Page 105 of The Freedom in Captivity

“He’s dead,” she verbally utters, as I enter my room and immediately get her tucked into my bed, sliding in beside her. My hand strokes over her hair, clearing strands that have fallen into her face, which she doesn’t seem to notice.

“He is dead.”

“I killed him.”

When I shift from her hair to her arm, to stroke the skin there, it hits me that I don’t know how to care for another person like this. How does one manage to console grief when I barely ever managed my own?

“Regret it?”

She lifts her head from my chest and what I see on her expression, I’ll relive for many years to come. A look of complete and utter brokenness.

The first kill is always the most difficult. Guilt will continue to be there—maybe forever. Every person manages it differently, but given who she killed, I doubt she’ll be forgetting this anytime soon.

“No. And I think that’s the worst part, Flynn. I did it and,” she sucks in a deep inhale I feel against my neck, “I’m free. I feelfree.”

Free and ready to shine, mon soleil.

I don’t say it out loud because I’m not sure I’m able to. Instead, cupping the back of her head, I draw her back to my chest and simply hold her.

With her father gone, Rozelyn’s truly free. Free from his hold and free from our captivity. It’s only a matter of time before Nico sends her away, so while I still have her, I grip her tighter, imprinting her to the shape of my body, breathing in her floral and rainfall scent, vowing to relive this moment forever.

I hold her for all day and night.

I hold her and pretend this is what we can be.

Rozelyn

Iwake alone, the large, comforting body of Flynn no longer keeping me grounded. No idea when he left—maybe when he gave up being my Kleenex. For a person who claims to be fine, I cried a lot yesterday and into the night.

Yesterday was an experience. One that didn’t feel real. Like it wasn’t me who grabbed the gun from Flynn or who pulled the trigger.

But I don’t regret being the one to do it either.

Rubbing my eyes, I push to a sitting position and scan Flynn’s small bedroom, catching sight of the person leaning by the door.

Flynn?Wait.I blink more sleep away, not sure how to feel.

Nico Corsetti leans against the shut door, his arms crossed, staring as I throw my legs over the side of the bed to stand. He’s expressionless, but his brows lift a fraction at my scowl.

“This isn’t creepy at all.”

“It’s my house.” Shrugging, he pushes off the wall. “How are you?”

“Do you care?”

“My wife does. And killing people is heavy, especially one’s parent. Little badass, you are. Didn’t see that coming when you asked to speak with him.”

Neither did I.

“Where’s Flynn?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Do you care?” he tosses my own words back at me. “Not here. That’s all you need to know.”

He’s avoiding me. After holding me all night, he knew what morning would bring. Nico already declared my freedom after my father’s death and now that it’s happened, Flynn made himself scarce not to be around when Nico sends me off.

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