Assault With a Deadly Weapon || N.H / 1D

62.

Song recommendation: Marjorie by Taylor Swift.
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I've been grieving for a family I barely knew.

Eighteen years spent wishing to relive a mere eight.

Grief comes in five stages.

Denial.

Both Gran and I strongly believed that my parents and Adam were secretly alive, just missing somewhere. We would rather have believed that they abandoned us, than believe that they had really died. Turns out, they'd done both. They'd left me as a child, then died before I had the chance to say goodbye.

Anger.

I moved to New York, expecting a new beginning, like the settlers from Europe. The whole purpose of the state of New York was to have the freedom to follow your dreams and be who you are. Pretty patriotic if I do say so myself. But when things weren't as glamorous as the brochures had promised, it sparked anger within me. I'm almost certain that if my family and Gran had been around, I would've been the people pleasing, quiet, loser that I'd been all my life before. Instead, I took that flaming hot fury, and torched poor Detective Horan. Mixed feelings of jealousy, intimidation, and loss, drove me to become cruel.

Bargaining.

Montauk. I begged Styles to give me the case as soon as I had an inkling that it could be attached to my family. I convinced him that I could finish it off, when in reality I was just looking for a lead, and needed to handle it myself. Christmas Eve. I asked Niall to be my partner. I promised him glory, as long as he helped me work the case. I deceived him by making him think I was an honourable, brave, selfless detective. All I wanted was to find them.

Depression.

Working undercover dug me into a hole. I haven't enjoyed myself in months. Every day blended into each other. Nothing felt worth it anymore. I was depressed, but I was also at work. There was nothing I could do about it. I was starting to lose hope that I would find them. There's no glamorous way to put it. There's no romantic prose here. This felt worse than death. A constant cycle, following the sun, grieving, dreading, hoping, crushing, falling.

Acceptance.

We were almost there.

Now, we start the cycle again.

The painful eighteen years would now turn into the rest of my life.

All hope was killed.

No family Christmas dinners. No father to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. No family pictures where Adam pulls a funny face as soon as the camera flashes. No driving through the suburbs, listening to Billy Joel.

That was done.

It was all gone, for real this time.

I kept my composure around Felicity and Brielle, not wanting to blow my cover. That was the one thing I was sure of. Don't let them see who you are.

When they were ready, we walked back to the McBride mansion. My family's mansion. I didn't want to go inside. I didn't want to picture my parents laughing with my brother over dinner with the McBride's. I didn't want to picture Adam and Felicity's wedding that I'd missed. I didn't want to feel their spirit through the house. I certainly didn't want to sleep in my mother's bed. I didn't want to believe that all the bad things that have happened to me in that house were affiliated with my Mom, my Dad, and my Brother.

I made a stupid excuse, like I had to run some errands or something. I didn't know what kind of aristocrats needed to run errands, but apparently I did. Felicity thought nothing more of it as she disappeared into the house with her little girl.