Chapter One Hundred And Two

Chapter 102
The night was still. Too still. The air at the docks, once alive with the sounds of battle, now hung heavy with silence. Jemima stood in the aftermath, her breaths shallow and uneven. The weight of the confrontation with Jon Ross pressed on her chest like a stone. She had won—technically—but the victory felt hollow.
She momentarily glanced at Alan and wondered how all this might be affecting him. She wanted to touch his arm, to let him know that she was there for him but her movement felt so heavy.
Around her, the world moved in slow motion. Marcus was barking orders, his voice sharp and authoritative as he directed the cleanup. Ava was tending to Alan's injuries, her face pale but resolute.
Vanessa was changing the bandages on Dimitri’s injuries. A small smile plastered across her face at the aftermath of the chaos. This was her family.
And Jay... Jay was by her side, his hand resting gently on her back.
"Jemima," he said softly, his voice pulling her back to the present. "It's over."
Her eyes flickered to him, searching his face for reassurance. She wanted to believe him, to let herself feel the relief he spoke of. But deep down, she knew the battle wasn't over—not for her. She opened her mouth but no words came out, instead, her breathing became heavier and her movements slurred.
Her gaze drifted to the crumpled form of Jon Ross, lying unconscious on the ground. The decision to spare him hadn't felt like her own. It was as if something inside her—someone inside her—had hesitated. Marcus didn’t want to but she pushed him to, like a force that wasn’t to be reckoned with.
Jemma.
The name echoed in her mind, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Jemma had been quiet during the fight, her voice subdued but present, like a shadow lingering just out of sight. But now, in the stillness, Jemima could feel her alter stirring, restless and unresolved.
"We need to leave," Ava said, her voice breaking through Jemima's thoughts.
Jemima nodded numbly but slowly, allowing Jay to guide her toward one of the waiting cars. The drive back to the Valerian estate was silent, the tension thick in the air. Jemima stared out the window, her reflection fragmented by the city lights.
She watched as the lights blurred while they zoomed past the city streets. Horns blaring in the distance became hollow as she noticed a light go on in one of the many tall buildings. The silhouettes in the house began dancing and a soft sob escaped from Jemima. Oh, how she longed to have what they have— the blissfulness and oblivion they have in the mafia world.
"Talk to me," Jay said after a while, his voice gentle but firm.
She hesitated, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "It's Jemma," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's still there."
Jay's brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.
"I thought... I thought facing Jon would silence her," Jemima continued, her voice trembling. "But it didn't. She's quieter, but she's not gone."
Jay reached over, taking her hand in his. "We'll figure this out," he said. "You're not alone in this, Jemima."
“Sounds pretty redundant to me now,” Jemima grumbled, removing her hand from his grasp and returning her gaze to the window.
“Huh! What do you mean?” Jay inquired, the hurt in his voice almost palpable. Jemima shut her eyes, allowing herself to process her thoughts.
“You keep saying these things Jay and it’s starting to feel like it’s a repetition and I’m struggling to believe it anymore,” Jemima said softly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“Come here,” Jay called, drawing her closer. Jemima snuggled up to him and sniffed back the rest of the unshed tears. “I know this is based on you and I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be going through but you have me and I promise to be with you every step of the way.”
She nodded, though her chest felt tight. The truth was, she didn't know if she could ever be free of Jemma—or if she even wanted to be.
Back at the estate, the group gathered in the sitting room. The atmosphere was heavy, the events of the night weighing on everyone. Marcus stood near the fireplace, his expression unreadable as he sipped a glass of whiskey. Ava sat on the couch, her arm bandaged and her face pale but determined.
Jemima stood by the window, staring out at the darkened gardens. She felt detached, like an outsider in her own life.
"You need help," Ava said, breaking the silence.
Jemima turned to her, startled.
"I mean it," Ava continued her tone firm. "You've been through hell, Jemima. And you've been carrying this alone for too long. It's time to let someone else help you."
Jemima opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. Deep down, she knew Ava was right.
"I know someone," Ava added. "Dr. Elara and Dr. Kaine. They're specialists in trauma and dissociative disorders. They can help you. They’ve been helping you and you need to go back.”
Jay nodded in agreement. "She's right. You've done so much for all of us, Jemima. Let us do this for you."
Jemima hesitated, her gaze flickering between them. Finally, she nodded. "Okay."
The psychiatric facility was nestled on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by sprawling gardens and towering oak trees. It was a place designed for healing, with its soft colors and serene atmosphere.
Jemima sat in the passenger seat, her stomach churning with nerves as Jay pulled into the parking lot.
"You're doing the right thing," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
She nodded, though her hands trembled in her lap.
Inside, they were greeted by Dr. Elara and Dr. Kaine. Both women exuded a calm professionalism that immediately put Jemima at ease. Dr. Elara, with her warm smile and kind eyes, extended a hand.
"Jemima. It's a pleasure to have you back," she said.
Dr. Kaine, more reserved but equally kind, nodded. "We’re proud of how far you’ve come but we need more work."
Jemima offered a small smile, though her heart felt heavy.
"Shall we?" Dr. Elara gestured toward a nearby door, and Jemima followed them into a cozy office.
Jay lingered in the waiting area, giving her a reassuring nod as the door closed behind her. After a few hours, he left.
The first few days were filled with grueling sessions. Jemima recounted her past, again and again, the trauma that had fractured her mind, and the events that had led her to this point. Dr. Elara and Dr. Kaine listened attentively, their questions gentle but probing.
"It's not uncommon for trauma to manifest as a separate identity," Dr. Kaine explained during one session. "Jemma was your mind's way of protecting you, of compartmentalizing the pain so you could survive."
"But she's dangerous," Jemima said, her voice shaking. "She's hurt people. She's hurt me."
Dr. Elara leaned forward, her expression compassionate. "We’ve been through this before Jemima, Jemma isn't your enemy, Jemima. She's a part of you—a part that's been hurt and scared for a long time. The goal isn't to silence her but to understand her, to integrate her back into yourself."
The words struck a chord in Jemima, though the thought of confronting Jemma filled her with dread.
Weeks turned into months. Jemima worked tirelessly with Dr. Elara and Dr. Kaine, delving deeper into her psyche. She learned to recognize Jemma's voice, to differentiate her thoughts from the intrusive ones. Slowly, she began to understand the pain and fear that had created her alter.
One day, during a particularly intense session, Dr. Elara guided Jemima into a deep meditative state.
"Picture Jemma," she said softly. "What does she look like?"
Jemima closed her eyes, her breathing steady. In her mind's eye, she saw a younger version of herself—angry, defiant, and afraid.
"She's me," Jemima whispered. "But... different."
"Talk to her," Dr. Kaine encouraged. "Ask her what she needs."
Jemima hesitated, then spoke. "Jemma. What do you want?"
The younger version of herself turned, her eyes filled with tears. "I want to be safe," she said. "I want to stop fighting."
Jemima's heart ached. "You don't have to fight anymore," she said gently. "We can be whole again. But I need you to trust me."
Jemma hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
The breakthrough marked a turning point. Over the next few weeks, Jemima worked to reintegrate Jemma into herself. It wasn't easy—there were moments of doubt, of fear—but she persisted.
One evening, as she sat in the quiet of her room, Jemima felt a shift within herself. The voices in her mind grew quiet, and for the first time in years, she felt a sense of peace.
Jay knocked softly on the door, peeking in. "Hey. How are you feeling?"
Jemima looked up a small but genuine smile on her lips. "Better. Whole."
Jay stepped inside, pulling her into a hug. "I'm so proud of you."
Tears filled Jemima's eyes as she clung to him, the weight of her journey finally lifting. She wasn't completely healed—there was still work to be done—but for the first time, she believed it was possible.
And that was enough.