Blurry Vision ∷ Daredevil; Matthew Murdock

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I'm back. Although, I don't know if anyone is left to read this. But I'm going to finish this book, for my own mental heath lol.

Chapter 62

Then learn to swim.

His words echo in my head as I toss and turn in bed. I left shortly after convincing him to give me a few days to think of a plan. A good humane plan. No killing and no police—initially.

I turn over and kick my covers around uncomfortably, get it together, Ember. You have to get it together. Shit may be falling through your hands like sand, but you have to just pick it up faster than its falling down.

I need help, but I'm out of people to ask for help from.

Matthew Murdock, The Devil of Hell's Kitchen; the blind bastard himself, is my only option for help.

But I already knew this.

My feet completely kick the heavy duvet off the end of the bed, leaving but only a thin sheet to cover me from the dim room.

I just hate admitting when I'm wrong.

Glancing over to the nightstand I feel around for my phone to check the time.

The palm of my hand completely sweeps over the table, knocking over an empty water bottle and a few books. I must've left it in that dumb purse.

My body lays still as I stare blankly at the ceiling, watching as the sun's rays slowly peek through my curtains downstairs; casting small lines of light across the room.

I find myself walking through last night. Remembering the odd expressions he had and the determination in his words, trying to change my mind.

A small groan escapes my lips as I push up into a seated position. The soreness of my body never gets old, but damn does it hurt. My eyes look off in no particular direction while my mind is lost in a sea of thoughts.

My todo list is long today.

I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of darkness loom over me, my chest feels like it has a thousand foot pit inside of me filled with hot lava. Is it my fault that Cierra is using Maria? Would she have found her whether or not I had the connection to their family? Or would she have looked to another arms dealer?

My eyes drift down to my discarded dress lying on the floor, the zipper is now ripped from its fabric and I feel a strong wave of nausea come over me.

I've ruined her marriage just because she knows who I am. I'm a horrible person.

The lump in my throat grows heavy and the oh-so familiar feeling of tears burns my eyes. I swallow my pride best I can, the burning ceases and instead is replaced by a few drops of pain falling down the sides of my face. Fuck.

My hand rubs them away, irritating my skin and causing a few more tears to fall. I rip my eyes away from the dress and slide off the edge of my bed. It didn't fit, so I tore it off.

Sounds like me.

The hardwood is cold to the touch and sends a small shiver up my back, I guess it's going to be a cold spring.

My feet carry me down the stairs slowly, basking in the gentle rays of light on my way down. The purse is discarded on top of my coffee table, some of its contents spilling out, including my phone.

The screen has tiny scratches and a small chunk of glass is missing up by the camera where I took a knife and broke the lens.

One message is on the screen, and it causes my breathing to stall as I stare in disbelief at the unknown number.

"...Fuck."