What if it's worth it?

Chapter Eleven

"Miss Guinness, would you say that RIPA-18 is the solution to the security problems the UK is facing?" The interviewer asked, sitting in her blue sofa before crossing her legs. We were on live TV and although a minor BBC Channel, I wasn't keen on making a fool out myself.

"No, it's not." I said truthfully and she tilted her head, somewhat surprised. "RIPA-18 isn't the heaven-sent solution, far from it. But given the current circumstances, it's the necessary weapon to fight the terror."

"Did the traumatic events you lived through while working as PM Julia Montague's intern make you change your opinion on the RIPA-18?"

What an understatement, that was! They had done so much more than influence my mind on a fucking bill. For starters, I had become the shadow of my previous self. "Not really. I've always believed that the ends justify the means. The only difference is that now I know for sure which one is the lesser of two evils."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

I sighed internally before wetting my lips. "Surveillance is not something you should wish for but it still is better than walking around the streets of England fearing for your life." I explained, trying to stop myself from trembling. "I don't know about you, but I'd much rather have the Police listen to my kinky phone conversations with my boyfriend, than dying in a Euston bound train."

Marla Mitchell seemed to consider it for a few seconds, before bobbing her head slightly. "For the past month, you've been answering questions on your blog about the RIPA-18." I nodded. "Is that a partisan action? Are you supporting the PM's agenda?"

"PM Julia Montague and myself no longer work together in any way. The only goal I pursue with the blog is helping as many people as possible make the right decision in three weeks."

After all the chaos in the British government due to the leakage of the kompromat and the even bigger chaos when Julia rose from the dead, she decided RIPA-18 shouldn't become law by a vote of Parliament but that it was a subject so sensitive, it needed a referendum. In all honesty, this was a smart move on her part. After all these men had fallen for various scandals, she had risen from her ashes like a Phoenix and made herself appear the saviour of the British democracy. Organizing a referendum only increased that perception. I knew better than to believe that storyline, however.

But I was happy for her. And for David, too. I was happy they had managed to survive through the gruesome events and had come back stronger than before. I hadn't, I was too weak for that, but that didn't matter anymore. Nothing much mattered anymore.

------------

"Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable," Stromae's voice blasted against my ears, louder than the doctors allowed me to. But that too didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was the pain that shot through my shins and knees each time my feet hit the ground. There was also poignant ache beneath my ribcage that I so loved every time I started running without warming me up.

And I jogged through the streets of London, a couple of hours after midnight every night, pushing myself faster each time the pain started subsiding and it no longer was enough to keep the thoughts out. It was the only way I could find a few hours of sleep every day without tossing and turning endlessly. Without playing out the different scenarios in my head.

I wished I had nightmares. Instead, I couldn't even fall asleep. The different storylines followed each other, back to back, in my head until I felt it would explode. First, it was David dying at the Thornton Circus attack, shot in front of my eyes as his blood splashed on my skin. Then it was St Matthews, still his limp body still holding mine prisoner, instead this time it wasn't his body but his corpse. And finally, I saw myself cutting through the wire on Dave's vest and killing him with me, in front of his wife.