I can’t believe he did it.

I suck in a deep breath of guilt as I drive to Sandra’s office in my beat-up, piece of shit Mazda. I should be incredibly upset about what Lucian did. I’m still trembling. It’s one thing to have suspicions, it’s another thing entirely to have them confirmed. I wish I’d just lived in denial.

He murdered someone on my behalf. But ever since getting over the initial shock, I feel relieved that the person who caused me so much pain is gone from the world. I’m a horrible fucking person for being happy with his death. I’m torn and conflicted. I need help. I’m not okay.

I suck in another deep breath as I turn off the highway, taking the road that will take me straight to Sandra’s office.

I’m free. Tears prick at my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much pain I was in just knowing that man was still breathing. I feel… relief. And guilt.

And what about Lucian? I don’t know how to feel. But nothing matters without him.

The thought causes a large lump to form in my throat and tears to sting my eyes.

* * *

When I step into Sandra’s office, she’s waiting for me in her leather tufted chair, her legs crossed in front of her, her notepad and pen in hand. It’s after hours, but when I called she said she’d be here. She’ll never know how much that means to me. Her hair is loose in her bun and her cream-colored blouse is a bit wrinkled from being worn all day, but she’s here for me.

“Dahlia,” she greets me warmly with a gentle smile. She gestures at the couch across from her. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, feeling nervousness start to set in, and trembling slightly. Barefoot, I walk over and sink onto the couch, pulling my legs up under me, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Now, would you like to tell me what’s bothering you?” Sandra asks me when I’m fully seated, her soft voice soothing the turmoil that’s roiling beneath the surface. Her pale blue eyes focus on me behind her glasses.

I open my mouth to speak, but then close it when I realize something critical I missed on the way over. I can’t tell her anything that will incriminate Lucian, so I’m going to have to be very careful talking about my uncle’s death. I sit there for a moment, my mind racing on what I could safely disclose. I run my hand over my face, hating this and hating everything.

“Dahlia?” Sandra prods gently.

“My uncle is dead,” I announce, suddenly deciding that I will just go with a variation of the truth. Hopefully Sandra won’t read too much into it.

Sandra lowers her pen to pad, scribbling, and frowns. “Oh, dear, Dahlia. I’m sorry to hear that.”

I nod. I should be crying right now, but I can’t summon a single fucking tear. Or maybe I shouldn’t. I know it must look odd, but I can’t help it. “Shot in the back of his head twice.” I hate how flat my words sound, I could be talking about a piece of trash off the street.

And that’s what he was, I tell myself. A piece of trash. But that doesn’t make his murder right. And I know it. I just can’t bring myself to care. I bite my thumbnail, just trying to think straight.

Sandra shakes her head, anguish flashing in her eyes. “That’s horrible. I’m truly sorry, Dahlia.” She sets her pen down on the pad and leans forward. “Was this the uncle who hurt you?” her voice is soft and full of understanding.

I nod my head, brushing the bastard tears away. “Yes, and he’s dead now.”

“I see. How do you feel about that?”

“I…” I pause, feeling a weight on my chest, “I feel like I’m somewhat responsible for his death.”

Sandra writes something down on her notepad and then looks up at me, her face twisted with curiosity. “Why is that?”

I shrug while shaking my head. Of course I can’t tell her everything, but I feel like admitting a partial truth will help me deal with my guilt. “I just do.”

Sandra scribbles several lines and then focuses her kind eyes on me, compassion flashing in them. “You can’t blame yourself for your uncle’s death, Dahlia. It’s not healthy.”

I shake my head. “Yes, I can. It’s because of me he’s dead.”

Sandra frowns at the conviction in my voice. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, I just feel responsible for it in some way.” I choke on my words. “But I don’t feel bad about it,” I admit. “Except for the guilt I feel about not caring, I feel kind of relieved actually. Like, I’m totally happy he’s dead.” The silence that follows presses down upon me, and I cringe. I hate how that makes me sound, but I can’t help it. It’s the truth. I look over at Sandra and she’s watching me, sitting very still. I wonder what’s going on in her head. “Does that make me a bad person?”

Sandra scribbles more notes down on her notepad before looking back up at me. “Considering what he did to you, no. Not at all.” She pauses as if thinking about how to formulate a question. “But now that he’s dead, do you think his death will help you?” She pauses again, but I know exactly what she means. “It’s important I document the impact that it has on you.”

Hugging my knees to myself, I shake my head. “No. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I finally was able to let that all go.” That same guilt comes back over me, but I push it away. I hate the fact that I’m happy about my uncle being dead, but I can’t help myself.

“I see.”

I cover my face with my hands as I lean forward crying. It’s because of Lucian. It’s all because of him.

“Dahlia,” Sandra’s soft voice prods me as she rises from her seat, the sounds accompanying my sobs.

He killed him for me. My heart clenches. I’m a horrible person for loving him for that. That’s truly what I feel. It’s so fucked up.

Her small hands rub soothing circles on my back. “Have you been able to talk to your partner about this?” she asks me in a small voice. ”Lucian?”

I nod my head, wiping under my eyes and reaching for the Kleenex in her hand.

“Do you think you’ll be able to confide in him?” she asks. I don’t know. My heart squeezes with pain. This is so real. It’s so much to take in. I love him. I know I love him, and I can’t bear the thought of him leaving me. The contract is over, but I’m not signing another. I want him. I want a commitment. I need it. I need him.