The Aftermath of Getting Away With Murder

You, My Love

"I don't feel well," she said the moment Ravi sat up, rubbing his eyes.

She'd been staring at the ceiling, finding shapes in the darkness, since she woke up in the middle of that night.

"Probably because you're hungover." He mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Do you want juice? Oatmeal?"

"Oatmeal," she mumbled, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I feel sick,"

"I'll get you a bin. Sit tight, Sarge."

She sighed, rolling onto her side with a hand to her stomach. This didn't feel right. This wasn't the kind of morning sickness she was expecting to have.

But it was right. This. Was. A. Good. Thing.

She repeated that to herself, a mantra in her mind.

All she needed was to get back into her routine. Out of this small funk.

She could do this.

Pip nodded as she stood from her bed, legs wobbling. Her hands in front of her as she pulled open her curtains, shifting her attention towards the window and pushing that open, too.

She took a deep breath, head still pounding as she turned on her heels and turned off her glowing salt lamp, breathing in the feeling of the natural light, the natural breeze.

She continued around her room, following her routine as if she hadn't been blackout drunk the day before. As if she wasn't having the worst hangover of her life, right now.

"Pip?" Ravi asked, coming back with her food and a bin. "Baby, what're you doing?" He asked, putting down the oatmeal and trash can next to her bed. "Lay down, you're sick."

"I'm not sick,"

"You are, Pip."

"I'm fine."

"Pippa," he said sternly, crossing the room and gently taking her hands. "Lay down. You are sick,"

"I know." She told him, defeated as she laid on her side. Glowing with the feeling of Ravi's hand grazing her cheek, the cheek that two years ago was rough from tape and carpet. The cheek that had the smallest of scars; another imprint of the past that the world would never know of.

He leaned down to kiss her, spoon-feeding her oatmeal before leaving to grab her a glass of ginger ale.

She vomited once, looking up at him with teary eyes as she dry heaved, and Ravi decided maybe the oatmeal could wait just a bit.

"You alright?" He asked, petting her hair and pulling it into a ponytail for her.

Panting, she sat up slowly. "Mhm," she mumbled, her throat raw.

He rubbed her back, holding the glass of ginger ale to her lips as she drank it gratefully. "That's delicious." She whispered.

"Good," he said, running his hand along the side of her face.

"Good," she echoed. There was a silence between them, comfortable and innocent. "I didn't sleep last night."

"What?"

"Woke up in the middle of the night. I couldn't fall back to sleep, so..."

"Oh, Sarge, you should've woken me. I would've laid with you."

"You did lay with me."

"I mean, like, I would've talked with you."

"That's okay," she reassured him. "You being next to me was enough. That's all I ask of you, Ravi. To be there."

"But, still. You needed me, and I just laid there."

"You were sleeping,"

"I feel bad."

"Don't. Can we go for a drive?"

"Will it make you feel any better?"

"Always does." She told him with an honest smile, taking his hand.

"Okay, well, let's get you cleaned up first. Stay here," He told her, standing to get a rag and find her a fresh shirt.

He came back with the rag, wiping the small bit of vomit from her chin before finding her a fresh top. "Here," he said, taking the trash can and leaving to pour the innards down the toilet.

She stood with shaky legs and followed him to the living room, grabbing his keys and handing them to him as she slipped her feet into her slippers.

Ravi snaked his arm around her waist as they left the dorm, walking together to his car.

"You, my love, may play as much Taylor Swift as you'd like, and I will make no complaints."

She smiled at him, wide and lovingly. "Why, thank you, my dear."

They drove for a while, Pip belting as they did, clearly feeling better.

Ravi's hand skimmed her thigh, finding itself settling there as she sang. She was perfect.

That was Ravi's mantra. It shifted with Pip's mood, but his mantra was always something to do with her. She's so perfect, I can't believe she's mine, she's my person.

Something to keep him grounded. At the end of the day, he needed constants and routines, too.

Well, maybe not as much as Pip did. Pips routines were her anchor, Ravi her lifeboat, and she turned to them when she couldn't turn to Ravi.

She could always turn to Ravi. Didn't she know that?

Ravi hoped she knew that.

He shifted his hand from her thigh to her hand, squeezing once as he drove farther, now closing in on the outskirts of town.

The trees around them thickening, the sky losing itself in a forest of green.

Pip took deep breaths, a practice she used daily, even hourly.

Sure, she was in New York now, the passenger seat of Ravi's car, but would this shift itself? Would she find herself trapped in the trunk of Jason Bells car? Unsure of where she was, or how far away from Fairview, or if she had a chance to avoid this secondary location?

"You're in my car, not his." Ravi reminded her, noticing her eyes drifting to a faraway place. "Breathe."

In, out. Slow. Steady.

"Thank you," she told him, letting his hand drop.

It found her thigh again, and she looked at him with the smallest smirk.

"Pip, no."

She pouted, eyes falling to her hands in faux sadness. "I just wanted a little kiss," she joked. "But, seriously, it's okay."

"I was joking," he said, pulling off the road and turning off the car, watching Pip climb into the back.

Ravi sighed, actually getting out of the car and shutting the door, slipping into the back and shutting that door, too.

"Come here, my crazy girl."

She gave him a wide, toothy smile as she climbed onto his lap, connecting their lips with easy passion, her hand on his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered against his temple, pressing her forehead to his to take away his worries. Maybe all of them, this time.