Page 158 of Loving the Tormentor

The minute I spend on my own creates a black hole in my heart. This is it. This is what my life is going to be. Emptiness, loneliness, and a fluctuation between agony and anger when it comes to the man who left me behind.

I wish he'd never forgiven me. That way, he wouldn't have felt at peace. He wouldn't have felt like everything between us was straightened out, and he would’ve stayed to hate me and make me suffer.

The door opens a second before I'm about to explode in another crying fit. I manage to swallow my tears even though the pain isn't going anywhere.

"Miss Mayer, hello." The detective shakes my hand but doesn't sit down. "I'm Detective Turner. I wanted to personally offer you my condolences for your loss. I apologize for keeping you here for so long, and thank you for your patience."

There's a sternness in her voice of a woman who’s worked in a misogynist field for a long time, and who's had to prove herself time and time again.

"What's happening?" I croak, realizing I'm scared to leave this room and go back to reality.

"Achilles Duval's death has been ruled a suicide. You're free to go, and again, I'm sorry for your loss."

That's it? They keep me here for hours, only to end up telling me something I already knew. This isn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted to be told that the man I love isn't truly dead and that this was all a misunderstanding.

It was a misunderstanding, yes, but Achilles is dead.

"Miss Mayer," she says. "We found this in the garage. We had to take it to the lab to check if there were any other prints on there, but we’re done now, and I believe he wanted you to have it."

She hands me a plastic evidence bag. It's small, and it contains an even smaller piece of paper. It's been ripped from a notebook.

"Oh my God," I choke on a sob as I read it.

Short and simple, exactly his style.

I'm a dreamer, mon trésor.

You should try it sometimes.

My lower lip trembles, and I feel the dam opening again.

"Thank you," I say to the people who held me in an interrogation room for a whole day, and I get up in a rush. I have nothing with me. Not even my phone.

The police grabbed me from the house when Achilles had barely been taken by EMTs in a body bag.

I'm holding the evidence bag in a painful grip as I walk out of the interrogation room. I don't even know how I'm going to get home. Fuck, I have no idea how to take my next breath right now.

How am I supposed to live in a world where he doesn't?

Where all I have to hold on to is a piece of paper he wrote me.

I look up, desperately trying not to break down as I cross into the public reception of the station. When I look down, I see the people waiting there on chairs.

"Nyx," Wren calls out.

Bloodshot eyes, some with tears running down their faces, his friends are here for me.

I don't think. I run to them and crash into Wren's arms. In a split second, they're all huddling around me. Everyone’s here. Alex and Xi. Peach and Wren. Chris and Ella.

The second we split up, Peach takes my head between her hands.

"I know no one will ever replace Achilles," she says in a broken voice, her cheeks wet from tears, "but you're not alone. You'llneverbe alone."

It rips another breakdown from my chest. It’s the silent kind where you can’t breathe but can’t cry either. This pain will never end.

Despite the storm I'm in, and the blackness surrounding me, the fate that Achilles hated so much sends hope my way.

We're all still standing at the reception when a hoard of police officers walks in, each group of two bringing in people in handcuffs. Not any people. Men in suits, men you wouldn't imagine walking in handcuffs, men I'veseen.