broken chivalry to protect me.
And by trying to protect me, he’d forced me to face his demons and risk being sold by his uncle.
I’d believed I could save him with kindness. I’d hoped compassion could set him free.
It’s time to stop being so idealistic and blind.
He’d broken my trust while painting me that night.
He’d saved my life by killing Jeffrey before collapsing at my feet.
The wrongdoing he’d done by sacrificing me was paid in full by stopping a terrible fate. I could forgive him for what he’d done. I forgave him for everything he’d put me through.
But...that was where my tolerance ended.
He might have had a rough upbringing and allowed society to carve him into something he wasn’t, but I’d had my own share of nightmares.
I’d coped with a lonely childhood, a life-changing accident, and loving a boy who would always grant more pain than happiness. I’d endured trials and sacrifices and managed to retain the goodness that I valued over anything.
That was where we differed.
I fought for what hid beneath the lies.
Gil pushed away what was in front of him.
And...it was over.
I would be nice and gentle. I would be his friend.
But I would also pick me from now on because I’d given him everything I had.
I’m leaving.
Starting afresh.
I had to.
As I’d stepped into the shower, a calm sense of relief filled me. Relief to finally have a decision that felt binding. I would always be Gil’s friend. I would answer his calls and accept his messages if he wanted to stay in touch, but that was where my loyalty had to end. Where I had to choose not to be the tragic wallflower, wilting in a sad little vase, waiting for him to choose me.
He could never choose me because he’d chosen Olive.
As it should be.
That night, I’d done my best to sleep in an uncomfortable hospital bed, tossing and turning, knowing Gil was in surgery and his daughter was in the care of strangers.
I’d been released in the morning and gone home to my apartment.
Everything had felt in a different dimension. A strange new planet.
My key still fit in my lock. My kitchen still held my dishes. My bed still smelled of me. But none of it seemed real anymore. I’d distanced myself from it and needed to leave.
To leave and start again...for me.
Shannon had called from Status Enterprises, and I’d apologised yet again for not turning up for work. She assured me it was fine. She’d heard the news about what’d happened. That the company would give me two weeks fully paid to recover before returning.
I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I no longer wanted to live in my home city.
I didn’t have the courage to go online and read the news articles about what’d happened.
Instead, I dressed and ate a muesli bar before catching public transport back to the hospital.
To say goodbye.
My hand dropped. My reflection showed a girl far older than she was. Dark circles painted under my eyes; my lips permanently sad.
I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
I wanted more.
I deserved more.
You deserve to be happy.
I nodded at the mirror, brushed a few stray hairs from my forehead, and left the bathroom.
* * * * *
I stood outside Gil’s room, listening to the low rumble of his voice and the high-pitched tone of Olive’s. The two cops guarding his door stared at me with annoyance. Pissed off that I’d stood up to them when they’d tried to deny Olive from seeing her dad.
It’d been serendipitous timing.
I’d arrived at the barricaded room just as Olive came flying down the corridor, no longer willing to wait for a nurse to take her to her father.
I’d argued on her behalf.
I’d won her entry.
And now, I wanted to give them time to say hello, before I said goodbye.
Focusing on the older cop with his handlebar moustache, I asked, “Why are you guarding Gil’s door?”
His eyebrows drew together. “He’s a prisoner.”
My heart kicked, not wanting to accept that Gil’s problems weren’t over. “For what?”
“For killing Jeffrey Clark.”
I scowled. “But Jeffrey kidnapped us and murdered at least four women. He took me and would’ve raped and killed me if Gil hadn’t—”
“Murder is murder, miss.” He crossed his arms. “And Gilbert Clark was involved.”
My temper rose. “He didn’t kill those girls.”
“He was an accessory. Caught with his hands dirty.”
I gritted my teeth, unwilling to argue the painted murders but needing to justify Jeffrey’s. “Did you not hear me? Jeffrey Clark was seconds away from raping me. Gil killed him in my defense. He killed him because he kept his daughter for over a year. He was justified.”
The cop didn’t react.
It wasn’t fair.
Gil had done many wrong things, but killing his uncle was not one of them. I still didn’t understand if they were related or if it was just a term of speech, but his death was the only good thing to come out of all of this.
Footsteps sounded on the bleached linoleum. Wrenching my head up, I expected to see a doctor. Instead, the air in my lungs vanished as Justin spotted me and increased his speed until his arms wrapped tight around me. “O. Thank God, you’re okay.”
I squeezed him back, drinking in the familiarity, no longer cringing against it. “Thanks to you.”
He pulled away, shaking his head. “Thanks to Gil.” He glanced at the cops watching us closely and cupped my elbow to guide me away. Keeping his voice low, he said, “He told me he’s involved in the painted murders. Is that why the police are outside his room?”
My heart turned to stone. “He told you that? How...how is he involved?”
He painted them...didn’t he?
He painted them for his uncle.
He has their blood on his hands.
I didn’t want to believe it, but the thought had been growing ever since I’d seen my photo wedged in his door.