Chapter 52 Exactly Where I Want To Be
Exactly Where I Want To Be
One Month Later
Emily's Search History: best ways to help a romantic partner with survivor's guilt?
Eli
“You’ve made some real progress today. You should be proud of yourself.”
My new therapist’s words wrap around my brain. Proud. I like it.
“Thank you,” I tell him, standing as he does. We shake hands, and then I’m walking out—through the waiting room and outside to my bike.
The ride home feels too long, but my mind settles the moment I step through the door of our house—mine and Emily’s.
I hear her voice upstairs and smile, but I don’t go up to interrupt. Instead, I head straight for the kitchen and pull out the ingredients to make dinner.
I’m rolling the pastry when the doorbell rings. I check the camera on my phone before opening it to find Nate and Carina smiling—and a frowning Kai behind them, holding a baby.
“What are you guys doing here?”
Carina rolls her eyes, pushing past me like she owns the place. “Tess is here for therapy, and we’re all going out for dinner, so we decided to meet here.”
“Glad my house can act as a rendezvous point for you all,” I remark.
Tess comes down a moment later, followed by Emily. My angel quit her job at the practice after my… breakdown. Not because she wanted to stop helping people, but because she couldn’t be herself there.
Now she works as a private consultant, which gives her more flexibility—clients can choose either in-person or online sessions.
I like it better this way. One, because it means she’s close by all the time. And two, we no longer have to hide our relationship. Not that I ever did—but she feels less on edge about the ethics of it all.
I may have also had Kai delete my records from her old practice, so now there’s no digital proof that I was ever her patient. Turns out he’s a computer nerd with insane hacking skills.
Our guests drift into the kitchen.
Tess eyes the pastry on the counter. “What are you making?”
“Spanakopita.”
Emily’s face lights up. “Really?” she asks giddily, slipping her arms around my waist.
Her happiness takes my breath away.
I kiss the tip of her nose. “Really.”
“Is there enough for everyone?” The hope in her voice breaks down my last reserves.
“I can make enough." I look up at the rest of the faces around us. "Assuming you lot would like to dine at Restaurant Calder instead of wherever you had planned?”
Four heads nod enthusiastically.
I roll my eyes, then roll up my sleeves and get back to work.
I spoon the spinach, feta, onion, egg, and dill mixture into triangles of filo, folding them neatly before lining them up on a baking tray. Then I chop vegetables to roast alongside them.
Once everything is in the oven, we gather around the new dining table with glasses of wine—except Kai, who’s on responsible dad duty.
The kitchen renovations are finally complete, with light blue cupboards and beige tiled floors. It’s… nice, actually. I thought I’d miss the charcoals and greys, but seeing how happy it makes Emily—the change is worth it.
Dinner is a success, though I’m grateful when everyone eventually leaves and it’s just me and my angel again.
We wash up together, as we do every night. It’s a quiet monotony I find comfort in.
“How was therapy?” Emily asks once I slide the last plate into the cupboard.
“Good. It’s helping.”
It’s true. I’m not there as a stalking patient anymore. My therapist—Dr Anash—is helping me cope with the knowledge that my father killed Jenny and my mum. He’s helping me get over the guilt—it’s not gone, but it’s lessened.
I know it’s not really my fault. I didn’t kill her. But it’s hard not to feel responsible. I still don’t know why she went to his house in the first place. I can’t help but think that if I’d never laid eyes on her, she would still be alive.
I’ve recovered more of my memories. After my father knocked me out, the next thing I remember is waking up on my bench. The bench that started it all.
I think he placed me there after cleaning me up.
It’s taken me a few sessions to understand why I couldn’t remember it.
Why searching for Jenny never triggered the memories.
Doctor Anash says it was my mind's way of protecting itself, but when I saw the article on Emily’s phone, it could no longer ignore what it already knew deep down. Jenny was gone.
I have nightmares sometimes—waking to flashes of blood and bruised fists.
But Emily is always there. Always beside me.
She helped me through the inevitable police interviews. My mum and Jenny were found under my old house. The questioning was always going to happen.
Doctor Anash decided that the truth was the best course of action. So I told them the pieces I could recall, the broken fragments of that night. They, of course, wanted to know why I never came forwards. Why I never told anyone what happened to Jenny.
Both Emily and Doctor Anash were there to explain the psychology of it.
I couldn't explain to them why Jenny was at my house—not when I didn't really know myself, and not when the tiny part of me that might know wonders if that was all my fault too.
She'd realised I was stalking her, and she went to confront my father so he'd put a stop to it.
That's my assumption. I don't know the real truth.
I don't know if that's because my mind is blocking it, or if I really never found out.
Thankfully, the police accepted my story. Justice will never be served, since my father is already dead. I just hope he's rotting in hell for everything he's done.
I close the cupboard, shaking myself back to the present.
Now the kitchen is spotless, I pull Emily against me, my back resting against the cabinets. We don’t speak, I just hold her, resting my chin on her head.
“What are you thinking?” she murmurs, her hands flattening against my chest.
“How lucky I am,” I whisper, catching her lips with mine. “How happy I am that you didn’t run.”
She bites her lip grinning. “As if you wouldn't chase me.”
I squeeze her sides. She giggles. But then her expression turns serious. She reaches up to trace the line of my jaw. “I’m exactly where I want to be, Eli.”
Emily
Eli is downstairs, letting Graham outside and locking up the house. Meanwhile, I’m staring at myself in the mirror.
The lingerie I secretly bought looks back at me. Dark blue lace cups my chest, my boobs spilling out the top. It barely covers my nipples. That’s the point. The thong isn’t as uncomfortable as I expected.
What I love most, though, is the smile on my face. I look hot.
The bedroom door pushes open.
Eli freezes in the doorway, mouth open in shock.
His gaze rakes over me, heated. “Angel,” he chokes out. “You look—” He cuts himself off, like he can’t find the words. “Fuck. You’re so fucking sexy.”
“You approve, then?” I ask, loving the way he can’t take his eyes off me.
“Approve?” His mouth quirks. “I’m ready to ask you to peg me.”
I cough, choking on my own saliva. “What?”
“I’m just saying—I think I’d do anything you asked of me right now.”
“Then why don’t you fuck me?” I smirk.
The speed at which he strips out of his clothes is laughable. Then he stalks towards me, eyes dark with desire.
He lifts a hand, running his fingers over my collarbone. I feel his touch everywhere, my whole-body tingling with anticipation. He pushes one bra strap off my shoulder, then the other. When he reaches around to unclasp it, I gasp as I’m bared to him.
Despite all the time that’s passed, I’m still shocked by how much I want him. How this never gets old.
Eli slowly drops to his knees, fingers slipping into the sides of the lace thong. He tugs it down, helping me step out of it.
He inhales as he presses his face between my thighs. His tongue darts out, running up my slit. I moan as he sucks my clit into his mouth.
My hands clutch his hair, just to keep myself upright.
Two fingers slide into me, curling upwards.
I grind my hips against his face. He doesn’t complain, even though he’s probably suffocating down there. He just keeps going—mouth and fingers—until I’m trembling, crying out his name.
Eli stands and kisses me deeply before pulling away. He lies back on the bed, cock pointing straight up, and taps his thighs. “Ride me, Angel.”
Don’t have to ask me twice.
I straddle him, positioning his cock at my entrance before sinking down, revelling in every delicious inch as he spreads me open.
My hands press into his chest while Eli grips my hips, helping lift me up and down, bouncing me on his cock.
"You're a goddess," Eli whispers, reverent as he looks up at me. "My angel."
It doesn’t take long before my back bows, my eyes rolling as an orgasm tears through me.
“Fuck!” I cry as it crashes over me.
Before it even fades, Eli flips us, pounding into me and forcing a second orgasm to build. My legs wrap around his waist.
Tears spring to my eyes. Incoherent moans spill from my lips.
“That’s it, Angel,” he groans. “You’re taking me so well.”
Then Eli is the one breaking, muscles in his back tensing as I cling to him.
He spills deep inside me, whispering how much he loves me—how he can’t believe I chose him, how grateful he is for me.
When he pulls out and heads to the bathroom for a cloth, I lie still, knowing he’ll take care of me.
My life doesn’t look anything like I expected it to.
But I wouldn’t change a thing.
I chose the man who would burn the world down to keep me from disappearing.
A good therapist helps a patient find their own strength. I just helped mine find a better way to hide his weapons.
I still consult. I still listen to the broken and bruised. I help people navigate their darkness, while I go home and sleep in the arms of the man who disposes of mine. I am the ultimate professional lie.
I didn’t fix Eli, and he didn’t fix me.
We found a way to be broken together.