Submitting to My Best Friend's Dad by Scarlett Rossi
Chapter 217 -

Весса.

Everything was a blur, and I really couldn't focus well at all. The sirens blared in my ears, but everything was just not clicking for me. I let out a soft groan, trying to focus, only to draw a complete blank.

After a while, I reached up to rub my temples, only to replace my arms were tied down. I couldn't move. I groaned and thrashed in my bed, snarling, "No, Allison, leave my daughter the f*ck alone." That's when the memory came rushing back, and my eyes flew open.

Everything came into focus. White everywhere. White tile. I was a zombie for a while, I didn't know how. I just kept saying, "I want to go home." Repeating it over and over. I think I was there for three days. James kept trying to assure me that I needed to rest. It was hard to get through it, being away from the family and our home, but eventually, I was home and able to see my children.

At the moment, I was in the living room, staring at my hands and trying to grasp the situation. An officer stood before me with a clipboard in hand, wanting to round out a few last things before leaving. I had a headache, and was done, but would cooperate.

"Miss Woods, can you confirm what Allison Valentino said before her death? We are rounding out the situation, and the details have been taken care of, but I just need another check," he said. I nodded, having been told it was a solid case of self-defense.

"She threatened my daughter. She was going to murder her when she killed me. Or before she killed me," I said. I paused. "I am not sure. She was going to kill Dahlia. I couldn't let that happen. My little girl is innocent." Tears began to fall from my eyes rapidly. Eventually, I sat there with my head in my hands, shaking with sobs. This was all too much to handle. What I'd done kept replaying in my head. There was so much blood. Allison had been there, motionless, bleeding out because of what I'd done.

"I see," said the officer, trying to keep his tone much more tender now, though that didn't help. He said, "Rest assured, it's a clear case of self-defense, and your confirmation will help us so that we do not need to press further." Lifting my head, I gave a nod, trying to keep my eyes on him and my focus strong. I was having a hard time, though. This all was just too much. I had killed someone, and it was weighing heavily on my brain. James had regretted the fact that the cops had even gotten involved since his Family usually took care of bodies themselves, but an ambulance had to be called, and that necessitated cops as well. Thankfully, Giovani knew some people at the station and had assured James it would be nothing to worry about.

The police left after that, assuring me the case was very cut and dry. I'd been told Allison had hired some goons to break in, professionals who could properly distract security. Her plan nearly worked. She was unhinged, and wanted to sneak in and kill me while everyone was distracted.

She nearly succeeded. Why did I feel so terrible, then? She was going to kill Dahlia. Still, I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want any of that to happen. Now, I had to have that weighing on me for the rest of my life.

I clutched my stomach, feeling it lurch again. The mysterious sickness hadn't gone away, and it'd only gotten worse. The hospital staff hadn't said anything at all about it. They'd given me so many medications while I was there for the pain, I hadn't felt like myself anyway, let alone notice the nausea.

I didn't emphasize the sickness because I just wanted to be home. I hadn't even looked at the any of the paperwork they'd given me showing the tests they'd run. Maybe something would show up on there, but it didn't matter to me. I just needed to be with my children.

Eventually, James entered the room. He looked exhausted and emotional, tear streaks settled on his cheeks and his hair was incredibly disheveled.

He gave me a weak smile that I didn't return. James said, "I'm sad that Allison died, Becca, but she was mentally gone. It was a situation of self-defense. Either she was going to come out of that with you and Dahlia dead, or she was going to go down."

I winced, feeling a pang of guilt and fear. The memory of her threats toward my daughter bombarded me, and I knew he was right. However, that didn't change things. I had killed her, and it was something I could never take back. James walked toward me, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. When he rested it there, I shrugged it off, shooting him a glare and saying, "Leave me alone. Just...go into the other room, James. I need to be alone right now." Madeline was thankfully taking care of the children. James had made sure she was available to help the entire time that I was in the hospital. Truth be told, she was wonderful with the kids, and I really needed her to help me with them right

now.

The weight of what had transpired was unbearable. I relocated into the guest room, not wanting to be disturbed. I needed a distraction of some sort from all of this. Therefore, I began researching Guatemala again, trying to remind myself of my goals, my hopes, and my dreams.

Was there hope for someone who killed a person out there? I felt a deep sense of remorse, and though I kept telling myself over and over that she deserved to die for how she threatened Dahlia and how she'd treated me, I couldn't get it out of my head.

James had killed plenty of people, and ordered the death of many, too. Intentionally. This didn't seem to affect him one bit. Maybe he was made of different stuff than me. I didn't know. I began typing away on the computer, trying to chase away those thoughts.

Pictures of needy children caused my heart to clench. I really needed to get this situated and convince James to help me. That had been on the back of my mind lately, and I'd made no progress with my research. I couldn't really blame myself; it was all a blur.

Then, I thought about Antoinette. It was inevitable that she'd come up in my mind again when it came to charity, as she'd given me the idea in the first place. I hadn't texted her since I read what she'd said.

"Maybe I should text her now," I said, finally, giving a sigh and closing my eyes. I wasn't sure if that was the most healthy of distractions, but it was all I could think about right this moment. Therefore, I reached for my phone and texted her. 'Hi, Antoinette. It's been a while. I still feel betrayed by all that happened. But I'm settling in here. I'm sure you've heard about Allison by now. I don't know how she got here. I killed her in self-defense. I feel horrible,' I sent to her. I didn't expect a reply right away, so I stared at my computer screen for a few minutes before my phone chimed. Then, I read her reply. 'Hi, Becca. Again, I am so, so sorry. They made me do it. Allison? I heard she was getting money from the Cartwrights and they paid for her flight to Italy.'

Gasping, I felt a shiver go down my spine at that name. I should have known they would come up again. They promised they would, after all. I texted back, 'Yes. She broke into our house and set up a distraction. It was either me or her. I feel so evil.'

Antoinette texted back, 'If it was in self-defense, she deserved it, Becca. Though I understand. It can be hard living with something like that. It's always very hard dealing with your first time.'

I furrowed my brow. What did she mean by that? Running my tongue over my lips in confusion, I reached up and rubbed my temples. First time killing? Did that mean she knew the feeling and had done it before, multiple times? 'What do you mean by that?' I sent.

'Nevermind that,' she sent back. Another text came in shortly after. 'The Cartwrights are not doing so well right now. Gossip mill says the family is in shambles through argument after argument, bleeding money like a pig with its throat slit.'

I shuddered at that description, but felt a sense of relief. Even though they bailed out Allison and sent her here, it was nice to know they were not doing so well themselves. My stomach twisted, again, however, causing me to clutch it and groan.

'That's good,' I sent. Then, I added, 'What about the other Stepford wives? The ones who chased me out. Are they still as rabid as always?'

'They are. I cut ties with most of them. I'm so tired of their toxicity. Thankfully, the quick falling of the Cartwrights means that they're losing a lot of interest in the situation now,' she sent to me, causing me to smile faintly.

At least there was that. I closed my eyes, rubbing my abdomen a bit and feeling bile rise into my throat. I really didn't want to throw up right now. I didn't want to throw up at any point, really, but right now I needed my head clear, and I wasn't doing well mentally.

I sent, 'That's good. I'm happy for you. I'm looking into a charity for Guatemala. I've been doing a lot of research. Trying to avoid being disruptive. I figured if we texted, you could give me some advice.' I left out the part that it would be the least she could do after everything.

She agreed, and I sent her my email. She'd send me some materials, she said, on how to go through with this idea properly. It was nice getting more information from a source who worked with things like that.

The distraction worked for long enough, but now that I was done speaking with Antionette, I found myself staring at the computer screen again, the memory of what I'd done just bombarding me over and over.

There had been so much blood, and the thought of that poker sticking out from Allison's chest caused whatever sickness was going on in my belly to worsen. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I began to cry, shuddering intensely at the emotions that I couldn't handle right now.

Nothing would distract me enough from this. I could research how to cope with killing someone in self defense, but I wasn't sure if that would help. I could try to sleep, but I felt too sick, and would probably wake up so many times like I had been lately.

I felt a pang of guilt at James, hoping he didn't think I was mad at him for anything, either. I'd been short with telling him to go away, but I really needed to be alone right now.

The bile in my throat grew worse, and my stomach lurched again. I couldn't delay going to the bathroom any longer, either. All of this misery was pouring over me, and I still couldn't stop feeling so sick.

Rushing to the bathroom, I cried harder, my negative feelings intensifying as I tried to grasp in my mind what could be going on.