Page 67 of The Ripper

“Where is he?” Grimm asked, and I could hear the anger boiling in his voice.

“In…t-t-the k-it-kitchen,” she stuttered, trying to point towards the door at the end of the corridor. “I t-tried to calm him, but he wouldn’t stop, Ari,” she cried, shoving her nails into her thighs. “I just wanted him to stop,” she took a sharp breath, saliva gathering at the corners of her mouth.

Fleur coughed, her face reddening as she choked on air.

“Shh, it’s alright.” I slowly pushed her hair back, slowly caressing it. “Could you lie down for me so I can take a look at your arm, please?” I tried sounding calm, mindlessly biting my lips as I struggled not to cry with her.

She nodded, her body shivering as she laid down laboriously while I bent over her and slowly palpated her arm to see if it was broken or just dislocated. Fortunately, it was the latter.

“I’ll fix it,” I said as I handed her a pillow. “bite into this, okay?”

She did as I asked.

I was sure that the pain of snapping her shoulder back into place was nothing compared to the pain she felt through the rest of her body. I pressed a palm to her collarbone and looked at her face, sorrow bubbling out of me.

“Alright, take a deep breath,” I said before pulling on her arm with all my might.

She screamed so loud a piece of my soul chipped away. It was such an agonizing scream, and it was as if all the grief inside her flooded out with it. She struggled to sit up and buried her head in the pillow, crying and breathing heavily, until Grimm came out of the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold of the living room, watching us with a stern expression.

Cold.

I frowned for a moment before I heard glass breaking, and when I turned towards the sound, Fleur had thrown the cushion at a vase of dead flowers, which fell to the floor and shattered to pieces, then she screamed again.

Those screams would echo in my head until the day I died.

She stood up and limped to the fireplace as if she was in a trance, then took the poker out of its holder with her good hand, and she let out another howl of anger as she pounded on the frames that were sitting on top of the fireplace, knocking them to the floor.

“Fleur,” I whispered.

I wanted to go and stop her, but Grimm put his hand on my shoulder and held me down.

“Let her get it all out,” he said.

Another scream made me flinch.

Fleur stood next to the desk in the corner as she took the poker to his computer, sobbing as she smashed everything else he kept on it. She pushed down the books on the shelves, broke the frame that held his diploma, then ripped the jacket that was thrown over the backrest of his chair.

By the time she was done destroying the room, she was also done crying, and I felt I had just witnessed an episode of pure female rage.

In a way, I knew we all experienced Fleur’s pain, helplessness, and inner war at least once in our lifetime, in different ways, but with the same intensity.

She sat back down beside me and threw away the poker as if it burned her, then when she opened her eyes and looked at me, a hint of relief sparkled in their depths.

“It’s all good now,” I hugged her to my chest. “You’re going to be okay.”

Grimm sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch and remained still for a moment while he watched us as if we were two children playing with fire without knowing what the rules were.

“Look at me,” he tried to sound gentle, but his voice was so thick that it was hard to read the intention.

Still, Fleur looked at him.

“You did nothing wrong; you were just defending yourself,” he reached an arm out to her, but when he saw her flinch, he immediately dropped it.

“He’s right Fleur, the bastard had it coming.”

Grimm took out a cigarette and lit it, but instead of smoking, he handed it to me and pulled out his phone.

I only took one drag before Fleur took it out of my hand. I didn’t have time to stop her and tell her that her lungs were probably going to burn, because she put it between her lips and inhaled the smoke as if she was using an inhaler. She coughed at first, violently, then she got used to it, and Grimm lit another one for me.

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