Chapter 7: Burial

[Cara]

Everything still hasn’t sunk into my pretty dumb head.

It’s as if the time itself seemed to have slowed down and the world stopped revolving around me. My body moved automatically without being told what to do. My eyes stare distantly, but not seeing at all.

It feels like I am floating, my head wrapped around the cloud, and a knife lodged between my chest. Tweaking and twisting in a painful thrust, making it so hard to breathe.

“Cara...”

A low velvety voice echoed in a hush. 

My phantom moved closer to me from across the dim room, walking with a such regal bearing that its presence overwhelms me to the point of suffocation, stifling and bursting me into flames. Yet, at the very same time a kind of air I longed to breathe. To inhale and fill my lungs with his manly scent. I should be frightened after what happened. I should be wary of his presence and call the cops immediately. He could be a psychopath, a murderer, and an obsessed stalker.

I am aware of the danger he poses, and I should be running away instead of waiting for him to come closer. 

But I didn’t.

His shadows eventually loom over my huddled frame at the corner, crouching down and holding my face so tenderly.

In contrast to his enormous physique, his touch was light and delicate, like feathers. Silky smooth and peppery despite the rough edges. Ensuring my safety as I least expected it.

So familiar, but I know they are two different people. They don’t share the same voice, unfortunately.

Tears haven't stopped falling down my cheeks, and I know mom was even more devastated than I am. I wanted to stay in her room but she told me she wanted to be alone for the night. So I came here, to my old bedroom in our mansion.

She just lost the man she loved. A part of her heart.

Her life companion. 

Her husband. 

Her best friend.

Their marriage is not perfect, but they both love and respect each other so dearly that it makes me envious. They both acted like teenagers even in their fifties.

While I just lost a great father. 

I saw it. The way that bullet went straight in between his eyes no more than a blink still haunts me and probably will for the rest of my life.

“Why?” My croaked voice almost sounded so foreign to hear. Like some dissonant ghost bemoaning for justice and asking all the high heavens above why this has to happen. Of all people why… “My dad...you...that man...my life...everything.”

Everything is in disarray and a mess as it continues to fall apart.

Slowly, with his thumb softly caressing the side of my jaw, he tipped my head up, cupping my face into his enormous palm almost swallowing half of my visage. “It’s going to be alright. I promised.”

He still wore that stupid mask and I wanted to snatch it away to finally see his face and confirm to myself that he and Damon are in fact the same person, as I had hoped they were. Yet, I know before I could even lay a finger on that darn mask, he would catch me again. He’s very much faster than I am as he had proved numerous times already.

“How?” A rasping quavering breath clawed out of my lungs. “Things are not going to stay the same as they use to be. I lost my father, and tomorrow…tomorrow…” will be his burial. 

I couldn’t say it aloud. I couldn’t bring myself to. The words choked inside me, refusing to come out, drowned and preceded by the successions of sobs pummeling at the back of my throat as I heaved again.

Crying.

“Hush now, love.” My phantom pulled me into his hefty arms, securely wrapping them around me as though spooning up a neglected child.

He calls me love. I know he calls me that before, but hearing him say that again whenever he’s not on the point of pleasuring me feels something a little too emotionally intimate on the matter. Especially now I’m on a train wreck. I don’t even know where to start pulling myself up together after this.

The cadence of his heart sounded blissfully against my ear. An assurance that he is indeed real and alive. That I wasn’t dreaming or that being a delusional woman with staggering mental health issues caused by trauma.

However, one of the things that had been killing me was his identity. “I don’t even know you. You won’t even tell me your name.”

“There is no need for that now.” A gust of warm air caresses the crown of my head as he scoops me up into his arms. “Let me take you to bed. You must rest.”

From the corner where I huddled myself, he crosses the distance to my bed with only a few of his long strides. Gently, my body sinks into the soft mattress as he lays me down, making sure I was comfortable enough before he released my grip and turned away. On the other hand, I don't want him to leave just yet.

My hand instinctively shoots up, fisting the hem of his shirt, feeling his entire body goes rigid. “Stay with me…please.”

His head tilt a little, glimpsing me sideways but said nothing. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. You should leave now.” I quickly let my grip on his shirt go, realizing that it wasn’t the smartest move to let an intruder stay inside my room. I wasn’t even in my apartment, yet he still manages to follow me into my family mansion. Seamlessly passing through the plethora of guards stationed around and tight securities.

To complete my dismissal, I shifted, turning my back on him, and pulled up the blankets to my chin. Forcing my eyes shut and squeezing out the leftover tears that lingered. There was no movement of him for a moment and I thought he may have gone already. 

Nevertheless, my breath catches my throat when the side of my bed begins to dip and softly bounce at the additional weight crawling next to me. An arm slips right under my neck while the other slithered to my midriff, palm resting flat on my belly button. He pulled me close until my rear pressed comfortably to him, molding perfectly to his hard physique.

“Sleep now. I won’t go,” he whispered, placing a delicate kiss on the crook of my neck, and like an enchantment cast on me, my consciousness complied without qualms. Instantly lulling me to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up alone in bed. No traces of him and the place where he left had gone cold already. Not a moment too soon, my mom came in. Even though she is still a mess, she already had her bearings despite the traces of lamentations that were clearly visible in her red-rimmed eyes and the crescent shadows that were sitting atop her cheekbones.

She told me we should get ready and that dad is waiting for us in the memorial chapel for the last service and that we should stay strong together to face our guests. 

My father’s death was already on the news all over the place. One of Manhattan's most successful magnates shoots dead during a family dinner. My social media accounts were inundated with condolences, and some of them were directed to my personal messages. Yet, I did not open at least one of those. Save for Nancy who called me the moment she heard the news, bawling her eyes out.

Damon was the one who prepared for everything just like he promised. Which I am truly glad of because I have no idea how to properly function these days, at least organize my dad’s burial.

“Do you want to speak?” He asks, referring to my final message to my dad and to all the people who had come to pay respect to my father’s resting place. But I fear that if I open my mouth to the public, I would simply cry instead of talking. 

So instead of responding, I just look at Damon with a blank expression on my face and blink like I don't hear him. which he immediately comprehends what it is I am trying to imply. 

“Alright.”

The service went in a rush. One thing I was listening to was Damon’s message to everyone, the next was my mom collapsing on the ground next to where my dad’s golden casket was being lowered six feet underneath below. While I stood motionless next to her, silently crying out for justice to whoever did this.

I swear in his grave to find that very person and make sure he’s going to pay his debt.