Chapter 89: Chapter 89

THE WHITE...

I have always loved solitude. Not the empty, miserable feeling, but that feeling that no one but yourself matters. I loved my privacy because the only thing that judged me was my morals, no one else. I grew up like that. I lived alone, drowned in gold because I didn't like money.

My home has always been a quiet place. I hate neighbors, I hate noise, I hate not having peace. However, even so, I had a sleepless night. I heard Angelic walk through the master bedroom while I was in the guest bedroom next door. I heard the shower turn on, then the mattress sink and the lamp go out.

When the first ray of sunshine filtered into the room, I got up. He could still feel her presence on the other side of the wall. She's an intruder in my world, but it forces me to ask myself questions. I want her to stop being?

I like loneliness, but I also like her wearing my clothes. I like knowing she smells like me now. I like my hair tied with my tie, because she couldn't find anything else to tie. I like Angelic in my world because it turns me on. It makes me feel something. It sets me on fire.

When I walk into the kitchen, Angelic is leaning against the counter. She wears a tracksuit with the sleeves rolled up to fit her arms. There's a cup of coffee in her hand, and, God help her, she didn't make it. I head for the closet, but Angelique stands in front of me.

I watch her, waiting for what she has to say. When I meet your gaze, I don't want to look away. I want to see the truth your lips never tell me, but your body can't hide.

"I have to go to college," Angelic said. Her breath changes subtly, but she knows how to mask it. It's almost imperceptible that her breasts rise to accommodate the oxygen, but I'm too aware of it to ignore.

The proximity makes me aware of what I had already noticed: my perfume impregnated him, marked in every part of his body.

I stare into his blue eyes, which are clearer this morning. The rosy cheek, in a healthy way. The lips are full and red, with the well-formed arch. I've always watched it, always been aware of its smallest details, but now I'm obsessed with them.

- Take one of the cars - I suggest.

I'm sure that woman is not satisfied. It will cloud my judgment for a few more days. But how much do I dislike him? How rooted am I for her to continue? So that you provoke me, instigate me and annoy me.

- Without a security guard? Angela frowns.

So cute.

- Do you want a security guard?

Angelic's lips part, and I can't help guessing where his thoughts are as his eyes lock on me. I'm close, not close enough, but close.

I care about your safety and bought it with that in mind. But how far should I take her next time if she was running from a bodyguard?

I want to raise a flag of peace between us. I'm not a bad loser.

"No," Angelique finally answers.

The tension around her is something I can almost hold between my fingers. I never know if she's teasing me or if I'm going to end up between her legs. I pray for the second option, but I appreciate the first.

She walks around me and heads for the kitchen exit. She was a good girl, and now she feels like she doesn't have to be. Angelique is a force of nature, and a tornado doesn't ask permission. It devastates. It's my daughter.

Angelique stops before reaching the door, turning to me.

- You bought me, but you didn't buy my clothes, my products and my shoes. And I also need a new cell phone.

I purse my lips not to smile, because I know she means it. It's true. You can't have a dog and forget the leash.

- I'll fix it - I guarantee.

- See you later - she said - Kisses - Angelique sends me an aerial kiss.

- Don't come back late – decree. She challenges me with a single look, doubting that I can make her do what I say, then walks away again.

When Angelic walks through the door, I'm reassured. Wherever Angelic is, she's mine everywhere in this fucking world. On his body, I made the marks. In his mind, I am in every memory. It's true that I haven't had a minute of peace since I met her, and it's also true that I have a headache all the time. But, fuck, this Donneli is gonna come back to me at the end of the day.

I grab a mug and pour myself some coffee. I taste it, and I see that Gabe is not responsible for this drama. I throw everything else down the sink.

Americans never know how to make good coffee.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and go to the main news page for the whole world. Although I don't like to socialize, I would never have come this far without making an effort to get to know people. What do they think? What motivates them?

That's why I do what I do. I know what people want and I make their wishes come true. The most sordid and unhealthy desires, or the most banal. Bad people think I'm just the person who has the guts to run.

A piece of news catches my eye and I scroll through it while perusing it attentively.

"Christian Campbell, heir to Europe's largest wine estate, was shot dead in one of his apartments.

On Tuesday morning, Christian Campbell, heir to one of the world's largest wineries, was found dead at his home in Italy. Daniel Campbell, Christian's father, was killed four months ago, and police are investigating whether there is a connection between the crimes."

I finish reading the article, then I start analyzing the possibilities. I did Christian Campbell a favor, and from what I could see, it wasn't hard to find a reason to hate him. I don't like to be guessed, so I'll make sure this murder doesn't involve me in any way.

I read other news, though my mind never leaves the Christian Campbell case. I don't like feeling like the circle is closing around me.

The mobile phone vibrates when there is an incoming call. I don't have any saved numbers, but I recognize this particular one.

- Detective Pierce – I answer – How can I help you?

I hear, on the other side of the line, impertinent noises coming from the police station.

- Hello – she greets – I don't know any other way to announce this news.

- The most direct way will do.

Before I even hear his voice again, I feel my body tense. Anxiety has never been my company, but I feel its grip on my mind, slowly raising my heart rate.

- I called to tell you that Angelic Donneli is at the Presbyterian Hospital. The car she was driving was stopped in traffic, and… ' he stops, searching for the best word – shot.

What is that ?

It's almost like I'm there, like I can see it with my own eyes. Angelique scared...hurt.

Not.

Such a possibility does not exist.

My cars have high armor.

- How is she?

- She is fine. I called Elliot Donneli, but there was no answer. And since the car is in the name of one of your companies, I called you.

- You did well. I'm on my way – when I'm done talking, I'm already walking towards the exit.

Hospitals are the only sincere places that exist.

In church, for example, the worst worm in the world can kneel down, ask forgiveness for things he doesn't even regret doing, then get up and walk away. The priest can go up to the altar and speak in the name of God, even if it means lying. This does not happen in hospitals. Here, every tear is true. Pain, regret, faith, hope. Every crumb of feeling comes from the core, from the nagging sense of loss, from the deepest and most honest part of every human being.

I walk through the dark corridors of the hospital. It's been fifteen years since I was the last in one. I avoid looking into adjoining rooms because I don't want to find the truth about what I can't control.

Here, I feel vulnerable. No kind of weapon would protect me.

At the entrance to the department, at the end of the long, wide corridor, Inspector Pierce is standing, waiting for me, I presume.

I've been avoiding Pierce for days. He knows the truth about me, he just can't prove it. That's every boy's fault when he comes to the police: he thinks he can change the world. But now he has placed himself like a rock in front of the door, so he will have his five minutes of conversation with me.

I approach and he straightens up.

- Detective – greeting.

If Pierce was an emotion right now he would be heartbroken.

"Don't think for a minute that I don't know who you are," he barks.

I raise my eyebrows. Does he think I've never heard this talk before? What countless heroes of the land have not torn my ears with sermons of good versus evil?

- I'm not running, Mr. Pierce. If you have anything against me, arrest me.

His eyes narrow and he takes a step towards me.

- One day – his voice is low, as if talking to himself.

- So this little conversation is just to intimidate me?

- Alert – he corrects.

I smile, not ironically, but playfully.

This God-forsaken world is a cruel place. The fact that people like Pierce still believe they can make a difference amuses me.

When I started in this profession, I already knew my end. I knew I would end up in an unsanitary prison or in an electric chair. Perhaps with a simple bullet in the forehead. Depends on who found me first. But I didn't care then, and if I must be frank, I still don't care now. If hell is my destiny, I go down in a Porsche.

- My girlfriend had a seizure, Inspector – I mumble – If I can… – I gesture towards the door of the infirmary.

- That's why I called you – he crosses his arms – This car had high armour, military type. I don't know who your mechanics are, but I'm curious to meet them.

Oh my God. Do American police officers have too much free time?

- I'll send you the contact, don't worry.

I walk past Pierce and am surprised he doesn't try to hold me back any longer. Or even stop in the literal sense. I push the double doors.

- You know it's impossible to live in peace in your world – he said behind my back – If you don't want it to overflow, as you say, your girlfriend, you'd better be careful.

I hear Pierce's words, and I swear I take them all to heart. However, when the doors open and I walk into the ward, I find Angelic sitting on a bench against the wall. I hadn't realized my breathing was so heavy until I sighed, suddenly relieved.

It is whole, no scratches. The only difference is the strands escaping from the ponytail – it's done with my hair tie. But still, I approach. I need my hands to feel that she's okay.

"I didn't think you were coming," she whispers, trying to manage a smile.

She is scared.

- The detective called me.

- I asked him to call.

There's gauze on your right wrist. I look away because looking at him makes me feel guilty. As gently as possible, I frame the sides of her face. I stare at blue eyes and dilated pupils. Her eyelashes are slightly wet, showing that she has shed tears. At this moment, I feel my heart knot in my chest. It's not pity, it's... pain. It hurts me that she was scared.

- Are you OK? - I say, however, my voice sounds very low.

My concern for her scares me. I don't know what Angelic did to me, but now she has my attention. She has me. I appreciate it more than myself. I want to take care of her like I've never taken care of myself. I want Angelic to feel safe as soon as I walk through those doors, because God knows she is.

"Yes," she breathes, pulling my hands away from her face.

- What? – I try to use the softest tone possible. I kneel before her. At his feet.

- You asked like it was important.

I blink several times, wondering if I forgot part of our conversation.

- That's all that matters, I say.

I know where your fear comes from. That rotten feeling that you don't deserve first place in someone's life. I know what it means to give of yourself, hoping they will be remembered at the end of the day. I know and despise that feeling.

I only look away from her face when the nurse approaches. I don't want to walk away, but I do. Unless I get a nursing degree in five minutes, I'm no more useful than this woman.

- Let's measure your pressure one last time, honey.

While the nurse takes Angelic's blood pressure, I walk across the room. Now that the apprehension is gone, the feeling of anger has stayed with me. I have never failed before. Every day, every moment, I was prepared. I failed, and it could have cost him his life. I didn't even think of how many people in the world would easily shoot my car, just because it was mine.

I run my hands through my hair. Damn, if they wanted my attention, they'd be in the right place. But now, I promise with everything I am and have, I will find out who tried to hurt Angelic. There is no place under this sky that can hide the culprit. And it's good, very good that he's prepared, because the fall of the twin towers is going to look like a game of chess next to what I'm going to do.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I answer as soon as I answer, without even looking at the caller ID.

At first, it's silence. I wait, even if it annoys me. I can only hear the person on the other end breathing, and from the way he sucks in more air, I know he's a man.

"You don't know me…not yet," he begins, speaking patiently. The voice is unknown to me, however, I recognize the European accent - But we are so close that soon we will meet.

And off.

ANGELIC...

- Alright, gang. See you next week - Professor Harley said, ending the last lesson of the day.

"Thank goodness," I hear Skyla whisper next to me.

People around the room start to get up quickly, because it's far from our best class. I don't even have a pen, so I stay up and wait for Skyla to finish packing her stuff into her bag. We left together, and the last, as usual.

- You're not really going to tell me what's going on, are you? - she said, unassumingly, playing with the braid in her hair.

Experiencing the tragedy that has been my life for the past few weeks has been bizarre, and talking about it is even more so. I love Skyla with all my heart, but I don't want to have to express how I feel.

In fact, I feel so hurt that all I want is to heal. I want to withdraw into myself and be everything I have begged others to be. Because, I know, someone should have taken care of me. But they didn't care. And I don't want to be strong. I want to be weak, and I want people to know I'm weak, to give me time to get strong.