Page 60 of Petals and Strings
His lips formed an adorable half-smile, his blue-green eyes never looking away as he melted just a little more for me. Fuck, I was addicted to the small pieces of himself he gave me, of the control he handed over and the reactions I earned.
Trinity cleared her throat, ending the moment. I reluctantly looked away as she started to spout some bullshit about forgiveness and grudges.
“No, fuck that,” Ledger bit out, cutting her off completely. I wasn’t the only one over therapists telling us we shouldn’t be angry. “Why would I forgive someone for hurting me like my father did? He sold me into an arranged marriage, then when things went south didn’t give a single fuck. Just because our blood is the same? No. Fuck that. Some people don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
She stuttered over a response, but he wasn’t done.
“Should I forgive my ex-wife? The one who bit me and bonded me, then plotted to kill me. Her and her scent-match kept me chained for a week before I broke free and ended the madness. Do you know what they did during that week? I have scars that remind me of those times. Of the pain, the humiliation. She kept me alive out of self-preservation but had no qualms about torturing information out of me. Do you know what it feels like to have your skin singed by hot metal, branded slashes that burn long after the metal is pulled away from your seared flesh? Do you know what it feels like to have bones broken while they laughed? To have someone you thought you knew drop a mask and show they were only pure evil?”
“N-n-no,” she stumbled out her answer, body tight and eyes wide. Her skin had gone a little green as he described in detail what they’d done to him.
The rest of us listened, absorbing each new horror and remembering for him, staying strong as he threw out every sick detail. If he endured it, the least we could do was listen when he needed to vent out his trauma.
“Well, I fucking do, lady, and you can take your forgiveness and shove it up your ass. We don’t need cookie cutter, textbook therapy. We’re way beyond that and far too fucked up. Even those of us who didn’t endure torture don’t need regurgitated bullshit on forgiveness and how we should let it go.”
She didn’t say another word as her lips trembled and she stood up, rushing out of the room, leaving us in silence.
“Well, damn,” Kane said, shaking his head. “I liked her at first.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. It was the inappropriate kind, the one that didn’t fit the heavy moment, but I couldn’t stop it. Then we were all laughing, the same unhinged, strangled sound thatonly made us laugh harder at each other until my stomach was cramping and tears blurred my vision.
Dark humor at its finest.
When the laughter faded and the quiet fell over us, Ledger finally sighed.
“Sorry, guys. I got carried away. I’ll take the blame if someone comes for us,” he said.
Heavy footsteps cut off any responses as Director Cross stormed in, looking exasperated, but not angry.
“Does someone want to tell me why my new therapist nearly ran out of here in tears? I had to convince her to give one-on-one a try.”
“We finally did group therapy. Talked about our truth,” I said, refusing to let Ledger take the blame. “She wanted to tell us we needed to forgive and to let things go. It’s not that simple.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No, it’s not. Fuck, I guess back to the hiring portal. Try not to run off the next, though.”
“No promises,” Ledger muttered, earning him a look before we were dismissed.
“Go. No point in sitting here. Let’s see how she fares with Rydell.”
Rydell. He’s here. Alive.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rydell
The door beeped before a small woman walked in. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, a fluffy sweater making her look far too normal for this place. She belonged in a bookstore or coffee shop, somewhere soft and full of sunshine.
“You must be Rydell,” she said as she walked further into the room, her smile not quite real. She looked exhausted and terrified. A little rabbit in front of a wolf.
“I’m not going to hurt you. You can relax,” I grumbled as I flexed my bloodied hand. Her eyes flickered to the aftermath of my last round of anger but she didn’t say anything.
“I hear you aren’t eating,” she started, going for something easy, I suppose.
“I’ll eat when I’m out of here,” I clarified. My stomach had stopped rumbling and just rested at queasy when I didn’t think about it.
“That’s not good for you,” she said in a serene voice. “Especially with this level of… exertion.”
“I’ve endured worse,” I countered.
