Dear Tressi [✓]

34

When Tressi woke up the following morning, she had no idea what the time was. She only knew that it was very late, and that Des wasn't beside her. She hunted around for her phone to check the time, but it wasn't there. Maybe it was downstairs, she thought.

The pounding migraine made it hard to keep her eyes open. Her mouth was parched so she gulped the water on the nightstand. It was a little stale from sitting out in the open all night, but Tressi didn't care. The refreshing coolness soothed her raw throat. She had probably screamed in her sleep; after the dream she'd had last night, it wouldn't be surprising.

She slowly walked down the stairs, each step feeling like a ton of bricks on her head. She grabbed the banister and tried to move even slower, so her body wouldn't jostle so much. She made a beeline to the kitchen.

Coffee. She needed coffee.

Entering the kitchen, she saw Des sitting with his head bent down. He continued to look at something on his lap without acknowledging her entry. But that didn't register right away; she could only think about caffeine.

"I have so much to tell you, Des. I found out some stuff about Ricky, and I know you think it's irrelevant, but you need to hear this," she said, once she was done making herself a steaming hot cup.

Des didn't respond. He still stared down, his head bent over.

"Des?"

He finally looked up, and Tressi was shocked to see anger blazing in his eyes. Without saying a word, he brought his hand up to place something black on the counter.

Her phone.

"Daxton Lepoci dropped this off in the morning. Were you with him last night?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

His question was normal enough, but his expression confused her. Why did he look so mad?

"Yeah. That's what I was saying. I went to talk to him about—"

"Tell me, Tressi," he cut her off, "why is that you find excuses to talk to him in the middle of the night?"

"What are you talking about?" she laughed. She couldn't believe what he was insinuating. "Are you actually jealous?" There's no way he was serious. Des wasn't the type of guy to think these things.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he cocked his head to the left, surveying her. His mouth was set in a thin line, with his jaw rigid and unrelenting.

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe that Des was actually serious about this. She moved closer to him, to look him straight in the eye. "You are being utterly ridiculous. What are you even saying, Des? What are you trying to imply?"

"You tell me. We've been here for three nights, and you've spent two of those with him."

"I was trying to find out about Lila's death!" she shouted, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Why can't you do that when I'm there? Hmm? Why is that you talk to him only when I'm asleep?" He matched her volume, bringing his hand, smack against the countertop.

"Because I'm not able to sleep! Don't you get that? This place doesn't let me sleep!"

Des looked down at the counter, his brows pulling together in a frown. She moved closer, placing her hand on top of his. He pulled his hands away, folding them across his chest. Her eyes stung, tears welling up. She couldn't believe this was happening. How could Des think this? Neither of them spoke for a while.

After nearly a quarter of an hour of silence, Des let out a sigh. "I don't want you to talk to him. Especially when I'm not around," he stated, his eyes piercing into hers.

As a response, her temper flared up. This was beyond insulting.

"If you think I'm going to go along with that, just because you don't trust me, then you don't know me at all," she spat.

His fists clenched on top of the counter and her eyes widened taking it in. But suddenly, his anger faded and she could only see hurt.

"Do you realise what's happening?" he asked, his voice heartbreakingly low. "Do you realise how much you've changed after coming here? You aren't thoughtful, you don't mind hurting someone to get your way, you don't think about what's right. You don't let me in on what you're thinking. I have to constantly guess what's going on in your head, because you won't tell me. And you're sneaking around. What am I supposed to think, Tress?" His eyes glistened strangely behind his glasses.

Tressi closed the space between them, and pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have been so difficult. I'm only concentrating on how I feel and I'm being selfish."

He briefly hugged her back and pulled away. "I still don't want you to be alone with Daxton."

"Des, come on. There's nothing between me and him. We are nothing more than friends," she insisted.

"Can you tell me you've never felt anything more? Not just now. But ever. You've never seen him as anything more than a friend?" he asked, not breaking his gaze.

Tressi opened her mouth to say the quick and final, 'Of course not.' But somehow, she couldn't. It took her completely by surprise.

What the hell's wrong with me?

She looked back at her husband, whom she loved more than anything, waiting for her answer. But no words came out. Before she could hurt him more, however, the doorbell rang, shrill and demanding.

Tressi welcomed the intrusion and answered the door to find two policemen on her porch.