The Ballerina & The Devil

Sixty Four. The Deepest Cut

A/N: The song in the media box is Til My Heart Stops by Too Far Moon

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My sweaty palms that were clasped tightly together rested on my bouncing legs. I tried desperately to slow down my racing heart, but no breathing exercise I attempted was working. It certainly didn't help my growing anxiety that the waiting room Aidan and I were seated in was as dreary and depressing as a waiting room could get, what with the crying woman to our far left and the sick child resting in her dad's arms.

As soon as the words "she was shot" were out of Aidan's mouth I didn't hesitate in screaming my farewell to my parents and racing over to the hospital with him. We couldn't have been waiting for more than ten minutes, but I swear it felt like hours.

"Oh my god I'm going to throw up," I finally broke the silence that had been growing by the second between Aidan and I.

"It's okay," he said quietly, placing a hand on my back.

I shrugged him off. "Don't. Don't comfort me. You shouldn't be comforting me. I should be comforting you," I touched his forearm. "Are you okay? No, don't answer that. That's a stupid question. Of course you aren't okay. Why would you  be okay? Your baby sister was just- oh, god. I don't understand. I don't understand how this could happen. Who shoots a five year old? What kind of sick, twisted individual has it in his or her heart to look a little girl in the eye and shoot her. Wha-"

"It's my fault," his voice was flat and dead.

I blinked. "Unless you pulled the trigger than I'm going to have to disagree with you on that one."

"It is," he nodded slowly. "It is."

"No, it's not," I disagreed, agitation making its way into my tone. "It's not, and I'm sorry but there is absolutely no way you can twist this to make it your fault-"

"I tried to quit," he stared down at the tiled floor. "Your words of detest about what I was in kind of stuck with me, and you were right. You were right. What I was in wasn't good for me, it wasn't good for my sister. I couldn't justify staying when I have made more money then I ever planned to make when I started...so I tried to quit."

"Oh," I breathed softly, sitting back in my chair. "When?"

"Sunday night.

I frowned a little. "But when I asked you on Monday about whether or not you saw yourself dealing drugs forever you said you couldn't leave-"

"Because you can't. You can't quit the mob," he waved a hand, motioning to our surroundings. "You obviously can't quit the mob."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Were...were you there? When Briella was...?"

"No," he shook his head. "I was working. Um working at the bakery. She was at home...with Joe."

"Well, then how do you know who shot her? You don't. You don't know-"

"I do," he nodded, running  his hands through his hair. "I do because I tried to quit, and you don't quit the mob. You just don't."

"Aidan..."

I tried to touch his shoulder in comfort, but he leaned away in response. My hand dropped back down to my lap and a sigh parted my lips.

"Don't do that. Don't pull away from me. Not now. Mentally, I don't think you can handle it."

He studied his hands, not answering.

"You shouldn't feel guilty," I continued. "Because it's not your fault. It's not. Even if your...people did do this, it's on them. Not you. Just because you wanted to do what was best for yourself and sister and pull out doesn't mean they can go and shoot her-"