Epilogue
EPILOGUE
DECLAN
One year later
When I was thirteen years old, my foster father raped me for the first time. Multiple times a week, while I was living under his roof, he’d sneak into my bedroom and touch me. It started three weeks after moving into his home and continued for months until I was eventually moved into a group home for being labeled “problematic” after breaking his nose.
After it started, I was constantly angry and disgusted with myself.
Angry at my mother for turning her back on me.
Angry for living the life I had to live.
Angry at everyone around me for failing me.
The first time I smoked weed, I felt free. My mind and body were numb, and when my foster father came into my room, I barely registered what was happening because the high was soothing me.
After that, I realized I could make the pain go away.
Vodka. Weed. Pills.
I took anything I could get my hands on because it helped me through the nights.
After I’d turned fourteen, he tried touching me, but I was stronger then. I fought back and punched him in the nose. A few days later, I was removed from his care after he called the case worker to report the assault and tell her all about my drug use.
It was okay to rape me when I didn’t have the strength to fight, but once I was able to fight back, I was no longer wanted.
Thank fuck.
Getting away from him was the best thing that could’ve happened, but it was too late by then. The memories of him sneaking into my room haunted me every time I closed my eyes.
Every time I tried to sleep, my mind would replay the sound of his grunts, my struggling cries of pain, and the squeaks of the old bed I slept on.
The only way possible for me to escape the memories was with drugs. As the years went on and I became older, I was too reliant on the drugs to ever seek help because I liked that I could forget.
Before Greenview, I’d never told anyone what had happened to me and why I began using in the first place. My therapist while I was in rehab, Dr. Leerman, was the one to get me to open up and share my story. He made me realize that I’d been so traumatized by that event that it was impacting me into adulthood.
Drugs were the only thing that had been there for me, so I clung to them and relied on them for every difficult moment in my life. It was easier to get high rather than deal with whatever was going on in my life.
Since going to therapy and talking about my painful past, I’ve learned how to handle those stressful situations life will inevitably bring without turning to drugs.
Dr. Leerman diagnosed me with PTSD and prescribed me antidepressants that I take religiously. We have virtual meetings once a week, sometimes twice if I need him, but I’ve been doing great for the most part.
Today marks three years of sobriety, and I feel better than ever.
I will always be an addict, but I’m lucky that I’m alive and get to have a choice, and I choose to fight every day to remain sober.
Two weeks after seeing Andy at her book signing a year ago, I told her everything. It took me some time to be able to confess my secrets to her, but I did. Told her everything about my foster father, and she’s been my rock ever since.
We’ve been together ever since that day in New York. I fulfilled my promise to her about getting smash burgers, and ever since then, I’ve kept every single promise.
We dated for six months before she fully allowed me back into Max’s life, but after that, we bought a house together in Las Vegas and have been living together ever since.
Max forgave me for leaving her, and one day, when she’s older, I’ll share my story with her, but for now, I’m here to stay.
My girls keep me grounded.
This morning, I woke up wanting to do something I once swore I’d never do again. Surprisingly, it didn’t take anything to convince Andy. As soon as I told her, “Let’s get married today,” while my head was between her legs, she smiled at me, said to give her an hour to get ready, and that was it.
Now, three hours later, we are standing in the little white chapel, waiting for Elvis to pronounce us man and wife, surrounded by our family: Max, Lucy, Adam, Damon, Cole, Cece, Benny, and Camille and Spencer on FaceTime. It’s just us and the people who mean the most in the world to us.
We didn’t have time to stop and get rings, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t need a ring to prove I’m committed to this woman for the rest of my life.
I’ve spent nearly three and a half years loving her every day, and I’ll continue to do so until my dying breath.
“I vow to love you unconditionally. I’ll love you when you don’t love yourself, and I’ll be by your side for every struggle you may face. You are my heart, my soul, the air I breathe. I’ve never been more in love than I am with you. You, Declan Valentine, saved my life. You were the life raft when I was drowning. My saving grace. My happy place. I love you and can’t wait to spend all of my tomorrows with you.” Andy stares into my eyes as she says her vows, our fingers intertwined as she stands before me dressed in a white mini dress with white Chuck Taylor high-tops.
Max stands beside her in a purple dress—it’s her new favorite color—and flowers in her hair that Cece helped her pick from who-knows-where.
I’m dressed in black pants and a matching dress shirt and wearing the same shoes as my bride. Great minds must think alike because we both came out wearing the matching shoes we bought together.
When the Elvis impersonator instructs me to share my vows, I slide the cherry ring pop onto her left ring finger before speaking. “I vow to give you not only all my tomorrows but my future as a whole. You, Andy Harris, are love. Knowing you and loving you has changed my life. It wasn’t easy convincing you to let me in, but for some crazy reason you did. Now I’m the luckiest man in the world to be loved by you. Your heart is gold, and I want to spend the rest of my life having the honor of calling you my wife and best friend. We have been through a lot, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it all up to you. It’s you, Mama. It’ll always be you.”
When it’s time to kiss my wife, I take her face delicately in my hands, holding her like the greatest treasure to ever exist. I press a slow kiss against her dark-painted lips, savoring the feel of her lips against mine. Kissing her feels like we’re the only two people to exist. It’s only us.
Me and my wife.
My Andy.
My saving grace.
My sunlight.
Clapping erupts around us as our family cheers and whistles for us .
Andy pulls away with a grin, happiness shining on her face as she stares at me, eyes full of love. Holding her hand in mine, I lead her down the rose petal aisle, then pull her into my body before we exit the building. “I love you, wife.”
“I love you, husband.” She lifts her left hand between us, a devilish smirk darkening her features as she looks between the cherry ring pop and me. “Let’s go home and put this to use?” she says in a low, suggestive tone.
Unable to keep the easy grin from spreading across my lips, I give her another slow kiss. “Anything for you, wife.”
Our friends take Max for the night to give my new wife and me privacy on our wedding night. When we arrive home, I carry Andy over the threshold into our bedroom, lie her body out on top of our bed, and put her new ring to use.
I give my wife multiple orgasms until she’s a sweaty mess and begging me to stop. Only then do I pull her into my arms and savor the feeling of her pressed against me, head on my chest, listening to my heart beating for her.
Just when I think she’s asleep, she tilts her head up and looks at me, lips upturned into a smile, but she doesn’t say anything.
We don’t always need words. I know what she’s thinking because it’s the same thing I’m thinking.
Despite everything we’ve been through, we’re getting our happy ending.
Through depression, insecurities, lies, and active addiction, we made it.
We made it through the storm.
“Because of you, I’m alive,” I confess, fingers tracing random shapes over the soft skin of her back. Because of her, I live to see another day.
Loving an addict isn’t easy, and for that, she’s the strongest woman I know.
I’ll always be an addict because I’ll always have an addiction. There will never be a time in my life when I’m able to drink or use drugs and not spiral and fall off the deep end. I used to think addict was a dirty word, but it’s not. There’s nothing wrong with me, and I’m not less than because of my addictions.
I’m human.
I’m worthy.
I deserve to live.
I deserve to forgive myself.
I shouldn’t be defined by my addictions because I, along with every other addict, am more than that.
We’re people who are struggling.
Many of us are fighting a silent battle.
We are worthy.
We can recover.
THE END