Page 100 of Tear Me Down
“I heard what all happened through that live feed.” She speaks again, sending a flash of ice through my nerves. “You know what that piece of shit said isn’t true, right? Damien loves you. Nothing that happened will change that.”
She heard what happened? Who else witnessed my torture? My humiliating undoing? My fiancé, my best friend, and God knows who else had to watch? A ripple of anxiety skitters down my spine, and I snap back at her before she can say much else, not wanting to discuss it right now.
“I know that. It’s just going to take time.” I take another breath and compose myself. Her audible swallowing follows soon after, and I make the terrible decision to look back over to her.
“Ash…” She blinks more tears away. “You know, you don’t have to be so strong this time…”
“Ser,” I snap, almost raising my voice and causing my throat to ache—another reminder of my pain. Hopefully the look in my eyes conveys my need for her to stop while she’s ahead, before she cracks a dam that can’t be rebuilt. She nods her head once, clearly understanding without words, and thankfully she changes course.
“I made sure the plastic surgeon did all of your stitches. He said they should heal nicely, but that there would be some minimal scaring on a few of them.” As I nod back to silently thank her and let her know I understand, the door opens and shuts quietly, then the curtain glides to the side easily as Carter walks through. He meets my eyes, and his face softens, morphing into a look that almost resembles pity. A part of me instantly hates him for it.
“Hey, Ash. How are you feeling?” He walks up to me and squeezes my other hand in a friendly gesture.
“Weak, I guess, is a good way to put it,” I answer honestly.
“Yeah, they said you'd feel lethargic for a couple of days. Your wounds are mostly shallow, so you didn’t losethatmuch blood, but due to your… condition, it’s going to hit you a little harder,” He says awkwardly, and I can’t help but giggle quietly.
“My condition?”
He chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his head.
“Your, uh, pregnancy.” He grins. “Congrats.”
I force half a smile at him as he sits down a few feet away from Serena. She glances at him, almost with a longing stare, before she turns her attention back to me.
“The doctor is going to explain this all when she comes in, but you’re on strict bed rest for three days, and then they’ll check to see if you need more time off of your feet or not. You have three deep wounds, and then… a few minor lacerations. Plus, some other obvious injuries…” she trails off. “But, thankfully, there’s not as much damage as there could have been.”
I just nod again, which I feel I’ve done a thousand times in the past few minutes, because I’ve apparently lost any ability to respond. There’s just nothing to say. What am I supposed to say? ‘Okay, great?’ Because, no. Notgreat. Nothing about this isgreat. I close my eyes once more, attempting to push the horrid thoughts out of my mind.
There are many other things I should focus on, Damien and I are alive, and the baby is okay. We’re battered, beaten, and barely hanging on from the sounds of it, but we’re alive, nonetheless. Living, breathing, and reliving the last thirty hours of torture. Dranan’s voice still plays in my mind; all of the taunts and degrading remarks are burned into my psyche, and they probably will be for as long as these marks serve as a reminder on my skin. Which, unfortunately, will be for a while.
While years of therapy and experience should help me through this, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to relive the images or hear the sounds in my sleep. Six additional years of a different haunting is not something I can stomach right now, and I can feel myself avoiding it. It's not healthy, and after all I've been through, I know that. I just… can’t.
It’s like there’s a blockage in my mind this time, something telling me to push past it. A tiny little voice that says ‘you’ve done this before and survived. You’ll persevere again,’ and while I know deep down that it won’t solve anything, it seems like my only option right now. I have my fiancé to think about, my baby to take care of. There’s no option to fall apart, and I won’t allow this to tear me down like the rest of my life has. I’ll endure the ghosts and demons, because that’s what my family needs me to do. That’s exactly what Damien did for me, and at least if we’re broken, we’ll be broken together.
I look back over at Damien and study his handsome face, taking in all of his features like I’m bearing witness to him for the first time. It’s not that I could ever forget what he looks like, I just want to remember this moment, how even unconscious and half dead, I can still feel his love for me—knowing he’s searching for me, even in his sleep. Though I can’t help but be afraid of what his eyes will tell me when he wakes up.
“Do you want me to wheel you closer to him?” Ser offers, and I look over to her with a hopeful expression.
“We’re allowed to do that?”
“Bitch, I'm a certified trauma nurse. I'll do whatever the fuck I want.” She bobs her head and points to the air like she’s scolding her conscience for telling her not to do something. With her motions full of that ever-present attitude, she stands up and walks to his side of the room to carefully move his wires and tubes.
“How does she ever lose an argument?” Carter asks as he shakes his head, half adoringly and half agitated.
“Oh, she doesn’t.” We shake with genuine laughter, which leads to my painful groans. Both of my shoulders radiate with pain, and the large cut that moves down the middle of my chest stretches with the ache. The sting only serves to piss me off, likehe’slaughing at me for trying to have a normal moment.
“Shit, sorry, Ash. I didn’t think to not make you laugh. Ser said the only thing you're allowed to have is acetaminophen, which I’m sure doesn’t help the pain much,” Carter says timidly.
“It’s okay, I'll take what I can get. They say laughter is the best medicine.” I try to appear indifferent, but when the words are spoken through gritted teeth, I’m sure they can tell I’m not. We grin at each other but stop once Ser clears her throat.
“Carter, come help me,” she not so nicely demands as she walks back over to my bed, and he gets up without a glare or argument and helps move me towards Damien. Serena puts down the railing to my right and lowers his left railing before pushing the beds together and locking them in place. Carter thenmoves their chairs over to Damien’s side and sets them down gently, careful not to disturb him.
His familiar scent immediately hits my nose, instantly soothing my troubled mind, and I have to resist the urge to scoot over and snuggle against his unconscious body. It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to dive into his arms and never resurface, but I just… wish he had woken up first.
If he’d woken up first—if the universe were generous enough to allow him a moment to process what happened—perhaps he could look at me without the influence of my defeated eyes on him. It would be easier if he would’ve been able to lay eyes on me before I laid eyes on him. He could decide what he wants to do with his ‘broken little toy’ without me there to persuade him to keep me.
I feel sick just thinking that.
