Page 128 of Retribution

I tug on the red ribbon that seals the bag and it topples onto the island. I open the bag and see there’s a wrapped gift and a card.

I open the card first.

The card design says ‘Thinking of You’ and there is a field of daisies below it.

I open the card and in the distinct cursive writing is ‘You play her so well’.

Play who?

I frown, confused at first, until I open the gift.

Tearing away the rose decorated wrapping paper and it reveals a pink box with some writing on it. It’s fairly heavy and I twist it around, confused by it.

‘Coco Mademoiselle’

It’s a perfume bottle?

If this isn’t weird enough already, what does a perfume bottle have to do with this? I unbox it, wondering if something else is inside and the box is a cover up.

Pulling out the cuboid bottle with the frosted lid, the pink liquid inside swishes as I inspect it.

It is perfume.

I uncap the lid and that’s when it pierces my senses, raising alarm bells in my head.

You play her so well.

Her, as in Allie.

This is Allie’s perfume, the one she has worn since she was younger. I could recognize that smell anywhere, it is what she smelled like ever since I met her, she never changed it. The reminiscence invades me like wildfire, heating my skin to the point it’s painful, a bead of sweat rolling down my neck. The memories, her face, her laugh, her smile, her smell, her skin, her taste. All of it at once, all connected to this distinct fragrance, all of it trapped inside of a glass bottle.

I close my eyes and allow myself to inhale it, the guilt crushing me within its grip.

Placing the bottle on the counter, beginning to struggle. I rub my hands along my jaw as it tics, the disgusting need to numb it all with alcohol, becoming extreme.

My hands shake as I pull my enemy out from the cabinet, the dark and murky liquid calling out my name.

It offers me everything that I can’t have, the numbness, the ability to forget, the relief from real life. I grab a crystal class and pour it to the halfway point, popping the lid back on the bottle, setting my phone beside it.

I stare at the bourbon, its fingers caressing my face, offering me salvation from my pain.

Staring at the phone, I chew on the inside of my cheek as the devil and angel on my shoulders fight it out.

It reminds me so much of my mother and father, my mother being the saving grace, the peace, the tranquility. My father being the assailant, the greed, the instigator. But I love my mother. I love her with such an overpowering fondness that my ability to love had died alongside her, it was buried with her.

I’ve battled my demons time and time again, making the wrong decisions and sacrificing myself in the process. I lost so much, too much.

Loss is a feeling that I’m far too familiar with, and I want it to end. I want to be happy; I want to take my second chance and build it up, create new life whilst elevating the existing ones.

Indie has shown me what love can do, she has shown me the power and the strength that comes from it. Of course, things can be done alone. But the joining of forces, the building of bridges, the fusion of light elements, each result in something beyond their lone origins.

Picking up the phone, I dial Devon’s number. He picks up instantly and I let out a sigh of relief, glad that in my time of need he’s not mid-flight.

“I need you, Devon.” I say into the phone and without any further comment, he ends the phone call.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the three of them bustle into the house.

---