CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Even in my sleep, I can’t trust my body around Flint. Damn it. I can hardly blame it for twining around Flint, but – for fucks sake! We are recovering from a trauma.Get your shit together.
I practically ran to the bathroom in my attempt to avoid any morning conversation, like the coward I am.
Just before I woke up, I had the strangest dream. What appeared to be us as children were sittingin the clearing I hallucinated last night, talking about books. The baby-faced Flint was covered in bruises and the rage I felt, wanting to hurt those who had hurt him, was almost palpable. Baby Flint talked me down and spent hours talking to me about stories, before setting up a time to meet.
Despite knowing it for a dream, it makes me smile. How cool would it have been to have known Flint as a child?
And what great fodder for my book, I think, as I brush my teeth.
When I warily poke my head out of the bathroom, I scent that Flint has made coffee, as well as replaced my mattress on my bed, complete with my surplus of blankets and pillows.
This fucking guy. I spy a mug (my favorite) on the counter. Without tasting it, I know he’s made it exactly the way I like it.
Fuck, I think, looking at the clock. It’s going to be a long day filled with nothing.
I’m not surprised to realize Flint isn’t home. Calida is missing too, so I guess he either took her out or she’s hunting, and he’s at the gym. He probably needs a session to work out some of the stress from last night. I guess I have the place to myself for the time being.
Though this brings me some anxiety, I do my resolute best to ignore the sinister voice in the back of my head saying, “what if”. Struggling to shut down the clips of last night that are desperately trying to play on a loop in my mind, I give in enough to check that the door is locked.
Finding that Flint did lock it (of course), I decide to use the time to jot down some ideas and enjoy my coffee.I was off today anyway. I think about going to the shop, but it makes me anxious. I’ll have to get over it. I will be damned if that fuckstain is going to ruin Wanderlust for me with his obsessive bullshit. I’ll have to get Annemarie to help me cleanse the space again, and maybe we can fully get rid of his bullshit. I dread having to call her and Betsy. She was already enraged over his last stunt – this one may have her committing a murder and me having to figure out to post bail.
It takes about twenty minutes, but I eventually realize that, rather than writing down ideas or fleshing out the next chapter, I’m writing down the things I have been hallucinating recently. I can probably use it eventually.
Setting it all aside, I top off my coffee and get ready to face the day. As much as I should be writing, I don’t think I’m currently in the headspace to write about love.
While I wait for the water to come to temp, I study myself in the mirror. I note the bruises Brett’s hands left, the scratches from the hard concrete. The back of my head is tender from where he slammed it. Evidence of the nightmare. I remind myself that it could be so much worse.
I wash and wonder if Flint finds me revolting now. I didn’t want to dwell on it too much last night, fearful that I would see confirmation in Flint’s eyes. Now that I’m alone though, the fear is coming back. I wonder if he’ll ever touch me again. Do I want him to?
I left the apartment after making Ash’s coffee for her, before she got out of the shower. I broke my own rule and did a cursory scan of her emotions and she seemed okay. Probably better than I’m feeling currently. With Calida out working off her pizza, I decided it would be best to leave and handle my own emotions.
In a perfect world, that would mean going to find Brett and slowly peeling the skin from his bones while he screams in agony. Or starting at his feet and ending with his hands, snapping every bone in between. I would kill him for causing her one moment of distress and I had almost lost it when I saw the bruises he left on her, barely visible on her tattooed skin. It stood out like a brand to me — someone had touched, hadhurt,what is mine. Not once.Twice.I had been mistaken, letting him live the first time. I’d kill him now if there were any assurances that it wouldn’t blow back on Ash. I need to talk to Betsy.
Ash will assume I’ve gone to work out, which is correct to an extent. She’ll assume I’ve gone to the gym, as I often have these past weeks to work out of my own frustrations and sexual tension. While working out would be a good way to let loose some of the lingeringaggression, I need counsel and here and now, there is only one place for me to seek that out.
To help save time, and also to be able to say I worked out, I run to the store. It’s hardly far enough away to count as a real workout for me, but technically, I still won’t be forced to lie to Ash. I try to avoid it, whenever possible, unless it’s for her own good.
Betsy is already in when I arrive, her face pale and drawn.
“What happened?” she demands, as soon as I’ve closed the door behind me. She rushes to meet me at the threshold, reaching around me to flip the lock and the sign, ensuring we won’t be disturbed.
Fuck. I really should have taken the time to cleanse the space of the pounding rage, the need for power, for submission, the fear, but I couldn’t take the time away from Ash. Brett left a nasty smear on the air and, under that, there’s the terror and helplessness Ash left, with the underlayment of shame and doubt.
If nothing else, I should have called either Betsy or Annemarie, probably both, to warn them of what had happened. Either of them could have cleansed the space. If nothing else, they wouldn’t have been blind-sided by the emotions staining the air.
“She’s fine,” I begin, only to find Betsy grabbing my shirt in her fist and angrily pulling me closer.
“What. Happened.” She asks again, through gritted teeth. The time apart has allowed me to forget just how formidable Betsy is when she’s riled.
“Ash was assaulted after closing last night by Brett the Ballsack.” I cover her fist with my hand because I can feel it beginning to shake. “She was doing well holding himoff, but I arrived before… well, before it got as bad as it could have been. I assaulted him in return and ran him off. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, didn’t take care of the cleansing. It was stupid and I should have."
She shakes her head, visibly shaken. I take her arm and guide her over to one of the sofas, lowering us both to sit on it.
“I’m sorry, Betsy. The only thing I could think of was getting her away, getting her safe. Taking care of her.”
“She’s okay? You took care of her?”
