Page 27 of Bleeding Hearts

After what my father put me through, I deserve this car. Who gives a fuck if it was his money that paid for it? I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t tried to get it back from me, but then again, I guess that would require I speak to him, which I haven’t since the day I left.

He may have tried calling me, but I wouldn’t know. I blocked his number the second I pulled out of the driveway. No communication with him is the way that I prefer it.

“No, it’s late. I want to make sure you get inside safely. I can just Uber home. Seriously, don’t worry about it, gummy bear.” He smiles, placing his hand on my lower back to guide me to the passenger side of my car before I can even respond.

“It’s a fuck no to gummy bear.” I smile at him as I get in the car. “And you do realize I get home a lot later than this when I work the late shift at the restaurant, and I manage to make it inside just fine?”

He closes my car door before walking over to the driver’s side and getting in himself. Only then does he turn to me and answer. “Will you just let me be a gentleman?” He sighs.

“Eh, I don’t know. Torturing you seems a lot more fun. Plus, you’re like the least gentlemanly person I know.” I laugh.

“You’re exhausting.” He shakes his head, putting the car in reverse and pulling out.

“Thank you.” I lean back in the seat smugly. I’d rather be exhausting than boring any day.

The drive back to my apartment is only about ten minutes from the ice cream shop and it goes by quickly. Asher makes good on his promise, walking me all the way up to my apartment and making sure I get inside safely and lock the door before ordering his Uber.

I offer him the couch to crash on, telling him I can just drive him home in the morning, but he passes since I have to be at the restaurant to work tomorrow at seven forty-five a.m. and his first appointment isn’t until eleven thirty.

Part of me secretly hoped he’d say yes so that I wouldn’t have to be here alone, but I don’t fight his decision, not wanting him to know that.

I go through my nightly routine, getting ready for bed after he leaves and I even get into bed, closing my eyes, urging myself to sleep, but I can’t.

The anxiety of being alone creeps over my skin, paralyzing me. It’s not actually being alone in the apartment. I’ve slept here alone plenty of nights. Logan has basically lived with Kaden for the better part of the last six months.

But in the back of my mind, even if she wasn’t here, she still lived here.

Now she doesn’t. Now this is onlymyapartment,myresponsibility. I don’t think I’ve ever had that type of responsibility.

It’s been seared into my head from a young age that I would never be able to handle it. One of the many parting gifts from my father.

He conditioned me for so long over the years that I needed him to handle everything, and I’d never survive on my own, that a part of me started to believe him.

Deep down, I know it was all lies, that it was just one of his tactics to scare me into feeling like I needed him no matter how bad he hurt me. I’ve watched him use the same tactics on my mother.

But even recognizing the pattern of abuse for what it is, it’s hard to erase the scars his words and fists left on the young, impressionable girl I used to be.

Even though I know I’m now a strong, independent woman perfectly capable of being alone, I hate it. His words are still embedded in me deeply, and no matter how hard I try to shake them, they still linger.

I throw the covers off me, knowing I won’t find sleep anytime soon and make my way to the one place that has always been a reprieve for me, the kitchen. I start grabbing ingredients out of the fridge and pantry and get to work.

I bake for hours, not bothering to check the time as I make tray after tray of homemade cookies. I make different batches and different flavors until my hands ache from stirring.

Only after they’re all cooled and placed in Tupperware do I make my way back to bed, exhaustion taking over as I collapse on top of the covers.

I look over to the time to see it’s three thirty in the morning and I sigh as I close my eyes, knowing I’ll be getting barely any sleep before I have to get up for work. But even if I hadn’t gotten up to bake, I wouldn’t be getting any sleep anyway.

Anxiety would’ve kept me awake much later than the time now.

After hours of baking and dozens of cookies later, the tension I felt earlier slips away and sleep comes easier. I drift off with a single thought in my mind.

Being alone fucking sucks.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Demi

“Demi, could you be any slower?” Sheila, also known as the one and only she-devil, also known as my manager, whines into my ear as I grab my table’s orders from the kitchen.

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