Page 23 of Petals and Strings
It was warm out here, but the quiet and clean, crisp air had me nodding my head. His grin brightened as he led me around to the front of the building. There was a circular garden rimmed in stone. The flowers here were a vibrant mix of pink, orange, and yellow.
“Petunias,” he answered the unspoken question. “We water three times a week, and today is that day, but I also haven’t had a chance to properly weed this area. You’ve got your gloves, but let me grab some more supplies.”
Just like that, he walked away from me. I stood in the sunshine, right in the middle of the sprawling lawn, with no one hovering over me.
I heard the warnings, knew I couldn’t run. And for once since arriving, I didn’t feel like it. Maybe he was right about finding my own brand of therapy here.
My head tilted back and I breathed in deep again, letting each chase away a little more of my inner pain. Even if it was temporary.
Theo had trudged up a lot. It didn't fit back in that mental box quite as nicely as before.
The garden was fairly large and I could see all the weeds popping up in between the flowers. This would take time, patience, and willpower to get it all.
Something I had plenty of.
When Val came back, pulling a wagon behind him, he gave me a rundown. Then I was kneeling on a garden mat, pulling weeds one by one and putting them in the bucket he’d brought.
He hovered for just a moment, giving me a hum of approval with how much care I took to pull the first few.
Then I was alone again, left to my own thoughts. At first I simply focused on the task in front of me. The afternoon sun was strong, bearing down on my black clothes until sweat started to cover my skin in a thin layer.
My arms ached, but the noise of the world faded.
Theo’s words had been churning in my mind for days.
“They’re not really your pack.”
I’d been given the pictures, seen the evidence. Maybe it was the new meds that Dr. Malik had me on, or it was the fact that I couldn’t conjure much of a memory of that pack anymore.
Everything I managed to draw out was all surface level. The sound of their voices, smooth, rich, and the alpha had a deep rumble.
A hint of scent that faded quickly enough I couldn’t quite pick out the notes that should be ingrained in me.
All my memories of them were wisps of smoke, the moment I leaned in to see more, they faded, taken off in the wind and leaving me feeling hollow.
The alpha was the strongest image. His face burned into my mind… yet, even now it was fading quickly. His eyes were… brown? Blue? With wrinkles around the edges. A hint that he wouldn’t cause me the same kind of pain I’d endured.
As I worked, pulling weed after weed, digging out the roots and pushing the soil back in place, I continued to try and draw out more.
There was so much to face. It wasn’t just the memories of my trauma coming back, or the fading pack, it was so much more.
My family, embarrassed and tearful thinking they could make me anyone else’s problem. Doctor after doctor who told them the same thing each time. I needed more help than they could give, but the meds would help. A small pebble in a sea of stones.
Meds I didn’t take, doctors they didn’t take me to see. They believed time at home could fix this. That I’d fall into the girl I was when I was taken.
When that didn’t work, they started shoving me into programs that couldn’t handle me. I wasn’t diagnosed with mental health issues that most therapists were taught to manage.
Too broken. Sick. Delusional.
Mom and my two dads’ faces looked pained when I saw them in my memories. Frustrated and weary. Acting like I was some sort of cornered animal that was going to lash out if pushed too far.
Maybe thingshadgotten that bad.
No matter the case. I couldn’t come to terms with how little they tried to get through to me.
Surely, if anyone could talk me down it would be the family I was taken from far too early? All I was begging for was someone to listen. At least, at first.
I was just relieved to be out of that hellscape.
