Chapter 4
Ashia
Three Days Later
‘Don’t Deserve You’ - Plumb
Warmth surrounds me. Too much, in fact. This summer heat is going to be the death of me.
Why is it worse at night? Isn’t it supposed to be cooler when it’s dark out?
Beads of sweat mist my forehead, and I almost feel bad about rubbing it onto Damien.
As I open my eyes, I don’t immediately see him. I feel him, though.
Not like how I normally would. His fingers aren’t working my clit, and as unfortunate as it is, his tongue isn’t eating my pussy like a virgin practicing on a pudding cup.
It’s kind of depressing, really, and it’s sad how needy I’ve become.
I’m at that point of feral where I might break down into a full brat attack and cry if my husband doesn’t fuck me, but I’m trying to be patient.
We’re still in that weird stage of ‘we’re talking about everything except what we probably should be talking about’ and it’s an exhausting game.
A starving one too, because I’d kill to have his dick for a midnight snack right about now.
I need to calm down. This level of pining is unhealthy.
However…
It’s really hot in here.
So, in a totally innocent, not provocative way, I pull my tank top down so both of my boobs hang out. The rush of air conditioning is breathtaking. My nipples harden and my skin becomes riddled with static, proving that I’m not going back to sleep any time soon.
As I wipe my forehead and look down, I lay eyes on my husband.
He’s in that sweet position that I’ve caught him in multiple times over the past few weeks.
His head is resting just below my chest, and his large hand is draped over my stomach.
Sometimes, he falls asleep while he talks to the baby, and he stays like that until morning.
He doesn’t know I’ve woken up to him whispering to my belly, and I don’t think I’ll tell him either.
He says the sweetest things. He’ll tell the baby all about his day and how much he loves them already.
One night, he promised that he’d never force them to eat spinach.
While I’m not sure where that came from, it took everything in me not to laugh.
Then I would’ve blown my cover, and I don’t want those little moments to stop.
It’s not that I think he’ll stop talking to our baby.
I don’t think he would if his tongue was cut out, but it’s the things he says.
They’re deep, and I know he doesn’t want me to hear them, but I should.
It reminds me that I don’t deserve him.
The things he says both make me swoon and crumble at the same time.
He talks about all of the things we’ll do together and how happy we’ll be, but then he also promises to be better—as if somehow, he doesn’t believe he’s already everything we need.
Each time I’ve heard those words leave his lips, I just want to tell him how perfect he is, but I stop myself every time.
Hearing him this way is the only time I know what he truly thinks about himself.
I know that he isn’t keeping it from me to hurt me.
We just both have a horrible habit of trying to protect each other from ourselves.
I don’t know how to make him understand or help him see what I do. At least, not without breaking his heart. I can’t tell him how I really feel. Not yet. I need to find other ways to make him realize that he’s not this huge failure he thinks he is.
That the real villain here is me.
I realized that on the day we got married. While it was the happiest day of my life, he also signed his life away. He forever tied himself to someone who’s lesser than him. The feelings from my dissociation quickly resurfaced the next day, and while I know I should’ve opened up then, I didn’t.
He was in so much pain. I laid next to him and watched how his muscles tensed every time he did something as minimal as turning his head.
The bruises that riddled his body were extreme, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him sleep so much.
It was the kind of exhaustion that was bone deep, and I’m sure mentally, it reached even further than that.
It does now, and it’s been a little over a month.
Almost five weeks of torture, and for what?
Why? He didn’t deserve that kind of pain, and he wouldn’t have been in it if it wasn’t for me.
Once again, I wasn’t strong enough. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I fought back, I was still too weak. I was helpless, and all of the work we did amounted to nothing. All of the effort he put into making me better vanished, and I was nothing but a victim.
It was different this time. I had more people in my corner, and above all else, I had Damien.
I knew he would stop at nothing to get me back, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He will always destroy himself first to make me better, and it shouldn’t be that way.
I should be building him up, not tearing him down, and yet that’s all I seem to do.
What happens when I fail again and it costs him his life? I wouldn’t be able to bear it.
I want to be better for him, and I was trying so hard. All of the training and fighting was supposed to help me grow. Yes, I killed one of those mother fuckers before they took me, but it wasn’t enough, and now I’m a constant reminder of just that. I’m not enough.
The scars that riddle my body will never fully go away.
Even if I manage to get them covered up with more tattoos eventually, he’ll always be able to feel them.
As much as he tries to hide it, I know that’s where his eyes go sometimes.
I can see the frigid look of self-hatred in those hypnotizing blues as he looks, and it kills me inside, because it’s not his fault.
I will always be that self-destructive failure.
The one that was too weak to fight back in every bad situation, and I’ll never be anything else.
So what if I fail at being a mom, too?
When I’ve heard him talk to our baby, he’s told them how lucky we are to have them, and how lucky they are to have me.
The way he tells them about me makes me want to sob with joy.
I wish I could believe what he says. So desperately, in fact, that even the thought of being as angelic as he sees me to be steals my breath.
His unwavering faith in me is the most agonizingly slow pain that I’ve ever felt in my life, and it’s one of those aches that feels like an addiction.
I need it and hate it all at the same time, because sometimes he says it with so much conviction that I almost do believe it.
I want to be a good mom. God, I want that so fucking badly.
But what if I’m not? Granted, I’m not addicted to drugs, and I would never even dream of neglecting my baby.
But it’s everything else that weighs on me.
What if I can’t soothe them like they need?
Or what if I’m too harsh? I was never allowed to be coddled.
Hell, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t held for more than five minutes as a baby with how much Damien’s embrace affects me.
What if I try to overcompensate and I smother my child with so much love that they end up hating me for that, too?
Or what if I shield them from everything so much that they’ll never be able to take care of themselves?
What if I’m not enough? The thoughts fly through my mind all the time, especially with my eating disorder and the morning sickness that has just now started to ease up.
Am I eating enough? Am I eating the right things?
Did I forget a vitamin this morning? Hell, four days ago, drinking a glass of water from the tap would’ve killed me.
What if I eat or drink something I’m not supposed to?
I have a list, and of course the obvious no alcohol, drugs, or nicotine.
Damien even quit smoking—that’s how careful we’ve been.
But I just can’t stop these fucking thoughts…
I just want to be enough. I want to be good enough.
Strong enough. Smart enough, and I’m trying like hell to keep my head above water.
Especially when Damien’s awake and watching every little thing I do like I’ll shatter at the smallest inconvenience.
I know he doesn’t mean to, and I know it comes from the purest place in his heart, but he shouldn’t have to do it.
But of course he does, because I’m me—because no matter how much he wants me to be it, I’m just not enough.
The truth breathes to life around me like an open flame any time I’m alone, and it’s as clear as ever tonight. Even as I look down at the man that needs me to do something as simple as breathing, and even as I see him cradle the other half of my heart in his hand, I can only think of one thing.
It's too damn hot in here.