GRIFFIN E. WALKER
April, 2020

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

My arm healed at a fast pace. I could do more and more with it as the days gone by. Harry spent a few of those with me, apparently, he had some time off of work which allowed him to spend the night at mine. It was mostly then, when the sun disappeared and the moon lit up the apartment, that he talked to me. During the day, he kept to himself, wanting to tend to my every wish. But when the night came, his emotions fought him off, sitting on his outer layer, wanting nothing more than to be heard.

He was dealing with survivor's guilt.

At first, he wasn't sure if it was that because the word itself indicated something entirely else. In his head, he thought it was when someone survived a horrible event where a lot of people did not. Meanwhile that was one of the things that could trigger survivor's guilt, the word covered much more than that. In his case, it was more the fact that he witnessed something so unreal to him and he just didn't know how to deal with it, on top of me getting hurt in the process.

Harry was dealing with a lot of emotions after everything that happened. Even though he said he couldn't sleep, he did take short naps. During those, he'd have nightmares and he'd jump awake from them, most likely reliving the traumatic event. It made me worry about him and when I told him to talk to me about it, he kind of shut off, distancing himself as he'd go for a shower. He became obsessed with showering. It almost felt like his way of coping with each bad dream, each obsessive thought that entered his mind from that night. He believed he could wash away what happened, burn it off of his skin and out of his mind at the same time.

I couldn't do anything to help him in that situation. I read about it online because I needed to do something. A lot of articles said that eventually, the feeling of self-blame just disappears. A lot of people are fine after a year of the incident because they learn to deal with what happened, they get over it in a sense. I suppose they build it into their thinking, they expand their emotional reactions and strengthen it with it. It gives them an idea of what they can deal it, of how much they can deal with. Perhaps it gives them a limit of how far they can push themselves.

But then there are some people who will find it harder to digest everything. Some will never truly recover from it. One of the authors said that looking for professional help to deal with the traumatic event is not unheard of in these cases. In fact, it is recommended that they reach out to someone with the right expertise on the matter before it gets worse.

I prayed Harry would have the first experience. The thought of him having to go through this shit for years sickened me.

It was half ten in the morning. That meant Harry had been sleeping for thirty minutes. There was no sign of a nightmare yet. He was breathing normally, cuddled up under the duvet with my stuffed bunny pressed to his chest. His lips were apart, his face clear of any frowns. He looked so young.

I did not want to wake him up. I had a meeting scheduled with Rachel which would be the first since my birthday. Devotion was going to open tonight. We decided to close it for a bit, there was some serious damage done that needed sorting out. It didn't hurt business too much but then again, tonight was going to be the judge of that.

Deciding against leaving to go meet the boss in person, we agreed on FaceTiming. Opening my laptop, I waited for Rachel to call me. I moved out onto the balcony, closing the door. As much as it was for Harry's sake, it was also for ours because he didn't need to know all the things we'd be discussing.

"So..." I sipped some of my hot chocolate, looking at the woman over the screen. "Want to tell me who you pissed off?"

"How long do you have?" she joked. Her face changed after that, into one of the more serious expressions. "I think we can agree on the fact that this was no random robbery attempt."

"Any sane person could conclude that," I said. They were shooting up the place in the evening, with security all over, customers moving in and out of the club. No smart thief puts themselves in that much danger. Not to mention, all of those who were sent in were dressed to look a part which just indicated that this was planned.

"They seemed to have a tech guy on their side because the cameras glitched multiple times," she said, making me furrow my eyebrows. "No one who was on the tapes seemed suspicious upon entering, not to mention that majority of the potential suspects shot weren't seen on the recordings which would mean the times it glitched was the times they used to slip inside."

"How could they do that? Make the cameras glitch like that?" it felt like a stupid question. There was probably a lot worse they were capable of. "Nevermind—so, do you know who it was?"

"Nothing specific," lies. She knew very well. She just didn't want to tell me. That could've been to keep me out of it, to make sure no one who shouldn't have been listening heard it or because she really didn't know.

"They came after us and we'll stand down, do nothing to figure out who they are?" I asked, maybe a little more aggressive than she expected me to be. Yes, I may have been bitching to her about not wanting to be involved in this shit but getting shot at multiple times and actually getting hurt, riled me up. I wanted vengeance and that was unlike me. Usually, when confrontation was on the table, I excused myself and ran back up to my room. It just wasn't my kind of dish. But right then and there, I would've happily picked up another gun and shot a round into whoever planned that shit.

"Griffin. It's better if you stay out of it. You know, like you asked to be excluded," she reminded me.

"That was before they came for my ass. They put my friends in danger. What kind of person would it make me if I were to just stay out of it?"

"You are still not up to speed. You need to lose the badge on your arm before you even think of doing anything but pigging out on the sofa," she told me in a stern tone, trying to mother me—trying to control me. "I've put you down for ill-holidays for the rest of the month so don't even try to come anywhere near Devotion."

"Whatever—is there a reason you called me? Because to be honest, you are not telling me anything I didn't already know."

"Are you alright, babe?"

"Do I look alright to you?" I asked. Too much attitude, Griffin. I decided to take back, sighing. "I'm just stressed. Harry got dragged into it and he's having a tough time."

"Oh, no," she looked at me worried. "What's wrong? Is he blaming you?"

"No, not me—himself," I said. "He's having nightmares every time he sleeps. But I don't even think you can call that sleeping. It's clear he doesn't know what to do. The little he tells me is nothing compared to the things he keeps to himself."

"Well, you can't blame him, can you? Poor lad went through hell in there like you did. Which I'm still very proud of you for, you know? Handling the gun and getting yourselves out of there. I'm very impressed."

I scoffed. Interesting. So, that's something to be proud of then.

"Go easy on him. Let him go to you. He's going to have to do that eventually. You are the only person who will understand him," she advised. "Until then, just focus on getting better. You can't really help him if he doesn't want to be helped."

"I guess you're right," I nodded. "I just wish we knew who done this... can you not send Sagar after them?"

"You won't let me rest until I tell you a little more about this, right?"

"No."

"Thought so," she chuckled. "Look, the shoot out was planned because it is believed that we possess information that the other side desperately wants."

"Classy."

"Better than them bombing the whole place down with everyone inside," she argued. "Regardless, as far as we know, they did not manage to take anyone—as a matter of fact, they did not manage to leave the club," she explained. "The police were told to believe the intruders ran off with some money and a bunch of alcohol."

That was smart. On everyone's end. The people who ambushed Devotion, were dressed to look apart which meant that if they killed all of them, they would just look like customers. Dead customers. Victims of the robbery. The thought of them being shot to their death was a little scary, to be fair, but it was better the wrong guys than us.

"What information are they after?"

"Way above your pay grade, babe," she chuckled. I groaned. "That is certainly not something you can know about. In fact, you shouldn't even be dipping your toes in what's happening."

"Is there anything I can dip my toes in?"

Rachel thought long and hard before she answered. "Actually, there are a couple of documents I want you to go through. Cross off some names, some faces—there are pictures so you'll know who is mentioned. Then I'll send you the list to order in stuff for the bar—you know, the job you're supposed to be doing."

Rolling my eyes, I let her off. The fact that I could look at a few things from her end and then carry out my actual job from home should've been enough for me.

Not long after our chat ended, the email binged as it came through. I clicked it, eager to do something other than focus on the pain in my arm. It wasn't too bad anymore, though. Putting my attention to understanding what was presented in front of me seemed to allow my mind to enter a different world.

Time-slots. Post codes. Coordinates. Number plates. This didn't seem like the work Rachel mentioned. This seemed a hell of a lot like information on someone they were trying to stake out. Why else would they have locations? Precise ones, too. With number plates? They were going after someone. Or were they after us?

Not a moment later, another email came through, the subject typed in all capitals: DO NOT OPEN 1ST EMAIL. But I already have by then. The document was downloaded onto my laptop and I saw information that I shouldn't have. In the second email, she included what she was meant to send over to me.

To put her mind at ease, I replied, saying I just got both emails and I won't open the first one if it's so crucial. A little lie that will get her off my ass and give me the freedom to delve into things no one wanted to tell me.

I know. I know. I know.

Going against my tantrum. But honestly, I didn't care now. Well, I did—but I also wanted to know things. I guess that was the anger in me talking. By tomorrow, I might be on my knees with crocodile tears down my cheeks, begging for someone to cut me out of this business. Who knows? Today I wanted to be in it and so, I was going to do some snooping.

Then I wished I did not.

The more I found out, the more information I craved. Names and locations, countries and cities, numbers and some more numbers. It was all calculated. I could barely believe they kept shit like this in a document on their laptop. If this was so secret that no one could read it, why would they have it where literally anyone could get to it? Or was that the idea behind it? They used reversed psychology—they put the information where no one would look for it because it wouldn't make sense, nor would it be safe.

My eyes scanned the list of people mentioned on page thirty-five. It was all from some other group. The more I scrolled, the more people were revealed. Amongst them, a familiar name popped up. Miller. Now, I did not want to jump to conclusions because there were a million and one Miller's out there but then the second name matched up—Nadine.

I had to sit back. I stared at the screen and it still said: Miller, Nadine.

There was no way. There couldn't have been any way in which she would be involved. Right? I mean, Nadine was... no.

Nope.

That was not the Nadine I knew.

But what if...

No.

"Hey," I slammed my laptop shut as I heard Harry's voice come from behind me. I did not expect him to be awake or lurking. I felt my heart sank in my chest—how much did he see?

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked immediately.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Just opened the door."

"Okay," I breathed out. "How are you feeling? C'mon, sit down," I pulled the chair a little toward me and he walked over to it. I kept my eyes on him as he moved then placed my laptop on the rug. "Did you manage to sleep a little?"

"It felt like I was out for hours," he spoke. "Was I?"

"You slept for one whole hour," I smiled at him happily. He scoffed and glanced ahead of him, out the balcony. He set his feet up on the railing and slid down in the chair. "You look a little better."

"Yeah..."

"Hey," I breathed, reaching for his hand and stroking it. "What's wrong?"

"I'd like to know, too," he muttered. "It feels so fucking weird... it's like everything that I've known is just... I don't know. I feel like my world's turned upside down."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," but it is.

"Maybe," I sighed. "But it happened on my birthday and at my work and I invited you there. I'm responsible."

"You can't think like that," he shook his head. "It would've happened, regardless."

"I suppose... I just feel really horrible. I've been, uh, I've been sending out bloody care packages to help ease the guilt."

"Guilt, huh?" he scoffed, leaning his chin in the palm of his hand. Right. Guilt. We were both rather familiar with the emotion. "It always finds its way back into your life, doesn't it?"

Even then, I had no regrets. Yes, the guilt was unbearable five years ago. But with each one passing by, made it easier. In that moment, sitting on my balcony with Harry, looking at him as he stared outside, watching the birds fly by and the odd car driving away, I did not care. I really didn't care. Yes, everything hurt at the time. But not anymore.

I've grown up. I've learned to control my emotions to the best of my ability. I've locked away the things that happened in the past once the suffering became too much. It made me the person I was then, sitting and admiring the man who caused me one too many headaches.

I wondered if I could love him. Could he be the person I trade my heart and soul with in exchange for his? Because there was a certain doubt in me regarding it. I know the situation we are in and the one we used to be in are different but how different can they be? What if he finds one of my friends more interesting a little farther down the line? Megan, perhaps? She was single and gorgeous, funny and free. She didn't come with things like my horrible overthinking, my anxiety, my need for isolation every now and then. With me, I felt like he looked for something different because Nadine and I were complete opposites. Megan and I were also very unlike each other. He did it once, what could have stopped him from doing it again? Nothing.

Trust was a tricky thing. Meanwhile he didn't hurt me directly, he hurt someone who I used to consider my best friend. Although he had done that with some input from me and we both deserved to hold equal amount of blame for past wrong-doings, the rare amount of times it dipped into my thoughts, a whole load of what if's followed very soon. Other than that, he kept my secrets. At least, none of the things we shared, resurfaced.

He was trustworthy. My mind worked in a complicated way.

"If you knew back then that we'd be sitting here now, like this, would you have done anything differently?" he asked me out of the blue. The curiosity was clear in his tone, the slight turn of his head revealed his eyes that held the same feeling.

"Are you asking if I regret anything that happened between us?" he shrugged. That was pretty much what I gathered from his question. Playing with him for a few seconds, I hummed. Giving him a look that would contradict my actual answer, his shoulders moved, his posture deflating before he even heard the word. "No."

"I cannot stand you," he laughed, shaking his head but seemingly much more relaxed knowing that I wouldn't have done anything differently. "Would you really not go back and stop us from getting to know each other?"

"Why would I?" I asked. "The way we met was not the problem. The reason why we started hanging out, also wasn't the problem."

"Wasn't it?" he asked, uncertain.

"No," I argued. "We started hanging out because Nadine pushed us toward each other. When we hung out over that Christmas period, that was because you needed a friend, someone to take your mind off of your troubles. And, even though I never actually said anything, I needed some distraction, too," I said as I rehashed some of the things that happened. "I suppose the problem was that we started looking at the other differently. That happens, doesn't it? The more you get to know someone, the more involved you are in each other's life."

"When did you start feeling different towards me?" he questioned.

"I'm not sure... the only clear moment to me was the day Katherine caught us almost kissing."

"Oh, bloody hell," he turned away with burning cheeks, embarrassment eating him up. I chuckled and he joined in soon enough. It was a pretty uncomfortable moment but one that was important to me because it revealed how I felt. "What realisation did that bring you?"

"Just that I had a bunch of feelings for you. I'm not sure where they are right now. Reckon they are having a fat nap."

"Pretty jealous of them, if I'm honest," he played along. To be fair, I had no idea how I felt. Being with Harry was nice and I enjoyed my time in his company. But the thought of us actually dating, seemed pretty foreign. Almost unimaginable. "Hey, um, should we cook something?"

"You want to make food?" I asked. That was a really sudden and weird topic change. Maybe his feelings overwhelmed him and the only way he could deal with them was to make them disappear.

"I'm getting a little hungry, yeah..."

"Shit, alright," I chuckled. "Show me what you got, Chef."

"That's hot," he smirked at me as he stood up. "Definitely writing that on the top of the 'names I want to be called during sex' list."

"Yeah?" I raised my eyebrows. "Good luck finding someone who will bring that fantasy of yours to life."

"Argh, you're meant to bring it to life," he mumbled and I rolled my eyes.

"I'll see what I can do—but only after you," I winked, giving him the freedom to move in the kitchen.

"Oh, no," he shook his head, leaning on the kitchen island. "You are going to help me, so the next time I'm hungry, you can cook me something edible."

"I beg your fucking pardon!" I exclaimed. "I can cook, alright? Maybe not on your level but I've lived this far."

"Yeah-yeah," he waved me off, turning his back to me as he looked through the fridge.

What an absolute dickhead.