Chapter 10
Ashia
Three Days Later
‘Anthem of the Angels’ – Breaking Benjamin
I don’t know why Dr. Von insisted on buying this particular couch.
It’s extremely uncomfortable. The leather is nice, but it sits lower to the ground than the furniture downstairs, and it’s not very plush.
My hips started to ache after only sitting down for about two minutes, and now that I’ve been sitting for ten, I’m about to just get up and leave.
She’s sitting on the other side of the desk, typing away on her laptop like she wasn’t the one that called me in here.
Her arrogance is infuriating at best, and I’m not sure I can take much more of it.
When I walked in a few minutes ago, she didn’t even look up.
From the hitch in her brow when I sat down, though, I know she realized I walked in.
This is bullshit. I should be downstairs watching Damien spar with Zeke.
There’s still a mountain of records to go over with the guys, and our new cars are being delivered today.
Grease took Damien’s bike to his garage, and he’s supposed to call me at some point this afternoon with an update on it.
I haven’t told Damien that he has it, but he also hasn’t asked about his motorcycle.
I’m not sure if it’s because he’s afraid to ask about the damage, or because he’s scared of the feelings that will surface with the thought.
“I see you’re still refusing to speak in session?” An annoyed tone hides behind her question.
“I’m not here for a session. You said you had an update on Damien that you wanted to share.” I cross my arms and lean back on the couch, hoping that the new angle will relieve some of the pressure on my joints.
“Well, you weren’t going to come see me otherwise.”
“So it’s all bullshit, then? Great.” I start to stand up, but then she finally closes her laptop. While I stay on the edge of the couch, a part of me wants to lean back once again, but then she’ll believe that I’m comfortable here, and that’s extremely far from the truth.
“It’s not bullshit, Ashia. I do have an update to share with you, but I am also curious about your well-being.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ve heard that quote is a staple of yours.” Her lips curl in amusement, and it plucks my nerves. I roll my eyes and shift on the leather, unable to help it.
“Well, then I guess you already know whatever it is you need to about me.”
“How are you feeling?” she asks randomly and tilts her head, almost like her question is genuine.
“Excuse me?” I raise a brow.
“Physically, I mean. Pregnancy can be rough, especially with the troubles you’ve been experiencing.”
I narrow my eyes at her, not necessarily liking her statement. My condition isn’t any of her fucking business, and better yet, neither is my daughter.
“I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re fine,” she cuts in rudely. “I challenge you to say something else. Describe how you’re feeling in a way that doesn’t belittle your emotions.” I can’t help but smirk and say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I’m fucking fine.”
Dr. Von leans forward onto her desk to rest on her elbows. Her fingers weave with each other before she lays her chin on top of them, seemingly intrigued.
“It’s astonishing. For you and Zeke to have grown up separately, you two are awfully alike.
” My humor drains instantly at her statement, and I almost have the urge to tell her to fuck off, but she continues quickly, like she knows she’s getting under my skin.
“I heard once that F.I.N.E. is just an acronym.”
“Oh, what? Are you going to quote Deadpool now? I thought you were supposed to be some award-winning psychologist.”
“And I thought you would be much nicer,” she retorts.
“Are you going to tell me about my husband, or are we just going to play twenty questions?” I shake my head.
“Why don’t you tell me about Damien?”
“What about him?”
“Anything. I feel like I’ve heard so much about you from his point of view, but I want to hear what you think of him.”
“Think? I know him.”
“Well, tell me what you know, then.” She briefly holds her hands out, gesturing for me to continue towards her trap. I’ve been to therapy—I went for years. Her fucked-up mind games aren’t going to tie me to her depressing web; and she won’t get any answers out of me.
A part of me wants to respond to her question, mostly just to spite her, but also so our baby girl can hear about her father.
I could tell her all of the things she probably has in her file, just to prove that she doesn’t know more than me.
Without a second thought, I could tell her about his birthday, favorite food, favorite hobby, and even the toothpaste he likes to use.
Those aren’t the things that matter, though.
I could tell her about his manners, and why he’s so beautifully confident.
She should know why his genetic eye color means more than a cherry on top of his already-devilish good looks.
I could spend hours talking about his good heart and why he always blames himself for other people’s pain.
But I won’t do that. I don’t know what he has shared with her, and until she tells me whatever the hell it is she called me in here for, she’ll just have to stay in the dark.
“Why don’t you tell me?” I finally reply, and after a small, defeated huff, she pulls a file out of the desk.
“Why are you so afraid to talk to me, Ashia?”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Maybe not physically, but you are afraid of what I’ll say.
Are you worried that I’ll bring up your past, or are you scared of how an outside perspective views your situation?
You had a rough childhood, and that alone is hard to handle, but then you grow up to marry your stalker?
” Her words send an electric current through my body, lighting a fire that was already stirring.
DeLuca and Saconne used every bit of fuel they could find against him.
They used his own self-deprecating thoughts and turned them into weapons.
The guilt he already carried—even before he was taken—was eating him alive, and the thought of it getting worse makes me feel sick.
“If she never met you, she would’ve never had to feel this pain.”
“How many dangerous situations have you been in because of me?! How many times could you have died?! You should be running from me! As fast and far away from me as you can! Regardless of how we feel for each other, I'm not good for you!”
Tears pierce my eyes as the fury washes over me, and my protective instincts kick into high gear.
“Fuck you,” I seethe and jump to my feet, not giving her another moment of my time.
“Ashia—”
“No!” I scream at her. “All you need to concern yourself with is helping Damien heal from the torture he endured! You don’t need to psychoanalyze our relationship and make him feel even more guilty when he has no reason to in the first place!
I love my husband. There is not a single thing about our relationship that I would ever change.
So you can shove your bullshit opinion up your ass!
” Without another word or glance, I storm out and slam the door behind me, not caring how it shakes the walls.
The audacity of that bitch! What does how our relationship started have to do with anything?
! She wouldn’t understand! There’s no way that she could comprehend our connection!
She wouldn’t understand that I was never afraid of him.
I’m sure her judgmental mind wouldn’t understand that he sees me.
He’s the only one who ever saw me. The way our souls dance with each other is too complex—too divine—for someone as simple-minded as her to comprehend.
Even as he fights through pain and monsters he can’t see, he does it for me.
I can see the aggravation on his face when it hurts to move, or when I subject him to Serena’s monitoring.
While the physical toll is starting to pass, the bigger issues continue to tear him down.
The aches in his muscles, especially his back, haven’t eased, and even though he’s stable, there’s a lot of other internal injuries to worry about.
His heart was put under so much strain…and it continues to overwork.
It beats for us both, and Dr. Von wants to test its limits.
She clearly wants to see what sets him off, regardless of whether he can handle it or not.
I feel like the love of my life is slipping through my fingers, and all she’s worried about is a God damn label!
I’m fighting for his mind to match his heart, and she’s focusing on ripping it apart!
I want to save him like he did me… Even as he claws at the ground just to reach a breath of air, he still carries me on his back, and I just want to help.
It’s my turn… It’s my turn to carry him…
I want to make the voices go away, and she’s fucking feeding them!
My hands itch with the urge to rip the bad out of his mind and force my love for him in until it drowns him… But all she can focus on is his guilt!
As I turn the corner to walk back downstairs, I almost run into Carter, who’s walking up from the landing.
The way his brows furrow tells me exactly what I look like right now, and everything around me snaps back into place.
I can still hear the music blaring from the home gym, and everyone’s presence—especially Victoria’s—rattles my bones.
I quickly wipe the burning tears off my face and take a step back around the corner.
Carter may have seen me like this, but no one else has, and I need to get my shit together before I move any further.