Submitting to My Best Friend's Dad by Scarlett Rossi
Chapter 218 -

Becca.

Rushing to the bathroom, I threw up the contents of my stomach, which was just bile. Given all that had happened, I'd not been eating much. I felt weak, my entire body shaking from the expulsion. Once again, I found myself in the shower, cleaning up. This was the last thing I needed right now. Why didn't this sickness just go away? I was starting to regret not bringing it up in the hospital. Tears streamed down my face still as I hiccuped, trying to get a grasp on everything. Eventually, I dragged myself out of the bathroom and back to my desk. The light of the computer shined on my face, and I reached up and rubbed my temples, trying to get a handle on the situation and failing. Mentally, and physically, everything was a wreck.

Maybe I should go to James right now. He could be a wonderful source of comfort. I would tell him I was sorry for worrying him, and we could cuddle together. Maybe he would have answers for this illness. I doubted it; he wasn't a doctor, but I wasn't thinking rationally right now.

Though, all of that said, I really hoped I didn't make James feel too bad. That worry kept hitting me over and over again. I ran over what I'd said to him a few times in my mind, knowing he was probably taking it the wrong way. Right now, I couldn't bring myself to fix it.

More tears poured out of me as I sobbed, trying to get ahold of the tidal wave of emotions bombarding me over and over. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again. Sure, the Allison situation came up and was solved quickly, but at what cost?

I searched for something to grab ahold of, a thought that would bring me back to reality. My kids were safe. That mattered dearly to me, and it was reality. Because of what I did, my kids were safe, and they would continue to be safe here. Though the Cartwrights were behind all of this mess, and they were still around, their resolve was shattering. James and I didn't even have to do anything. They were, supposedly, tearing themselves apart. I secretly hoped that continued to happen.

Was I wrong for thinking that way, though?

I shoved those thoughts aside, reasoning with myself that I needed to stop thinking through this stuff too much. I nearly jumped out of my skin as my phone rang. I looked toward it, realizing yet another problem was coming up here and now. Neal was calling.

Dealing with him and his 'do you miss me' issues right now would do the opposite of helping me. I bit my lip, sincerely not wanting to take this call. After our last conversation, I'd only felt worse, and I'd be content if he never spoke with me again.

Still, there may be a good reason he was calling. He was a big part of why Ronaldo and the mob in general had been wiped out. He'd worked with Giovani and his people for that, which had helped us out a lot.

There was a battleground in my head as the phone continued to ring. I kept reading his name over and over again, wanting to delay the inevitable. Eventually, I exhaled sharply and pressed the green button, knowing I couldn't avoid this forever.

I intentionally took my time to bring my phone to my ear. The silence would stretch a bit before I answered, and my stomach just continued to twist. Not only was it that mysterious illness, but anxiety was now causing this to worsen. A few moments later, I said, "Hello?" My voice wasn't the most kind, either. It was hesitant, dripping with a mixture of worry, anger, and sadness. I really wasn't sure why he was calling me right now, but he had to know things were difficult. "Becca," Neal said on the other end. There was an awkward pause, and he said, "Look, I'm sorry about the last call. I promise that's not why I decided to talk with you. I could have texted to say that, but I wanted you to actually hear it from me."

"You put me on the spot," I said flatly. "Neal, I'm going through a lot right now. I can't really handle anything at the moment. There's so much that's been happening. I just can't." I shook my head, tears starting up again as everything hit me. "I understand, Becca," Neal said, trying to console me. His voice, and his words, weren't all that reassuring, but I didn't hang up on him this time. Rather, I let out a sigh and kept my eyes shut for a moment before replying again. "I hope you do. There is so much on my shoulders. I killed someone, Neal. Allison. I didn't mean to kill her, but she's dead. It was self-defense. Everyone knows it. I still don't feel right about it," I said, shuddering with another cry. "I heard," Neal replied. "I am so sorry to hear that, Becca. It's really hard. I understand that, too. Taking a life is no small thing."

"You've killed before, plenty of times, I'm sure. Sometimes with no remorse. Are you sure you understand? Given your family history,, it should just come naturally," I replied. "I haven't killed anyone before. I didn't ever want to. Allison was going to hurt my daughter, though, if I didn't."

"I've killed a few people before and regretted it," Neal replied, his voice breaking a bit. I could tell there was guilt dripping from every word he spoke now. I blinked in surprise, not having figured Neal would feel remorse for what he'd done. "Really? Did that.. Feeling ever go away?" I asked, choking a bit. My stomach twisted, and I said, "Hang on. I need to put you down. I'm not feeling well. I'll be right back." I quickly put the phone aside and rushed to the bathroom. After vomiting yet again, my body feeling very weak from the experience, I let out a heaving sob. This was all so terrible. I just wanted to feel better for one moment. To balance either my physical issues or my mental ones, but not both at the same time.

When I looked into the mirror, I noted the faraway look in my own eyes. A frown settled on my face as I sniffled and shuddered. The bags under my eyes were much deeper now. I was struck with how exhausted I both looked, and was. After cleaning myself up once again, I returned to the room and picked up the phone to continue my conversation with Neal. "Sorry," I muttered. "On top of everything, I'm feeling sick. I'm not sure if it's the flu. I don't think it's food poisoning."

"Weren't you at the hospital? Did they give any advice or speculation as to what could be wrong? Could it be the guilt eating at you, or something else?" Neal asked. I shook my head, then realized he couldn't see me doing that. "This started before the Allison thing," I said. "I wanted to leave the hospital so I didn't make a big deal about how I'm feeling right now. I needed peace, and to be at home. I think I should have said something, though. This is only getting worse."

"I hope you're able to figure it out, Becca," Neal said softly. "Where were we? I know you probably don't want to talk to me much, but I wanted to reassure you."

"I asked if that feeling ever went away. The guilt after killing someone you didn't mean to," I said, doubting his answer would be anything I wanted to hear. Wanted and needed were two different things, though. I definitely needed to hear his

answer.

"It didn't," Neal said, confirming my fears. I felt my stomach twist, this time not from that sickness, though I wasn't sure which was worse. The emotional, mental drainage, or whatever was happening with me physically.

"I see," I whispered, every word dripping with despair. I may not have been able to see well in that hallway, but my eyes had adjusted enough that I saw the expression of surprise settle on Allison's face as the light faded from her eyes. The fact that her expression would haunt me forever caused me to let out a light sob. Though, her words also bombarded me. What would happen to Dahlia if she did what she did. I wasn't sure if I should feel guilty about feeling so, well... guilty.

I had saved my child and myself. If I hadn't acted in self-defense, we both would be dead. I wanted to live, certainly, but the fact that she threatened my child should reassure me that what I did was not bad. Yet, it didn't.

"You will be okay, Becca," Neal said softly. He sounded as though he wanted to say more, but didn't for a long pause. I leaned back in my chair, wondering if I should keep quiet, or pry. I decided to stay quiet for now until he spoke again. "I am so sorry. The guilt may stay with you forever, but it may fade eventually, especially since you had a just cause. Unfortunately, one of the times I regret most happened recently. My accident killed someone innocent." "What do you mean, someone innocent?" I asked. There was a sigh on the other end, and I could tell the man was fighting with himself inwardly to see if he should tell me something that disturbed him deeply.

How many innocent people did he kill, I wondered? Was this particular situation something special, something different? I didn't feel like he killed without cause, usually, so I doubted the number was high, or even greater than one. That said, I was patient, and waited once more until he spoke again. "The life I took that I didn't mean to was Tally's, Becca. I've been holding this with me for so long. I shot the bullet that killed Tally, and I've regretted it ever since."

A wave of confusion crashed over me, and eventually, I blinked several times. What was he talking about? I tried to think about that entire situation and was drawing a blank. Did no one tell him what actually happened?

I think he assumed there was shocked silence on the other end because I heard him swallow nervously. In a frightened tone, Neal asked, "Hello? Becca, are you still there? I'm sorry. Really. I'm sorry."

"No," I whispered. This entire thing was surreal. "No, you didn't kill Tally, I mean. Neal, you shouldn't be living with this guilt because it wasn't you."