Session 𝓢eventy-Two

Session 72:
"The Possibility"

⨳ ⨳ ⨳

I'm not sure why I underestimated the event Monroe mentioned.

I didn't think it would be small, but this...

This felt like some kind of gala.

The stylists came early in the afternoon—there were even separate dressing rooms for me and Monroe.

Everything was curated.

There was also a specified theme: Chrome and Champagne.

This was something normal people would plan months in advance, but Monroe's parents casually decided to hold this event this weekend.

It was weird to be so close to this kind of wealth.

Sure, I've always grown up well off, but not like Monroe.

This is untouchable wealth.

What most people would call 'Fuck You' money.

It made me nervous because I would be surrounded by the one percent at this event.

The kind of people who pull strings over politicians or well-known companies because they have the means to do so.

"Madame Leclair specified these three," the blonde woman motioned to the array of silver and black dresses hanging up, specifically the three silver gowns.

"Dr. Leclair," I corrected her as I stood in a fluffy white robe, my tone coming off harsher than I anticipated.

The woman quickly nodded, "Oui, of course, madame," she didn't hesitate to say, making me feel remorseful immediately.

"Sorry," I unconsciously whispered, "I didn't mean to be rude," I said, hating that I was probably acting like Cruella de Vil and her husband right now.

They're probably awful to the staff.

I'm just on edge, and it shows.

"No worries, madame," the woman politely smiled as the staff scrambled behind her to prepare different things for me.

My makeup was partially done—she just had to do my lipstick.

My hair was the only thing left undone.

Well, they already washed it and brushed my curls out with product, but that was it.

"My hair will be dry soon," I suddenly said, glancing to the stylist, grabbing products from the rolling cart, "Can we do the blowout now?"

"Dr. Leclair specified we leave curls," the brunette man clarified, making me narrow my eyes slightly.

Of course, she specified that.

She hates when I put heat on my hair, and I get it, but I also think my hair should be blown out for this event.

"I want a blowout, please," I stated as nicely as I could.

But the man only stood awkwardly, blinking a few times to himself.

"I'll do my own hair then," I added nonchalantly, fully prepared to go back to the bedroom to grab my blow dryer.

"No-no, madame," the man quickly said, frantically grabbing things from the cart, "We will do this for you."

The makeup artist pursed her lips, "But Dr. Leclair said—"

"We make the madame happy," he quickly cut her short, plugging one of the shiny blow dryers in.

I let out a relieved breath, nodding at his words even if I knew they were scared of getting in trouble with Monroe.

I'll make sure she doesn't do anything too irrational.

Besides, my hair always looks best when it's blown-out, especially for this kind of event.

I'll fit in better.

The hair stylist also did better than what I would do.

My hair was as shiny as ever, and really soft.

He even did a side part, tucking a piece behind my ear and securing it there.

I settled on one of the silver dresses Monroe picked out for me, wanting to make up for the fact that I didn't leave my hair curly.

It clung to my body like it was sewn onto my skin, catching the light with every step I took.

The straps were simple, squared at the top, but the rest of the dress made its own statement.

Hundreds of tiny, glimmering stones were woven so precisely into the fabric like stardust.

It was heavy in an expensive way, hugging my waist, smoothing over my hips, and falling straight down to my ankles.

I didn't need much else.

The dress was the main look here.

I didn't wear a necklace, just heavy diamond earrings in my ears that caught every shred of light.

I felt... like I fit in.

I looked and felt elegant, older than my age actually.

I liked it a lot, honestly.

I would belong by Monroe's side.

I let out a nervous breath, standing in front of the tall door of Monroe's dressing room.

My hand was raised, ready to knock, but something inside of me made me halt.

I felt nervous.

I shook my head to myself, knocking on the door before I could think it through.

Only a few seconds passed before the door was cracked open—one of the staff members poking her head out.

Her eyes fell down my appearance before she suddenly opened the door fully.

"Welcome in, madame," she politely said, allowing me to walk into the room that smelled so sweet with a floral scent.

Monroe's scent.

She stood over in the corner of the room, adjusting her own earrings while the staff nervously waited, instead of being allowed to help her.

She wore a halter-neck silver dress that looked like it had been poured onto her.

The neckline was high and elegant, the dress curving in at her waist and hugging her hips.

From the back, it dipped just low enough to be distracting, and the fabric clung like it knew exactly what it was doing.

Her earrings were massive, dramatic and shiny, like something you'd wear if you wanted people to stare and never stop.

Her sharp cheekbones were nearly carved out by her perfect makeup, her eyes emphasized by her smokey eyeshadow look.

Monroe didn't rush to finish adjusting her earrings.

She didn't seem to care that half the room was watching her, anticipating if she'd approve of the curated look.

I smiled when her dark blue eyes met mine through the mirror, my face burning up in the worst way.

"You look..." I trailed off, unsure what to say without falling short.

Because she's so much more than beautiful or pretty.

"You look um," I blinked a few times, drawing in a nervous breath.

Suddenly, I couldn't even breathe around her.

Especially not when she turned around, allowing my eyes to fall down her body entirely.

I see it now.

Witnessing her like this...

She truly does belong in this world, no matter how much we both hate it.

"Are you breathing properly, darling?" Monroe asked, approaching me with an amused look, even if the smile didn't quite grace her lips.

"Not really," I admitted, nervously laughing as I looked away from her entirely.

"Me either," she whispered as she stopped in front of me, grabbing me by my waist, "You're perfect," she murmured so softly. "My perfect."

I hummed wordlessly when she placed a chaste kiss on my cheek.

"Your perfect?" I repeated, "That's a really high standard there," I whispered to her, meeting her stare again.

"And somehow, you reach it every single time," Monroe said, her eyes shifting to my hair.

I drew in a deep breath as she took in the look I decided on against her wishes, anticipating what she would say.

Monroe was silent for a moment, gently grabbing the end of my hair to analyze further.

"Seems like we're going to be late," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, "This needs to be redone."

I blinked a few times. "Redone?" I emphasized in confusion, "It looks good like this."

"Your curls would be much more beautiful, Liberty," she said, letting out a distasteful sigh as she turned her head to the staff who hadn't glanced at us once, "Who signed off on this decision?"

"Monroe," I quickly said, not wanting someone to get in trouble for something I decided on.

"Mathieu, Dr. Leclair," one of the staff just had to say.

"No, I told him this is what I wanted," I emphasized, gently grabbing her chin to turn her attention back to me, "I wanted my hair like this."

Monroe's jaw was flexed, eyeing my face with an unreadable expression for seconds on end.

Until she forcefully rolled her shoulders back, nodding stiffly.

"Help me understand why, then, Liberty," she said, her words lowered between us, "We've had this discussion numerous times now."

I nodded immediately, "Yes, I know, but I just wanted to fit in better," I tried my best to explain.

But it seemed to only make this worse.

I could tell when Monroe drew in a strict breath.

I furrowed my brows when she leaned down slightly, grabbing the end of my silver dress.

"Monroe," I whispered, awkwardly glancing at the staff.

But they all didn't seem to be looking in our overall direction.

I guess they're trained not to look at anyone.

"Ro," I said more firmly when she guided me over to the velvet couch, holding the end of my dress.

"Everyone leave," was all she said, making the staff members frantically rush towards the door.

They didn't even bother grabbing the carts of different hair or makeup products.

Even the racks of clothing remained as they all rushed out of the room, leaving me and Monroe entirely alone.

I inaudibly gasped when she firmly pushed me back on the couch, pulling my dress all the way up past my thighs.

"Baby," I whispered, watching as she got on her knees, "We don't have time—"

"Do you think I went against every rule I had for myself, committed to you, involved you in the darkest parts of my life," she calmly pressed my thighs apart, "All because you fit in, Liberty?"

I remained silent, unsure how to answer her question without proving her right.

Because maybe she is right.

Or maybe she's on her knees in front of me, and that's swaying my judgment right now.

"Answer the question, Liberty," Monroe said, her eyes not once glancing away from mine, "Otherwise, we can skip this event, and I can show you how it truly feels to not be able to speak."

"No," I quickly rushed out, "You didn't do all of this because I fit in."

Monroe hummed in approval, "Good girl," she softly praised me, "So what are we going to do here, darling?"

I drew in a deep breath when her hand trailed up my inner thigh, her stare not wavering from mine.

"Uh," I breathed out, shifting under her touch, "Be late?"

Monroe nodded, "Very late," she emphasized, "You're going to let mommy redo your hair, Liberty."

I hummed breathlessly when her fingers ran across my lacy underwear.

I may or may not have worn underwear in her favorite forest green color.

"Fine," I whispered, giving in to her entirely, "You'll redo my hair."

Monroe tilted her head, "Try again, darling," she murmured, pressing her fingers against my core and applying enough pressure that made me gasp.

"Okay," I quickly rushed out, "Please redo my hair, mommy," I added in the tone she wanted.

"There's my good girl," she softly whispered, leaning her face between my spread thighs.

Her dark blue eyes shifted away from mine, eyeing my covered core.

"Pretty," she murmured, running her fingers across the underwear I wore just for her.

"Your favorite color," I whispered as she pulled the material to the side, exposing my core to the cold air.

"And my favorite taste," Monroe said, staring at my core in a way that made my heart speed up in my chest.

Fuck.

I unconsciously arched away from the couch, my legs spreading wider for her the moment she leaned in.

It was enough to make her lips twitch up, her eyes locking with mine.

"My eager girl," she softly whispered, "Come here," was all she said, encouraging me more.

I didn't hesitate to arch further for her, leaning into her mouth.

Monroe hummed, pressing the softest kiss to my clit as she held my stare, sending shivers down my spine.

I moaned the moment she pressed her tongue against me, wrapping her soft lips around my clit and sucking down.

Her eyes watched me the entire time, gauging my reaction as she swirled her tongue around my clit.

It was enough to make my brows furrow and my lips part, reaching for anything other than her perfectly done hair.

Monroe grabbed my hands on either side of my spread thighs, interlacing her fingers with mine as she sped up her pace.

I could easily feel myself getting wetter as I squeezed her hands for some sort of support.

Monroe hummed against me, sending vibrations through my body and making me arch deeper.

My moans grew more drawn out as I quickly shot up to my peak.

Monroe's pace didn't waver, not even when my legs began trembling and my eyes rolled closed, practically chasing my orgasm.

I called out her name over and over again as I came undone, squeezing her hands tighter, my hips rocking into her mouth.

It felt so good, especially as a warmth spread through my body, my core rhythmically pulsing.

My body was tense for seconds on end until I finally fell limp underneath her, panting for air.

"God, Monroe," I breathed out when she continued sucking and flicking my clit with her tongue.

I tried to arch away from her, but it was genuinely no use.

"Ro," I tried again, reaching for her neck since I didn't want to mess up her hair.

But Monroe only groaned, running her tongue down my wet core.

I gasped when she slid her tongue inside me, humming as she began thrusting.

"Monroe, I swear," I breathed out with furrowed brows, curving away from her mouth.

"Liberty," she murmured, her voice raspy against me, holding warning.

"Later," I negotiated with her, staring down at her.

Monroe only let go of my hand, pressing my thighs wider apart.

"Now," she said, continuing her thrusts with her tongue as I tensed underneath her.

I pressed my short heels into the floor, withering and arching underneath her as she held me in place to take it all.

My second orgasm hit quicker and much more intensely than the first, filling me with shockwaves.

I could barely catch my breath by the time she was done with me.

I also walked really fucking weirdly to the bathroom with her, which I knew I would have to fix.

I can't be walking like this into the event.

I made sure to stand while Monroe began doing my hair for me, doing foot raises and bending one of my legs up every few minutes.

Monroe grabbed one of the carts full of products and tugged it into the attached bathroom, using one of the spray bottles first.

She brushed and styled my curls in layers, grabbing the blow dryer to dry my curls with cold air.

Then she carefully shook them out, separating any strands clumped together too thickly.

It looked... really good.

And Monroe made me repeat affirmations the entire time to ensure I felt more confident.

She was right, my curls looked so much better with the dress.

And I still felt good by her side, especially since she kept her arm around my waist the entire walk towards the event.

This estate is so large that they can hold themed events like it's nothing but a small gathering for a casual birthday party.

It was a little nerve-wracking walking into the large room.

It had the tallest ceilings and was much bigger than the entire main level of Monroe's house back in Seattle.

Chandeliers illuminated the space, the marble floors shining, and the wall carved with expensive French molding.

There were servers carrying around champagne and hors d'oeuvres as everyone conversed amongst themselves, wearing either different shades of silver or black.

The photographers made me really nervous, but Monroe already assured me that we wouldn't be photographed.

Apparently, everyone in this room had to sign an NDA regardless of whether we were here or not.

Monroe's parents are just that serious about letting anyone into their home.

"This is... nice," I awkwardly said as I stood with Monroe off to the side of the room, eyeing our surroundings.

Specifically, her parents across the room from us, engrossed in a conversation.

Clarisse wore a long sleeve black gown, the silky material high neck for a more modest look.

Her blonde hair was tied up into a sleek bu,n and her face was coated with neutral makeup, not even the most subtle smile gracing her lips.

Her husband was wearing a crisp black tux and was smiling very widely, fully immersed in whatever conversation they were having with another older couple.

"Do you want anything, darling?" Monroe asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I quickly shook my head, "Not really," I said, eyeing the different servers walking around.

I didn't want champagne, and the food didn't look that great.

It's those fancy finger foods that leave you more hungry than full.

"We'll only stay thirty more minutes," Monroe assured me, reading my thoughts as easily as usual.

Or maybe it was how stiff I looked and felt.

I couldn't wait to take all this makeup off, pull my hair up, and get in bed with piles of covers over me.

"What about that auction thing?" I asked, motioning to the paddle signs that the servers were passing out.

"Irrelevant," Monroe murmured, her blue eyes trailing my face, "I would rather spend my time with you than throwing money around carelessly."

I smiled slightly, "Well—"

"Monroe?" I heard a soft voice call out, naturally redirecting our attention to the brunette woman approaching us.

She had short hair, neutral makeup, and painted red lips—wearing a strapless black gown.

I furrowed my brows when the woman immediately pulled Monroe into a hug, a wide smile spread on her red lips.

"I can't believe you finally came back into town," she said as Monroe hugged her back.

Even if it was a respectful hug, I still felt weirdly irritated.

Enough to cut off this random woman's arms for even wrapping them around Monroe.

"I've missed you so much," the woman said as they pulled away. "Texting is never enough."

I blinked blankly, genuinely wondering who the fuck this was.

And why is she texting with Monroe?

"We need to properly catch up soon," Monroe said, her lips twitching up in a bigger smile than necessary.

I unconsciously ran my arm around her waist before I could think it through, claiming the spot by her side.

It was enough to earn an amused look from Monroe, the brunette woman also glancing over to me.

"Oh, is this..." she trailed off, glancing back at Monroe.

My brows furrowed when Monroe nodded in confirmation.

"This is Liberty," Monroe formally introduced me to the woman, "Liberty, this is Eliza."

I pursed my lips into a smile, but said nothing.

Not until I knew more.

"It's really nice to meet you," Eliza said, her smile widening, "Monroe talks about you—"

"Okay, Liz," Monroe cut her short, making me glance between the two for a moment.

That's when I stupidly realized Eliza is her friend.

Probably one of her close friends who she knew here before moving to Seattle.

Fuck, and I just messed up a good first impression with one of Monroe's friends.

Possibly her only closest friend, as far as I know.

"Sorry, I uh thought," I murmured awkwardly, glancing at Monroe with hopes that she would understand what I was hinting at.

"I could tell, darling," Monroe didn't hesitate to say, making me relax slightly.

"I got the same impression too," Eliza suddenly added, picking up on what I was hinting at as well, "But I'm straight and we've been friends for sixteen years now."

"Seventeen," Monroe corrected her, making Eliza laugh.

Meanwhile, I just felt relieved that Eliza was genuinely an old friend.

I thought she might be... a past arrangement, maybe.

Now I feel even worse about the Sarai situation.

I'm quite literally meeting one of Monroe's closest friends, which was something I never actually thought would happen.

"You can tell she's a type A person and I'm type B," Eliza motioned to Monroe, "It's why we work."

"I work," Monroe clarified with the cutest lazy smile, "She relaxes."

I unconsciously smiled as I eyed Monroe's face, feeling this weird warmth from meeting someone genuinely close to her.

Not people like her parents, who she tolerated.

Monroe actually introduced me to her long-term friend.

"Liberty relaxes as well," Monroe said, gently pulling me closer to her by my waist, "How I prefer it."

I hummed, "I still like doing things, though," I said, unsure if I should mention that I'm still in school.

Or even my age.

How much does Eliza know?

"She might decide to work when she graduates. That's a thing, you know," Eliza sarcastically said to Monroe.

Okay, so clearly she knew a decent amount about me.

Monroe... talks about me.

That makes me feel really giddy inside.

"Perhaps she won't work," Monroe shrugged nonchalantly, making me raise a brow.

"I won't?" I curiously asked.

Monroe's lips twitched up, "That's not a conversation for right now, darling," she said, running her hand up my back.

Not a conversation is code for we're having the conversation later down the line, and it's already decided.

That's how Monroe normally operates.

I'm definitely working once I graduate, though, and she'll have to deal with that one.

"Anyways," Eliza murmured, glancing over to me, "Did Mon tell you about the horse races tomorrow?" she asked, using a nickname that I found so cute for Monroe.

I could suddenly imagine her younger self just from hearing it.

"Horse races?" I said, glancing over to Monroe for a better explanation.

"I wanted to get us out of here before tomorrow afternoon," Monroe briefly explained, earning a dramatic sigh from Eliza.

"Oh come on," Eliza said, grabbing a flute of champagne from the nearby server, "Liberty would love it, I bet."

I hummed in agreement, "I think Liberty would too," I said, making Eliza nod happily.

Okay, first impression is officially restored, I think.

I might hate being at this fucking estate, but I also want to know more about Eliza and what Monroe's life was like before Seattle.

"And we can all catch up more," Eliza pointed out, her smile widening.

Monroe only pursed her lips together distastefully, glancing over to me.

I smiled as wide as I could, purposely fluttering my lashes at her.

"We'll discuss it tonight," Monroe finally told me, shaking her head in disapproval. "I don't like this combination," she added, motioning between me and Eliza.

I chuckled softly, "Maybe you will after the horse races."

"Smooth," Eliza told me, making me smile wider.

I like this so much.

Now I really need to tell Monroe about Sarai.

"Monroe," a deeper voice interjected our conversation.

Almost immediately, the warmth was sucked from the air.

Not only did I go rigid, but I could feel Monroe stiffen beside me.

Cruella de Vil and her husband were enough to make anyone hate their life.

"I let the pianist take a break," Leon said, making my arm tighten around Monroe's waist. "You can play one of your old pieces for everyone."

His words sounded like a suggestion, but there was also a demanding tone behind his voice.

Like there wasn't a way to say no here.

His smile was so wide, but god did his passiveness nauseate me.

Clarisse didn't bother hiding her disapproval, clearly not wanting her daughter to even touch a piano.

I didn't want her touching one either, but we have two different reasons.

Monroe isn't good enough for Clarisse's standards.

Meanwhile, I'm worried about Clarisse having the nerve to slam the cover on Monroe's fingers again.

Genuinely, what is wrong with her?

"I'll play," I suddenly offered before Monroe could formulate a response.

She looked like she was slowly getting locked away in her mind, just by her father mentioning the piano.

"You play the piano, Ms. Fierro?" Leon asked, as if I didn't just offer to play the stupid instrument.

"I'm a little rusty, but I can play," I clarified, even if the term rusty was putting it lightly.

I learned a few short songs in music class back in elementary school.

But anything to prevent Monroe from sitting at that bench.

I glanced over to Monroe when I felt her gently squeeze my waist.

And even if she didn't say anything, I could see it in her eyes.

She was thankful that I stepped up to play for her.

"We're very happy you could attend last minute," Leon addressed Eliza, flashing his usual smile, "Alissa, right?"

"Sure," Eliza dryly mumbled, blankly glancing between Monroe's parents.

It was obvious she didn't like them either.

How does he not even know her actual name?

Monroe and Eliza have been friends for over a decade now.

I let out a deep sigh, stepping past her parents with my arm secured around Monroe's waist to guide her along with me.

Eliza followed behind us towards the piano, along with her parents.

Once I let go of Monroe's waist and approached the piano, people annoyingly gathered.

It was odd.

I felt nervous, but I also didn't care.

Not after the affirmations I practiced with Monroe earlier.

Besides, she already told me that they don't define us.

We define us.

And I'm doing this for her.

So I forced myself to focus on the piano, rather than the people, hovering my fingers over the keys.

Then I finally pressed down, and began reciting the song I remembered.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

Yep, I played a fucking nursery rhyme in front of the most elite people.

I messed up on a few keys here and there, but I kept going and smoothed it all out.

I knew Clarisse was probably having a panic attack the entire time I played, internally criticizing everything I did.

I'm pretty sure pianist don't only focus on the piece itself, but their posture and better timing between keys.

I surely fucked up in her head, but I didn't care.

Monroe was clapping for me, and that's all that mattered.

"Perfection," Monroe said as I stood from the bench, giving a playful bow, "She's incredible."

Leon nodded with pursed lips, for once not saying anything.

Clarisse couldn't even look at me, she just kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her chin held high.

Eliza was clapping, though, just as loudly as Monroe.

The crowd of people seemed to be clapping awkwardly, showing a decent amount of enthusiasm.

"Apparently, I can play like you," I said to Monroe as I stopped in front of her with a happy smile.

I heard the softest scoff from Clarisse before she walked off from us all.

Leon even awkwardly walked off, finding a nearby group of people to converse with instead of following after his wife.

Monroe smiled even wider as she stared down at me, gently grabbing my waist and leaning down to kiss my cheek.

"My god, are you perfect," she softly whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my body.

I hummed wordlessly, "Perfect for you," I whispered back, running my arms around her neck as I pulled her into a hug.

"Only me," Monroe clarified softly as she hugged me so close to her.

"The song was so good—or iconic, as they say," Eliza said as we pulled away from the brief hug.

"Liz is in PR, so she has to keep up with the new... sayings," Monroe briefly explained to me.

"Well, I'd love to help if you ever need clarification on anything," I said, subtly glancing down when my phone began buzzing in my hand.

The displayed call read: Zi

"I'm going to take this really fast," I suddenly determined.

"I'll go with you," Monroe didn't hesitate to say, making an amused smile grow on my lips.

"I'll be fine for a moment, baby. Catch up more with Eliza," I told her, briefly kissing her cheek.

"I can catch up later," Monroe said, her eyes trailing my face.

"Wow," Eliza said as she took a sip of her champagne, "You really got her wrapped around your finger," she told me.

"Not the time, Liz," Monroe said before I could say anything in response to her hilarious observation.

At times, Monroe does give in to me, but I'm not sure I fully have her wrapped around my finger.

"I won't be long," I leaned in to whisper, softly patting her shoulder before I walked past her.

Normally, I would've loved for her to come with me, but I wasn't sure what Zion was calling about.

Imagine Sarai accidentally slips up, and that's how Monroe finds out she knows.

I should take the call alone just to be safe.

I tried my best to rush out of the event, wanting to answer once I made it outside.

But it had already rung through, so I would have to call back.

I glanced away from my phone when I heard heels clicking against the floor, furrowing my brows as I looked around the empty hallway.

She emerged from one of the side hallways, her posture held high with the usual neutral look on her face.

Clarisse.

Or Cruella de Vil, should I say?

"Monroe told me you used to play piano," I decided to address her first when she ignored my presence. "It's crazy how we all play," I purposely added, knowing the comparison alone might irritate her.

Clarisse didn't react even subtly to my words.

She also didn't even acknowledge them.

It made me feel incredible—knowing I had at least irritated her a little bit.

She won't even speak.

I love it.

"You know," I suddenly spoke again as Clarisse stopped in front of me, "I thought you guys would pull something tonight on Monroe."

"Pull something," Clarisse echoed my words, her stare holding mine.

Her eyes were always so void of anything that it was unnerving.

I genuinely could see something like her in my nightmares.

"Like have us publicly photographed or maybe invite Monroe's... ex," I awkwardly settled on the term, even if she was merely an arrangement.

Either way, I didn't put it past them to invite her on purpose.

Or maybe even involve my mother despite everything. 

"Talia," Clarisse said, openly referring to the first arrangement.

Fuck I hate that her name is actually really pretty.

I wish I could unlearn it.

"Bold of you to assume she's alive," Clarisse murmured, making my brows furrow, "Poor thing died from an overdose. Monroe knows all about it."

I blinked a few times when she stepped past me, walking back to the event like she hadn't just dropped the most insane piece of information.

Her first arrangement is dead.

Monroe knows all about it.

It sounded like an insinuation.

Like she was saying Monroe was behind it, maybe?

I wouldn't be surprised after Maricel, but this...

This is entirely different.

That would mean there's a second one that's dead, and that scares me.

It terrifies me actually.

Is the third arrangement even still alive?

I drew in a deep breath, shaking my head to myself.

I'm not taking Clarisse's words at face value.

She's the monster here.

I can't trust her.

I need to ask Monroe herself.

But I also don't want to trigger anything.

Everything is already really tense.

"Okay-okay," I suddenly whispered to myself, glancing back down at my phone.

I unlocked it and quickly navigated to Google.

Maybe I should at least see if any of this is true first, but the knot in my stomach is telling me it is.

My intuition is screaming at me.

I tried my best to type in her name, my hands trembling as I spelled it out.

Then I typed in upstate New York, overdose.

Numerous articles quickly came up.

Talia Marin.

That was her full name.

She had blue eyes and long blonde hair spilling in waves, some strands with brown highlights.

Her smile was wide and nearly contagious in the picture they used for the article.

She was... really pretty.

But like this, innocence kind of pretty.

She looked like she talked softly and wouldn't hurt a fly even if it was buzzing around annoyingly.

I couldn't even be jealous of her.

God, I used to be so jealous of her.

And this entire time she's been...

I let out a deep sigh, lowering my phone in disbelief.

I can't believe this.

What do I do now?

I refuse to believe Clarisse's words.

Sure, she was being truthful about Talia's death.

She did overdose.

I just refuse to believe her insinuation directed at Monroe.

It's not true.

Monroe might've had Maricel killed, but she was—she was going to threaten us.

That's why.

That's it.

Maricel was dangerous.

I drew in a deep breath, hating that I knew deep down inside she wasn't truly that dangerous.

Only her words were.

Fuck-fuck.

Breathe.

I let out a deep breath, leaning against the cold wall for any support.

But I'm genuinely spiraling.

This is what Clarisse wanted.

She did this on purpose, and it's working.

I have to ask Monroe.

I need to ask her.

I'm just scared to.

I'm terrified that the truth she gives me could break me all over again.

Her past might affect all of this, and I'll have to find some way to move past another death.

I can't do it again.

No, I have to.

I... need Monroe.

I need her so badly.

My life falls apart without her.

She fixed me.

"Liberty?"

I glanced over at her voice immediately, unconsciously stiffening from her presence alone.

I quickly drew in a deep breath, leaning away from the wall as Monroe approached me with a concerned look.

"Hi, sorry, I just," I paused, letting out a long breath, "I needed a minute."

"Is everything okay, darling?" Monroe softly asked me, her eyes burning so deeply into mine.

I remained silent for a moment, taking a few seconds to weigh what I wanted to do.

I didn't want to ask her right now.

Sure, because the event is unfolding right inside.

And the idea of Monroe spiraling.

Also... I'm selfishly not prepared to hear what the truth consists of.

"I'm a little homesick," I forced out before I could think it through, "I talked to my friends and stuff, so I think it made me nostalgic."

Monroe nodded.

But she didn't say anything.

She just stared at me for a moment, her eyes trailing my face for more.

She knows I'm lying.

"I think I'm going to call it a night," I suddenly whispered, even if it made my chest tighten in the worst way.

I should just ask her.

"I'll go with you, darling," Monroe didn't hesitate to say.

I unconsciously flinched away when she grabbed my hand, my eyes widening as I met her stare again.

Monroe's brows furrowed immediately, retracting her hand as she analyzed my face.

And then my arms, openly looking for any signs that someone had hurt me.

"Liberty," was all she said, meeting my stare again.

There was something behind her eyes.

I'm not sure what it was, but it made everything crumble around me.

"Talia," I suddenly whispered, eyeing Monroe's face for her reaction.

She only blinked a few times, processing the name that just fell from my lips.

But there wasn't a reaction.

If anything, she looked more blank than before.

Almost like how she used to be with me, devoid of any emotion.

I mentioned a dead woman, and this is her reaction?

How can this be her reaction?

"Was her death..." I trailed off, tears burning in my eyes as I stared at Monroe in disbelief, "Was it accidental, Monroe?"

She didn't say anything.

She didn't even part her lips, yet her chest started rising and falling with deep chaotic breaths.

I could tell my words sent her for a loop.

She... cared for Talia.

I know she had to, by the way she's talked about her.

Monroe turned away from me before I could process it, pressing her hands on top of her head.

Her breaths were forceful, like she was fighting for air.

Tears spilled from my eyes, unsure what her reaction meant.

Was it accidental?

Was she behind it?

She can't even look at me right now.

She's fallen into another breakdown, and I couldn't pull her out this time.

I felt just as lost. 

Everything around me was so blurry.

We were both lost at sea—two different seas actually. 

I quickly rushed past her, tears streaming down my face as I headed toward one of the hallways.

This is all so messed up. 

Now I need to process the possibility of Monroe being behind not one, but two deaths.

And then I need to figure out what that means for us.

Or me.