Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 9 You’re Free

everything, so why? Why would Brendan not spare her even the smallest kindness? Why did he have to throw her heart to the ground and crush it under his boots like that?! Deirdre wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed. In between her own labored breaths, she heard something else beyond the room. It sounded like an argument. She felt her way out of her bed gingerly, crawling across the floor, and felt for the doorknob. She twisted it and the sounds became clear. “Why aren’t we sending a sick patient to a special hospital?! She’s in a critical state—the only way we could save her is by getting her to a hospital!—Listen! Our inaction is going to ruin a young woman’s eyes for life!” “Mercedes Jones, can you stop being so naive for once? Do you really think she got into this state by herself? It was meant to happen—because that man willed it so! How else could she have ended up like this? And have you already forgotten just how long it took for public fury to subside? If we leaked any news about Charlene at the moment, we’d be stoking the same flames again! Don’t you get it?” “I know but… Can’t we do this in secret?” “No.” Finality reverberated in the man’s voice. “These are Mr. Brighthall’s wishes. Anyone who offends him will end up like this.” ‘These are Mr. Brighthall’s wishes.’ ‘Anyone who offends him will end up like this.’ The man’s words echoed in Deirdre’s mind. All the pain and sorrow that could ever have sprung from deep within her chest surged forward. The boundless darkness that had recently enveloped her paled compared to the biting cold freezing her heart. The frost hurt. The pain chilled her. Once again, she fell to the floor and wept. She then whimpered. ‘I regret saving you, Brendan. Why did I save you?!  ‘I thought the man I rescued would honor his pledge. I thought he would see me as someone precious—someone who deserved to be loved. But I didn’t save a man that day, after all. ‘I saved the Devil.’ “Miss McKinney!” Mercedes cried out. Alarmed, she hurried toward her. Deirdre’s lips trembled. “P-Phone…” “Sorry?” Tears rolled out of Deirdre’s unseeing eyes. “Phone… Please lend me your phone,” she pleaded. “I need to call him… Call Brendan… So I can ask him… How? How could he be so cruel to me? Why does he hate me so much?! What the f*ck did I do?!” Even as tears ravaged her face, her eyes remained dull and unalive. All that was left on her ashen face was dejection. She hated how unfair this had been. She loathed it down to her bones. Then, she heard the man who had spoken before. “You killed someone in a hit-and-run! You should be grateful that the court revoked the death sentence!” he scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re screaming ‘what did I do?’ as if you’ve learned nothing. What did the person you murdered do… to deserve running into you?!” “Conrad!” Mercedes hissed. She shot a glare at him and stuffed her phone into Deirdre’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid there’s little I can do. Miss McKinney? This might be your only hope.” Deirdre caressed the phone, feeling lost. “God, I’m sorry! You can’t see,” Mercedes said hastily. “I’ll help. What’s his number?” Deirdre would always be able to recite Brendan’s number from heart. This was the first time saying it aloud hurt, though—like being stabbed