With Love, Étienne | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Two

LOUELLA WOKE UP FOUR HOURS LATER.

Between those hours, I had spent the entire time threatening and calling everyone in the group chat to make sure the photos weren't saved or passed on. I couldn't bare for her to log in to her phone and see the masses of text messages others would have sent on. People could be ruthless and as long as the issue didn't concern them, they had no problem in berating and putting down others. . . until it happened to them. Either way, the images had been cleared from the chat -- not before I kept a single record of it for the Gardaí report. I knew it wasn't my decision on whether to report it or not, but I wanted to try my hardest to convince Louella. I simply couldn't let Milo keep taking shots at her. She might not have realized it yet, but they were slowly beginning to kill her.

"Hey," she yawned while walking into the kitchen and rubbed her eyes, "Sorry for falling asleep. I didn't realize how tired I was."

Sleep adorned her eyes. Her face was long and drawn-looking, but at the very least, she appeared more rested than before. Her shirt and pants were crumpled but a small bit of light filled her eyes for once.

"It's okay," I strained out, "You needed the rest. When was the last time you got a full night's rest anyway?"

"I'm not sure. You should have gone home though," she said, "Gosh, why did you wait around here for so long? You must have been so bored."

"I've been. . . occupied," I coughed into my elbow, "A lot happened while you were out of it."

"Hm?" she cocked her head to one side and, "What happened?"

She sidled closer to me and rested her face in the palm of her hand. She displayed a very innocent expression on her face -- one that was making it impossibly harder for me to tell her the truth. For once, a spark of happiness and contentment lit up her eyes. Yet here I was, about to take it away again, when she had only just got it back. I hated myself in that moment. I promised myself that I would do everything in my power to make her happy. So, why was I here about to reveal one of the most heart-wrenching news of all time to her?

Louella bounced on her heels with a curious expression, "Any class drama that I should be aware of? Did Ms. Harris finally leave her cheating husband?"

Being our French teacher, Ms. Harris talked a lot about her personal life. A lot of our classmates edged her on to make the lesson go by faster, but in the end, we all felt sorry for the woman. She had been married for over thirty years but found out her husband had been unfaithful. With four kids and her family to look after, she was stuck in a never-ending loop of a vicious, unforgiving cycle.

"Not that I've heard of," I scratched the back of my head, "But it's nothing like that."

"Oh?" she blinked, "It's not something serious, is it? I don't think I can handle any more bad news today."

Her words hit my chest like a tonne of bricks. And suddenly, I had a decision to make -- on whether I was going to be the one to tell her. Either way, she would probably find out as soon as she looked at her phone, but I had been wracking my brain for the past few hours on trying to find a way to break the news lightly to her. But how were you ever supposed to tell the woman you loved that her rapist had released her private photos?

"I. . ."

Whatever I had practiced earlier suddenly went out of my head and I found myself choking on my words. I banged my fist against my chest, but it didn't seem to help. Louella sat there with a confused face while my own turned a bright shade of red. I felt ashamed, but it wasn't me who had released the photos.

"Are you okay?" she probed, "What's wrong? I haven't seen you this tongue-tied since our first-class play."

At her comment, I cracked a smile, but it only lasted a moment. For the deadening weight on my shoulders made it impossible to try and feel light-hearted. I slumped against the kitchen counter and ran a ragged hand through my hair. Louella watched silently while I contemplated on what to say.