Song: Mona Lisa (ft. Kendrick Lamar) // Lil Wayne

iamchill12 and oreocrazed have been like my personal cheerleaders and so this chappy is dedicated to yall!

•••

I woke up to the sound of chatter and the stomping of what sounded like a herd of cows. I pulled the covers up to my chin and snuggled into my pillow before I realized that the sound was coming from inside my apartment.

Letting out an annoyed groan, I kicked the covers off of me and sat up. I rubbed my eyes, trying to force myself to wake up, and once they opened, I almost let out a scream. My head swiveled around the room a good three times before the events came rushing back to me.

Trying to ignore what felt like my brain pounding against my skull, I stared at the empty space before me. The fuckers took everything but my bed and pillows. My desk was gone, the vanity disappeared, and so did the clothes rack I had outside my small closet.

My makeup was littered on the floor– they took the organizer I had them in but left the contents. I flattened my lips when my eyes landed on my open closet, which looked like it had nothing. I place my hands on the mattress to push myself off the bed, and only then did I realize how tired I was. My fingertips found their way to the ends of my curls and started twisting.

Too scared to touch anything, I simply put my head as close to the gap created by the doors as I could and looked inside the thing– empty. My eyes darted across the vacant space, trying desperately to find something, but I couldn't.

I muttered a string of curses under my breath. He knew how important my clothes and jewelry were to me, and he took them all away like they were nothing. I fucking wasted two years of my life on an inconsiderate asshole.

I looked down at my figure and found myself wearing my tight tank top and leggings. I'd never be caught dead wearing something as boring as this in public, but now I didn't have a choice. Wrapping my arms around myself, I hesitantly stepped out of my bedroom and was met by the sight of uniformed officers talking to each other as they pointed to evidence markers.

Once they noticed me standing there uncertainly, their eyes softened. I wanted to crawl back into my room– I didn't want their pitiful looks and sympathetic words. I gave them a curt nod and swallowed as I walked through the small hallways that lead to my kitchen and living room.

Evidence markers were everywhere– on the pen I had thrown this morning, near the mugs on the floor, below the door, which had caution tape wrapped outside it. A person dressed in a hoodie and pants was taking pictures of the 'evidence' while another was taking swabs of the floor and placing it in another plastic bag.

It's not like they're going to find anything, most of the 'evidence' was stolen.

I stared at the pen on the floor and suddenly remembered the email I got. My headache started to intensify and I tore my gaze away from it so I could find my brother. Dylan was talking to someone dressed casually but had a police badge draped over their neck like a necklace.

I walked over to them, making sure to step over the neon yellow markers that were laying on the floor over nothing. Their conversation ceased when they noticed me, and Dylan wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

I stared at the police officer, wondering why he wasn't dressed in his uniform like the others. The man introduced himself as Detective Ramsey, and I nodded, not bothering to tell him who I was since I guessed he already knew.

I looked over my shoulder and at the pen on the floor, "That's not evidence." I said, my voice coming out hoarse.

"Pardon me?" He asked. He didn't sound offended, just genuinely confused as to why I was telling him that the pen wouldn't help him find the fuckers.

I pointed at the pen and its cap that was detached, making both men glanced at it, "They didn't touch that. I read something that pissed me off and threw the pen against the wall. I never picked it up from there." I notified him, and after a minute of processing the information, he nodded and told someone about the information. Dylan shot me a curious look, but I ignored him.

"Did you touch anything in your room, Ms. Amity?" He asked me. My eyes darted to the two officers making their way towards us from behind him.

I shook my head no, "Only my mattress."

He sent the two officers to my room, probably to vandalize it with their atrocious evidence markers. My brother squeezed my shoulder once before he walked away to the kitchen. I was just about to follow him, not wanting to be around these strangers, when the detective stopped me.

"Ms. Amity, I need to speak to you," He started, pulling out a pocket-sized notebook from the back pocket of his jeans. Only then did I notice the gun he had in his holster, the one that looked like an exact replica of the one staring at me a few hours ago, and I couldn't focus on what he was saying anymore.

I gulped.

Dylan returned with my bottle of water and two pills, "The paramedics checked up on you, Bee. They said you fainted because of dehydration and potential stress. They also warned me that you might wake up with a headache." Then, he shoved the bottle into my hand with an expectant look and watched as I swallowed half of the volume, along with the pills.

I was still staring at the gun. "Get on your knees, hands behind your head,"– wasn't that something a police officer said as well?

I wanted to throw up the water.

"Ms. Amity, are you listening to me?" The detective asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. Dylan was watching me with a calculating expression, his gaze flickering between me and my line of sight.

Suddenly, he turned around to face the detective, "Is there any chance you can hide the gun, or put it away?" He politely asked him. He must've understood why Dylan was asking him, and he picked it off the holster. I flinched at the action, making Dylan speak to me softly, "He's just putting it on the floor– he's not going to hurt you."

The detective pointed the gun to the floor and slowly lowered it until it sat soundly on the floor. Then he kicked it so that it was on the other side of the apartment, as far away from me as possible. I watched as the gun skidded along the floor to stop by the place that once held my amplifier.

"Ms. Amity, your brother has shown me the security footage, but I still need to hear about your relationship with Adam Hindley," He told me, clicking a pen and holding it readily over his notepad.

I wiped my sweaty palms on the side of my thighs and cleared my throat, "Yeah, Adam and I met in my last year in university, in an English literature lecture. I've never seen him before on campus, and he told me he transferred from someplace else. Then, he asked if I could show him around campus, and I agreed. We had lunch then exchanged numbers. Three months later, he asked me out and I agreed. When we graduated, he got a job as a project manager somewhere–"

"Did he tell you where?" He interrupted, and I thought hard at the question before I shook my head no. The detective's face fell but nodded, encouraging me to continue.

Did he even have an actual job?

"He always came by every night at five o'clock sharp, and we'd sit around and talk," I glanced at Dylan from the corner of my eyes to find him rolling his eyes at my blatant lie, but the detective didn't seem to notice. A professional liar, just like Adam. "He took me to a resort a few weeks ago, to celebrate our two year anniversary–"

He cut me off again, "Can you tell me the name of the resort?" He asked, and I replied with the information. His pen glided smoothly across the paper as he jotted it down.

"He came over last night, five o'clock sharp, and we started kissing when they burst into the apartment. I don't usually lock the door unless I'm going to sleep, so I guess that's why they came in so easily. They were dressed like movers and the leader pointed a gun–" My eyes fell down to his empty holster and the words died down in my throat. "He told us to get on our hands and knees, and ordered two men to go into my room and told Adam to help them 'find my shit'."

Dylan glared at me when I swore, but the detective didn't seem bothered by it, "Then they started putting things into the duffel bags, but they showed them to his boss first. They were dressed like movers and I heard them say they had a truck waiting for them downstairs."

His pen was aggressively gliding across the paper as he wrote down the important bits from what I said. I went silent as I watched the detective review his notes, and Dylan seemed to have developed a tense figure. His shoulders were squared and his arms were crossed on his chest, almost like a bodyguard.

"Can you tell me if they touched anything and left it?"

I glanced around my empty apartment, that looked the way it did when I first moved in. They stole everything. My gaze fell on two mugs with two yellow markers numbered 'thirty-five' and 'thirty-six'.

He drank it with milk like a criminal would.

I inhaled deeply because maybe that would get him out of my head, and pointed towards the two mugs in the corner of the living room. His eyes followed my finger and he nodded before ushering two police officers and directing them there. They wore gloves on their hands and had a plastic bag, tweezers, and a cotton swab.

The crouched down in front of the mugs and pulled out the swab. I averted my gaze from them and back to the detective when he shut his notebook.

"Have you ever noticed anything missing these past two years?" He asked me making me nod.

I rubbed my arm, and when I looked down, I was surprised to find a bandaid on my forearm– must have been from the paramedics, "Yeah, it was little things, though, like the audio cable for my guitar, or a pair of earrings I didn't wear unless it was with a specific pair of pants. I just thought that I misplaced them, though, since I'm really messy."

I heard Dylan mutter an, "Amen", and I shot him a glare to which he replied with an innocent smile.

The detective nodded gravely, "These kinds of robbers are creative in the way they work, Ms. Amity. They send somebody to grow closer to the victim, whether it's in the form of a relationship or friendship, and once they establish some sort of trust, they start stealing things they never see you use. Then, to finish the job, they plan an ambush, like this one, to steal everything. They usually sell the items to their customers."

I licked my chapped lips and averted my gaze at his explanation. Dylan seemed to be taking in the information with a guarded expression. I've never been called a victim before.

"The receptionist was found tied up and gagged in a storage closet, and since the robbers were dressed like movers, nobody questioned why they were carrying a bunch of furniture with them."

"Will you be able to catch them?" Dylan asked. He didn't care about how smart they were, all he wanted was to see the fuckers behind bars. I stared at the detective and noticed his lips twitch downwards, and I'm sure Dylan did too.

He always knew how to catch people while lying since I always tested him, and I knew when to recognize a liar since I did it so often.

You didn't recognize Adam, though, did you.

I forced my thoughts to the back of my head, not wanting to think about how my relationship was built on a massive fucking lie. Sure, I lied often, but I either did it because I didn't want to talk about something, or because the truth didn't matter. I wasn't lying when I told Adam that I loved him, but was he?

I ran my hand through my hair and grew frustrated when it got caught in a tangle of knots.

"We're going to try our best," He told us, avoiding promising us that he would find them. I appreciated the fact that he wasn't trying to raise my hopes– I was sick and tired of what happened because Adam was such a good actor. "We're going to need the apartment for the next few days to gather evidence, so you can't stay here Ms. Amity."

"I was thinking of bringing her back home with me, is that alright, detective?" Dylan asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I rested my temple on his chest and crossed my arms over my stomach.

I looked around the apartment that I tried so hard to make feel like home. Home, though, was with Dylan, Rose, and their three children. Sometimes Nick felt like home too, but that was only when he wasn't annoying the everliving fuck out of me.

The detective nodded, "I'm just going to need both of your contact information in case we have any questions or updates."

They both disappeared somewhere to retrieve a form for the information, and I remained standing in the same position. I turned around and stared at the middle of the apartment. All I could see was myself, on my knees, my hands behind my head, as a man pointed a gun at my forehead.

I clenched my eyes shut to rid myself of the image, and when they fluttered open, I was met with Dylan. His arms materialized around me, engulfing me in another one of his hugs.

And that's when I realized I was crying again.

•••

Rose packed Dylan's clothes since she thought he'd be here for a while. He gave me a hoodie she'd stuffed into his carry-on suitcase, and I wore it over my tank top since I didn't have anything else to wear. They stole all of my shoes as well, which meant Dylan asked the taxi driver to drop us off at an open Nike's and bought me a pair of running shoes to wear to the airport.

My electric guitar was sling over my back, and the holographic guitar strap wrapped across my body to keep it in place. I didn't want to leave it in the hands of uniformed strangers. If the apartment got broken into again, I wanted to be sure the guitar didn't get stolen.

As we walked through a different section of the airport, I couldn't help but feel naked. I was wearing Dylan's Aerosmith hoodie which fell down to my thighs and my black leggings. This wasn't something I'd normally wear out, and I felt people's eyes on me, but maybe I was just imagining it.

I got a lot of shit for prioritizing fashion, and people enjoyed calling me shallow for only caring about what my outfit looked like. I genuinely didn't care, though, because I knew I was probably smarter than them. Plus, the fact that I knew I was going to accomplish more in life than they ever would was a major confidence booster.

Dylan wasn't one to ever care about what he wore, it was obvious through his outfits that looked like he just threw on whatever he found, but I did. Fashion was a big part of who I was, and it made me feel like myself, just like Dylan felt complete with music. Wearing whatever I could find and not something I carefully planned out made me feel even shittier than I already did.

Dylan cared about potential, future events and I cared about whether or not my shirt matched my accessories.

My clothes were gone. My shoes were gone. My jewelry was gone. The things that made me me were stolen from me, along with the sense of security I usually felt when I wore my outfits.

A woman dressed as a flight attendant was directing us towards a car that would take us to the hanger that held the private jet Dylan rented for the day. Usually, he'd fly in first class on a commercial plane, but he wanted to get to me as fast as possible, and there weren't any free flights until tomorrow.

My phone, the only personal thing they didn't steal from me, was in the front pocket of the hoodie, and the weight of it and the email dragged the article of clothing down. Dylan's arm found its resident spot across my shoulder, and he'd occasionally squeeze me or kiss me on the temple.

The flight attendant was dragging Dylan's suitcase, and my older brother carried a large bag of McDonald's to eat in the plane. Although the smell was making me salivate, I didn't think I could stomach anything in since I've felt like I wanted to throw up this entire night.

The pills Dylan gave me helped reduce my headache, and I hoped that he had some more since I could practically feel my headache resurfacing. Once the car dropped us off at the hanger, he helped me up the stairs and into the plane.

I took a seat on a random sofa-like chair, and Dylan sat on the one opposite me. A table was separating us, and he placed the fast-food bag by his feet as the pilot stored his suitcase in a closet and entered the cockpit to prepare for takeoff.

Every muscle in my body began to relax at the thought of going back home and away from my apartment and Adam. I felt safe with my brother sitting opposite to me. He was on his phone, texting someone before it started ringing.

With a huff and a roll of the eyes, he picked up the phone, "My children better still be alive, Nick."

I smiled at the thought of going home to Rose, my niece and nephews, and Nick. Although I would never admit it to anyone, I really loved it whenever Nick was around. Sure, he pissed me off to no ends, but he always angered Dylan even more, and the sight was always hilarious.

"Babies shit, Nick, it's just how it fucking is. Changing a diaper doesn't require a Ph.D.," He retorted, and the way his forehead creased as he tried to suppress his agitation made me want to burst out laughing.

Dylan leaned down to pick up the items he bought from McDonald's and placed them on the table in front of us. He continued yelling at Nick while I stared at the McChicken uncertainly. I really didn't want to throw it up.

My brother raised a brow when he noticed me not eating, something very unlike me, and pushed the box in my direction with a stern look. I hated it whenever he gave me that fucking look. I was twenty-three, not fourteen, I wanted to tell him, but decided against it because I knew he was just looking out for me.

I picked up the sprite and took a sip from it, feeling the cool liquid run down the back of my throat. I decided to eat some of the fries, and maybe a chicken nugget or two since Dylan always ordered those as extras (a habit he picked up from his best friend). I didn't touch the burger though.

Dylan hung up the phone with a frustrated sigh and picked up his Big Mac to take a massive bite out of it. He chewed on the food, and for the millionth time today, his eyes ran down my figure to make sure I wasn't hurt. His eyes landed on my unopened burger box and he swallowed the burger before giving me another look.

"Amber you have to eat something," He told me, pointing at the box with the straw in his cup.

I lifted my large fries and shook it, "I am." I continued when he shot me an annoyed look, "You're more annoying when you are a dad than when you weren't."

"I'm so sorry I care about you," He deadpanned with a bored expression on his face. He opened the McChicken and pushed it forward. "Now eat."

I scrunched up my nose at the smell of the burger, "Any further and it'll fall." I told him, referring to how the box was close to falling off the edge of the table. He didn't seem amused though and slowly picked up his burger before taking a bite out of it, almost like he was showing me how to fucking eat.

The scent of the food made my stomach churn and I closed the box, "I can't eat it, I'll throw up."

His eyes softened before he nodded in acceptance, "Alright, just finish the fries, please. You can have some of my nuggets too."

I thought those were to share.

"You were going to eat the nine-piece all by yourself?" I questioned incredulously. I knew that I liked to gorge myself, but even I had limits. "You bought a fucking Big Mac."

"No swearing," He snapped before remembering something. "Please don't swear in front of Céline and Cody, I don't need their first word to be fuck."

I shrugged and shoved five fries into my mouth, "I cannot control what I say."

"Well, learn how to. Although she won't admit it, Rose was pretty pissed when Tony's first words were 'shit'." He told me, an eyebrow raised.

I smiled at the memory. Dylan forced me to learn how to cook so I could prepare myself for university. While I was trying to make myself breakfast, I accidentally burnt my toast and fucked up my eggs. I started cursing the appliances because obviously they were at fault, and a crawling Antoine heard me say 'shit' and repeated it. He then said it in front of Rose, and I swear I've never seen my sister-in-law that mad before.

I didn't even know she was capable of the emotion.

We drifted into silence after that. I finished my fries and two of his nuggets, while he ate the burger, large fries, and the seven nuggets like they were nothing. My eyes fluttered shut and I repositioned my head on the comfortable seat. Dylan was typing away on his phone, something he told me not to worry about.

Right as I was about to fall asleep, I heard him whisper a, "I'm really fucking glad you're alright, Bee."

So was I, Dyl.

I fell into a dreamless sleep.

•••

When we entered our home, Nick was running around the house like a headless chicken trying to find Antoine. Apparently, they were playing a game of hide-and-seek, and he'd managed to lose the six-year-old. At the sound of my voice, though, he came out of his hiding spot in the kitchen and ran to greet me with a hug. His tiny arms wrapped around my legs, and I heard Nick grumble about how he should be the favorite since he spent the night with him.

Dylan then started yelling at Nick for keeping his son up past nine, which was his bedtime. It was a bit past midnight now.

Rose was breastfeeding Cody while his sister slept on a playmat, a pillow propped up behind her so that she didn't choke on her vomit. She greeted me with a tired smile, and I could tell that although Dylan called Nick over to help, he didn't do anything but make everything worse.

Nobody asked me if I was okay, something I was extremely grateful for, and Dylan told me that my room was just the way I left it the last time I came. I picked up Antoine, desperately needing a distraction from my thoughts, and told Rose I'd put him to bed. She gave me a grateful smile and nodded.

Dylan had painted a mural in Tony's room. My nephew, although he barely understood it, loved Star Wars. My brother decided to paint one of the space ships from the franchise, and I couldn't be bothered to remember its name. It was the first thing to catch anyone's attention when they walked into the room.

"Tata," Tony voiced out as I pulled the covers up to his shoulders. "You look very tired."

With a soft smile, I replied, "That's because I am, mon chéri ." I ran my hands through my hair again and tugged aggressively when I came across another knot.

Dylan's son seemed to be deep in thought, "When I'm tired, papa sings me a song so I can fall asleep. Maybe he should do that."

Tears threatened to fall from my eyes and I swallowed the lump in my throat, "I'm too old for that, Tony, but maybe I'll try and go to sleep."

"Okay," He whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as he turned onto his side. "Bonne nuit, tata."

"Bonne nuit, mon chouchou," I whispered, brushing the hair out his hair face. I waited until his breathing steadied to turn off the night lamp he had on his bedside table. I looked around his dark room and dabbed at my eyes with the base of my thumb to get rid of the tears that welled up in my eyes.

I got up from his mattress and made my way out of his room. I heard my brother and Rose talking in the room opposite to Tony's– the babies' nursery that I was yet to see. I knew Dylan was probably filling her in on what happened and with that thought, memories of the event started rushing back to me.

I let go of Tony's doorknob and made my way to my room, walking by papa's room that I haven't entered since he died. Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of sadness– I wanted my father with me right now. I wanted him to hold me close and tell me that everything was going to be alright while he called me 'ma belle'.

I walked into my room and flipped on the lights. True to his word, Dylan didn't touch my room, but I couldn't ignore the fact that it looked cleaner and more organized than usual. I stood by the door and took in the contents that weren't stolen from me. I still had my desk, my vanity, and shelf that held some textbooks from high school that I never threw out.

I silently walked to the large, white double doors and opened them up. The walk-in closet was slightly empty since I'd brought most of the clothes with me, but I left some items here too, mainly because I was too lazy to bring them back with me when I came to visit.

I removed my leggings, threw them to the side, and picked up a pair of folded up shorts to put on. I took a seat on an armchair I had here since I usually sketched some designs while sitting in my closet. I pulled the throw pillow to my stomach and clutched it tightly.

I sat silently and watched as two men entered my closet. They started tugging the articles of clothing off the hangers and threw them into the duffel bag. My shoes that were arranged onto a shelf were also carelessly tossed in. They didn't seem to notice me, it was almost like I was invisible. Like a well-choreographed dance, they waltzed around the room, someone was bunching up my gowns while the other rummaged through the drawers that held my jewelry.

Then, I watched them run out with my belongings.

I'm safe here, Dylan has a security system. I'm safe here, I'm safe here.

Everything hurt. My eyes were burning, my head was pounding and my entire body felt fatigued. I sat on the couch, staring at my mirror with red eyes. I couldn't see myself from this angle, and if I was being honest, I didn't think I would be able to stomach the sight.

My phone vibrated, effectively snapping me out of my thoughts. I pulled it out of Dylan's hoodie and unlocked it. I was met with the email I'd read earlier. I thought that was my biggest problem at the time, but then I got held at gunpoint and robbed thirty minutes later.

I flattened my lips and tossed the phone to a pile of folded clothes on a shelf. Then I picked up the pillow and hurled it across the closet so it landed outside, right below my bed. I released a sound that was a mix of a frustrated groan and a sob.

My closet was usually my safe haven, but it wasn't doing shit to comfort me right now.

I got up from the armchair and walked out of my bedroom until I found myself standing in front of the twins' nursery. I opened the door and was surprised to find the room dimly lit. The lengths of the cribs were pressed up against a wall, and a small space separated them. The twins were sleeping in their respective cribs, and all that could be heard was the sound of them breathing.

I closed the door behind me and took a seat on the single sofa. The room smelled like baby oils and Rose's perfume, and I felt myself relax at the aroma. What if they robbed this house, what would have happened to them? I tore my gaze away from the babies and to the door. I zeroed in on the doorknob and stared at the key sticking out of it.

I caught a baby moving from the corner of my eye and turned to look at Céline, who seemed to be awake. She was sleeping on her stomach, her head to the side. My eyes caught hers, and my breath hitched when she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. The eight-month-old crawled over to the side of the crib and wrapped her tiny hands around the bars. She lifted herself up onto her feet and made a gurgling sound.

I swallowed, trying to rid myself from the lump in my throat, and watched as she outstretched one hand, then clamped it shut into a fist before opening it again, almost like she was gesturing me over. I got up from the sofa, and I wondered how she wasn't scared of me– I was sure I looked horrid. The last time I saw her was six months ago when I came for a visit, and there was no way she remembered who I was.

When I towered over her crib, she lifted her arms, silently asking me to lift her. She tumbled back from her lack of balance, and my hands instantly made their way to her armpits before she could fall. I hoisted her up and she made a small amused sound at the sensation of being lifted. I shushed her, scared that the noise would wake up her parents through the baby monitor.

I started bobbing her up and down like I used to do with Tony before I decided to settle back into the sofa. I placed her onto my lap and started bouncing my legs. She giggled, making me smile. I spent the rest of the night with Céline, which I'm sure would piss Dylan off since he once went on about some schedule they'd created for the babies.

I changed her diaper, played peek-a-boo, and reclined the sofa so I was practically laying down. Her head rested on my chest and I made sure she was facing the side. Her small hand was barely clutching my bicep as I held up a Dr. Seuss book to read through low whispers.

Her breathing started to steady as I continued to read the rhymes and her eyes fluttered shut. I dropped the book onto the floor silently and placed a protective arm around her while the other stayed under my head, acting as a pillow. Then, my eyes started to close, and I let my exhaustion take over.

Right before I was about to sleep, I wondered whether Céline sensed my turmoil. It didn't matter, though, since I was grateful for the distraction

•••

– 15/06/20

And so it continues.

I fucking love every single of Dylan's babies.

Sneak peek :

The date on the top right corner read today's date. Curiosity got the better of me and I picked it up to read through it. The first two pages were a description of what the detective saw when he came across the apartment and other information like his badge number. The next page had the receptionist's testimony.