Fighting for her (Novak series #1) {Completed}

"I'm f*****g coming!" I roar to whoever dares to knock on my door at half-past seven in the morning.               The knocking continues, and I'm getting angry. I pull on a shirt with a deep sigh and a throbbing headache. It should be criminal to wake a hungover person after an entire weekend of intoxication at this time of day.               I know it's Monday, but I'm free today. From Tuesday to Friday, I work as a mechanic in the city, and from Friday to Monday, I drink my head off; it's the life I live after I left home. I pull up the door and meet a nervous costume-clad man outside.           "Mr. Winston-Novak?" the man asks and pushes up his glasses higher on his nose with shaky fingers.           "Yeah, who the hell are you?" I growl and regret it right away when my head throbs worse when I talk loudly.               If you haven't noticed yet, I can tell you that I'm an extremely unpleasant person when I'm in a bad mood or hungover. My drinking habits are becoming a problem, and I started boozing after my girlfriend for a couple of years chose the drugs over me, Melissa.               I met her shortly after leaving my home, and we've been together for three years. In the beginning, there were only a few lines inside the club bathroom, and I also participated in it. Then there were pills that she claimed her doctor had given for her mental illness, and eventually, I found her on the couch with a syringe in her arm.               I gave her an ultimatum where I forced her to choose between me and the drugs; she promised to stop. At first, it went well until her abdication trouble began, and she screamed in pain about being without her heroin. It was then that I realized how big her problems were and how much she had taken, much more than she had told me.               The trouble went over, and she was clean for two months before she started again. Again I helped her, and she stayed clean for a month. So it kept going until she couldn't last more than a week, then I gave up. It became too heavy for me to carry her too when I could barely keep myself afloat.               I broke up with her a year ago and haven't seen her since then, thank God! In all honesty, I don't think I can manage to see how she ruins her life. There's nothing worse than standing and watching while the one you love chooses you away for yet another trip. We all get to a point in life where we can no longer disregard ourselves for keeping someone else's needs ahead of ours, and that point was mine. It hurt to leave Melissa behind, but I knew I had no choice. For me, it was about survival.           "My name is Gus Haze, and I'm here about Melissa Dawn," the man responds, and I react instantly when he says her name.           "I don't know where she is, I don't care who she's hanging out with, I don't know her address, and I'm not going to apologize for whatever s**t it is she's done this time," I respond with a sigh, as this happened several times before.               People have knocked on my door and demanded that I pay Melissa's debts, apologize for any nonsense she has made, or want me to tell them where she is. In addition, in recent months, it seems to have gotten worse given the increase in visitors.           "I'm not looking for her," the man says lowly. "She's dead."               My eyes widen, and it feels like the air is moving out of my body. No, that can't be true. Melissa's alive, she may be a junkie, but she's a survivor. There's no way she allowed anyone to kill her. On the other hand, how can I know?               I haven't talked to her in nine months, not since she called and wanted to borrow 1200 dollars. But since she refused to tell me what she was using the money for and I wasn't stupid enough to lend such money to a junkie, she didn't get any.               The man is still standing in front of me and seems to be waiting for my reaction. I open the door and let him in. His eyes drift over my messy apartment, and when I close the door behind me, he jumps. What does he think I'm going to do to him? Kill him? Given his nervousness, it doesn't surprise me.           "How did she die?" I ask and throw myself down on the two-seater couch.           "She overdosed. But according to people the police have interrogated, she has been suicidal for a long time," he replies, and I react once again to the words.           "But her psychologist said that her problems had improved and that the heavy thoughts were no longer there," I point out with furrowed eyebrows.           "That's right, but in retrospect, information has come to light that points to the only reason that happened were that she was self-medicating with Xanax," he replies, and I feel my heart falling in my chest on me.               Of course, what else could I expect from her? I know she was selfish, but being so selfish that she voluntarily takes suicide and leaves behind only grief, I didn't think of her. How can she do that to her parents? Yeah, I think about her family first.               Hugh and Bernice are the kindest people in the world. They accepted me right away when Melissa took me with her to their home for dinner. I was really nervous and thought they wouldn't believe I was good enough for their daughter. Let's be honest; I look like a criminal.               I have tattoos on my entire upper body, scars after fights, and piercings in both the tongue but also the n*****s. Possibly, little girls might consider me attractive with my "badass" attitude and dark aura, but I'm hardly a mother-in-law's dream.           "Why do you come and tell me?" I ask when I realize that his sudden visit confuses me modestly.           "Mr. and Mrs. Dawn asked me to come here to invite you personally to miss Melissa's funeral on Wednesday at two o'clock," he explains, and I nod slowly; it makes sense.           "Okay, you can tell them I'm coming," I answer and lead him to the front door. "Thank you for reaching out and telling me."           "It was the least I could do for the Dawn family," the man says with a smile and walks away through the hallway.               I close the door, and at the same time I hear the click from the lock; I slide down on the floor with my face in my hands. My eyes fill with tears, and slowly they start falling down my cheeks. The sounds I emit sound like a dying animal, and my whole body trembles with sadness.               Melissa, what the hell have you done? It was never my intention to drive her to suicide, but now I worry that I'm the actual reason for her doing this. What if I'm responsible for her no longer having the energy to live? It's all my fault...           ❖❣❖❣❖               The funeral is taking place today, and my grief hasn't diminished at all. Yesterday, I spent lying in bed with a bottle of vodka in my hand. The only sensible thing I did all day was to call my workplace and take sick leave for a while.               Thankfully, my boss, Landon, is a close friend, and he knew Melissa. His understanding means the world to me. I don't know how I'd manage to work and pretend to be happy when it's the complete opposite of how I feel.               I look in my tiny closet and feel some joy at the fact that I still own a suit. Melissa bought it for me when we celebrated two years together, and although it's a bit cramped now after my body has grown with muscles, it means a lot. It feels suitable to wear it today, for the last time, for her.               The trip to the church doesn't take long at all, and when I arrive, I see that there are many people here. I'm pleased that Melissa has so many people who care about her and want her best, even though it obviously wasn't enough in the long run.               Hugh sees me and hurries to me in the parking lot. I hug him with a male pat on the back, and he gives me a sad smile. It hurts to look into his green eyes because it's the same eyes Melissa had. Those beautiful eyes, that now never will sparkle again.           "Thank you for coming, son," Hugh says.           "Of course," I respond, avoiding eye contact as much as I can because of the shame I feel inside me.           "Bernice is in there and has saved us some spots," he says, starting to walk towards the church.               I follow my ex-father-in-law slowly, feeling the familiar anxiety crawling back into my head. Some of Melissa's friends see me and give me the stink eye. It's okay, ladies; I know it's my fault you lost your friend.               Hugh walks towards the front row while I'm heading the other way, he takes hold of my arm, and I look questioningly at him. He indicates that I can sit with him and Bernice, but it doesn't feel right to do so, given the circumstances.           "Where are you going, Darby?" Bernice asks softly, hugging me as only a mother can.           "I was going to sit on the other side," I reply and reciprocate her hug.           "Why? You're family; please sit with us. It gives me strength," she whispers, and I nod, following after her.               The funeral begins, the priest talks about the course of life, about how we get into heaven if we don't sin and blah blah blah. The music is tasteful and beautiful when the church choir's voices echo against the stone walls. I sit like in a fog through the whole thing, and it's not until my ex's parents get up that I realize it's time for the last farewell.               I follow the couple and put a big red rose on the coffin containing the woman I loved. A tear falls from my eye, and I close my eyelids tightly; it isn't the occasion to break apart. Melissa's parents need me to be strong support for them.               Some men I don't recognize carry the coffin out the doors, and we get up to go out. They disappear around the corner, and the rest of us remain. Bernice cries so that her whole petite body shakes, and I wish at this moment to remove her pain.               Melissa was Hugh's and Bernice's only child. I've heard the story hundreds of times about how Melissa was their miracle after the doctors said they would never be able to have any biological children of their own, and now she's gone for good.               I hug Bernice and gently caress her head, barely reaching up to my shoulder. She throws her arms around me, and I let her cry until there are only small sniffings coming out of her. We let go of each other and walk toward the cars in the parking lot.           "You can follow us," Hugh says, and I nod before jumping into the car.               The idea is that we'll drink coffee for a while afterward and support each other in the grief after our beloved Melissa. That expression seems wrong to me, though, considering she wasn't mine anymore. No matter how I feel about the matter, I drive after my ex-in-laws to a large building.               They walk in through a pair of large glass doors, and I hurry after. Once inside, Bernice announces that the guests are free to begin, and the guests, like the vultures they are, clean out the table fast. I lean against the wall and just stand there, staring at the people around me until Hugh comes up to me again.           "Darby, there's one thing we need to talk to you about," he says, looking nervous.           "Okay, of course," I answer and follow him once again.               We end up in a small yard with flowers scattered on the otherwise empty lawn. Bernice is waiting for us there, and I see how she nervously spins her hair around her finger; Melissa also used to do so in situations that made her tense.           "What does your life look like, my boy?" Hugh asks.           "It's reasonably stable," I answer sincerely. "I work and do the right thing for me."           "What about the drugs?" Bernice asks, and I'm starting to wonder what the thing with these questions is.           "I've been clean for over a year. The only thing I do is alcohol," I answer sincerely. "And I would stop if I had any reason."               The couple looks at each other again, and I don't miss the deciding nod that Bernice gives Hugh. I feel like it's something they don't tell me, and the feeling makes me uncomfortable. What's next? Should I worry?           "You have a reason to quit," Hugh says, and I look questioningly at him.           "A responsibility," Bernice continues, and I look confused between the two.           "What do you mean?" I wonder and feel more confusion within me.           "You have a daughter, Camilla," Bernice replies, and the air runs out of me entirely. "We can't afford or have the possibility to take care of her. But you have, as her father."           Hello everyone and welcome to Fighting for her! I will tell you here that this book might contain several dark things that might trigger you. Since I won't put up any more warnings after this one, you're now reading at your own risk and can't hold me responsible. ~ Should Darby have kept trying to help Melissa? ~ Are his feelings about her death realistic or exaggerated? ~ Will he take care of Camilla or hand her over to someone else? I would really appreciate it if you could leave a comment about what you thought about the chapter. Your thoughts are important to me and I need your feedback to continue developing as a writer. Thank you for reading! Lots of love<3