MRS. WEST

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟞 #2

I climb into bed, swinging my legs over the duvet covers, leaning my head against the headframe.

I'm not staring at anything in particular– so the ceiling might as well just not exist.

I hear light scraping across the floor. When I glance down, Cameron pulls a chair, sitting on it, facing me.

"What happened?" he asks.

I almost don't answer because there's nothing left in me. No words, and certainly no energy. It was just that empty, hollow feeling sitting in my chest like something carved everything out.

"...I lost," I say finally.

Cameron sighs, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

That does it.

I whip my head, fully making eye contact now.

"Sorry?" I repeat.

"Sorry?" I say again, sitting up slightly. "That's what you have to say?"

He blinks, a little caught off guard by the shift. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh, I don't know, Cameron," I snap. "Maybe something useful?"

His brows pull together slightly. "I'm trying to understand what happened."

"What happened?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "What happened was that I didn't have enough. That's what happened."

He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "Okay. Then tell me-"

"No," I cut him off sharply. "You know what? Maybe if I had the fire marshal report- maybe if I had actual concrete evidence- maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Dix, you've never asked me for a report."

"That's not the point-" I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"That is the point," he says firmly, but keeping his voice low. "You don't talk to me about your cases. Ever."

"That doesn't mean you couldn't have told me," I argue, though it also sounds useless. "You were there. You knew how bad everything was-"

"I know how bad fires are," he interrupts. "I didn't know it was your case."

"You could've figured it out!"

"How?" he asks, sharper now. "You don't tell me anything about your work. I get an address, I go, I do my job, I leave. That's it."

I shake my head, feeling frustration climb my spine quickly.

"That's not enough!"

"It's my job," he says firmly.

"And this was mine!" I fire back. "And now someone is in prison for life because I didn't have enough to fight it!"

"I was there, Cameron. I watched it happen. I watched them decide his entire life in front of me and I had nothing solid to stop it!"

I stand up, and he follows.

"You're not the one who put him there," he says.

"Yes, I am!"

"And how is that on me?" Cameron asks, his voice is rising for the first time.

"Because you were there!" I shout. "You were at the scene, Cameron! You saw things, you knew things, and you didn't tell me anything!"

"I didn't know it was your case!" he fires back.

"You could've figured it out!"

"How?!" His volume finally increases. "You don't talk to me about your work! You shut me out every single time, Dixie!"

"I don't shut you out-"

"You do!" he cuts in. "You come home, you keep everything in your head, and then when something goes wrong, suddenly it's my fault?"

"I needed something," I say, my voice cracking under the weight of it. "And you could've given me that."

"I would have if I knew!" he shoots back.

"Well, you didn't!" I shout. "And now someone is in prison because of it!"

"You don't get to put that kind of weight on me because you're hurting."

"I'm not just hurting!" I shout. "I failed, Cameron! I failed. Justin's life is over!"

"And you think tearing me down is going to fix that?" he asks.

"I needed you," My voice breaks, "You weren't there when I needed you."

"I've been here, Dix." he says, stepping closer now.

I finally shatter because he's right- he's has been here.

And I still lost.

My vision blurs suddenly, and my chest twists. No point in stopping anything now.

"I couldn't save him," I choke out as the tears come down hot fast.

"I couldn't- I couldn't do it," I sob. "He was looking at me, Cameron, like I was supposed to fix it and I-"

I shake my head, covering my face.

"I couldn't. I had nothing, nothing strong, and they just-" my breath stutters, "they took him away like it didn't matter what I said."

Cameron closes the distance immediately.

His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me in before I can even think to stop him.

"It's not your fault," he murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head gently.

"Yes, it is," I cry into him, gripping his shirt tightly. "It is, it is- someone is in prison because of me- because I couldn't do it."

"No," he says firmly, pulling back just enough to look at me. "Don't beat yourself up, Dixie..."

I shake my head, tears still falling.

"I needed something and I didn't have it," I whisper. "I didn't have it."

He pulls back to look at me, his thumb brushing under my eye, wiping away the tears that don't stop.

"You did everything you could," he says again, softer this time.

I laugh weakly, shaking my head. "I hate that sentence."

"I know."

"I hate it because it'll never be enough."

His whole middle section of his shirt is damp, but I don't think he cares now. He just pulls me back in, holding me tighter this time. I let myself sink into it.

His arms are warm and familiar in a way nothing else feels right now. My hands loosen slightly against his shirt, my grip not as desperate anymore, it was like I was breaking apart in his arms and he kept me sturdy. I press my cheek to his chest– his heartbeat is slow and calm. Nothing like mine.

I could stay here.

I really could.

I could let him hold me, let him say all the things he's trying to say without words, let myself feel safe for five minutes without thinking about courtrooms and wins, and everything I didn't do. I could do all that.

But my body stiffens like I'm not used to this.

To be fair, I wasn't.

My fingers curl again, but this time to pull away.

"I..." My voice comes out small, strained. "I can't—"

His arms loosen just enough, just giving me space to move if I need to.

"What?" he asks softly, his voice right above me. "What is it?"

I shake my head against him, already stepping back even though every single part of me is screaming not to.

"I need.." I swallow, forcing the words out. "I need space."

I look up at him for his reaction, though I can't read it. He doesn't look mad or hurt, but more confused.

"Space?" he repeats.

I nod quickly, wiping at my face with the back of my hand, even though it does nothing.

"I can't think right now," I say, my voice uneven. "Everything's too loud in my head and I just..I need to be alone for a bit."

He studies me for a second, like he's trying to understand what kind of space I mean.

Distance?

Silence?

Absence?

All of the above? Probably.

"Uh, yeah, okay," he says slowly. "Do you want me to leave, or-?"

"No," I say quickly, shaking my head. "No, just–not here, please."

Five seconds ago, I wanted nothing more than to sink right there in his arms, and now I'm asking him to step away.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "You don't have to push me away, Dix."

"I know," I whisper, mostly to myself. "I just..I need a second to breathe without anything."

He nods, pulling away just slightly.

"Okay," he says again, quieter this time.

His hand comes up gently, brushing a strand of curl away from my face, I close my eyes as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. It's warm, lingering for a little longer than usual.

"I'll be down the hall, guest bedroom" he murmurs against my skin.

He walks out a minute later, shutting the door softly behind him. I sigh, standing in the same spot for a second behind I collapse onto the bed. My hands rest in my lap, fingers twisting together absentmindedly.

All I can think about is how safe I felt in his arms, the way the warmth left when he left. The way he held me like I wasn't something that just broke in his hand.

My fingers slowly uncurl, pressing lightly into the fabric of the bed beside me, like I can still feel where he was standing, like maybe if I sit still enough, it won't fade completely. It's stupid.

I inhale sharply and sit up straighter. I can feel my eyes sting.

No.

No, no, no.

I drag my hands down my face, pressing my palms against my eyes for a moment before dropping them back into my lap.

Get it together.

That familiar suffocating pressure building in my chest. Its tight.

I swallow hard. Not now.

I can't.

I won't.

Crying again would mean letting it all in, and I'm not quite ready to do that yet. I press my lips together.

"No," I whisper under my breath. Tears pool at my eyes threatening to come down again.

I straighten my back, roll my shoulders slightly, even though they still feel tight– none of that matters anymore.

You don't do this.

That voice in my head is very familiar.

You don't sit here and cry like you can't handle it.

I wipe under my eyes quickly, even though nothing has fallen yet. I have to listen to that voice– it's what keeps me stable.

Dixie West doesn't sit in bedrooms crying over things she can't change. Dixie West fixes things, handles things– She wins.

My jaw tightens slightly at that last thought. Wins. I let out a slow breath through my nose, trying to ignore it.

I slowly get under the covers, pulling it up to my chin before staring up at the ceiling. It's the only thing I can try to focus on since my mind is running through a million other things.

"I'm fine," I say again, quieter this time.

It doesn't even sound convincing, because whether it's true or not doesn't matter.

It's what I need to be, and it's who I've decided I am.

And Dixie West doesn't cry. Even when she wants to.