Chapter 7 is here. Just a head's up for people not following me on Tumblr, I'm participating in camp nano in July, so I won't be updating this fic during that month. I'll try to update before I start at the end of June, but I can't guarantee anything so I wanted to warn you!

As always in this fic, trigger warnings apply for this work, about domestic abuse and mention of domestic abuse.

Feyre didn't sleep that night. Rhys stayed in her bathroom for about thirty minutes after she'd gone to bed, and then she heard him go downstairs, and the three men stayed for what was maybe two hours more, moving stuff around, getting rid of some furniture and moving some of the rest. She heard the front door close long after midnight, and Tamlin came into the bedroom at last. He took a quick shower and slid into bed beside her, but he didn't talk to her, or hugged her, or even checked if she was sleeping. He just went to bed.

Everytime she closed her eyes, she kept reliving the whole scene in the living room, the way Sandy had been screaming just seconds before Hart's shot, the way she'd fallen to the ground, from yelling to lifeless in less than a second. She went to the bathroom twice that night, the image of Sandy's dead eyes chasing her away from the warmth of her bed only to puke her guts out.

It seemed like the next morning would never arrive, so finally, Feyre got up and went downstairs. Maybe making herself a cup of tea would help her relax, if not actually sleep. Her mug in her hands, she was about to head back upstairs, but she dared a glance into the living room first. The carpet was gone, the hardwood floor underneath was shining as if it was brand new, and some chairs had been moved around. Feyre went in, took a sit in the armchair nearest to where the carpet had been, and started drinking her tea. She couldn't look away from the floor. It didn't matter that the blood was gone, because for all that the night had been a blur, she seemed to remember exactly what the stain of blood had looked like. She could see it, she could see the stain on the wood, even without Sandy's body, even without the carpet, even without the blood.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, staring at the floor, when she heard Tamlin come down the stairs. He passed in front of the living room door, and didn't stop, but she saw him come back a second later.

"Feyre? I thought you would be in your painting room," he said as he advanced towards her. "You shouldn't stay in here, it won't help you." He sat on the arm of her chair, and enveloped her shoulders with an arm. Feyre leaned into him but didn't turn to look at him.

"I can't look away, Tam. I see it. I see the blood. I see her."

He bent down to kiss her forehead and whispered: "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, Doll. I'm truly sorry you were there."

Finally, she turned her head to his and gave him a small smile. It was rare to hear Tamlin apologize to her. Very rare. "It's okay, Tam, you weren't well either," she said as she brought her hand to his cheek, "I'm the one who should apologize for the way I acted."

"It was normal for you to feel bad, I realize now. I wish I could've helped you more."

"It's fine, Tam, really. Rhys helped me wash up and he calmed me enough for me to stop crying. I understand that you weren't well enough to help me, don't worry."
His jaw had clenched at the mention of Rhys, and he said: "He helped you wash up?"

"Yes, he helped me finish cleaning the blood off and he talked to me for a bit." She didn't mention that Rhys had washed her entire legs, she didn't mention the way his hands had been gentle when he'd taken off her shoes, or how the soft brushes of his fingers on her calves had kept her from breaking down completely. She loved Tamlin, but she wasn't crazy enough to think he would be okay with another man touching her in such an intimate way, even if it hadn't meant anything, even if Rhysand had just been supportive when she was about to have another panic attack.

She didn't mention all this, and yet Tamlin started frowning, so she said:

"Tam, he just helped me in a tough moment."

"I should have been there for you, not him."

"It's fine, I understand. You were angry, you needed space, I totally get that, Tam."

"Still, when you needed me, I let another man take care of you. That's not okay."

"I'm fine, Tam. We're fine."

He took a breath and let a minute go by, before -

"Okay. We're fine."

"We are."

"Good."

He kissed her once more and went to the kitchen. Feyre got up and followed him. He was making a pot of coffee when she came in.

"Tam?"

"Mmh?"

"Do you think - do you think someone found her already?"

He turned to her.

"What?"

"Sandy. Do you think someone found her and called the police? Do you think they took care of calling her family? Rhys said she had a kid and -"

"Feyre, you shouldn't bother your thoughts with all this. It's been taken care of, Hart won't risk anything anymore. Just try to forget it happened," he finished, passing beside her and going into the living room to turn on the TV. Feyre didn't move for a while, watching him drink his coffee in front of the news, as if nothing had happened indeed. She shook herself and went to him.

"Tam, how can you be so chill about it?"

He sighed. "What do you want me to do, Feyre? I didn't kill the woman, she was hysterical and Hart panicked. We took care of it, and now we're out of the woods."

"Well… maybe you could act like you care about the fact that an innocent woman died less than three feet away from where you're drinking your coffee?!"

"Feyre, come here." She stayed where she was. "Come here. Now." She went to him and he made her sit down beside him on the couch. "Let me explain some things to you. First of all, Sandy was not an innocent woman, she stopped being innocent years ago, you can trust me on that. Second, I didn't kill her, it wasn't my fault that she died, Hart was the one who went a little crazy. Am I sad that it happened? Yes. Do I wish that she was still alive? Yes. But am I going to lose sleep over it? No. And more important than all that, Feyre, is keeping up appearances."

"Appearances?"

"Yes. We took care of her, the police won't be able to know that Hart or any of us were involved. But even so, we need to be careful. You can't go around talking to me about the woman that died here, you can't say her name, you can't ask me if the police found her body. It's important to keep up appearances."

"But why? You said the police wouldn't trace her back here, so why should we ignore it completely?"

"It's not healthy to dwell on it, Feyre. It won't do you any good, trust me. Now come here," he finished, pulling her against him in a tight embrace, "let's watch a movie together, what do you think?"

She didn't answer, and he put a movie on. She barely registered what it was about, her mind too focused on the floor of the living room. She didn't care to respond when Tamlin started to kiss his way down her neck and let his hands roam under her sweater. And when they made love on the couch, the movie forgotten even by Tamlin, Feyre didn't hear the sweet nothings he murmured into her ear. She only heard one word again and again: murderer.

The following week didn't go any better. Feyre spent almost the entirety of her time tucked in bed, dozing on and off, having nightmares of dead eyes chasing her every time she managed to fall asleep for more than five minutes. When she wasn't in bed, she was sitting in the living room, staring at the new rug for hours, no real thought crossing her mind. She barely ate all week, not feeling the will to enjoy the food Tamlin proposed to her. What she forced herself to eat rarely stayed down, and she found herself puking almost every night. On Monday, she canceled her shift at work, unable to come out of the house. On Wednesday, Tamlin suggested she try painting to take her mind off things, but she stared at a blank canvas for an hour before she burst into tears and went to bed again.

Tamlin went back to work on Monday, he came home at night, and did it again the next day, and the next day again. He was worried about her, and asked what he could do to help her get better, but when she suggested talking about the murder, he became shut off, and didn't ask her what was wrong again.

Feyre kept thinking of Sandy's hair. She saw the way Sandy had played with it when she'd been talking to Rhysand that first day, trying to seduce him. She saw the tight bun in which they were stuck when they'd met at the park. She saw the mess they were in when she'd come back to the house, high on drugs and frantic. In general, the imagery ended with the way her bright beautiful hair had melted in with the blood, creating a gorgeous palette of red on the floor.

She didn't realize Friday had arrived, so she was startled when her phone rang, showing her sister's number. She let it ring until it reached voicemail, but Nesta called again. And again. The fourth time, Feyre sighed and picked up the phone.

"Where the hell are you?!" Her sister said as soon as she'd answered.

"What?"

"The dress fitting? For my wedding? As my bridesmaid?"

"Oh."

"'Oh'?! Feyre, I swear to God, if you tell me that you forgot, I will kill you."

"Nesta, I'm sorry, I've had a pretty bad week and I don't feel well. I can't come."

"Are you dying?"

" … No."

"Then you're in good enough shape to come down here."

"Nes, I …"

"I am planning a wedding here, Feyre. I work on a schedule that could not be any tighter, and I took an hour out of it to come here and see you try the dress on to make sure it fits. So you are going to get your ass out of your house, get in a cab and come here, or I will come to your house and drag you out myself, I swear."

Feyre looked down at herself. She'd been wearing the same pair of leggings for two days, her tank top had stains of sweat from her nightmares the night before, and she couldn't imagine the state of her hair. She could not go out. But then again, Nesta would come to her house if she didn't go. She knew her sister well enough to know that. She sighed and answered:

"I've got to take a shower first. I'll meet you in twenty minutes."

"Hurry up."

The dress was gorgeous. The long sleeveless gown covered her from chest to feet, and the midnight blue color was exquisite. The front of the dress was cut low in the front to allow for a bigger but beautiful effect on her cleavage, and the assorted earrings Nesta had chosen fit perfectly with the style.

"You've outdone yourself, Nes," Feyre said as she looked at herself in the mirror.

"I know. But I was right to ask for this fitting, the measurements you gave me last week over the phone were completely wrong! You're thinner than you told me, and let me tell you, as much as I appreciate you lying to make me feel better about myself, I'd rather you just tell me the truth on something so important."

"I'm sorry, I just … I lost a bunch of weight these last few days. I was a bit sick."

"Oh, okay well I hope you won't have anymore weight swings until the wedding because I can't take anymore time for this, you know."

"Sorry."

They fell silent for a while and Feyre kept staring at herself in the dress. She was pretty in it, even with her hair carelessly tied in a bun after her shower. Her eyes fell down on her hands, and she tried to ignore the need to scrub them to erase imaginary blood again. She needed to think of something else.

"So, Nesta, how is the rest of the planning going?"

"Good enough, we're a bit late with some things, but I think it's going to go great. Cassian doesn't have a lot of time to help me, he's very busy with his job, but he gets really into it when he has some free time, so it really feels like we're planning it together, it's great."

Feyre smiled at her sister in the mirror. "He seems really nice."

"When he's not downright impossible, yes, he can be great." Nesta sounded annoyed, but there was affection in her voice. Seeing a man that had managed to annoy Nesta into loving him was definitely interesting, and Feyre found herself eager to meet him at their wedding, and see how this man handled her sister. Nesta left the room to talk with the shop owner about her wedding dress, and Feyre looked outside, and saw Rhysand seated on a bench, beside a very short woman in a grey dress, with short black hair and a magnificent red necklace. He was checking his phone, and the woman was reading a magazine, but as Feyre kept looking at him, she seemed to see them talking together, even though they didn't acknowledge each other in any way. They acted like that for a good five minutes, and then the woman got up, left the magazine on the bench, and went on her way. Rhysand stayed on the bench alone, still focused on his phone, and Feyre started thinking that maybe this woman was involved in some drug deal of the company's. Just like Sandy had been.

Maybe she could talk to Rhys about it. He was in charge of the security for Hybern Inc., so even if he hadn't looked for information himself, surely the police would have talked to them about Sandy's death? For all his flirty remarks and insufferable arrogance, he'd never been anything but helpful to her. Making sure Nesta was still busy talking in the other room, Feyre grabbed the sides of her dress and went out of the shop. She crossed the road, and was walking towards Rhys when he looked up from his phone. A surprised frown formed on his face, and he got up to meet her.

"Feyre?! What …" he looked down at her clearly very classy dress, "are you doing here?"

"I'm … shopping."

"Oh. okay." She felt the silence grow between them, and she knew he would leave if she didn't say anything soon. But then - "How are you feeling? Since last Friday?"

She hadn't expected him to launch the subject, but she would gladly take the opportunity he'd given her.

"Not good. I keep seeing her. I can't stop reliving the evening over and over."

He passed a hand through his hair and looked back down at her.

"It's completely normal, Feyre. What happened was awful, and I wish I could have prevented it, I truly do."

"Yeah … I was wondering if you had news of what happened to Sandy? Did the police find her body? Does her family know, yet?"

"Tamlin didn't tell you anything? I kept him informed."

"He said … He thinks it's better if we don't talk about it, he says talking about it will only hold us back."

"What?! That's bullshit. You need to talk about it, Feyre, or you won't be able to process it."

"No it's … I'm fine. I just saw you and I was wondering if you had news?"

"I do. They found her just a few hours into Saturday."

"Do you know what happened to her kid? You said she had a kid."

"She did, a thirteen years old boy. But he's fine, he's been at his aunt's house all week, and he seems to be handling the news pretty well, considering the circumstances. He'll be fine, eventually."

"Good." She didn't know what more to ask. She just wanted to talk about her nightmares, about the blood stain she saw in her living room, about the paint she couldn't even think of touching again. And as she stared into Rhys' mesmerizing eyes, she saw something in them. She saw that if she asked him to sit down with her and listen to her talk about Sandy's hair, he would sit down, and he would listen. She saw in his eyes that he understood her, that he wanted to help her. And that terrified her.

"I have to go back inside, but thank you for the update, Rhysand," she said, her voice as formal as she could muster.

"Oh. Right, well, I'll see you. Take care."

"Sure thing," she said as she turned around.

"Feyre?" He called, "you look beautiful, you should buy the dress."

He started walking away without adding anything more, and Feyre watched him go, her hands playing nervously with the dress he'd just complimented.