Chapter Seven
Raven.
I stare at Ada Howell, my speech-language pathologist, the one I’ve been seeing for the past few weeks because as soon as he could, Damon pulled so many owed favors and got me in to see a neurologist. And they declared I had a slight brain contusion from four years ago that went undetected because it was written off as a concussion, which then lead me to Dr. Harriet Howell, who diagnosed me with weak vocal cords and that’s how I ended up sitting in front of her wife, Ada – my speech therapist.
My vocal cords don’t feel weak – they feel strained. Because she’s making me read a children’s book out loud. I grimace with each stammer, but Mrs. Howell simply nods and smiles.
I have to think about big words before I say them. I’m twenty-four and stammering like a kindergartener reading Dr. Suess to a woman in her late thirties.
Fuck my life.
“Have you been doing your breathing exercises?” She asks when she places her cocoa-skinned hand on mine.
It’s warm and her skin is soft, chocolate eyes full of concern.
She has her hair down today, and I adore it, her afro makes her look like a disco queen from the 70s.
All she’s missing is big gold hoop earrings .
“Yes.” I’m not allowed to sign in here.
She nods, smiling again. I hate that smile. I hate coming here. Not because I don’t like Ada. She’s great. It’s because every time I stutter on a S, or Sh, or F, or T, or can’t move past an M, it reminds me all over again why I’m here.
Why I’m defective.
It’s also why I’m no longer allowed to be alone with Ada.
My fits are back. I don’t mean for them to happen; I swear I don’t – they just do.
It may be that I’m now on lower dosages but the last thing I want is fog brain again.
Damon sits behind me and all it does is embarrass me further.
As a doctor, he’s proud and makes me read out loud for twenty minutes.
He assesses me, always jots down my progress in a little black notebook he keeps on his person, double clicks his pen, and pockets both of them.
As my boyfriend, he’s worried. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he looks at me with concern. He always takes me out for soup or ice cream afterward, depending on how sore my throat is, and worst of all – He won’t let me blow him! Like he’s scared he’ll damage my vocal cords further.
Sometimes, a girl just wants to choke on a fat dick until she’s crying and gagging and told how pretty she looks with a dick in her mouth.
I love him, but the more he treats me like I’m fragile, the more I feel like I am.
A broken little doll.
I loathe that feeling with everything that I am.
I miss Maverick so much. He’d fuck my face until my jaw unhinged, and I really need that.
Pretty little psycho Raven . I cringe inwardly at my negative thoughts.
I may need to get my throat fucked but I want my voice back without the hoarseness.
Without the rasp. I want to be able to talk to Maverick.
I want to be able to tell him everything so we can move past this because I need my beast. So as much as I hate…
all of this, I have to do what I’ve been doing for the last few years – survive enough today so I can thrive tomorrow.
I can cry later.
“You’ve done very well today, Raven. With how far you’ve come, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re talking like your old self by this time next year.”
A year? !
I stand up so abruptly out of my seat that it topples backward and they both shoot to their feet. I can feel Damon towering behind me, the warmth of his body radiating but it’s too hot. It's everywhere.
“No no no no no no no.” I shake my head violently and bring my hands up to my face.
Tears spring to my eyes and when Damon tries to calm me down, Ada gets in my way, and I shove her back.
He grabs her, thankfully, but the panic in me is full-blown and I can’t stop.
“S-s-sorry sssorry s-sorry.” I apologize.
It’s a choked out, garbled, ridiculous apology but it’s an honest one, nonetheless.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Raven.
Seems like I’m always apologizing these days.
“It’s okay, Raven. It’s okay.” Her voice is gentle, but I don’t deserve her gentility. She should shove me back. Fire me as her patient. She should scream at me.
Images of Lorne Wood, of orderlies in pale green scrubs holding me down flit through my mind and I do the only thing I can to stop them – I slap my head and pull at a thick chunk of my hair.
But Damon grabs my hands before I can do it again, wrapping his arms around me, clutching onto me like a blanket and an anchor.
A straitjacket. She’s not going to want to see me anymore.
I can see it in her eyes, full of… something.
I don’t blame her. I’m too damaged and I’m not worth it. Tears break free.
“S-S-So..rry.” I’m so sick of being so goddamn sorry all the time.
I guess I won’t be crying later. I’ll be crying now.
“Can we have a moment?” Damon says, his voice like a horn in the fog in my mind. A beacon.
“Sure.” Ada taps me on the shoulder and smiles that ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,’ smile. “But I’d like to speak with you when you’re done, Doctor Archer.”
“Of course.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, he lets me sink to the ground, sinking along with me and I’m so sad because I can almost feel Maverick slipping from my grasp.
It’s a hopelessness that fills me, like a raging sea of nothing but disgust and despair and sadness and I’m drowning because it’s all directed at me .
And it shouldn’t be .
If all those years of therapy with Damon taught me anything it was to break down my feelings, compartmentalize what I’m feeling, and aim it at who was truly to blame or who deserves my ire so I could move on and set boundaries.
Because while I’m sad, I’m mostly angry.
But the ones that made me like this, they’re dead. There’s only one left.
I still have to repair what they broke.
And that makes me rage on the inside.
All this chaos that vibrates within me pushes outward and I inflict pain on myself when I deserve to love myself.
I deserve to look in the mirror and be proud of all I have accomplished no matter how minute it is to others.
I should be able to look at my scars and remember I’m the baddest bitch, taking back my life.
But all I have is internal, contained, silent rage.
And it makes me murderous .
When I’ve calmed down enough, I don’t just see Damon, I see the man who cared for me not just through my bad, but through my worst. Through my ugly. He deserves so much better. “I w-want t-to give you mm-m-my good.” I blurt.
His dark brows rise and silver eyes flash. “What does that mean?”
I shake my head because I don’t think I can say it again. He watches intently when I raise my hands and begin signing. Telling him exactly what I thought about the bad, the worst, the ugly.
He kisses my sweaty temple and then cups my jaw to turn me so I can face him. His features have relaxed, and a genuine smile graces his lips. “I love you, little bird. You’re making wonderful progress. And you do give me the good.”
I want to argue, tell him I’ve given him more bad than good but what’s the point?
This man is determined to love me and how can I be upset with that?
When I sigh in resignation his pleased shadow of a smile turns into a grin, and he kisses me softly.
It’s no pressure. It doesn't turn into a full-blown make-out session. But it’s there.
His lips are on mine, a simple kiss that means so much more than a million diamonds ever could .
“Now can you tell me what upset you?” He uses his doctor’s voice. Low, calm, gentle and I settle into him even more.
Since Ada isn’t in the room, I lift my hands so I can sign instead of straining my vocal cords more.
I don’t have a year.
“I know you don’t. But what if we up our reading time to thirty minutes every night? Do your breathing exercises a little longer?” His undying belief in me breaks my heart.
Does it even matter? I tried to talk to Maverick today and he looked done with me. Cold. Like I was nothing.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes for a moment. “Maverick is… stubborn. Remember how long it took to convince him for us to share you?”
I nod.
“He loves you just as deeply as I do, Amourette. And unfortunately, you trying to keep him safe made him feel like it was a betrayal because it was sprung up on him in the worst way.”
I know. I sign back sadly.
He kisses my temple again, rises to his feet, and then helps me up. I don’t need his help, but he has always made me feel steadier. Stronger. Enough to survive today so I can thrive tomorrow.
We open the door, and Mrs. Howell is standing outside, along with Jonas. I reach out to touch her arm as we both cross the threshold. I’m going out, she’s going in to speak with Damon. “I’m sorry.”
She nods with a small smile. “I know, Raven.” But she doesn’t say ‘it’s okay.’
Because it’s not.
Jonas takes me and I hate the look on his face. I know what he’s thinking – I’m getting worse, not better. But then, after he looks me over, those autumnal eyes of his shine. “Perfect.” He says, and he takes me in his arms, and I allow myself the moment of reprieve.
“I want to continue working with her, but I really believe she needs therapy. Her outbursts-“
“Thank you, Mrs. Howell, for your professional opinion. I’ll make sure she sees her therapist. He’s the best in the state."
Jonas scoffs and rolls his eyes which makes me smile. He kisses my cheek and hugs me tightly again. “You think it’s a soup day or an ice cream day?” He asks, taking my hand in his large one.
I grip the sides of my throat and flatten my tongue inside my mouth, feeling the strain of my trachea. Soup , I sign.
“I think it’s a great day for soup.” He grins, leading me to where we placed our coats and boots by the front door because Ada is being paid handsomely to host us at her home office.
I slide my boots on, then my coat. Grabbing my phone and checking it just in case Maverick messaged but of course he didn’t. No. I have a few notifications from Axel, but they say the same thing as always:
Axel: I miss you
Axel: Can we please talk?
Axel: Can you at least turn on your location, so I know you’re okay?
Axel: Are you spending Christmas with him or with us?
His voice messages are usually along the lines of, “Hey Cookie. I’m in town.
Can we please talk? This is the longest we’ve gone without talking and…
Ray, you can’t cut me out of your life like this, okay?
I need you. You’re… my sister. I love you.
Please. Call me. Anytime. I’ll answer. Or text.
Okay? Okay… it’s… it’s Axel, by the way. "
The door at the end of the hallway opens and Damon strides towards us.
Tall, handsome, eyebrows arched in agitation, silver eyes like melted glaciers, but as soon as he sees me he softens immediately and helps me with my scarf until it’s hiding half my face, beanie, and my thick mittens, then dresses himself.
Jonas opens the door once we’re all ready to go, the snow on the ground is so white it almost looks fake. I look at the Rover and make a face.
“What is it, baby? ”
I pull a mitten off with my teeth, then the other and Damon’s chest rumbles. I ignore him. Axel gave me this car. I don’t want it anymore. I want to buy one myself.
Jonas grins mischievously. “You want to go car shopping?”
I nod because he can’t see the grin on my face. He opens the passenger door for me, shuts it, and then climbs in the backseat behind me as Damon gets behind the wheel.
I lower my scarf to my chin. “Ah…fter… s-s-soup?”
Damon leans over the center console and kisses my lips, a little hungrier and it makes me needy for more. “How about before?”
________
We come back with our bellies full in a black Audi SQ7 Prestige with all the fixings.
Sleek, shiny, chic, leather interior with heated seats plus other stuff I don’t care about, but Damon and Jonas were excited for.
It feels good. It feels right. It feels like another tether to the Monroe’s snipped.
We pull into the driveway beside a familiar Lincoln Navigator and my heart drops completely.
I look over at Damon who is driving, and he shrugs.
I almost jump out when I spot a familiar glasses-framed face, but Jonas keeps me to his side by the elbow, ushering me to the front door.
I lock eyes with my handsome professor, planting my heels on the ground but I slide because of the snow.
Damn him and his delicious muscles.
Maverick looks past me and straight at Damon as Jonas pulls me inside, while Damon stays just outside the threshold.
“Yes?” He uses the same nonchalant tone Maverick used with me earlier today.
Maverick inhales sharply, worry and frustration etched on his features and when he exhales, eyes like sea glass open, capturing all of our attention but he rounds and speaks to only Damon. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”