For the first time in my life, I wanted nothing more than to be wrong.

I wanted to be told "No, Sean wasn't hexed."

Or that, "You did, indeed hate him because he deserved it.'

I was shaking as I was getting to Cami's apartment because the possibility of me getting those responses was less than one percent. If uncle Kieran acted the same way Sean did right before his death, then the witches had to play a role in it.

"And worst of all, it's always the innocent that pay the price."

Unwelcomed tears creeped, ready to spill out any moment. I stared at Cami ignoring how much she looked like Sean. I never gave it importance because, after all, they were twins. Now, every feature on her resembled our dead brother, hunting me with all the thoughts I didn't want to have.

"Just tell me the truth Cami," I weakly demanded, "I don't care, I just want to know."

She looked at me concerned, like I was a porcelain cup, ready to break at any moment. "Liv...maybe you should sit down."

"No!" I exclaimed, rather loudly, my hands moving to my hair in frustration. "I'm not going to sit down until you tell me exactly the cause of our brother's and uncle's deaths."

"I told you," Cami remained collected as she talked to me and I wished I could control my emotions as well as she did. "Diagnosed mental illness."

I shook my head, not believing a word she uttered, "Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not lying to you," she claimed, "It's written in the police reports, you can check them yourself."

"No, I saw those reports. They don't make sense...Why can't you just tell me that they were hexed?" I whispered not trusting my own voice. Her expression suddenly changed and she looked at me cautiously, fearfully.

"Of course you would figure it out," she said, taking a seat herself. "I couldn't tell you," she started slowly, trying to think of the right words. "I couldn't tell you because the truth would break you apart."

A hot tear rolled down my left cheek. I quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of my sweater and gave out a forced chuckle, "Well I'm still standing, aren't I?"

She didn't respond and a part of me wished she would say some affirmative words she would tell her patients.

That it was fine to feel this way. That it would be okay. That it wasn't my fault. Instead, all she did was look at my eyes with her distant, somehow emotionless ones.

There were a thousand words I wanted to say to her. To explain myself. To apologize. To make up for this. I couldn't bring myself to. I backed away, like I was trying to get away from something horrifying and my feet brought me to the exit of the apartment. Without looking back, I descended down the quiet, empty stairs.

________________________

I was sitting on the dock, staring at the water. Faintly, I could see my tired, guilty, devastating reflection. I truly did look broken. I picked up the rock and with a yell threw it into the unmoving lake. I didn't feel better. Why didn't I feel better?

I picked up another one. Then another. Then another. Tears streamed down my face and I let them. I was alone at the bayou, only occasional breeze keeping me company.

Suddenly I heard a rustle of leaves behind me. I quickly stood up, taking my gun out. A man brought his hands up in surrender, gluing to the ground. However, he was undisturbed by the weapon pointing at his chest.

I quickly but thoroughly observed him. He was tall, and seemingly built under his dark blue suit. His hazel eyes matched the color of his hair that was perfectly made. For the first time, I felt intimidated by the person in front of me.

He cocked his head to the right, his head motioning at the gun. "Are you going to use it?"

His hypnotic accent sent a cold shiver down my spine, and I forgot where I was for a second. I looked at the weapon in my hand and put it back to its designated place.

"Sorry," I mumbled, "It's a habit."

"What are you doing here, all alone?" He started advancing towards me, not taking his eyes off of mine. For some reason, I let him near me. Even with his dark, mysterious aura I didn't think he was going to hurt me.

Or maybe I was just going delusional.

I finally answered, "I - I used to come here a lot."

He looked at the view in front of us, awaiting for me to say more. I didn't. So he spoke, "It's very secluded. From what I gathered, not many people know about it."

Not unless you were a werewolf.

From my research, this place was  home to werewolves. Only on a full moon, they would gather here, as humans. It was the only day they weren't cursed. It was the only day I didn't come here before my permanent leave.

"I like it that way," I responded, playing with the hem of my sweater. He looked the same age as me, and yet I still felt small compared to him. "It's a nice place. Something that should be left alone."

"I find it rather...ominous," he said, turning towards me. He gave me a gentle, small smile, outstretching his hand. "I'm Elijah."

I took it, his hand, soft and yet strong, completely covering mine. "Olivia."

"It is not my place but you seem..."

"Sad?" I finished for him, for some reason willing to talk to him. Just a minute ago, I wanted to be alone, to wallow in my grief by myself.

He nodded, and I sighed, trying to put the words into a sentence. "I came here in hopes to fix things with my sister...with this town. For years I ran from it because it was easier than facing the truth."

"And the truth is?" His eyes were fixed on my state as I looked out at the water. For some unfathomable reason, I was opening up to a complete stranger. Worst of all, I didn't want to stop.

"The truth is..." I started, debating if I should say what I already knew from the moment I returned to New Orleans. What did I have to lose? I continued, "That my family is broken. That I am broken. That what I did is not capable of being repaired."

"My family and I shared thousands of hardships throughout the years," he explained to me, and I turned my gaze towards him, as he looked out to the front. "And the one thing I learned, that to me holds a special value, is that the very definition of the word broken, suggests that something can be fixed."

"How long does it take?"

"It takes time," he admitted, with a certain intellect behind his demeanor. "But eventually, it all works out in the end."

I felt an urge to trust him, desperate to not feel hopeless anymore. Maybe he was right. Maybe with time, things would fall back into the right place. However, time has always been a tricky thing. And if people don't grasp it when it feels right, they might miss it, and then, the pain is the one no one is prepared for.

_______________

The truths are unfolding while Olivia is having an unexpected meeting with Elijah. They seem like they're getting along pretty well but will it stay that way is a real question?

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