Chapter 9 #2
“Serena.” Ashia snaps her head in her friend’s direction, practically threatening her with a daring glare.
I avert my gaze to her blonde friend as well, not expecting the sympathetic look on her face.
She’s looking at my wife like she feels bad for her, and it bothers me.
Why wouldn’t Ashia want to talk about buying things for the baby?
I highly doubt my mother upset her, but now I’m curious if Serena did somehow.
She did buy her that pillow a couple of days ago, and ever since, it’s been shoved in the corner of the room, left untouched.
Now that I think about it, that’s the only pregnancy related thing in the house besides the few new pairs of leggings and shirts I noticed in our room.
I thought we would’ve had more by this point in her pregnancy, and certainly Ashia needs more than a few pairs of pants to fit her.
Hell, if it were up to me, our entire home would be filled with pink, and our entire closet would be packed with nothing but maternity clothes right now.
I place two fingers under Ashia’s chin and tilt her face up to look at me. The overprotective urge I get when she denies herself the most basic things is resurfacing, and I need to make sure she was taken care of.
“You know you can get anything and everything you want or need, little wolf. You don’t need anyone’s permission to spend our money.” The tension in her face relaxes regardless of my stern tone, and her pupils expand as she stares at me, proving once again what even looking at me does to her.
“I know, baby. I just wanted to wait until you were ready so we could look together.”
Is that why there’s nothing for the baby?
There’s not a single decoration, diaper box, or outfit, all because she was waiting for me?
This is supposed to be a happy time for her…
She should be questioning what type of bottle to buy, not when I’ll wake up with another nightmare.
Her main concern for the past few days was getting me a fucking therapist when she should’ve been picking out a crib.
I knew my absence affected her, but this realization only makes it worse.
Alarms go off in my mind, making me feel charged and ready to exercise all over again.
Dishonorable…
“I’ll be back down in a few minutes, and then we’ll buy whatever you want.
” I crash my lips to hers, not giving her the chance to argue.
She leans into me without hesitation, reciprocating my affection.
When I pull away, I don’t linger. My steps are the most determined they have been in a few days, desperate to get this over with.
As I climb the stairs, I can faintly hear the conversation I left behind, but I’m not letting it stop me.
I barge into the room, hating how she’s sitting at the desk we provided her with a cocky grin.
Apparently, my parents don’t know me as well as I thought they did, because if they believe for even a moment that I would tell this stranger anything about us, they were mistaken.
When Ashia had told me Dr. Von was on her way here, I almost thought I was dreaming—or completely delusional again.
“Ah, Damien. There you are. If you would like to have a seat, we can get started,” Dr. Von instructs me and gestures to the couch that somehow appeared in this room.
“Where the hell did you get this?” I point to it and ask.
“Alex was nice enough to retrieve it for me.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a nice addition to your bill, won’t it?”
She raises a brow at me and sits back in her chair, although her demeanor remains stoic.
“Money should be the least of your concerns, Mr. Hartley.”
“It isn’t a concern,” I retort.
“Clearly.” She gestures to the couch again, and when I don’t move, she lowers her hand back down to the desk defeatedly. “Damien, I’m here to help you. I understand that talking about what you went through is difficult, but—”
“So you’ll understand that I’m not interested,” I interrupt her.
“That’s fine. We don’t have to discuss your captivity, but your parents and your wife called me in. Perhaps you could sit for the required time to satisfy them.”
I get a tick in my jaw when she finishes that sentence. It’s obvious that she’s trying to see what pulls an emotional response out of me, regardless of whether it’s good or bad.
“I don’t have time for this.” I turn back around, already sick of her shit, and she has the audacity to speak up again.
“And what exactly is holding you up? Your position, as vital as it is in Devil’s Hands, is being covered. The Basement, which is now only a side business, is running well in your absence, and as far as I’m aware, you have a free schedule.”
Without another thought, I snap back around to face her.
“Look lady, you’re really starting to piss me off.”
“Well, humor me instead, then. Answer the question,” she dares. I open and close my fists, hoping to work some of this anger out any way that I can before I throw the desk she’s using out of the window.
“My family needs me. Both of our cars are totaled, my bike is fucked, we have nothing for our daughter, my wife can’t even be happy about her own pregnancy because she’s too worried about—”
“I’ve heard the Chevy Traverse has excellent safety ratings.
Plus, it would be very similar to the car she had previously, correct?
She had—” she scours of the files set out in front of her “—an Equinox, I believe? It would be almost exactly the same, only bigger, and it would be great for your daughter as she grows up.”
I narrow my eyes at her, not buying her bullshit.
“You want to talk about cars?” I ask disbelievingly.
“We can talk about whatever you want. The hour a day required, Damien, is for whatever you’re open to talking about.
I won’t force a conversation that you aren’t willing to have.
It’s a win-win scenario. I get to know you better, you can have an hour to get caught up without distraction, and your family is happy knowing that you are receiving my services. ”
“You don’t need to know about me. You’re in our fucking home. I can force you to—”
“But you won’t, will you?” She stares me down.
“You won’t, because you don’t want to upset your wife.
Your recovery is the most important thing to her right now, and you know that as well as I do—the same goes for your father.
As much as you hate it, you still follow his commands, and if he deems that my presence is necessary, you’ll listen.
Won’t you?” I clench my teeth while I ball up my fists, and the tension building in my limbs is climbing to a point of pain, which only pisses me off more.
“What kind of game are you playing?”
“I don’t play games. I work for my clients.
While stubbornness is something I’m used to, letting go of authority is not something you’re accustomed to.
So, if what you need is an hour to compare diaper brands instead of discussing the ways you were tortured, then that’s what you need. I’m not here to judge.”
I can’t help but look around the room, unable to glare at her any longer.
How the fuck am I supposed to tell a stranger about what happened when I can’t even tell my wife?
How is reliving the past month going to heal me?
I don’t even know what was real and what wasn’t.
So how the fuck am I supposed to know what to say?
My aggravation boils to an explosive point, and my body moves before I can give it a second thought. I jerk around to leave again, gripping the doorknob so harshly that I might rip it off. Then she speaks again, and for whatever ridiculous reason, I stop in my tracks.
“Listen, Mr. Hartley. I understand how tough this is. A man as proud and strong as you are feels that he doesn’t need help or guidance.
You believe that if you love the people surrounding you harshly enough, that you’ll be able to fix everything.
In some cases, you might be right, but there’s also a chance that I may actually be able to help you heal—to help you get back to being the man you want to be for your family. Have you considered that?”
I can’t help but grip the door tighter, hating that she’s right. The monster I’ve become will inevitably destroy my family, and shoving it down won’t change that outcome. Ashia will always love me. I know that deep within my soul, but I also realize that love applies to the man I used to be.
The man that didn’t kill women.
The man that didn’t stand aside and allow children to die.
She’ll always love the man that was lost on the side of the road, but I’m not sure about the man I am now.
I need to silence the voices—the demons that whisper in my ear.
They coax the darkest parts of me to rise to the surface, and if I could just get them to stop, maybe I could find glimpses of that man again.
Ashia will be twenty-one weeks pregnant tomorrow.
That means I have nineteen weeks left, give or take, to find the old pieces of me.
We have nineteen weeks to prepare for our daughter, and then a lifetime to love and protect her—even if it’s from myself.
This countdown burns and scars itself into my brain, creating a timer constructed by the fates.
In my captivity, I was forced to become a liar.
I was forced to go against everything I lived by to protect my family.
Why not lie to myself to heal them, too?
My hand drops from the door as I accept my defeat, and I turn back around to face her again.
“The Traverse, huh?”