Page 28 of Whispered Desire

At first, Allie hems and haws, trying to get away with vague answers, then she realizes I’m not letting her leave this bed until I get what I want.

She finally relents with an aggrieved sigh and draws the comforter up to her shoulders, staring at the ceiling as her story unfolds.

“Growing up, I dealt with what I’d now categorize as OCD, anxiety, and depression. I worried about making friends or saying the wrong thing in class. At home, my parents foughta lot, and I was their unofficial mediator. I made it my responsibility to save their marriage, to protect my little brother from their fights. All of it, school and my family, created an anxious perfectionist who was slowly dying inside,” she admits.

“What you saw last night started in high school. I can’t pinpoint the exact event that triggered it, but one day, I stared at a bottle of ibuprofen for too long, imagining what would happen if I swallowed every pill.” Her voice takes on a far-off quality like she’s drifted back to that time to relive the moment.

“It made me feel a little better.” She shrugs as best she can while laying down. “And I figured it was harmless since I didn’t plan on actually following through with the thought.”

A vulnerable teen Allison causes an unfamiliar pinch in my heart. I didn’t have a great childhood either. Hugo’s dad raised us as manipulative and dangerous mercenaries. I knew how to infiltrate a building and kill a man with his own tie before learning how to drive.

But at least I had my brothers.

It sounds like my girl didn’t have a strong support system. Even with a sibling, she was too entrenched as a protective figure, making it impossible to lean on her brother when she needed help, too.

“When did the medication and therapy start?” I ask, drumming out a random pattern on her hip with my fingers.

Her nose scrunches up as she mentally calculates the time. “About four years ago? I tried therapy first, and while I liked my therapist, I didn’t feel much improvement. Then my doctor suggested a combination solution, so I switched therapists, got on the meds, and that’s where I am today. There was a lot of trial and error between different medications and doses until we landed on something that worked.”

“But it’s not one hundred percent foolproof.”

A sigh of resignation warms my chest as she ducks her head. “No, though I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“Have you talked with your doctors about changing things since you’re still experiencing…” I mull over the best way to define yesterday’s episode, but Allison saves me from completing the thought.

“The problem doesn’t lie with the meds or therapy. It’s the situations I put myself in that exacerbate things. When I’m not in toxic environments, like living with Bailey or my family, I’ve never felt better. My issue is unknowingly falling back into those patterns. It’s not like I would have agreed to room with Bailey if I knew I’d find myself in a similar mental space as I did with my parents.”

“That won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”

She laughs. “You can’t guarantee that. Frankly, my past bad decisions are part of the reason I should go home. I never should have agreed to this arrangement. My only excuse for yesterday is that you caught me at a vulnerable time, but it was momentary. I’m better now.”

“You literally had a blade to your wrist mere hours ago. You’re not better now,” I scoff in disbelief. The puzzle of Allison is slowly coming together, but she's still full of contradictions. Surprises.

“I mean this has been a wake-up call. You pushed me out of the apartment with Bailey, which I appreciate, but I can handle the rest from here. I’ll go back to North Carolina and use the money you gave me for a hotel until I find a new place to live.”

“No.”

“What do you mean,no?” Allison wiggles to a sitting position and stares down at me, a frown wrinkling her face.

Matching her position, I rise up enough that our eyes are even. “There’s not a chance in hell you’re leaving. Not the state. Not Boston. Not this damn room if you insist on being difficult.”

She sputters with indignation. A spark of fire I’ve been missing. That her family and friends attempted to snuff out.

“Excuse me? Being difficult? I’m letting you off the hook. Yesterday was a weird day. An anomaly. We’re strangers who let emotions control our actions, but today will be different. You can return to focusing on the trouble with your dad, and I can rebuild the progress I made before everything went down with Bailey.”

Allie can fight this all she wants, but she’s not going anywhere. Not without my approval. I've got a contingent of Blackthorn men—ex-military, mostly—who will ensure she stays exactly where I want her.

Spying the time on the nightstand clock, I pat her hip again then get out of bed. Luca may be aggravating, but he’s got a point about our need to go through Petit’s records. It’s already two hours past the time I’d normally start work, which is jarring.

I never sleep in.

I’m never late.

“Here’s your first lesson about me: I don’t let emotions control anything I do.” Have they come close when Allie’s in the picture? Perhaps. But I’ve reined them in and decided my next steps based on pure, hard logic.

Allison unwittingly offered the perfect antidote to cure the feral hunger I keep chained tightly within. I rule decisively and purposefully in everything I do, which requires a cool head. A calm demeanor.

Neither of those things comes easily when there’s a part of me that yearns to break free and control situations.

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