Bás Dorcha! Dark Death!
"What are you going to do now that you've been freed?"
"Is it true that you got off on a technicality?"
"Now that you can't be tried for it again, you can tell us. Did you do it?"
"Is it true that you're suffering from amnesia, or was that your lawyers attempt at freeing you?"
"Your lawyer, Clyde Hainswell says you're completely innocent, but the police still believe you're responsible for the deaths of over adozen people. What do you say to those who feel like our streets are more dangerous with you on them?"
My skin starts buzzing, the rage bubbling beneath it, begging to be let out. Every flash of light and click of the cameras in my fucking face physically hurts, making my head throb as I'm completely frozen in their assault.
I feel like a fucking deer in the headlights, if there were hundreds of headlights coming from every direction, and there was no way to decipher which way was safe to go.
"Mr. Fomori won't be making any statements on this, or any other matter," a strong, professional, beautifully timed voice pipes up over the cacophony.
My eyes land on Brigit, finding her in the madness like a fucking lighthouse in a thunderstorm.
The reporters continue their questions, not caring one bit that I'm not going to be answering them.
"This is a private business, and as such, you're all going to disperse, or the owner will have you all trespassed," she continues, her tone never wavering as she stares down these fucking cretins fighting for a scrap of flesh.
"Hey lady, nice try but this is a public sidewalk,” one of the men argues, resting his camera on one shoulder.
She releases a condescending laugh, pointing one immaculate finger at the decorative fence behind the reporters. "You see that? Right there? That's where the property line starts. Get on the other side of it. Now."
Grumbling, the handful of them file to just the other side of the fence, resuming their questions and bloated statements about my time in the hospital.
Brigit doesn't waste another second or let me remain frozen in time as they continue their bullshit.
She grabs my arm, dragging me back inside the front door to Mingle, closing it behind us.
"Hey," she grabs my hands. I hadn't even realized I had my fingersdigging into my temples, trying to ease the pain occurring inside my fucking skull from the ambush. "Cormac, breathe."
My eyes finally focus, and she comes into my line of vision, her face painted with worry and frustration. The pain behind my eyes lessens, dulling into a quiet rumble instead of a deafening roar. "Brigit," I breathe out a sigh of her name.
"Are you okay?" she asks, not releasing my hands in case I try to pry my skull open with them again. "What the hell happened?"
I shake my head, "I don't know. I was just— wait, what are you doing here?"
She holds up a black bundle of fabric, "You left your jacket at my place the other night. I've tried to find some way to get a hold of you, but I don't have your phone number and you're not on social media."
I chuckle through the discomfort in my head, "You couldn't just wait until the next time I got in?"
She doesn't laugh, her face too pulled down with worry to find any humor in how fucking hilarious I am.
"Thank you," I tell her, taking my hoodie from her hand and throwing it onto the nearest barstool. "For getting them off my ass."
She smiles, the expression flat, still too concerned for me to feel anything else.
"Brigiiit!" Sky shouts, walking through the doors with bottles of booze in both his hands. "Whatcha doing here? Did you come all this way just to see me again?"
Her cheeks turn beet red, "No. I was just—" she can't even look at him, the reminder of her last visit here turning her into a stunning display of embarrassment and exhilaration.
"She was returning my jacket," I tell him, releasing her from the obligation to answer. "I left it there the other night when I was setting up her new locks."
"Ah, Cormac. So forgetful."
