The Detective and Her Bachelor

Chapter 33

I was suddenly seventeen again, itching to bury my pain under a blanket of lies. Hoping to convince myself I was fine. Denial had always been a close companion, whispering brighter alternatives to the truth that had become the foundation of my existence.

I didn't kiss Decker. He didn't kiss me. I didn't just run away like a coward. But that is exactly what did. I ran, and since that moment, I had been unable to stop. And like all of us did when we got hurt, I reverted to a version of myself that had handled pain before. Falling on old patterns, I crawled under an emotional blanket of denial and tried to stuff my feelings into a sack that I hoped to smother forever.

But this problem, in particular, was too big to hide from as I stumbled back into my room and nearly startled Michale out of his skin as I slammed the door closed behind me. He stood staring down at dozens of outfits he had draped over my bed, like a man staring down at battle plans. But my slamming of doors, body gasping for breath, eyes wide as I slunk to the ground, barricading the door with my body, left all thoughts of fashion war forgotten.

"Delle!" he gasped, crouching before me. "What is it? What's wrong? Do I need to call—"

"No!" I shouted too loudly, sending him falling back onto his butt, eyes wide. I covered my mouth and then yanked my hands away, embarrassed and confused by what happened, body shaking. "I'm... fine."

"Goodness, this must be quite the problem if you can't even lie properly," he replied pushing up his glasses with a deeply concerned expression as he assessed me. 

"I can't... I can't talk about it."

Michale offered me a gentle smile. "That... friend of yours removed the microphones and cameras from this room when he arrived." Michale gently placed his hand on my knee. "It's a safe space." 

I fought a bout of laughter. Of course Decker had debugged my room. It was the practical move but now I had new evidence to suggest that it could also be considered thoughtful. The whole thing made me nauseous. Keep it together, I ordered, but my lungs didn't seem to be listening. 

I shook my head, my mind spinning so fast that I felt like I was going to pass out. "Nothing is safe. Nothing about any of this is safe."

Michale stood to his feet, lips pursed in determination. "Well then, it seems I have a job to do." Then he helped me up and gestured toward the bed.

"Sit. And try to look..." He wrinkled his nose. "...well you already look sick so stay looking like... that." Then Michale walked back to the door with determined dramatic flair, hand flying through the air to make his point as he threw open the door. "I think it's time we took a little trip."

I heard him murmur a mantra to himself as he flung the door open, taking a deep breath. "I'm a scary fashionista. May all who stand in my way fall in hideous rags." 

I yanked off my heart monitor, shoved my earpiece into my pocket, and tucked the body microphone under my pillow with a shudder, trying to keep myself from thinking. If I did, things would unravel. And I couldn't afford to break while sitting in enemy territory. Things were already one twist away from becoming disastrous if they weren't already. I still wasn't able to think straight. My mind felt like putty. Useless putty that couldn't quite keep a coherent shape.

Michale's voice cut through the door. "She needs fresh air! Have you seen her face?!? Her complexion is ghastly! If she doesn't get to take a walk, UNSUPERVISED right now, she will look HORRENDOUS tomorrow! And no one wants to look at a zombie on a show about LOVE! Not unless this is the Sci-Fi channel, which we both know it is very well is NOT!"

Then Michale came into the room, Clipboard Girl scrambling in after him. He gestured to me with a dramatic sigh, his other hand running down his face in despair. "Behold... zombie girlfriend!"