Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
CITI
“Thanks, Con.”
“No problem. You want me to wait for you?” He asks me every time he drops me off, even though he knows the answer.
“No, but thank you. Ambros is coming to pick me up.”
“Alright, then I’m going to drop your bags off at your place, then head to the clubhouse so I can steal Star from Capone.”
I laugh as I climb out of the truck and turn to face him. “You know you could always come over to the house and play with Star whenever you want. I’ll even feed you.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Star loves you.”
“She’s adorable.”
“And she knows how to work it.” He laughs as I shake my head. “Drive safely, and thanks again.”
“Anytime. You know that.”
I close the door and head on in, knowing he won’t leave until I’m inside.
I head across the foyer, passing two women arguing.
One has a huge double stroller, laden with groceries and two sleeping kids.
The other is wearing a polo shirt with a small headset mic.
I make my way to the stairs as their argument escalates.
“What do you mean there’s no elevator? How am I supposed to get that upstairs on my own?”
“I’m more than happy to help you, ma’am.”
The door to the stairwell closes behind me, cutting them off. As I walk up the first flight, I hear footsteps coming in my direction, so I stay to the far left. I’m halfway up when I see the person coming toward me. We both freeze in surprise.
“Pig?”
“Not anymore.”
He continues to walk, edging past me, clearly not happy to see me. I can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t be happy to see me either. And though I know it’s not solely on me—the reason Havoc kicked him out—I still feel responsible.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It wasn’t personal.”
“Yeah, for you maybe, but for me it was very fucking personal.”
“Right. Sorry.” I take him in. He looks scruffy and unkempt, and his face is gaunt. “Are you okay?”
“What the fuck do you think, Citi? Am I okay? You’re seriously asking me that?”
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I whisper.”
“Well, I already have one therapist, so I don’t need another. When I want the advice of a former sex toy, I’ll ask.”
I rear back as if he slapped me. “Oh, ouch.” I move past him, putting some space between us, suddenly very conscious that it’s just the two of us in this stairwell.
“Just saying it like I see it.”
“I can see why they call you Pig,” I murmur, but I keep walking, done with this whole conversation.
I hurry up the stairs, wanting to get far away from the asshole.
Thankfully, I don’t hear any footsteps behind me until I get to the top, and then I hear him retreat before he’s gone.
I let out a shaky breath as I pull the door open and walk through, taking a seat outside Michael’s door so I can catch my breath.
The encounter has left me shaken. Yes, there was always something off about Pig. But mostly it was because I thought he didn’t care, not because I felt threatened by him. But now I’m wondering if my unease was because my subconscious felt something my eyes had failed to see.
I lift my hands to look at them and see them shaking ever so slightly. Feeling like an idiot for letting him rattle me, I take deep breaths and slowly blow them out again. I curse the man for putting me on edge, especially before I have to go in and talk about my feelings.
When I finally have my thoughts back under control, I pull out my cell phone to let Ambros know what just happened and find I already have a text from him. I open it and start reading.
Havoc has called emergency church. I suspect the DNA results are in, so I might be a little late. I can have Con wait for you, or you can eat at the cafe without me, and I’ll head on up the second I’m done here.
I stare at the screen, not sure what to say.
I might not know Lil, but I still feel sad for all that she went through.
Part of me is praying this isn’t her. The other part of me feels guilty about that.
If it isn’t, then another mother is out there somewhere, not knowing her baby girl is gone.
As a mom myself, that pain is a universal one.
No parent is supposed to outlive their child.
This is going to affect all the brothers. I text him back that I’ll wait at the cafe until he’s done, so Con can help with Star if Capone is struggling with the news.
No problem. I’ll keep you updated on what we find out. Love you.
I love you, too, I text back before slipping my phone into my pocket.
Blowing out a steadying breath, I get to my feet and knock on the door, noticing belatedly that the door plaque is missing.
I’m about to walk down the corridor to see if he’s moved when I hear him call for me to come in.
I open the door and find him in his wheelchair, looking out the window.
He turns when I enter and smiles at me, albeit a tired one.
“Citi. It’s good to see you again.”
“You too. I was a little worried you’d moved when I didn’t see your name on the door.”
He looks at the space I’m pointing to and frowns before sighing. “It sounds ridiculous, but that’s the fifth plaque that’s disappeared. And it’s not as if they’re falling off, or I’d find them.”
“Someone’s stealing your door plaque?” I ask, not able to hide my amusement.
“I told you it sounded ridiculous. After all, what the hell would someone want them for? It’s not like they’re made of gold and can be melted down.”
I close the door behind me and take my usual seat as Michael wheels closer before locking the brakes on his chair and snagging the iPad off his extraordinarily neat desk.
“So, how have you been? I was worried when you missed out on the last few sessions.”
I huff out a laugh and, before I know it, I’m giggling like a lunatic, tears streaming down my face. He hands me the box of tissues from his desk as he waits for me to calm myself down a little. Eventually I do, though my breath still hitches in my chest when I try to breathe deeply.
“Alright, an immediate observation tells me you’re feeling overwhelmed. Do you want to talk about the possible reason why?”
“I’m not sure where to start.” I shake my head, tearing at the tissue in my hand.
“I didn’t tell you before. I don’t know why. Maybe because saying it out loud made it more real.” I swallow, my throat feeling dry. “Someone broke into my house. They drugged Star and carried her outside and locked her in the truck.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I nod, wiping the tissue to my nose. “It sounds like something from a movie script. But it’s true. I can’t even begin to describe the sheer terror I felt. It was like history was repeating itself.”
“And Star’s okay?”
“She’s fine. She doesn’t seem to remember any of it.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
I bite my lip, knowing I’m supposed to be honest here, but there are some things I can’t say out loud without putting the club at risk.
“Nobody has been able to identify who took her. I just knew I couldn’t go back, so we packed up and moved in with my boyfriend.”
He leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. “I’m not sure you were at the boyfriend-girlfriend stage last time you were here.”
“I guess living in close proximity to someone, seeing what they’re like day in and day out, can speed up the process.”
“Hmmm…” He makes a note while I squirm, wanting to know what he means by that.
“He’s good to me, and he’s great with Star.”
“And that’s something I’m thrilled to hear.
But I have to wonder if you’ve progressed this far because of your circumstances as opposed to your feelings for each other.
” He holds up his hand when I’m about to argue his point.
“I’m not saying you don’t care about each other.
That’s not it at all. I’m more worried about you becoming reliant on him, while you’re still in the process of learning to stand on your own two feet. ”
Part of me understands what he’s saying, but I can’t help but feel pissed off about it, too.
Then I remember that he hasn’t seen the steps I’ve been taking, and I haven’t been here to talk about it.
Things like the classes with Amity and the guys, the friendship I’ve made with Six, and the relationship I’ve been nurturing with my sister.
All of that on top of having to be a good mom outside in the real world, which is full of expectations and doesn’t care about your excuses.
And now I’m torn because the petty part of me doesn’t want to explain it all.
After all, it’s mine. I worked on it, fought for it, and I feel stronger both mentally and physically because of it.
Does that mean I’m better? Of course not. Heck, I was sobbing not five minutes ago. There is no magic cure for trauma. No off-switch or factory reset to restore us to what we previously were. There’s only acceptance, acknowledging that things have changed. I’ve changed.
Am I broken? Yes. But I’m stronger in the places that broke because of the scar tissue left behind.
I’m resilient, I’ve come to realize, resourceful, and a whole lot less angry at myself than I used to be.
I know it wasn’t my fault what happened to me, even when I gave in without fighting, even when I told him I loved him and I liked what he did to me.
My words were the weapon that guaranteed my survival.
My brain was the only thing that helped me navigate the twisted, dark maze of my life.
There is still shame there—I can admit that—but it’s laced with pride, too.
I did what it took, and look at me now. I’m still standing up, still turning up, and I do it knowing Jasper’s looking up at me with hate born from the fact that I won in the end.
“Citi?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said.”
“And?”
“And I’m not looking for Ambros to fix me, and he’s not trying to. He might just be the only person who doesn’t act like I’m broken, and that includes you.”
He’s about to say something, but this time I’m the one to cut him off.
“I get that it’s your job to look out for me. But I’m looking out for myself, and every time you remind me that I’m a victim, I start thinking like one again.”
“You are a victim, though, Citi. There is no shame in that.”
“There is shame in that. Jasper’s shame.
I carry a little, sure, but even I know it’s misguided.
I’m a victim, fine. But I’m so much more than that.
I’m a survivor, a fighter, a mother, a sister, a friend, a daughter, and a lover.
I’m stubborn and precocious, wary but hopeful, scared and brave.
I am so many things, and I’m frustrated that you only ever focus on one.
” I snap my mouth closed after my outburst as he looks at me thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I apologize.” He places his iPad back on his desk and folds his hands in his lap. “Why don’t you tell me what else has happened, and I’ll think before I speak.”
I sigh, tempted to call the session short. But he looks earnest, so I shuffle through what else has happened, think about what I struggled with the most, and decide to tell him about the incident at the school.
I start by explaining the call from Star’s school while Amity and I were at the movies—and how a man, identifying himself as Jasper Markham, tried to collect Star from school.
“How terrifying. Did they identify the man?”
“They captured him on CCTV. He’s a man known to the MC.”
He winces. “So your child was almost abducted because of her ties to the club?”
“I realize it’s easy to cast judgment when you know nothing about MCs, but don’t assume this was their fault.
They didn’t invite this psycho into their lives.
He just strolled right on in like he was owed something.
Would you blame the victim of domestic violence for opening her home to her attacker, or for marrying a man who turned into a monster on the eve of their honeymoon?
Are you going to blame the victim for what she wore when she was raped, because I was wearing a—”
“Pink raincoat and matching boots, I know. And I wasn’t blaming you at all. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”
I fold my arms defensively as he runs his hands through his hair.
My phone chimes in my pocket. Usually, I’d ignore it during a session, but knowing what’s going on back at home, I pull it out and glance at the screen, feeling my face fall at the news.
“Something wrong?”
“Just some bad news.”
He stares at me, waiting for more. With a huff, I tell him about Lil, more than eager to have the attention off me for a minute. I leave out anything that might incriminate the club.
“So this Jane Doe, they’ve confirmed it’s Lilac?”
“The dental report confirms it,” I murmur before I freeze. I blink, swallowing the bile in my throat as I look up into Michael’s eyes. “How did you know my raincoat was pink?”
He frowns, distracted. “What?”
“You said I was wearing a pink raincoat and boots, and you’re right. I just never got that far in the story.”
He sighs, folding his hands together. “Your story made national news, Citi. Your face was plastered everywhere, along with a description of the clothing you were wearing when you were taken.”
My shoulders sag. “Right, I’m sorry. The text has left me on edge. I think I need to go. I’m just not in the right headspace for this. I’ll be more prepared for this next week.”
I get to my feet and move to the door, my palms feeling slick as nausea swirls in my stomach.
“Citi, wait.”
I pause with my hand on the door, tugging it open a fraction before answering. “Lil is short for Lilian, which I’m guessing is pretty common. I never said her name was Lilac.”
“That’s because it’s not.”
I spin around to confront him, only he’s not in his chair. He’s standing in front of me, all vestiges of the cool and calm therapist gone in the blink of an eye.
Taking advantage of my shock, he grabs me by the throat and yanks me closer. “That’s the name I gave her, and nobody gets to call her Lilac but me.”