Free Open Wounds by Camille Taylor

myself. But know I’ve never blamed you. Never wished it was you. Walking away was the hardest decision of my life.”
    Amelia jerked away from Kellie, her emotions raw. She knew Kellie was painting herself as a target and taking on her anger, urging her to put the past behind her.
    Could she? Her closest friend turned her back on her, during a time she’d needed her the most. She’d been sixteen and her best friend had been hurt. She’d had no idea how to help her through it.
    “You did nothing wrong. It was too much. I was in a dark place. The darkest,” Kellie explained, her eyes imploring her to listen, to understand. “I wanted to reach out but I was afraid you’d tip me over the edge. I almost ended it, downed my mother’s pills and booze. I didn’t want to drag you into that. I called Ed and he got me the help I needed. I asked him not to tell you because I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
    Ed had been the detective on her case. A man she respected. Her mentor. It hurt to know he'd kept Kellie’s secret from her. Guilt consumed her. She had been there the entire time, through each of the police interviews, had watched as Kellie became more withdrawn. By the end, she’d become a shadow of her former self. Her friend had been so desolate to the point of taking her own life and she’d not known. Not one inkling. Of all the reasons she’d thought over the years for Kellie’s sudden departure, she’d never once considered it had been her actions that drove her away.
    Kellie certainly knew where to slide the blade for maximum damage. Amelia wanted to dissociate from the memories and emotions her words brought, not wanting to feel but she couldn’t, powerless to stop them from having an effect on her, sharp and painful. The fight went out of her.
    Amelia raised her hips, bringing her body off the floor and twisted like a pretzel, unhorsing Kellie from her perch. She tumbled to the side, losing her grip on Amelia’s arms. They each sat up, breathing heavily.
    A collective groan came from outside the ring as money exchanged hands once more. Slowly the crowd dissipated as it became apparent the show was over. They made no attempt to move, and Amelia wasn’t entirely sure if she could. Her muscles felt like wet spaghetti.
    “So, you ladies work out your differences?” Nick asked good-naturedly as he joined them in the ring.
    Amelia glared at him. “Don’t you dare say a word,” she warned.
    Nick sent a smile her way, unfazed at the warning. He reached down and lifted Kellie to her feet before giving her some instructions on how to improve her technique.
    Amelia stood, slightly incensed. “Hey, you work with me, remember? You may want to rethink where your loyalty is.”
    “What?” Nick asked innocently. “I was just trying to help…unless of course you’d like me to instruct you?”
    “Quit while you’re ahead, Nick,” Kellie told him.
    “While you still have a head,” Amelia muttered.
    “I’ll leave you to it, then. Quite a show, ladies. I fear for any man who dares cross you.”
    He left them, moving over to the weights he’d probably been using before Amelia and Kellie had starred centre stage. Kellie waited until he was out of earshot before she spoke. “So, are we good?”
    Amelia took off her gloves and placed them on the bench nearby.
    “Yeah, we’re good.”
    “There’s something to be said about Donovan Style. No bullshit, just anger and fists…works every time.”
     
    ***
     
    Fifteen minutes later, Amelia startled when Kellie placed two glasses and a bottle of Scotch down hard on her desk. She had been so engrossed in the lives of the two dead men, she’d not heard her approach.
    Kellie wheeled over a chair from Dean’s empty desk. The Pig Pen had been deserted as was most of the floor, their fellow officers either out on call or catching up on missed sleep. She sat down and poured two fingers of Scotch into each glass.
    Outside, darkness had fallen over the city,