17 Last Times

⤹15❁ Alliance

"Aw, Nicole. I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's fine," I mutter, looking away as tears surface over my eyes. To my great astonishment, I feel a pair of young arms wrap around my slumped posture. "Please, stop. You're going to make me cry."

"So? Even a therapist is bound to have a bad day," he says, copying my words.

I laugh through a sob that squeezes its way out. "Thank you."

His arms release me from their strong embrace at last.

"So," he says, still shocked by the state of my house. "Is there anywhere we can sit down?"

"The sofa." I beckon at the cluttered piece of furniture.

He takes a hesitant step towards it. "Are you sure there'll be no cockroach trying to get my ass?" A stupid smirk stretches across his mouth.

I let out a helpless laugh. "I'm very sure."

He moves my cardigan aside and plops down onto the settee, his canvas ends up abandoned on the floor. "What's this?" he asks, reaching for the folder, which, because of our small talk, I have totally forgotten about.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Is this . . ?" He studies the name at the front. "No . . . It can't be . . . You would've told me . . ."

My breath freezes in my lungs.

His eyes turn from the folder to me, and they're full of confusion. "Why is Beverly's name written on this?" he asks, grabbing the papers and lifting them in the air. "Was she one of your patients?"

I brace myself for one of his outbursts. "Yes. Yes, she was."

His face etches with absolute bewilderment. "Why didn't you tell me?" He sounds oddly calm.

"I couldn't. You know how the agreement between a therapist and a patient works. Everything's confidential."

"Even after she'd died?"

"Yes. Even then. Confidentiality survives death."

"Oh," he states, placing the folder back on the table. "But why are you going through her records? It's been years."

"I don't know." I sit down beside him. "I guess after my daughter had died, I started to look for answers. I wanted to know why I was unable to save my child from her addiction, why I was unable to save Beverly from committing a suicide, because yes, William, I did see the signs. So I guess I'm just looking for something that would tell me what I might have done wrong. Maybe a mistake made repeatedly . . ."

"I don't think I've got to tell you this because I truly believe you already know this, but one can only be saved if they want to be saved." He smiles at me, compassionate. "Besides, Beverly was off her rocker. I've met her ex-boyfriend. The one because of whom she killed herself."

"Connor?"

He nods his head. "I guess she's spoken to you about him?" he asks rhetorically. "Davina knows him way better than I do, but the point is, it was Beverly who was the abuser. Connor had taken many videos of what she'd done to him. No offense, but she should have been locked up instead of seeing a therapist. She needed proper meds."

I stare at him, silent. I can't say a word, which he must've read from my expression as he carries on.

"Oh, she did?" He rubs his forehead. "Fucking hell. She must've stopped taking them then."

I smile at him feebly. He quickly grasps my silent confirmation.

"Oh."

Wanting to veer away from the confidential stuff, I venture, "You said Davina told you about all this? Are you guys okay again?"

He lets out a bitter laugh. "No. She's left. She's moved out, told me everything, which I guess, is nothing that she hadn't already told you."

"Is this why you're here?" I ask, finally understanding the violent act he performed on his canvas.

"Yup." He rests his back against the sofa. "I'm not gonna lie to you. It fucking broke me."

"Do you think she's better off without you?"

"Ouch?" He gives me a look, slightly insulted.

I roll my eyes. "You know what I mean, William."

"Fine." He sighs heavily. "Yes, I do think she'll be better off. I just wish it wasn't true. I mean, I wish I hadn't fucked it all up."

"We learn our lessons for a reason," I tell him.

"And what reason is that, Mrs. Therapist?"

I look at him sagely. "Next time you meet someone and fall in love, you'll know what not to do."

"I knew you'd say something along these lines." He shakes his head, feigning annoyance.

A smile breaks across my lips. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"You can make me a cup of tea."

I close my eyes, regaled. "One or two cockroaches?"

He gives me a look full of disgust mixed with amusement. "I'd stick with sugar, thanks."

I smile at him once more and go to the kitchen, the area of which is just as untidy as the living room itself. I really need to get a grip. This is disgraceful.

When I finish washing the mugs and preparing the tea (surprisingly I still had some fresh milk in the fridge), I make my way back to William.

He's sat on the sofa, now oddly perturbed. His fingers fiddle with the folder.

"All good?" I ask, placing the mugs on the table.

"I need to tell you something." He glances up at me, serious. "Something I should have told you ages ago."

A frown crosses my forehead. "What is it?"

"It's about your daughter."

I feel my throat tighten. I take a seat and listen.

"She . . . It wasn't an accidental overdose. I mean, yes, she took the drugs voluntarily, but the dosage was intentionally increased and the pills were even more deliberately sneaked into your daughter's room."

I stare at him, mind buzzing with all the information. "I don't understand a word you're saying, William."

"What I'm saying is that someone made sure the pills were deadly, and left them in Cassie's room . . . and . . . I happen to know who that exact person is." Now it's him looking at me, terrified of my upcoming reaction.

My mind goes blank. Did I hear him correctly? Someone wanted to kill my daughter? Her death was premeditated?

"What are you talking about?" Is all I'm able to say.

"Remember Anaya? Your son's ex? She used to hang out with Cassie."

My teeth clench. "Her? She did this to my daughter?" I ask calmly, but my insides are boiling.

I listen to him explain everything to me quickly, and why he didn't think it was wise to tell me at first.

"I'm sorry, Nicole. I didn't want to put even more weight upon your shoulders. I didn't even know whether there was a way of proving that she aimed to kill not only your daughter but also Rayna, my friend, which used to be friends with Cassie for a little while."

"And you think there is a way of proving it now?"

Will reaches for his mug, thinking. "I've got an idea." His eyes burn with mischief. "But I'll need your help."

I think about the fact that my daughter could have still been alive if it wasn't for the girl who had pretended to be her friend. The anger that I'm experiencing right now is far beyond me. I've never felt this sort of rage before. "Whatever you need," I say, determined. "As long as she pays for this."

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