Page 74 of Tear Me Down
Chapter twenty-six
Ashia
Three Days Later
‘Masterpiece’ – Motionless in White
I stir, feeling the lingering grogginess weigh down on my eyelids as I gradually open them. The room is dark, and the only trace of light comes from underneath the bedroom door. Though the door is not our normal bedroom entryway, it feels almost as familiar. Thoughts of the past few days instantly flood my mind, and they only make the bed feel comfier somehow. I’m not ready to leave, even though we’ll have to in a few hours. Living in our own little bubble, where it was just the two of us, has been overwhelmingly peaceful.
All of our recent troubles have only existed in the back of our minds, and we’ve had the chance to breathe amidst the chaos. Everything that haunts our normal days has seemed like a distant nightmare, but an anvil hanging over our heads. He’s been so busy with taking down warehouses, taking dealers off of the streets, tracking down Dranan, Avery, and their partners, and trying to watch out for more groom houses that we haven’t had the chance to inhale without worry. The one time we tried was quickly swiped away with the sound of raging bikers. Plus, the only time we get a moment alone is when we’re sleeping, and even then, there’s guards right outside walking the perimeter of the house.
We took full advantage of the past three days, and had no plans once we arrived—mostly just did what we wanted, when we wanted. He took us out on a boat, and we fished for a while, which was surprisingly relaxing. I had only done it once with Richard, but this was so much nicer and not filled with questions about my home life. We swam in the lake right off the dock, he took me out to dinner at this cute Mexican food place across the lake, watched a bunch of movies, and had lots of sex.
My favorite day, though, was yesterday when it rained all day. We laid out on the lounger sofa at the bottom of the dock for hours. There’s a little gazebo at the end, so we were covered, but the cool breeze mixed with his warmth, and the cold water barely misting over our skin was nothing short of amazing. Thunder and lightening roared through the skies and sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference between the thunder and his heart beating. Everything was so content—so simple. Nothing else mattered for those few hours, and everything washed away with the rain.
Damien seems to have loved this time just as much as I have, though it hasn’t all been sunshine, rainbows, and perfect storms. I still see the worry on his face, and it grows every time I get sick or he thinks his phone vibrates. A part of me wishes I could ask him to keep us here, to run away with me, and even though I know he would, it would kill himinside. He loves his men—they are just as much his family as anyone else. I couldn’t ask him to leave them behind. They’re my family now too, and I truly couldn’t imagine our life any other way. This little reprieve was nice, but now that I think about it, if we never went back to the real world, there would always be something missing.
Another issue that I'm not sure I can fix comes up after my revelation. He's so angry with himself over this new drug and with all that has happened to us that it’s consuming him. He can’t find any of the targets or anything concrete on Senator Avery to turn him in, and it’s eating him alive. Every time I get sick, I see that look on his face and it makes my chest clench. He feels so guilty, and I don’t know how to make him understand that none of this was his fault. He didn’t hire a man to poison me, he didn’t pick a fight with the MC, and he certainly didn’t invent this new drug, but he’s punishing himself as if he did. He’s such a good person that anytime something happens, he blames himself, and while I know he has such a pure heart, it’s slowly becoming his downfall.
I certainly don’t blame him for what’s happened, but I can’t say that I don’t have mixed feelings about the past couple of months. Things have been hectic to say the least, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to handle something like what we’ve dealt with. For so long, I had forgotten what it was like to live in danger. I used to never know what I would come home to. For my parents, it was either of them, JP, or some other drugged up friend I’d have to worry about smacking me around or threatening my life to get what they wanted. Then, of course, there was Cooper. Always pissing someone off, then being afraid someone would come after him, and that was when I wasn’t the object of his rage. I lived alone and isolated for so long that I forgot what it felt like.
Even though we’re in danger, I don’t feel as helpless as I did back then. Damien has taught me so much, willingly or not, that I’m not nearly as afraid as I used to be. If I couldn’t handle myself, he’d be there to protect me, and even if he wasn’t, I’m fully capable of doing what needs to be done now. Growing into the woman I am today, and emerging from the broken shell I used to be, has opened up an entire new world. I’m not afraid to fire a gun or hold a knife, and I’m certainly not afraid to use either one anymore. I won’t ever cower in the corner of a room or hide in the hall closet again, and instead of running in the opposite direction, I run towards it with him by my side or cheering me on from behind.
Damien is so strong for everyone else, even for people that don’t know him, and while he may not think he needs someone else to back him up, I’ll be strong for him. He can hold up the city and his men, but I’ll be there to keephimup, even in the worst of times. He doesn’t need a weak link, he needs support, and I’ll always back him up. He's never seen me as weak, but he needed someone stronger, so I became that for him before I even realized I had.
I didn’t change who I was. I still love Star Wars, singing, and horror movies, but I finally let myself show through. I broke down my caged walls and ran on all four paws, making the name he’s given me resolute. He awakened the inner predator I lost so long ago, and now we stand tall together—me as his little wolf.
A part of me doesn’t even recognize myself anymore, and I’m so damn glad. I was weak, sad, and easily manipulated. He’s shown me that I’m muchmore than that. When I killed that man at Cut Me Down, I thought he would never look at me the same way again, and that was partially true, but only because he was so fucking proud of me. He knew I had the strength and the courage to be a force, no matter how much he wished I didn’t have to use it. He knew it was always buried inside, trying to claw its way out. He’ll always protect me, but I’ll also protect him, and in my mind, no one can touch us. They may beat us down and try to rip us apart, but packs of wolves always fight for each other, and they come back stronger than before.
More than anything, I want to sink into his warmth. Snuggle up against him and allow his presence to consume me, but instead, I feel the cold emptiness in the bed next to me—proving that he’s been gone for a while now. I look over at the clock to see it’s just past two in the morning, and I have a hunch that he didn’t sleep for long. There has to be a way to help him through this, though I’m not sure how. All I can do for now is to continue to soothe him and fight away the demons as they crawl their way back into his mind. Hopefully by the time we get back, Carter will have found some useful information for him to use and move forward with. I know that until there’s been some justification in his mind, that this won’t go away.
After a quick look around the room, I step out of bed and walk towards the only light on in the small cabin. As I push the door open, I see Damien leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a downward stare. Small beads of sweat coat his forehead, and the dark circles forming under his eyes are much more prominent in the dimly lit room. He’s woken up every night for weeks, and I can see the exhaustion wearing him down. We have napped some while we were here, and I know the relaxation from our time here has helped him, but as long as his mind races like this, it won’t end for him.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask quietly as I walk into the kitchen area. He looks over at me with a surprised glance, like he didn’t expect to see me awake. With how his senses are normally on high alert, he must have had a few glasses already if he didn’t hear me walk in.
“Nothing, you can go back to sleep,” he says in a defeated tone, like he doesn’t have the energy to slip his façade back into place. I walk up to the kitchen island and lean over the counter—somewhat regretting that I didn’t put clothes on as the cold surface presses against me.
“Damien, you’ve been waking up like this every night for weeks. Talk to me, what’s going on?” He just looks down at the floor, hesitating. I know he doesn’t want me to worry about him, but that’s only making things worse. “Don’t do that anymore,” I plead.
“Do what?” he says, looking back at me with sad eyes.
“Hide how you’re feeling. We don’t do that to each other.”
“Well, maybe I should,” he says, suddenly aggravated as if I hit a nerve, and I feel a weight fall on my chest. His jaw is clenched, and I can see the way his grip tightens on the glass he’s holding. He’s clearly struggling and fighting a war on his impulses.
“What does that mean?” I push back. He lifts his hand and grabs the back of his neck, clearly trying to think through his options of responses.
“Nothing, Ashia. Please go back to bed, we can talk in the morning.”
Wrong option.
“No,Damien, we can talk now.” I stand up straight again and cross my arms, refusing to budge. Normally, I love it when he says my name, but for some reason, when he says it so sternly, it triggers something in me.
“Baby…” he says a little softer, but there’s a warning edge to it—like he’ll snap if I keep pushing.
“What did you mean by that?” I interrupt him, wanting to get to the bottom of his feelings and find some way past this. He can deflect all he wants with anyone else, but he’s not going to do that with me. We don’t lie or hide things from each other, we never have, and we certainly won’t start now. “What are you feeling that is such a crime? So horrible, that you feel like you can’t tell me?”
“Guilty! I feel guilty!” he shouts and jabs a finger into his own chest, taking me by surprise. He’s never actually admitted that before now, and while I know he’s felt that way, hearing it slip from his lips makes it a reality. I’ve known that he has, but I don’t know how else to make him see that none of the turmoil was his fault. My chest feels tight, and I can feel that small jitter of adrenaline kick in. “I feel guilty for my mistakes! I feel guilty about my thoughts! I feel guilty for being so God damn selfish!”
