33. Lula
33
LULA
I tug at the hem of my torn dress, the once-elegant gown now reduced to a reminder of how far things have spiraled. A jagged tear runs up the side, a brutal contrast to the soft fabric I’d admired just hours ago. It mocks me, this gown—fragile and ruined, much like I feel right now.
The night air is cool against my skin, but it does nothing to soothe the turmoil raging inside me. My arms wrap around my middle instinctively, as though I can hold myself together by sheer will. Allegra sits beside me on the cold bench in the van, her shoulders tense but her face unreadable.
“Is there something wrong with me?” The words spill out before I can stop them, and the quiet that follows feels deafening.
“What?” Allegra’s head snaps up, her frown deepening. “What are you talking about?”
I glance down, focusing on a loose thread dangling from my dress. My fingers toy with it as I speak, my voice barely above a whisper. “When Derin was killed... I didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. I should have, right? I’m a feeler. I feel everything. But this? It was like—like I was numb.”
Allegra stares at me, her lips parting as though she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she watches me, her expression a mix of confusion and something else—pity, maybe?
“He wasn’t a good man, Lula,” she says finally, her tone measured, like she’s trying to reason with a child.
“Still,” I counter, my gaze snapping to hers. “He was killed, Allegra. He fell right there, at my feet, and I just... stood there. Shouldn’t I have felt something ?”
She shifts uncomfortably, her fingers smoothing out the skirt of her own ruined dress. “Relief, maybe?”
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “Relief? Is that what I’m supposed to feel? Is that what you feel when someone dies?”
Allegra’s eyes harden slightly, her jaw tightening. “It depends on the person. Look, Lula, Derin wasn’t just someone . He was a monster. If you didn’t feel anything when he died, maybe it’s because you shouldn’t . Why are we even talking about this?”
Her words make sense, but they don’t settle the unease twisting in my gut. I press my hands to my knees, leaning forward as though I can outrun my thoughts. “But what does that say about me? About who I’m becoming? I used to cry over everything—movies, books, even commercials. And now? Now I’m watching people die, and it’s like... like it’s normal.”
“It’s not normal,” Allegra says firmly, leaning closer. “None of this is normal. But you’re surviving, Lula. That’s what this world demands of you—of us. You can’t afford to feel everything, not when people like Derin are out there waiting to control you.”
I glance at her, her words heavy in the air between us. She looks calm, but there’s a steeliness in her gaze, a strength I don’t fully understand. “How do you do it?” I ask, my voice softer now. “How do you deal with all this? The violence, the fear, the constant... chaos?”
Allegra leans back, exhaling deeply. For a moment, I think she’s not going to answer. Then, her eyes meet mine, and I see something raw there—something vulnerable.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “Some days, I feel like I’m holding on by a thread. But then I think about Scarlett, and I remind myself that I have something—someone—to fight for. That makes it easier to push everything else aside. Plus, I love Scar.”
I nod slowly, her words sinking in. Scarlett. Her little girl. It makes sense now, how she can endure all of this. She has a reason, a purpose that keeps her grounded.
But what about me?
“What if I can’t do that?” I ask, my voice cracking. “What if I lose myself completely in all of this?”
Allegra reaches out, her hand resting lightly on mine. “Then you let the people who care about you remind you of who you are. You lean on them, Lula. You lean on Kanyan. He’s a good man.”
His name sends a pang through me, a mix of longing and uncertainty. Kanyan. The man who’s pulled me into his world—a world I’m not sure I belong in. “What if I’m not enough for him? What if this world swallows me whole?”
Allegra’s grip tightens, her voice steady. “You’re stronger than you think, Lula. And you’ll only ever lose what you’re willing to give.”
I want to believe her. I want to believe that I’m strong enough to face whatever comes next. But as the weight of the night settles over us, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking a fine line—teetering between the person I used to be and the one this world is forcing me to become.
And I don’t know which side will win.
The jolt is so sudden that my heart slams against my ribs. I must’ve dozed off because the sharp turn of the van feels like it’s yanking me out of a nightmare and into something worse. For a terrifying second, the vehicle tips dangerously, like it might roll over completely. The metal groans, and my stomach lurches.
“What’s happening?” Allegra stirs beside me, her voice tight with fear.
The van’s wild skids and sharp turns feel like it’s being hurled through a maze at breakneck speed. There’s no way to see outside—no windows, just cold steel walls—but the frantic shouting of the driver and passenger up front tells us everything.
“They’re being chased,” I say, gripping the edge of the bench as the van jerks again. “I think they’re trying to lose whoever’s following them.”
Allegra clutches the bench, her knuckles white. “It has to be Kanyan and Scar,” she whispers, but her voice isn’t filled with hope. It’s heavy, like she knows what that means. Like she’s already bracing for the worst.
The van swerves hard again, throwing us off balance. I can’t stop the scream that rips from my throat as we both tumble off the bench and crash into the metal wall with a sickening thud. Pain shoots through my arm, and my head slams against something hard.
“Shit!” I groan, cradling my arm as I try to orient myself.
Beside me, Allegra gasps, her hands flying to her stomach. “Oh God,” she cries softly, her face twisting in pain.
“Allegra?” My voice cracks as I scramble to her side. She’s clutching her stomach, her breathing shallow, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Panic punches through me, cold and unrelenting. “Are you hurt?”
“It hurts,” she whispers, her voice trembling. She rubs her belly as though she’s trying to soothe whatever’s wrong, but her movements are frantic, desperate.
“Hey, hey,” I say, sliding my arm around her back, trying to steady her and myself at the same time. My heart is hammering so loudly I can barely think. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”
The words feel hollow even as I say them, but they’re all I’ve got. My fingers tremble as I press them against her back, trying to comfort her, trying to convince her—and myself—that this isn’t as bad as it seems.
She turns her tear-streaked face toward me, and I see it in her eyes before she even says the words.
“I’m pregnant.”
The air is sucked out of my lungs. My mind blanks. Pregnant. The word echoes in my head, bouncing around in the chaos until it settles like a lead weight in my chest.
“Allegra…” I trail off, staring at her. Her tears, the way she’s clutching her stomach—it all makes sense now. The fear, the desperation, the silent pain she’s been holding back.
“I’m so scared,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “What if something happens to the baby? What if?—”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intend. I don’t know if I’m trying to convince her or myself. “You’re going to be fine. The baby is going to be fine. We just have to hang on, okay?”
Her nod is shaky, her breath hitching, but she clings to my words like they’re the only thing keeping her afloat. I can’t let her drown in this, not now. I tighten my grip on her, holding her steady as the van swerves again, tossing us like rag dolls.
“We’ll get out of this,” I say, firmer this time. “Kanyan and Scar will find us and everything will be okay.”
I want to believe it. I need to believe it. But as the van barrels forward, the walls around us rattling like they might come apart at any second, doubt claws at the edges of my resolve. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold Allegra tighter, silently praying that this nightmare will end soon.