Damian Whyte

Kelly wasn't sure where she stood: was she angry? How could someone utter something so hurtful yet comforting? He belittled her pain and informed her it would go away.

"You have strange eyes," she said, feeling sucked into their grandeur.

"I know,"

"Are they normal?" Kelly asked, and he nodded. She sighed,

"I'm Kelly. Richardson," she stretched her hand, it was only polite to introduce oneself, right?

"Damian Whyte" he said.

Kelly snorted despite herself, "like the hair?"

Damian smiled, his chiseled features softened, "exactly like the hair,"

"Is that normal too?" She asked as they walked. He hummed.

"So you have white hair and gold eyes; are you normal?"

He didn't respond this time, he didn't even look at her.

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing." He said as he lifted her over a pothole. "I want you,"

"Do you, randomly, think up new ways to shock me?" She had to ask as she stayed rooted in her spot; no one had picked her like that since she was a kid.

His phone buzzed, he answered and spoke in a language she'd never heard; he sounded pissed.

Damian turned to her and spoke in the same language. Kelly raised her brows, what was he saying? he sighed and corrected,

"I have to go,"

"Oh, okay,"

He leaned on the wall. She wanted to ask why he was still here when a black car parked and he got in.

"I'll call you," he said and drove off.

"Wait... How?"

___

Kelly sighed as she got to the door. She hadn't stepped here since the news.

'Freya X Kelly X Nani'

Kelly paused at the ingrained initials on the wall. Her hand went over them. They'd written that when her grandmother died. Her mother wanted her to know she was still here... even if it was just the two of them left.

Kelly caressed the writing, she opened the door. It was quiet. She drew in a deep breath but couldn't perceive anything; the house used to smell like her cooking.

The white door. Her bedroom. She pushed it open and was instantly hit with nostalgia, the image of her little self running around.

Kelly smiled: a simple table and a bed, always neatly arranged.

This was unfair, why did she have to go? Why?! Anger bubbled like a warm feeling. Why did she endure terrible people like Aunt Iris? How could they say that, at her funeral?!

Without much thought, she moved everything out the room. Iris and Laura were terrible but they didn't kill her mother. Someone did. The police couldn't find anything. What was she supposed to do? They murdered her mother and she couldn't find who. She couldn't get justice; what sort of daughter was she?

Kelly sat there, feeling worse. She got to her make-shift studio and pulled every ounce of paint she had and covered the glaring yellow walls with it.

She used her hands, and arms, spreading to every inch of the wall.

Slowly, as her anger settled, she graduated to larger, detailed brushes. Her fingers stung and her hand ached but she continued, tears dripping with every stroke until it was her masterpiece.

Her mother wouldn't want her crying; if she could help it, this was the last time she wanted to. She would get justice, somehow. Just as she finished the last bit, she pulled out her laptop and made herself a cup.

Private investigators. It was the only alternative she could think of. How much did they cost? Wow. Criminal cases took a lot more than she could afford.

Kelly leaned into the couch. She already had thousands of dollars in student loans, not to mention mortgage. She needed a job, a real one. She loved art, but that wouldn't pay for a while.

How would she make the money for a Private Investigator?

Her phone chirped: Young billionaire August Cline joins police investigation after recovery from fatal car crash.

Right. August. Relief washed over her at newsfeed. He was alive. Countless blogs spread rumours of his death even with eyewitnesses stating he came out safely.

His offer. Was she willing to be a guinea pig for money? Yes, yes she was.

She just needed a ton of evidence in case he killed her. If she sent it to Brianna, sent her the cash too, someone could get justice for her and her mother.

What was she saying? August wouldn't kill her...right?

Her shoulders slumped, she had no way of contacting him. How was she supposed to accept? Go to his office?

The doorbell rang and Kelly frowned: who would come at this hour?

Damian? Oh please no!

She looked through the keyhole and saw a womanly figure. Who was that?

Pulling the door open, she squinted. The day was dark, and the bright moon bounced off the puddles. They pulled down their hood and Kelly froze.

"Aunty Davi,"

The older lady smiled with sigh, "hi niece"