Time To Heal [COMPLETED]

CHAPTER EIGHT: SETTLING THE SCORES

The moment he uttered the last sentence out loud, he willed it back. Damn! He should never have said that. With eyes popping out of their sockets, Ana was looking at him like he'd grown another head, her shock so apparent that her hand flew to her mouth in open dismay. He did not want her pity.

He stared fixedly at a spot behind her on the wall, flushing every emotion so as to draw a blank in his mind, the way he'd always done as a child, in an attempt to survive.

Like he'd done when he'd entered his mother's shabby apartment, knowing that something had been wrong even before setting foot inside. At fourteen, he'd lacked enough maturity to understand the enormity of the situation, thinking that his parents had had a lover's tiff, and his only concern had been that he didn't want to lose his mother.

So the weekend which had followed, Devin had stealthily visited her against his father's wishes, to persuade her to come back home. Surely her love for them wouldn't be so consequential over a petty quarrel with her husband?

He'd walked right into the unlocked apartment to find her body hanging listlessly from the ceiling with a scarf tied around her neck. In complete shock, he'd stood staring for hours at the body, the sight etching deep inside his mind, until he felt nothing. Nothing at all. It was like he'd been frozen from within, his mind and heart both blank as he continued to gape at his mother's hanging body.

That horrendous depiction was the one he carried before he laid on his bed, sometimes when he managed to sleep, the hideous nightmares would haunt him, until he remained perspiring on his bed torturing himself to death. And he'd been living like that for the past seventeen years, cocooned in the most profound sorrow, licking his wounds in complete isolation.

In front of him, Ana stood with no emotion showing on her face after the initial shock had subsided. She didn't probe, her silence not judgmental but passive as she stared at him with a rigid fixation. He'd been expecting questions to rain from her, knowing that hundreds of them must be trotting on her mind, and he was queerly grateful for her calmness. It seemed to be the outlet he needed for the words flew automatically from his mouth – words he'd never spoken to another living soul.

"There...there wasn't anything left behind. No suicide note. Nothing," he stammered, swallowing past the sudden dryness of his throat. "It was...it was eerily final, like something fundamental had suddenly stopped, you know?" Then, he took a deep breath. "It was on your father's wedding day."

That made Ana flinch like she'd been slapped and he was finally, finally able to meet her eyes, expecting to see defiance there. Or expecting her to jump at her father's defense like she'd always done in the past. But he was surprised to find something akin to shame in her azure blue eyes, an emotion which rendered the color softer, giving her a more vulnerable approach.

She gulped. "I'm sorry," she muttered despondently.

Somehow, such level of demureness did not suit her. He'd been expecting her to fight him back, to even demean his mother for having been foolish enough to fall for a married man.

And that made him angry. Was that another mask of hers? he continued to think adamantly, even if his mind mocked him, knowing that he was refusing to see the reality. Why would she need to pretend now? Everything was unveiled between them: her anger, her passion, her reproof had all been genuine emotions. Why would she fake sympathy now? But what the hell would he do with compassion now anyway, no matter how honest?

What had followed after his mother's death had been even worse. It was his father who had finally tracked him down, dragging away his lifeless body up from the scene. It had taken Dev months, and several doctors to get him out of his depression while his father had fiercely protected them from the media. Thank God, the leakage of an extramarital affair had been stifled, sparing them at least that much dignity. Everyone ultimately believed that the marriage had been on the rocks and that the suicide had been for that reason only, his father taking all the blame while Alastair Forrester had been celebrating his honeymoon in Paris.