Bonus Epilogue One
A Traumatic Resolution
Antoinette
They say that healing is not linear.
Sure, the sharp claws of grief will slowly release over time, and you’ll learn to ebb and flow with the infinite emotions left in its wake. Nothing will ever be the same, but at some point, you’ll wake up, and it will just be different. You’ll breathe a bit easier, the constant ache in your chest becoming less and less as the years continue to march on, and eventually, everyday life will take on a slightly distorted picture of what it always was.
But I’ve found the same cannot be said when you’re grieving your own self.
Healing the loss of oneself is more like water swirling down a drain. It has no beginning and no end. It spins upon itself, around and around and around, the constant feed of anger and bitterness never allowing it to dissipate.
Sometimes, it’s a hurricane where all those volatile emotions build and build until they reach category five and begin to take out anyone in its path. But at least a hurricane has some peace at its center, as opposed to the tornado that sets down in a flash, with no warning, no introduction—just instant thunderclaps and lightning, heartbreak and destruction.
One never thinks this would happen to them, and even then, you’re certain it could never happen again, which makes this last event a good reminder of how good I had it that first time.
I mean, sure, this sounds incredibly preposterous when I think about it, but at the end of the day, my previous episode with amnesia was a walk in the park. Darius made sure of it. Tony, Matt, and even Lilith, too. They all watched over me and protected me, letting me be whatever version of myself my mind decided it wanted to be on any given day without comment or criticism. They followed along behind me, sweeping up my messes and doing their due diligence to make sure I wouldn’t hurt myself or anyone else. They enforced boundaries on themselves and me, often sacrificing their own wants and needs in the process.
Of course, this is not at all what happened the last time, and now, I’m fortunate enough to be surrounded by people who want to help me, who want to see me succeed in finding myself again regardless of how many times I drag them down into the darkness with me.
This also means they have zero problem calling me out for being a dickhead. Tony has probably done it more than anyone. He has taken me to task more times than I can count, his ability to see through to the very heart of things so finely tuned that sometimes he catches me while I’m still in the process of formulating my attack.
Basically, everyone has taken a turn setting me straight.
Except for Darius.
And I know that’s because I’ve hurt Darius in more ways than I can count. Time and time again, I prove that we always strike out at the ones that love us most. And for the most part, he just takes it. With barely a flinch, he absorbs the brunt of whatever I’m saying or doing, consistently allowing me to use him as a punching bag.
He doesn’t get angry, sulk, chastise me, or insist I apologize. And then, later on when things have settled, he comes back to me with the same smile, reminding me that he loves me and that will never change.
And that just pisses me off even more.
Because I hate this version of Darius almost as much as I hate this version of me.
Sometimes it’s like I poke at him just to see if I can push him over the edge, make him fight back, make him put me in my place, and tell me to shut my fucking mouth.
But I know he won’t.
And that’s because I hurt him so deeply that he may never heal fully.
And it’s because of this great hurt that he no longer trusts me.
Not long after we all went back to our normal lives, I initiated sex with him. It was only after a lengthy discussion that he felt comfortable going along with it. And that was with the distinct reminder that at the first glimmer of discomfort. I would use my safe word.
But of course, I didn’t.
It was only his overwhelming emotions that had him missing the initial cues that something was off. He missed that first subtle shift when I started to look inward, where that darkness started to seep in, forcing me down into that pool of nothing where I live so comfortably.
What he didn’t miss was when I said the wrong name.
Maybe that was my mind’s way of setting me free—an unintentional safe word thrown out due to my inability to use the official one. Because the mention of Dmitri in such an intimate setting jacked the brakes instantaneously, and then, when he stepped back and turned all the lights on, he knew, the deep betrayal on his face permanently etched into my memories.
That was the one and only time Darius has ever walked out on me.
I’m uncertain if he would have if we had been off on our own. When I heard the click of the door, I was torn between relief and despair. Part of me wanted to call out for him, to race after him and bring him back.
But I didn’t. I just continued lying there, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing.
And then, maybe minutes or hours later, my mother showed up.
I can smile at the memory now. Because lord knows Lilith has not one fucking problem telling me when I’m being a heartless bitch.
It’s not that she lacks empathy for my situation; that would be the farthest thing from the truth. She shows her loving support by stripping away my excuses and forcing me to be accountable for my actions. Most of the time, I fucking hate it, but once I wipe away the fog of shame, I can acknowledge that there’s some good in her directness.
Even Darius, who lit out of that bedroom without a backward glance, managed to push back his hurt and fury long enough to call in reinforcements to ensure I was truly okay.
Lilith didn’t come in on the offensive. She did her due diligence to bring me back down to the same plane of reality in which she lives. And then, once I was centered, she let me fucking have it.
And I apologized to Darius. I’ve apologized repeatedly, and he says he accepts my apology; however, we haven’t reached a point where he trusts me enough to take that step again.
Not having a sex life of any kind feels unnatural to me, but truly, it’s the lack of intimacy that hurts the most. Those deeply primal sexual acts may bring us impossibly close to each other, but in reality, it’s the aftermath that has our souls mingling. Soft touches and deep conversations that raise it above relationships that are purely fucking.
Sure, we still have the odd soft touch and deep conversation, but I miss the yearning—that dark desire to possess and be possessed.
Which brings me to this moment.
Darius has spent the morning in his office. I’m sure it’s probably equal parts working and avoiding me. When I enter without knocking, he looks up, startled, and when I walk across the room without saying anything, his eyebrows raise.
I set the small bottle that I’m gripping in my hand on his desk with a thwack. He glances at it briefly and then glances back at me as I grab onto the arm of his chair. He pushes the chair out as I spin him toward me, and then I step between his legs, my hands moving to his cheeks, forcing him to meet my gaze. “I need you to do something for me.”
The worried look on his face makes me smile, and when he says nothing, I add, “It won’t hurt, I promise.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” he replies dryly.
I roll my eyes a bit because that’s a fair assessment of basically anything I could probably be asking him. So, I squint at him and reply, “This is Meghan-approved.”
“I wish that made me feel better.”
Now, I laugh, knowing that some of the conversations I’ve had with my psychiatrist can be a bit questionable. But in her defense, the majority of the questionable dialogue comes from me, and she spends quite a bit of time setting me straight.
Once again, he glances at the bottle I left on his desk. He looks at me with a questioning expression, so I retrieve it, holding it between us. “I believe this will help me.”
“I’m going to take a guess that that is not a prescription.”
I grimace slightly, giving the little bottle a shake. “Not exactly.”
“Where did you get it?” I pause briefly, contemplating my response, even though the truth is the only acceptable answer. “You’re not seriously going to try to fucking lie to me?” he asks slowly. I give him a look and say nothing, so he continues, “Baby girl, the lack of a label on that bottle is a sure indication that it’s not a prescription.”
I’m sure my smile is rather sheepish, though I hope also a bit apologetic. “I know. Agatha got it for me, but we did extensive research, and she got it from a legitimate source in Amsterdam. I promise, we’ve even had professional oversight.”
His eyes search mine briefly, and then, after a moment, he turns his chair more fully, urging me onto his lap. I settle myself sideways. His arms come around me loosely, and then he says, “Tell me what you need, baby girl.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I kind of got that impression from your approach but tell me anyway.”
“I want to use the pills to see if an in-depth somno scene will help me push beyond this excruciating barrier I can’t seem to break through.”
His whole body tenses, and his hands move as if he’s going to push me off his lap, so I turn toward him, resting an arm over his shoulders, my other hand moving to his cheek, turning his face toward mine. Our eyes lock, and the pain I see reflected in those golden eyes I love so much has my breath catching in my throat. Suddenly, I have this deep yearning to fix it. To take one last leap off a cliff, knowing he’ll be there to catch me.
“Please, Darius. You’ll be in full control of the scene. You have the power to call it at any moment.”
He glances away, his throat working as he swallows, and then he looks back at me. “What about your safe word?”
I shake my head. “I don’t fucking want it.”
“What does that mean?”
I sigh, looking away briefly before once again locking eyes with his as I explain, “I want the responsibility stripped from me entirely. I want to be laid open, completely vulnerable to you, and at your mercy.”
He shifts in his chair for a moment, and I think he’s going to knock me off his lap. I brace myself, willing to wrap myself around him and refuse to go, but all he does is pull me closer, turning me so I’m facing him fully, straddling him. “Then tell me exactly what you need.”
Happy that it’s not a no, I wiggle a little closer, my hands resting on his chest, relief running through me as his hands settle on my hips. “I’ve worked out the timeline. If I take it during the day, I won’t end up in my natural sleep cycle.”
“And that means what?”
“It means if you begin at a certain time after I take it, then toward the end, I should start to wake.”
“And that’s what you want?”
“Yes,” I reply softly. “I want to know on some level that you’re there. I want to feel you claiming me again.”
His fingers dig into my hips, desire flaring in his eyes. “And that’s what you want? Me to claim you?”
Nodding, a harsh, humorless laugh falls from my lips. He frowns slightly and opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something else, but I stop him by pressing my hand against his chest. “Yes, that’s what I want. Which means you have to promise me that no matter what happens—no matter what I say or do—you’ll keep going.”
He studies me, the tension in his body returning, and then he says, “I don’t know if I can do that.”
Panic shoots through me, and my hands move up until I’m gripping his head. Leaning in, I reply fervently, “You must. I know this is a huge ask, Darius. I know that this goes against your overwhelming instinct to protect me. But in this case, doing what I’m asking will be protecting me. Saving me.”
Again, he searches my eyes. Then, he’s urging me closer, and he wraps his arms around my back until I’m tucked against his chest protectively. His lips press against my forehead, and then he sighs, the warmth of his breath rustling my hair. And after a few long moments, he whispers, “I’ll do it on one condition.”
My heart races in my chest, relief washing over me as I reply, “Anything.”
“You have to write it down.”
Frowning, I attempt to push away from him, but his arms just tighten, keeping me in place. So, I give up struggling, relaxing back into him as I ask, “What do you mean?”
“I need you to write down everything that you want me to do to you. I want a general script of what you’re expecting. I need you to tell me everything down to the tiniest detail.”
I make a face, the low vibration in his chest as he chuckles an indication that he can see it. Then I sigh rather petulantly as I respond, “I don’t want to.”
“Then I’m not doing it.”
I scowl. I know what he’s doing here. “Can’t you just give me this one thing?”
“It’s not just one thing, Antoinette,” he replies sternly. “Let’s not forget that it’s not just your safe word at stake here. In doing this, you’re also taking away mine. You’re asking me to toss aside every safety precaution I have worked so hard to establish between us.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry—“
He puts up his hand in front of me, stopping my apology. I press my lips together, and then he says, “You have no need to apologize, baby girl. I’m just explaining why I need you to make me a list. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself in this scenario as long as I know what you want. And since you won’t be able to tell me at the time, I’ll need you to tell me beforehand.”
A small part of me wants to call the whole thing off, which is fucking ridiculous because he’s just being responsible in continuing to try to protect us. His arms tighten around me again as he jostles me around until I lean my head back so I can see his face. He stares at me, his expression neutral, his eyes that familiar golden warmth. I manage a small smile and nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
All the tension leaves his body, and he wraps himself around me, squeezing me tightly. I close my eyes against the sudden burning, a stab of emotion sending a ricochet of feelings through me. Because this is what I missed. As much as I yearn for the sharp edges of Darius to consistently possess me, it’s that underlying gentleness—the unexpected softness, the unbreakable tenderness he holds for us.
I allow myself some time to revel in the moment. But then, knowing time is of the essence, I pull back, forcing myself to get to my feet.
Gripping the pill bottle in my hand, I ask, “You still have the cameras in the bedroom?” He nods, and so I add, “Turn them on.”
Again, he nods, returning to his computer and touching a few keys until I see the bedroom pop up on the screen. He turns back to me, watching me expectantly, and so I say, “I’ll write up the list and leave it on the bedside table. Then I’ll take the pills, and once I’m asleep, you should probably wait around an hour if you want to time things appropriately.”
He nods but says nothing, and for a moment, I feel slightly awkward. Slowly, I walk toward the door. Stopping just inside the doorframe, I turn and say, “Darius.”
He looks over at me, his eyebrows raised, and I say, “Thank you.”
At first, he looks at me a bit surprised, then that surprise fades, and I’m suddenly faced with the Darius I used to know.
He doesn’t attempt to mask the darkness in his eyes; his lip curls, his head tilting toward me ever-so-slightly. “Don’t thank me yet, baby girl.”