Session 𝓢ixty-Four

Session 64:
"The Phone Call"

⨳ ⨳ ⨳

I stared at my phone for a long moment, contemplating whether this was real.

But it was.

Maricel Alarcon, age twenty-three, died in a plane accident. 

Everything felt blurry around me—I wanted to cry, but the tears weren't coming.

I felt shocked.

And like this heavy weight was pressed on me.

Maricel was such a sweet person.

She didn't deserve to die and—

This is all my fault.

Maybe it was never Maricel's or Monroe's.

I knew what Monroe was capable of.

I knew that befriending Maricel could lead to something messy.

I just didn't think it was this.

I briefly glanced over to the patio, wondering if Monroe's phone call consisted of Maricel's death.

But Sarai sent me these texts two hours ago.

Monroe's on the phone regarding something else.

I stumbled up from my chair, reaching to my cheek when I felt the wetness of tears rolling down.

This is my fault.

There is no blaming Monroe, whether she... had her killed or not.

I feel really bad for commenting on her parents, too, or ignoring her while we painted.

She told me what this is.

She never lied.

This is on me.

I quickly reached for the brownies, wanting to just shove them in my mouth one by one to forget all of this.

Someone is dead because of what I dragged her into.

I grabbed the platter with trembling hands, quickly walking off without glancing once at that patio again.

Monroe will be at least another thirty minutes.

I rushed out of the kitchen toward the familiar side hallway, tears slipping from my eyes as I climbed the familiar staircase.

My breaths were ragged and my lungs burned by the time I made it to the top, rushing past the familiar door and down the hallway lined with pictures.

I walked past the neat bedroom, finally entering the bathroom.

There was no plan here.

I'm not even sure how I would get the platter downstairs without some weird lie, but I couldn't eat like this in front of her.

I stared at myself in the mirror with tears in my eyes, the tip of my nose red, and my cheeks all splotchy from rubbing at them.

I reached for one of the brownies.

My hand trembled profusely, shallow breaths echoing from my lips that I parted wide.

I stared at my reflection, holding my own eyes as I shoved the brownie into my mouth, roughly chewing as I grabbed another.

My face burned, and I already felt the heavy regret I knew would follow my actions.

But I didn't stop.

I hated this so much.

Why can't I stop?

I shoved another brownie past my lips, tears streaming down my face as I kept chewing.

I deserve this.

I hunched over the counter, trying my best to swallow my food as I reached for another brownie.

This is my fault.

I sniffled, chewing more and more as my skin prickled with goosebumps.

My mouth started salivating, but not for more.

For me to stop eating.

I didn't stop.

I forced down three more brownies, eating six of the eight on the platter.

Then I made sure to lock the bathroom door and turn on the sink, just in case Monroe does finish her call early.

The bathroom floor was cold underneath my covered legs as I stumbled down to the toilet and lifted the seat up.

My shallow breaths echoed around me, my cries vibrating in my throat as I parted my lips.

I hunched over the blurry toilet bowl, sliding my fingers into my mouth.

I gagged as soon as I hit the back of my throat, but I didn't stop.

I kept hitting the back of my throat repeatedly, gagging and choking on my own cries.

I spit up clear saliva at first—then seconds later it was the darkest brown, and I knew I had done it.

I tried to breathe through it, wheezing as I retched up more and more of the sourness.

As minutes passed, my eyes began burning unbearably, and my throat hurt so badly.

But I couldn't stop.

I caused all of this and—

"Liberty?"

My spine stiffened, bile still clinging to the back of my throat.

I drew in a series of shallow breaths, trying to hold in any sounds threatening to escape my lips.

I gripped the toilet, spitting more of the sourness into the blurry bowl as I tried to produce any words.

But I fucking couldn't.

It always hurts to speak after, much less call out that I'm all good in here.

"Liberty," she spoke again, her firm voice echoing louder, "Unlock the door."

I choked down a sob, digging my nails into the porcelain toilet as I kept shoving my fingers down my throat.

I need to throw up the rest, but my head feels like it's caving in, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

"Liberty, I know you hear me," Monroe said over the sink I had running, "Don't make me break this door."

I halted my actions, briefly glancing over to the door.

But she wouldn't.

Right?

She wouldn't break anything in this room.

I swallowed even if it hurt and turned back to the toilet, forcing my fingers down my throat again before I could talk myself out of it.

I'll just lie and say I was crying when I come out of the bathroom.

Or maybe that my stomach hurt.

Anything but the truth.

A gasp echoed from my lips as I jolted back, hitting the cold glass of the shower, when something struck through the wooden door.

Gold.

It was gold.

The bottom of a lamp.

It's from the nightstand.

A split second passed before she yanked it out, splintering the wood and making my lips part in shock.

There it was—a hole gaped in the center of the door, just wide enough for her hand.

She broke the door.

My eyes stung with tears as she reached through, flipping the lock from the inside and shoving the door open hard enough that it slammed against the wall.

I flinched in response, dread clawing up my throat as tears streamed down my face.

Monroe stood there, chest rising and falling, her eyes scanning the scene in front of her.

My red face wet with tears, the way my hands trembled, my bloodshot eyes—even the mess in the toilet that I should've flushed.

There was also the plate with two brownies left on it. 

"You..." she trailed off for once, tilting her head as she eyed my hand gripping the rim of the toilet.

I let go of the cold porcelain immediately, making Monroe's stare shift to mine.

"I didn't know," she suddenly said, blinking a few times as if she couldn't fully process this, "I didn't know you were doing this to yourself."

Tears immediately burned in my eyes, "I'm sorry," was all I could force out through heavy breaths, feeling so small in front of her.

Monroe furrowed her brows, and I could see something snap behind her eyes.

She suddenly took a few steps forward, lowering down to the floor with me.

But she didn't touch me.

She sat across from me with her knees folded beneath her and her arms limp by her sides.

"How long?" she whispered, her stare not wavering from mine.

I shook my head, hating the idea of telling her how long I've been doing this.

It's so embarrassing.

"How long have you been doing this, Liberty?" Monroe repeated herself again, her arms twitching by her sides like she wanted to reach out for me.

But I knew she was waiting for me to come to her, especially in this situation.

"It started... during our break," I forced out, my voice scratchy and ugly.

I hated hearing it in my ears.

"But," I weakly whispered when Monroe drew in a visibly deep breath, "I just—sometimes I don't feel anything until I do that. It makes me feel good."

Monroe didn't react right away.

She just stared at me for a few moments, her face entirely blank.

Then she blinked, her shoulders sinking as her eyes trailed my face.

"I'm sorry, Liberty," Monroe finally whispered, making me shake my head rapidly.

"Stop," I forced out immediately, leaning away from the shower to move closer to her, "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Liberty," she said, lifting her hands up around my face without touching me, "I am so sorry."

Tears burned in my eyes as I stared at her, leaning my cheek against her open palm.

Monroe relaxed immediately, cupping my face in her hands and guiding me closer.

"My beautiful girl," she breathed out, staring so deeply into my eyes, "We'll find something else that makes you feel good. There are better ways."

Tears slipped from my eyes, my bottom lip trembling profusely, "What if nothing helps?"

"Anything than this would help, Liberty," she whispered, gently wiping my stray tears away with her thumb, "Anything, okay?"

I nodded weakly, sniffling as I wrapped my arms around her waist.

"This is so embarrassing," I sighed through my tears, glancing away from her stare.

"No," Monroe immediately said, gently tucking my stray curly strands behind my ear, "It's a bad habit, is all. We'll fix this."

"So you still like me?" I whispered before I could think it through, my words sounding so desperate and weak.

Yet all Monroe could do was smile, even if it was faint.

"Of course, I still like you, Liberty," she said, eyeing my face in a way that made me feel like I wasn't a mess.

She was staring at me like I was everything and more to her.

"But I threw your parents in your face," I pointed out, my words filled with regret, "I'm-I'm so sorry. You trusted me and I lashed out—"

"Hey," she softly cut me short, gently wiping more of the tears that slipped from my eyes, "We're both still learning here, and I don't expect you to be mature about everything, Liberty."

I sniffled, "I shouldn't have said it. That was wrong, and I swear I didn't mean it," I rushed out, hoping she knew how much I wanted to take it all back.

"I know you didn't mean it, my sweet girl," Monroe said, gently caressing her thumb against my cheek, "Moving forward, we don't weaponize this sort of thing against someone."

I nodded a few times, "Yes, no weaponizing," I sighed deeply, determining I had learned a new phrase.

"And mistakes are okay. They're healthy, and they invite boundaries," she added, her eyes holding mine. "You're my smart girl, but you still have a lot to learn. We both do."

"I'll learn everything for you," I didn't hesitate to say, tears burning in my eyes, "Just please don't leave me."

Monroe furrowed her brows, tilting her head as her stare sunk so deeply into mine.

It was silent for a few beats as she processed my desperate words that hung heavy in the air.

I felt so embarrassed for even saying them, but I couldn't help myself. 

I needed to know that she wouldn't leave again. 

"I'll never leave you, Liberty."

Her words were lowered, weighed down by something I couldn't quite recognize.

"I'm consumed by every version of you," she added, her darkened blue eyes trailing my face, "I don't think I could leave you without losing myself."

I pulled her into a hug before either of us could process it, pressing my cheek against her chest. 

Monroe wrapped her arms around me to reciprocate the hug, surrounding me with the most grounding warmth. 

"You really get me," I whispered as she rested her head on my shoulder.

"I get you, Liberty," she repeated back in a soft murmur, running her hands up my back and pulling me closer.

I relaxed against her warm body, listening to her heart tick calmly in her chest.

"You're so much better than either of them," I said, holding her so tight against me, "You wouldn't do what they did to a child. There's a difference."

"A massive difference," Monroe didn't hesitate to agree, "But I'll always protect you, whether that involves strangling someone to death with my own bare hands," she added, her tone lowered with seriousness, "This is who I am, Liberty."

I remained silent, letting out the deepest sigh I could muster.

But there was still a weight on my chest.

Maricel's dead weight, haunting me into oblivion.

"You killed her to protect me?" I whispered weakly, tears burning in my eyes.

Monroe suddenly pulled back at my words, meeting my teary eyes.

She was silent for a moment, calculating her next words as she cupped my face.

She officially knew that I knew about the plane accident. 

I hope it wasn't her. 

Maybe this was genuinely an accident. 

I remained still as she gently wiped my stray tears away, holding her pinpointed stare.

"There are reporters everywhere," Monroe finally spoke, her words unnervingly calm, "Florida was never happening, Liberty."

Uncontrollable tears weighed down my eyes at her confirmation. 

She was behind Maricel's death. 

I nodded a few times, trying to understand where she was coming from.

But this really hurt, and I'll live with this for the rest of my life.

I should've made better decisions.

"This is all my fault," I forced out, making Monroe furrow her brows.

"My sweet girl," she whispered, gently caressing her thumb against my cheek, "None of this is on you."

"But I befriended her. I-I called you knowing what happens," I said, my voice weak as soft sobs vibrated in my throat.

"She knew who you were from the start, Liberty," Monroe argued my point, "She would've made a move eventually."

I tried to believe her words.

Maricel probably would've secretly talked to a reporter and outed us anyway.

Sure, that's a possibility.

But that's all it is.

A possibility.

It never happened, and we'll never know.

"I was protecting you, Liberty," Monroe suddenly said, leaning her face so close to mine as she cupped my face in her hands, "I was protecting us."

I sniffled, staring so deeply into her eyes with tears weighing down my own.

"You were protecting me," I whispered weakly, "Protecting us."

Monroe hummed softly in approval, "This was necessary."

"Necessary," I forced out, blinking a few times before inevitably glancing away from her, "It was necessary."

"Yes, Liberty," she murmured, trailing her hands down to my shoulders that she softly squeezed, "Now let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded silently as she let go of my shoulders to stand from the cold ground, offering her delicate hand down to me.

I placed my hand in hers immediately, trying my best to stand from the ground, even if my legs felt tingly and asleep.

I also felt a little dizzy, but Monroe steadied me.

She guided me over to the sink that she turned on, gently washing my face for me and applying my skincare.

She also prepared toothpaste on my toothbrush, briefly walking away as I brushed my teeth.

Moments later, she was back with a white t-shirt for me, which I happily changed into once I finished brushing my teeth.

While I changed, Monroe grabbed the platter of leftover brownies and took them downstairs.

By the time she returned, I had already slid into bed, watching as she walked over with stuff in her arms.

She held a broom, a glass of water, my phone, and the stuffed elephant.

I smiled as she set my water on the nightstand, handing me the other two items.

I immediately unlocked my phone to text Sarai and Zion, holding the stuffed animal tight in my arms.

Monroe focused on sweeping up the pieces of wood from the broken door, throwing out the broken lamp as well.

I offered to help clean up, but she insisted that I sit in bed and drink my glass of water, which I made sure to finish by the time she was done downstairs.

Then it was finally time for her to brush her teeth and slide into bed with me, turning only one lamp off.

"I can't believe you broke the door," I said as she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me closer to her.

"You never seem to believe my word," she murmured, her eyes trailing my face, "Even after numerous lessons."

I smiled slightly, "I'm hardheaded, I guess," I determined.

"It seems so," Monroe said, her stare briefly diverting to my lips.

It made my face grow warm for a split second, watching her eyes drift up to meet mine again.

"If you need to feel something again," she suddenly whispered, making the air around me grow heavy, "You come to me. I'll give you something to feel without the damage."

I remained wordlessly silent at her offer, realizing that her way... is the perfect solution.

It's exactly what I need, and I'll be in much better health.

Maybe that's what's missing.

The dynamic we once had—I think I replaced the pain I used to experience with another.

She made me feel something so deeply, and then it was gone when we broke apart.

Monroe probably pieced that together, and that's why she's offering this solution.

"Do you understand, Liberty?" Monroe asked, cutting into my zoned-out thoughts.

I nodded before I could think it through, "Yes," I whispered, running my arms around her neck, "I understand, baby."

Monroe's stare shifted down to my lips again, except this time, she leaned in.

I relaxed against her, kissing her back as she ran her hands underneath my shirt to caress my back.

The kiss between us was soft, gentle even.

Monroe didn't try to deepen the kiss.

She briefly pulled away to kiss me again and again, her lips so soft against mine.

She held me like something breakable, but to me, that meant I wasn't broken to begin with.

Not in her arms.

I let out a soft sigh, smiling slightly as she kissed my cheek.

"Beautiful girl," Monroe whispered in my ear, pressing a kiss to my neck.

My face burned up, and my smile managed to widen from her words and actions alone.

"Your phone call," I suddenly whispered, "How did that go?" I decided to ask, wondering what it was about.

It was two hours after Maricel's reported plane accident, so I assumed it couldn't be regarding that.

"Decent," Monroe murmured, pulling away to meet my stare.

But there was something behind her eyes.

She's withholding something from me.

I'm not asking the right questions.

"You know," Monroe suddenly spoke just as I parted my lips to ask something else, "My parents despised the idea of me pursuing psychology."

Her words immediately piqued my interest, wondering where this was suddenly coming from.

"I never told them my plans for university. I went off to Yale and planned to fund my education with my trust fund," she explained, reaching up to gently run the back of her hand along my cheek, "They were livid when they found out, given I'm supposed to inherit Levane."

I remained silent for a moment, processing that Levane was their family company.

Something with pharmaceuticals, given Monroe mentioned big pharma so long ago.

"You shouldn't have to work there," I pointed out in a soft whisper.

"I was born for the sole purpose of inheriting that company, darling," Monroe said, her lips twitching up like these words didn't bother her in the slightest. "My parents never wanted children, much less equipped to raise any. They needed an heir."

I blinked a few times, processing her words—how insane these people genuinely were.

"I was only treated as an investment to them. Not their child," she continued, trailing her fingertips along my jawline, "I couldn't afford to be anything short of perfect."

I nodded immediately, "Yes, I remember the piano with your mother," I said, wanting her to know I remembered the small details.

I really like knowing things about her. 

"Mon père," Monroe suddenly murmured, her French accent seamlessly slipping from her lips, "My father," she translated, tilting her head as she held my stare, "He was told that I needed therapy at a young age."

My brows unconsciously raised at her words, even if I knew as a therapist, she needed one herself.

It's just weird to hear.

"I recall his exact words to my headmaster," she said, her stare not wavering from mine. "She's a Leclair. She doesn't break. She fixes," she quoted, as if she could hear his words in her head.

They sounded familiar immediately.

I recognized them... from that night at the BDSM club.

I fix.

I don't break, I fix.

That's what Monroe said to herself.

Her father's words.

"I went into therapy to fix, and perhaps for the irony of it all," Monroe murmured, her words calm and devoid of any kind of emotion, "My parents weren't on board with this decision until they realized it could benefit them."

I furrowed my brows, "Benefit them? How?" I asked in a soft whisper.

"They had me enrolled in the highest of classes, I attended one-on-ones with recognized psychologists, and I was even pushed into hypnotherapy," she briefly explained, caressing her fingertips against my cheek. "My parents wanted me to analyze the enemy. Any meetings with their competitors, I always sat in on."

"Wow," I breathed out, realizing they quite literally made her this way.

Not even from how they raised her, even her knowledge, or what she was used to do with it.

It's all because of them.

I hate them.

"Did you ever do therapy?" I suddenly asked.

Maybe it was out of curiosity, but I wanted to know if she truly did have her own therapist.

Monroe shook her head. "My parents preferred throwing modern medicine at the problem instead," she clarified, making my brows furrow, "But I refuse to take those pills anymore. I've found my own practices."

I tilted my head, "They... prescribed you pills?" I asked in surprise, hating that they just gave her this medicine without a true therapist diagnosing her.

A doctor is not even close to a true therapist, prescribing what is wrong.

God only knows what medicine they gave her.

"The phone call," Monroe suddenly circled back to the original topic I brought up, "They want me in New York to sit in on a meeting."

Now I see why she brought all of this up.

She prefaced her past so I would understand.

I really like understanding.

I like hearing about her past.

"Thank you for sharing, baby," I murmured, leaning in to briefly kiss her lips.

Monroe hummed softly, her face still devoid of any emotion as she stared down at me.

She felt far away again.

Detached.

"I get you," I whispered, hoping to pull her out of whatever she's mentally stuck in.

Monroe hummed wordlessly again, staring at me for another moment.

Then she blinked once.

And again.

Her arms immediately tightened around me, a heavy sigh spilling from her lips.

"You get me," she finally said, her body relaxing against mine.

I nodded a few times, "I get you, Monroe," I repeated again, leaning in to softly kiss her lips a second time.

This time, she briefly reciprocated my kiss before leaning past my face to my ear.

"You're coming to New York with me."

Her words were calm, softened in my ear that she pressed a soft kiss below.

I was struck frozen by them, unsure if she meant to say them to me.

I couldn't get any words out.

I couldn't ask if I misheard her.

I was just frozen in her arms, pressed to her warm body.

"I don't want you alone here with the current circumstances, and there are still unresolved issues with Celia," Monroe clarified, burying her face in the crook of my neck.

I knew what current circumstances meant.

Making myself throw up is what she was subtly mentioning.

"I'm uh," I hesitated, not wanting to come off the wrong way.

But her parents... terrify me.

So yeah, I'm okay with skipping out on this trip.

"I think I'll be fine. I can call you every hour or something, and you have eyes on me so—"

"I'll be across the country. I'm not close enough to physically get to you, and I don't like that, Liberty," she said, her voice muffled against my neck, "You're coming with me."

I blinked a few times, unsure how to word what I wanted to say.

I don't want to meet your parents is not something you just say lightly, but I think Monroe would understand.

Maybe?

"So um, your parents," I whispered awkwardly, stumbling over my words.

"I refuse to let you be within a hundred feet of them, much less meet them," she clarified, making me relax slightly. "I'll handle the trip arrangements for this weekend. You simply show up and look pretty for me, darling."

I hummed wordlessly, determining that sounds good, I think.

It would be a change of pace, too, and it's always nice to get away with Monroe.

Getting out of Seattle is truly what I need after everything with Maricel. 

Also, the thing with Sarai.

This weekend could be really good.