CHAPTER 22 #3
Gabriel's jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck stood out like wires.
"The second they hit the sidewalk outside, everything went completely sideways. We rushed to the window just in time to see it. Malik pulled that silver piece from his waistband right there on the pavement. He shot her in the leg first, dropping her to the concrete... and then he stood over her and put two more straight into her chest while she was screaming Miley’s name.
They piled into a black sedan and tore off like nothing happened.
There was so much blood on the sidewalk...
it was all over my hands when we ran out to help her.
Gabriel had to hold me back from running into traffic, Angela... "
Gabriel's eyes closed tightly at the description, his fists clenching so hard the veins on his forearms bulged.
"By the time the ambulance got there, she was already slipping.
We were in the back with the paramedics, holding her hands while they were doing CPR, but the monitor just kept flatlining.
The doctor at St. Luke's told us later that the internal damage was just too severe.
She was gone before we even hit the emergency bay. "
I looked over at Miley, my heart breaking into a million pieces. She was sitting on the edge of her seat, her head buried in her hands, her entire body shaking as she listened to the description of her friend’s execution.
"It’s my fault," Miley whispered, the words sounding guttural, raw, and completely poisoned by self-hatred. She pulled her hands away from her face, looking at me with a terrifying, wild desperation in her eyes. "You don't understand, Angela. I’m cursed. I am a straight-up cursed bitch."
"Miley, don't say that," I pleaded, reaching out to grasp her trembling hands, her fingers feeling like blocks of ice against my palms. "You didn't pull that trigger. Malik is a monster—"
"No, you don't get it!" she screamed, her voice rising to a frantic, agonizing pitch that echoed off the small apartment walls.
"Everyone who loves me dies! First it was Alicia...
back in college, she killed herself from that ceiling fan because she loved me and I couldn't handle it...
I spent years running from that guilt, terrified to let anyone touch my soul because I thought my love was a death sentence!
And the second—the absolute second I finally let my guard down again, the second I gave my heart away... this happens!"
She stopped, her breath catching in a violent, choking wheeze as she looked into my eyes, her next words dropping like a massive, crushing weight into the center of my chest.
"Terra wasn't just my roommate, Angela," Miley said, her voice cracking in half as the tears cascaded down her face.
"I guess you could say we were burgeoning lovers. And we were keeping it low-key, but... we were real. I gave her my heart, Angela. And now she’s dead.
Malik took her because she chose me over him. I killed her! My love killed her!"
The world inside my head went completely, utterly silent.
The words slammed into my ears, reverberating through my skull until my brain felt bruised. Her lover. Terra wasn't just a friend. She was the girl Miley loved. She was the future Miley had been dreaming about while we were walking beneath the willow trees.
A sharp, violent pang of jealousy and heartbreak attempted to flare up inside my own chest, but it was instantly, brutally crushed beneath the sheer weight of the immense pity and grief I felt for the broken girl sitting in front of me.
I looked at Miley—saw the absolute, unrefined agony destroying her soul—and I realized with absolute, crushing certainty that my own quiet, introverted romantic feelings didn't matter.
I wanted Miley to be my girl so badly it felt like an ache in my bones, but this wasn't the time.
This wasn't the place. To bring my own desires to the forefront right now would be a grotesque, selfish violation of her tragedy. My only job today was to be her anchor.
I slid off the wooden chair, dropping to my knees on the floor right in front of her. I squeezed her icy hands with everything I had, forcing her to look down into my eyes through her sheet of tears.
"Listen to me, Miley Palmer," I said, my voice dropping into a steady, fierce register that came from the absolute depths of my soul.
"You are not a curse. Do you hear me? Look at me. You did not kill her. Malik’s hatred killed her.
His fragile, disgusting ego killed her. Do not let that monster convince you that your love is a disease.
Your love is beautiful, Miley. Don't you dare blame yourself for his malice. "
Miley stared down at me, her jaw trembling, her chest heaving as my words pierced through her panic.
She let out a long, broken whine, collapsing forward once more, her head resting against my shoulder as the tears soaked into the fabric of my shirt.
I held her tight, rubbing her back, letting my own quiet tears fall silently into her hair, completely burying my secret heart beneath the shadow of her grief.
***
We sat in that heavy, exhausting circle for another hour, the silence returning to the room like a thick blanket of fog.
The ambient noise of the city streets outside filtered through the closed blinds—the distant honk of a delivery truck, the shout of a pedestrian—a brutal reminder that the rest of Manhattan was entirely indifferent to our wreckage.
Suddenly, the sharp, aggressive vibration of Miley’s phone broke through the quiet. The device buzzed loudly against the wooden coffee table, its screen illuminating the dark room with a bright, clean light.
Miley didn't move. She just stared at it with a cold, listless apathy.
Gabriel reached forward, his long fingers scooping the phone off the table. He glanced at the caller ID, his expression instantly hardening into a mask of pure alertness. "Miley... it’s Helisa."
Miley let out a slow, tired breath, reaching out her hand to take the device. She brought it to her ear, her voice dropping back into that flat, hollow whisper. "Helisa? Yeah, I’m at Kelly’s... I’m okay... What happened?"
As she listened to the voice on the other end, I watched her face closely. I expected to see a flash of relief, a spark of life return to her eyes, but her expression remained completely frozen—a mask of stone beneath her swollen eyelids.
"Okay," Miley murmured flatly. "Okay. Thanks, Helisa. Let me know."
She lowered the phone, letting it slip from her fingers onto the sofa cushion.
She looked up at Kelly and Gabriel, her voice carrying a chilling, empty weight.
"Helisa’s legal and security teams... they tracked his phone’s burner signal to an abandoned warehouse near the Bronx terminal.
The police just moved in. They have Malik and his boys cornered.
They’re bringing him into the midtown precinct right now. "
"Fuck yes!" Gabriel barked, his fist slamming violently into the drywall behind him, leaving a small, jagged indentation in the plaster. His eyes flared with a sudden, dangerous heat, the raw, vengeful energy of the streets rushing into his face. "Tags on the sedan hit the reader! That’s what I’m talking about! That cowardly piece of shit thought he could run! Let’s go, Kelly.
We need to get down to that precinct right now.
The detectives said they needed us for the official line-up identification the second they bagged them. "
Kelly scrambled up from the sofa, her grief instantly morphing into a sharp, frantic desperation to see justice delivered. "Yeah... yeah, let’s go. Miley, you coming?"
Miley didn't move an inch. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, staring blankly at the frayed edges of the rug. "No. I can't. I can't look at his face. If I see him... if I see him breathing while Terra is cold, I’ll lose my mind. You guys go. I’ll stay here."
Gabriel looked at Miley, then his gaze shifted over to me, his eyes softening with a quiet, unspoken plea. "Angela... can you stay with her? Don't leave her alone in this apartment. She’s too fragile right now."
"I’m not going anywhere, Gabriel," I said instantly, my introverted nature finding a sudden, solid sense of purpose. "Go do what you have to do. I’ll look out for her."
"Thank you," Gabriel muttered, grabbing his keys from the counter. Within thirty seconds, the front door clicked shut behind them, their heavy footsteps fading down the stairwell, leaving the apartment entirely, utterly silent.
The shift in the atmosphere was immediate.
The loud, chaotic trauma that Kelly and Gabriel carried had left the room, leaving behind a quiet, domestic emptiness that felt uniquely mine to manage.
My instincts took over; when the world got too loud or too heavy, I didn't know how to give a grand speech, but I knew how to nurture. I knew how to create a sanctuary.
I stood up from the floor, smoothing down my jeans, and looked down at Miley’s motionless form. "Miley... when was the last time you ate anything?"
She let out a faint, humorless chuckle, her head shaking slowly. "I don't even remember, Angela. Yesterday morning, maybe? Before the signing. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks."
"You need fuel, Miley. Even if it’s just a few bites," I said gently, my voice a soft, steady warmth in the dim room. "I’m going to check the kitchen. Just stay right there."
I walked into Kelly’s small kitchen, my eyes assessing the space.
It was a typical college-style setup—a few clean pans in the drying rack, a carton of eggs in the fridge, and a box of artisan penne pasta sitting on the shelf next to a jar of organic marinara sauce.
The physical act of cooking felt like an absolute lifeline, a mundane, predictable task that allowed my brain to stop spinning.