Page 249 of The Monster and the Masochist

Her frown deepened. “You thought it was fake for me, and you still wrote those vows?”

I chuckled, leaning forward to brush a kiss on her cheek, being careful not to smudge her makeup.

“As I said… It was never fake for me. I think I fell in love with you the second I saw you,” I purred. Taking her hand, I kissed her fingers, enjoying the way the ruby on her engagement ring sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

“Even though I assaulted you?” she asked coyly, smiling up at me with those warm chocolate eyes that I still found myself getting lost in every time she turned them on me.

“Especially because you assaulted me. I think we’ve already established I’m a slut for pain, baby girl. The second you stuck your finger in my cut, I was a goner.”

Cass laughed, her eyes shining with mirth.

“Well, as long as you remember I’m the only one that’s allowed to hurt you, I suppose the masochism is one of your more manageable vices.”

She was right about that.

After we’d killed Samwell, I’d thought it would be smooth sailing, but it turns out that’s not how trauma works.

I’d had two more backslides with alcohol in the first few weeks following his death. Both of them had happened after having a few casual drinks with friends. The second one had been particularly bad, as I’d been slightly buzzed at a bar with Callum when a news segment about Samwell had popped up on the TV screens.

The reporter detailed that the police had found a series of emails between Samwell and his benefactors, informing them that he was fleeing to some indiscriminate location in an effort to evade authorities, and I immediately spiraled.

It killed me that all the survivors of his recent crimes would never know that he was dead and couldn’t ever hurt them again, and I’d been overcome with so much guilt and fury, I hadn’t known how to manage it.

After waking up in our condo again, unable to remember how I’d gotten there, I’d finally decided it was time for me to go to that meeting Jerry wanted me to attend with him.

I was also in weekly therapy now with the lady that Cass’s therapist had recommended.

While I quickly learned the AA meetings really weren’t for me, it turned out the therapy was.

It was rough at first, and I’d felt so awkward and ashamed just dumping all my trauma on some random stranger, but I kept going, and after a while, it really started to help.

Apparently, trauma is something people can recover from, even if it feels like an impossible mountain to climb at the beginning of the journey.

But the first step is getting all that darkness out of your head and into the world.

I was now eight months sober, and honestly, I didn’t miss alcohol at all. Not like I thought I would.

“You’re right about that,” I hummed. “I definitely have worse vices… but, thanks to you, I think the worst of it is behind me now.”

Being careful not to smudge her lipstick, I leaned in to kiss my wife, breathing in her warm, vanilla perfume.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” she whispered, and I smiled.

“Thanks, princess. I’m proud of you, too.”

“Yooo, Theo!” I turned away from my wife to find Logan, Ronan, and Dakota striding toward us. They were all looking handsome in suits for the occasion, though Ronan seemed uncomfortable in his.

He kept messing with his tie, and Dakota batted at his hands, shaking his head with an amused smile.

“Leave it alone, you’re gonna fuck it all up.”

“This thing is suffocating me!” Ronan complained. He continued to tug at it in frustration, a grumpy scowl darkening his expression. “I don’t know why people insist on wearing this shit.”

“Relax, Shorty. You look hot.” Logan grinned, brushing an easy kiss across Ronan’s mouth, which only seemed to make him scowl harder.

“Whatever. I’m gonna go get a drink,” he muttered, but Dakota grabbed him and tugged him in for a kiss, too.

“Be good, it’s going to be a long night,” he scolded, and Ronan rolled his eyes.