Chapter Ninety Four

Chapter 94
The early morning light seeped through the hospital room's blinds, painting pale streaks across the white walls. Jemima sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she clutched the cup of water Dr. Elara had given her the night before. Sleep had eluded her, as it often did these days, leaving her stranded in a world of restless thoughts and intrusive memories.
She glanced at the mirror across the room, its surface dull in the dim light. Her reflection stared back, unflinching, a reminder of the fragmented person she had become. Jemima. Jemma. Two sides of the same shattered coin.
The door creaked open, and Dr. Elara entered, clipboard in hand, her presence as calm and steady as ever. "Good morning, Jemima," she greeted softly, closing the door behind her.
Jemima didn't respond at first, her gaze fixed on the mirror. "Do you ever wonder," she murmured, "if broken things can ever really be fixed?"
Dr. Elara paused, studying her carefully before taking a seat beside her. "I think broken things can become whole again," she said. "But not in the way they were before. Sometimes, they're stronger for it."
Jemima let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "Stronger? I don't feel strong. I feel like I'm barely holding myself together."
Dr. Elara leaned forward, her tone gentle but firm. "That's why we're here. To help you rebuild, piece by piece. But first, you have to face those pieces."
Jemima turned to her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "You mean the memories," she said bitterly. "The ones I've been running from my entire life."
Dr. Elara nodded. "Yes. And the ones Jemma has been carrying for you."
Jemima's throat tightened at the mention of her alter. "She's not carrying them for me," she said. "She's hoarding them, keeping them locked away like some twisted treasure chest."
"Maybe," Dr. Elara replied. "But have you considered why? Jemma didn't just appear out of nowhere, Jemima. She came into being because you needed her. Because you couldn't handle what was happening to you alone."
The words struck a nerve, and Jemima looked away, her jaw clenched.
"Let's go to the therapy room," dr Elara suggested and guided Jemima to the therapy where they met with Dr. Kaine.
Jemima sat in the same chair she had occupied countless times before. The walls were painted a soft, calming blue, though it did little to ease the tension coiling in her chest.
Dr. Kaine and Dr. Elara sat across from her, their expressions patient but expectant. On the table between them lay a tablet, its screen dark and reflective.
"Today," Dr. Kaine began, "we're going to try something new. A guided dialogue between you and Jemma."
Jemima's stomach churned at the thought. "And what if she doesn't want to talk?"
"She will," Dr. Kaine assured her. "She always does when you're ready."
With a deep breath, Jemima closed her eyes, letting the world around her fade into the background. She focused on her breathing, on the faint rhythm of her heartbeat. And then, slowly, she felt it—the familiar presence lurking at the edges of her consciousness.
"Hello, Jemima."
Her eyes snapped open, and there she was—Jemma. Not in the flesh, but in the reflection on the tablet's screen. Her posture was relaxed, her expression smug, as though she had been waiting for this moment.
"You called? Again? Jemma said, her voice calm and expectant.
Jemima's hands balled into fists. "They said we need to talk."
"Do we?" Jemma countered, arching a brow. "Because the last time we 'talked,' you told me you wanted me gone."
"I still do," Jemima shot back.
Jemma's smirk faltered, just for a moment. "Of course you do," she said, her tone quieter. "But you can't get rid of me, Jemima. I'm part of you, whether you like it or not."
Dr. Elara leaned forward slightly. "Jemma, why do you think Jemima wants you gone?"
Jemma's gaze flicked to the doctor before returning to Jemima. "I don't know. Probably because I scare her," she said simply. "Because I remind her of everything she's trying to forget."
Jemima's chest tightened at the words. "You don't remind me," she said through gritted teeth. "You are everything I'm trying to forget."
"And yet here I am," Jemma replied, her voice softer now. "I didn't ask to exist, Jemima. You created me. You needed me. I thought we reached a truce the last time we summoned me. I am. It's the enemy, how many times do I have to tell you before that sinks in?"
Jemima's voice cracked as she replied, "I didn't need you. I needed someone to help me, someone to save me."
Jemma's expression softened, and for the first time, Jemima saw something in her eyes—something vulnerable. "I did save you," she said quietly. "Maybe it was in the most unorthodox way, maybe it was not in the way you wanted, but I did."
The room fell silent, the weight of Jemma's words hanging in the air.
Back at the Valerian estate, Marcus stood in the study, his hands braced against the desk as he stared down at the reports in front of him. Ava sat across from him, her expression tense.
"The Bratva are moving in on Ross territory," Marcus said, his voice low. "If we don't act fast, they'll take everything."
"And what about Alan?" Ava asked, her voice laced with worry. "Any word from him since then?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "No. But if his father is really..."
Ava's face paled. "Alan's next but he's the only heir to Ross's empire."
"Exactly," Marcus said. "Which is why we need to find him before anyone else does."
Vanessa entered the room then, her expression grim. "We've got a problem," she said. "Jay left."
Marcus frowned. "To where?"
"Where do you think?" Vanessa replied.
Marcus's eyes darkened. "Jemima has nothing to do with this. She needs to get better before we involve her in all of this mess."
Ava stood abruptly, her voice sharp. "Then we have to stop Jay before he tells her anything."
Marcus's silence spoke volumes.
In the hospital, Jemima sat alone in her room, her mind racing with everything Jemma had said. She couldn't shake the feeling that Jemma was right—that she had been born out of necessity, not malice.
But what did that mean for her now?
The door opened suddenly, and she looked up to see Jay standing there, his expression unreadable.
"Jay?" she said, her voice filled with surprise.
"Hey," he said softly, closing the door behind him.
Jemima's heart gave a little lurch at the sight of him and without thinking, she rushed to hug him.
She had missed him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, barely keeping the excitement away from her voice.
Jay's lips quirked into a small smile as he crossed the room to her bedside. "Visiting my girlfriend duh," he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
He wanted to tell her about the recent development but he needed her to get better first.
Jemima blinked, caught off guard by his words. "I'm not exactly the best company right now," she muttered, looking away.
Jay pulled up a chair and sat beside her, leaning forward so their faces were at eye level. "That's not for you to decide," he said, his tone light but firm. "I missed you."
Her gaze flickered to his, and for a moment, she saw the sincerity in his eyes—the quiet determination that always seemed to ground her. "You missed this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely to herself. "Because I'm not sure there's much worth missing."
Jay frowned, his expression softening. "Don't do that," he said gently. "Don't talk about yourself like that."
Jemima let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Jay, look at me. I'm a mess. I don't even know who I am anymore."
He reached out, his hand covering hers. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine. "You're Jemima Valerian," he said firmly. "And you're stronger than you think. You’re SK remember, the most ruthless assassin to ever grace this earth. The one who carries out a coup with such finesse. That’s my girlfriend.”
Her throat tightened at his words. "I don't feel strong," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That's okay," Jay said. "You don't have to feel strong all the time. That's why I'm here—to remind you when you forget."
Jemima's eyes filled with tears, and she quickly looked away, ashamed of her vulnerability. But Jay wasn't having it. He cupped her chin gently, turning her face back toward him.
"You don't have to hide from me," he said, his voice low and steady. "Not ever."
A tear slipped down her cheek, and Jay brushed it away with his thumb. His touch was so tender, so full of care, that it broke something inside her.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"You'll never have to find out," he replied.
For the next hour, they sat together, talking about everything and nothing. Jay made her laugh with stories about his disastrous attempts at cooking, his vivid descriptions pulling her out of her head and into a world where the heaviness didn't feel so suffocating.
"I swear," Jay said, grinning, "the smoke alarm went off so many times, my neighbors probably thought the building was on fire."
Jemima chuckled, the sound soft and unpracticed but genuine. "Maybe you should stick to takeout," she teased.
"Hey, I'm not giving up that easily," he said, feigning offense. "One day, I'm going to cook you the best meal you've ever had. Just you wait."
She arched a brow, her smile lingering. "I'll believe it when I taste it. I suffered from food poisoning after eating your frittatas remember? For a Roman like yourself, I was disappointed.”
They shared a hearty laughter.
Jay leaned back in his chair, his grin fading into a softer expression. "I like seeing you smile," he said, his tone quieter now.
Jemima's cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "You make it sound like I don't smile often."
"You don't," he said simply. "But when you do, it's worth the wait."
Her heart ached at his words, a bittersweet mix of gratitude and guilt. She didn't feel like she deserved someone like Jay—someone who could see the light in her even when she couldn't see it herself.
"Why do you put up with me?" she asked suddenly, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
Jay's brow furrowed. "What kind of question is that?"
"A serious one," she said, her voice wavering. "I'm a mess, Jay. I'm not normal. I have... problems. Two people are living inside of me. You could have broken up with me and moved on, but you're here. Why?"
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Because I love you," he said, his voice steady and unwavering.
Jemima's eyes widened, her breath hitching. "Jay..."
"I'm serious," he continued. "I love you, Jem. All of you. You asked me a certain time why I did love you and I didn’t have any reason because I believed… I still believe that there shouldn’t be any reason to love because once there’s a reason, there’s a condition and once there’s a condition, it’s not ethereal anymore but Jem if you want a reason, there’s that. I love you for being imperfect. The parts you show and the parts you try to hide. I don't care how broken you think you are. To me, you're whole."
Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, they weren't born of pain. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his.
"I don't deserve you," she whispered.
"That's not your call to make," he said with a small smile.
He stood then, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Jemima shifted to make room, her heart pounding in her chest as he pulled her into his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes closing as the warmth of his embrace enveloped her.
For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.