Page 19 of Going Down Smooth: Part Two

“She overdid it today,” Trey says in concern as he follows behind me. “We have to remember; she doesn’t need additional stress either. The last thing we need is for her hormones to go berserk. Going into a heat right now would be—”

“Fucking inconvenient,” Mercy mumbles against my chest. As much as I enjoy fucking my mouse, and boy do I need the release, she is in no shape physically or mentally to go through another heat.

“Let’s get her up to bed,” Knight says as we file in. He closes the door and locks it behind us.

“I can’t believe those bastards fled,” Nate says through clenched teeth. He huffs, redirecting his anger as he moves around the room, grabbing cups and tidying the space. None of us talk, letting him stew in his outrage, we leave him to it. He will calm down once he’s cleaned the entire ground floor. Now is not the time to rehash anymore of this.

We all move in silence around the main bedroom. Trey pulls one of our t-shirts from the wardrobe and tosses it to me. From the scent, it’s one of mine. I catch it and carefully help Mercy out of her clothes, her body sways on the bed, eyes blinking as I pull my shirt over her head.

“What if they kill her? They didn’t hesitate to hurt her in front of me. Like she didn’t matter. . . Like they didn’t love her. . . So much animosity. What did she ever do to them?” A tear falls down her cheek as I ease her cast through the sleeve. I lean down and kiss away the tears and scoop her up in my arms as Knight pulls the covers down for me to place her in the middle of the bed.

“I promise you, baby, we will all do what we can to bring her home. They never deserved her, and like so many other packs out there, they get away with their abuse. The world turns their backs on Omegas once they are mated. No one wants to talk about the ones who are silenced behind closed doors.” Knight kisses her temple as her eyes flutter closed.

“I want to make it better, for her, for all of us,” she whispers as she lets sleep take her.

If anyone can scream loud enough to get her voice heard, to make the world stand up and want to change, it’s my mouse, and despite my need to hide her from the world, I will stand beside her and be her shield.

TWELVE

MERCY

Google says that journaling plays an integral part in the healing process, especially when it comes to trauma. Writing down my emotions on these pages is helping me comb through my feelings. I feel more in control not having to speak about it out loud, there’s clarity after I finish a page, dare I even say peace. I still refuse to share this with the guys, choosing to self-medicate instead. Is it considered self-medication if I am writing in a journal instead of talking to a paid professional?

I’m not drinking more than normal, a glass of wine before bed to help me sleep. Not that I’m doing much of that. It has gotten so bad I’ve asked Knight, Nate, Trey, and Lox if I can sleep alone. I can’t face them. They know I’m struggling, and God bless them for letting me work through it myself. I’m stubborn. One of my many tragic flaws, but the last thing I want to be is weak. I know there’s only so much leeway they will give me until they stage an intervention.

I don’t want to feel like what happened to me broke me in any way.

With my sister missing, the guilt I feel only sends me spiraling. So, here I am in the middle of the night, the house is quiet as I sit downstairs in my reading nook. The moonlight shines through the window, bathing me in pale blue and grey light. A pin light illuminates the pages over my head as tears stain my cheeks.

Maybe, I am broken. It won’t be the first time I’ve been referred to as such.

Trauma is funny that way. During the day it’s easy to put on a mask and pretend I’m absolutely fine. I have so much going on with Smooth Bourbon, keeping busy helps me forget. With all my big plans for the future, the rebuild, and correspondence between the board, it’s easy to get lost in my work. But at night, in my dreams, there’s no escape. There is nowhere to hide from my subconscious mind.

October 17th(excerpts)

The smoke was so thick, as if it was an entity, it clawed at my throat. I gagged and choked, unable to scream for help. I felt as if I was drowning, lost in the black void as it pressed in on my body, forcing my life out of me. The fire was an impenetrable wall that closed in on me, as if it wouldn’t be satisfied until it consumed me. The entire time all I could hear was the sounds of laughter, their laughter, mixed with my sister’s screams.

I woke in a pool of my own sweat, despite the growing chill in the air. I know it’s just a dream, but for some reason I still find it hard to breathe. I found myself wandering the halls, my hand hovering over the doorknob of Knight’s room. Then Lox, Nate, and Trey. . .stalking the halls like a ghost. A ghost of my former self. I want to seek their comfort, but I can’t.

I feel like I am reverting back to old habits. Running. Fucking pride. Or is it fear? The fear of me finally accepting my own weakness. I’m just a weak Omega playing pretend. I’m ruining this, ruining us because I’m too. . .obstinate? We are all passing ships in the night. They tiptoe around me, allowing me to wallow, but I can see the longing in their eyes, feel it in our bond. I’m causing this chasm, and here they are waiting for me, yet again.

November 7th(excerpt)

A month has passed, and although my body is healing, my head has other ideas.

My mother came to visit, and I barely recognized her. She seems haunted now, with everything that’s happened lately. . .my father’s funeral, my near-death experience (that’s what I’m calling it now), and Faith still missing. . . Seneca Smooth has become a ghost as well. I’ve never seen my mother so unkempt, arriving at our doorstep, devoid of makeup, in jeans and one of my father’s oversized cardigans. Edward’s of course.

I don’t think Christopher has spent much time at home lately. I want to think it’s guilt that keeps him away from his mate, that he’s out there looking for Faith. Ha, it’s laughable that I still want to assume he has any redeemable qualities. No, he’s out there plotting. . .waiting for me to slip up so he can get another chance to take me out.

Is this really my life right now? Hiding out in my own home, behind my Alphas and a buttload of security, from my own father. Fuck me. I need to pull it together. I can’t live like this.

Trey left a number for a psychologist in my office yesterday. He didn’t ask me if I saw it or pressure me further. He just left it there. I can hear him playing the piano in his music room and I want to go to him, sit down beside him and join in. Music is joy, my joy, it’s always brought me back to myself, but I can’t find it in me to put one foot in front of the other. Maybe tomorrow. I keep telling myself tomorrow will be better. I will be better. If I keep saying it, eventually it will happen.

November 30th(excerpt)

I made a promise to my therapist. (Yes, so that happened last week. Trey finally wore me down without even speaking a word). I’ve been talking to her via video chat. It seems I am not quite ready to leave the house yet. I tried, but when Knight reached the end of the driveway I began to panic and begged him to turn around. No in-office visits for this girl. Oh no, apparently, I’ve developed a bit of agoraphobia as well.

I really need to stop googling; I’m becoming a basket case. But I promised her I would find a way to reconnect with my pack. Over the past few weeks I’ve done nothing but distance myself from them. I miss the ease with which we existed before all of this happened. I am determined to get it back. Without them, there is no healing, not mentally or emotionally at least. I need them. I know that now.

---