"As you already know, Jeremy has been an alcoholic for a long time. Drinking, women, and partying has been the biggest part of his life. But three months ago he started a rehab and he managed to stay dry for several weeks now. Well, until two days ago and as a result he came to your house and that unfortunate incident occurred," Jonathan says calmly like a wise old man, and I give my whole attention to his words.

Not that I didn't notice how out-of-character Jeremy was yesterday, but still it's not a reason enough for me to drop the charges against him. Not even close.

Sighing with a troubled expression on his face, Jonathan continues. "He was diagnosed with Manic Depression when he was ten. They call it Bipolar. It makes him do weird stuff, including getting violent at times, breaking things around, hurting himself and even those around him."

My breath hitches. But it's not something I'm too surprised to hear. I've witnessed a few assaulting cases involving him, but mostly during parties where alcohol was a trigger. I had absolutely no idea, however, that he has a mental condition as his brother says now.

"My family tried to hide it. No, I'm probably a part of it as I didn't try hard enough to fix the problem from the very start. We allowed him to live as he pleased, believing it was nothing serious, or that he may get better when he turned into a mature adult." Guilt and contempt laces his voice. "You know how my family is, Kira. My mother is a perfectionist and all she has been thinking of was what would people think if we took him to a mental hospital for treatment."

I swallow again, intrigued this time, but I say nothing. I know Sasha Kruger. I can't say I haven't been a victim of her personality back then, because she's one of the most rich and powerful women in Los Angeles, born from an elite family and married in another one.

"Putting his mental disorder aside, which has caused us many problems in business and life in general, the reason why he's been acting crazy lately is because he also has a brain tumor," Jonathan states and my eyes narrow in mild shock.

It can't be true.

"Brain tumor?" My voice comes out thin and something flashes at the back of my mind.

I don't have anything to live for. My brain is fucked. Jeremy rumbled a lot about this.

"He was supposed to fly to Maryland today for the treatment because luckily the tumor can be removed with surgery, according to his specialist," Jonathan says, his green eyes calm and worried. He sighs heavily, studying my face that's still frozen with uncertainties. "He needs to be operated soon."

I still don't respond. My head can't easily process this information.

"Jeremy has been out of his mind. It's one one the reason why we took a trip to Miami to at least cheer him up before his surgery," Traven adds upon my silence. I look at him, and it doesn't seem like he's lying. None of them does. "But he collapsed over there and his conditioned worsened and so we had to come back immediately. He's been hospitalized for three days now but he suddenly escaped yesterday and go drunk. And as we all know, he went to your place afterwards and—"

A ginger waitress appears to take their order. I release a breath as the boys ask for coffee, and Sam a glass of Juice. It doesn't take long until Jonathan gives me an imploring look.

"I remember we talked a lot about you the day before yesterday, and it was probably the first time we had a real heart to heart talk. He told me about the first time he met you, how he felt, and that he hurt you in the end and it's something he regrets the most in this life," Jonathan utters, a faint smile on his face. "All he could think of was seeing you and apologize for that. I don't know what you told the police but—"

"I told the police what I had to tell, and nothing more!" I interrupt. "I don't know why you guys summoned me here, but if it's about Jeremy and his brain tumor then I'm truly sorry. But there's nothing I can do about it."

"He was drunk, Kira. I'm sure he didn't intend to hurt you this time but he only lost control when the cops arrived," Traven flaps. "He wasn't supposed to drink at all. He never had a sip for weeks but because of—"

"The bottom line is, they want you to drop the charges against him so he can receive the treatment as soon as possible," Sam states without batting an eye.

I huff incredulously.

"Please don't interfere, Sam!" Traven urges.

"Sure!" She rolls her eyes while crossing her arms on her chest.

"So you want me to drop the charges and pretend nothing happened, right?" I ask, my gaze fixed steadfastly at Sam.

We stare at one another for a few seconds, our eyes full of unspoken words. She swallows hard, and I hold my breath.

Is everything over between us? Our life long friendship? I can't help but wonder, neglecting the other matter in a fleeting moment.

"Kira, I know this is very difficult for you," Jonathan speaks, reconnecting me with the impending issue. "I understand you, and believe me I'd love to see Jay pay for what he did to you in the past. But he's my brother and I can't let him die in there."

"Oh. And so that's my problem?" I release a disdainful snort. "You want me to just close my eyes and pretend nothing happened?"

Maybe it's true that he came to apologize yesterday, but how does that erase the horror he made me go through each time I recalled being sexually assaulted by him?

"Kira," Jonathan breathes, interlacing his long fingers on the table, looking vexed. "I know this is too much to ask. Believe me I do. But can you at least tell the cops about what really happened with clear details? I'm sure you were shaken last night and maybe you only told them about the violence as the only thing you could clearly remember. He didn't come to your house with any bad intention, did he?"

I don't respond right away. If I think harder, I believe he wasn't the same Jeremy I know when we talked yesterday. He only got defensive when the police arrived and I don't know if it's what exactly I said to that Inspector.

"Your explanation may help with his case, even if you decide not to drop the charges." Traven shifts a bit on his chair while uncrossing his legs. "He won't ever get close to you, Kira. He's been so out of his mind lately and seeing you in Miami made him even more insane. It's true he's not a great guy but what he needs is psychiatric help and not going to jail. Please try to consider, Kira, huh?"

"Psychiatric help," I mutter under my breath, thinking of how psychotic and unpredictable he has been from the very first time I met him. Was it that Bipolar thing? "But he can still get help without me dropping the charges, can't he?" I blurt out.

I feel pressured, my heart and brain squeezing me in the middle.

They all give me a blank look, and I'm instantly the villain of my own story, someone without a tender heart.

"It won't be the same, Kira. But you have all the rights to refuse, if that's your decision. We just wanted to give it a try," Jonathan says in a defeated tone of voice.

I'm so confused right now that I don't know what to say. I can't decide yet. It's an undeniable truth that I hate Jeremy; I'd love to see him suffer, but not dead.

Sam huffs incredulously. "See? I told you it was a fool's errand coming to her for help."

"You know what!" I get up abruptly, banging my hands on the table, frustrated. "I have had it! If you have problems with me, just say it straight to my face! Stop using this as a way to express your anger . . . or whatever you feel towards me!"

I mean, must we settle our scores right here? Can't it wait for now?

Sam smirks arrogantly. "And what if I want to fight? Do you think you can pay me back for what you did with a simple argument?"

"Pay you back? Oh no. I don't owe you anything, Samantha, so don't you dare patronize me!" I snarl.

Her eyes widen, and it's probably the first time I speak to her like this.

"Bitch," she mutters, panting angrily, her fists clenched tightly.

"Are we going to talk about this unpleasant agenda or should I just go?" I turn to the two baffled men, my question directed towards them. "Because it's clearly not everyone is here for that." I glance at Sam briefly.

The two gentlemen eye us with utmost confusion, probably wondering how we've turned into this. Do I even know? Honestly I'm done trying to apologize.

"Are you going to drop the charges or not? I think that's what's important right now," Sam splutters. "That is, if you care even a bit that someone who tried to redeem himself from darkness ended up locked up in jail because he tried to make things right."

God, give me patience as I truly need it today more than ever.

"And by the way, if what happened two years ago is true, then why didn't you say anything to anyone? Why didn't you report it to the police in the first place?" Sam continues, and I think we've already earned ourselves a big audience from our neighboring tables. "Why didn't you tell me if you really considered me a friend?"

"Why didn't I tell you? You're seriously demanding why I hid it from you, Sam?" I laugh painfully. "Where were you when all that happened, huh? You were out partying! I called you! I needed you! I called and called again, but you never answered! And the next day, where were you, huh? At your friend's. Hungover and wasted after the alcohol you drank the whole night! I called again and you said your head was killing you and so you'd call me later! And guess what, that later was something I didn't have and so I chose to go away and bear it on my own. As I always do, Sam, because you're never available when I need you. Never!"

I blink and tears spill down on my face. A deafening silence makes me realize that everyone in the restaurant is now staring at us—at me—including the waitress who gives me a pitiful look.

I sigh heavily, pulling myself together. I look at Jonathan and say, "You want me to drop the charges against him, right? All of you. Fine. Let me speak to Jeremy and I'll decide afterwards."

What am I doing?

Jonathan nods swiftly, a small relief washing over him. "I'll take you there right now."

I grab my handbag without looking at any other person until I get out of the resort. My heart is beating fast, fear and uncertainty engulfing me. I feel like running away and pretend this hasn't happened. But no, I have to deal with this.

We slip into a blue SUV and Traven drives in utter silence.

Minutes pass and we soon arrive at the central precinct Jeremy. My heart beats more rapidly as I go alone to the visitor's curb to see the supposedly sick person. I can't fathom what I feel, but when Jeremy finally shows up, my heart jumps. I sigh softly before firming my gaze towards him.

Here goes nothing.

Astonished to see me, Jeremy's eyes widen. I'm positively the last person he was expecting to visit, and I can't say I'm surprised. The feeling is absolutely mutual. I did not expect to see him anytime soon.

I study him for a good while. And frankly, he looks pale and sick—no color of life on his face—and neither full of energy as he walks in quite weakly. He's limping, his eyes dark and livid. I clear my throat as he saunters closer.

I think he's truly sick.

The guard leaves Jeremy off to his seat across the table. His hands are cuffed and he doesn't seem to have been treated well here. He has a bandage on his neck, the place I scratched him with a broken wine bottle.

But that's not all. He also has a few bruises on the face, and I suspect he must have gotten himself into a fight or something similar, given how I know him and his shortsighted temper. Bipolar or not, he really has issues in the brain and I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.