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I want to tell them the truth so that I can be theirs in all the ways that count. But when I try to pull back, Lev’s lips find mine and I’m lost again. Damien trails kisses down my chest and thoughts of Bryce ripping off my clothes collide into me like a freight train hitting me in the chest.
I pull back, shaking, scrambling to get up off the bed. The wrap on my hand starts to fall off with how quickly I move.
Lev and Damien look at me in confusion for a moment until they seem to understand.
“I… Sorry, I just.” I feel naked without the weight of my blades tethered to my thigh. My hands tremble as they frantically search for them, making the gauze tangle and fall off.
I need my blades, I need them. I can’t be defenseless again, not again.
“Where are they? Did he take them? What..?” I’m frantic, my mind going back to what happened, tricking me into thinking Damien never showed up. I can feel Bryce's hands pulling at my wet clothes as they tore apart under his grip. I remember him squeezing my breasts as I reach up, touching them over the shirt someone put on me. They’re sore and I have no doubt there are bruises marking me.
Damien reaches out to touch me, causing me to shove him away on instinct. “Don’t,” I tell him, not wanting to hurt him. I don’t know what to do to take back control.
Lev stands, keeping space between us while Damien sits there looking even more confused. “Lucky Charm, it’s okay. What do you need?” he asks so quietly, so patiently, the fog in my head seems to subside a little.
“I need my blades,” I say, my voice strained. A headache unlike anything I’ve ever felt is hitting me, bringing back even worse memories of when I woke up the last time I was drugged. I close my eyes. I can almost feel the blood sticking to my legs and the pain shooting through me all over again.
I suck in a deep breath, feeling my hands tremble as I bring them to my face.
Take a breath, get control, focus.
I’m practically screaming at myself inside my mind to get it together. Images of my past slam into me with the force of a hurricane, causing me to stumble back until I hit the wall.
“Evie, look at me!” a strong voice commands, forcing me to open my eyes. The images go away the second my eyes connect with a vortex of green that reminds me of long runs in the woods and the early morning air. “Keep your eyes open.” His voice is strong and sure.
I force myself to hold his gaze, coming back to the present slowly.
“Now, tell me what you need. What will help you feel safe again?” Lev asks.
I look between him and Damien, taking deep breaths and forcing my voice to remain steady. “My blades,” I say finally.
Lev nods before turning and leaving the room. Damien doesn't move on the bed, and I’m grateful, not knowing what else could trigger me right now. Usually when the nightmares of my past come to life I long for Damien's touch to soothe me. Now I’m scared that I’ll never feel that way again.
“I’m sorry,” I say eventually. “I don’t do this. I don’t fall apart. I can’t control the nightmares, but this.” I look down at myself and my hands, feeling like they aren’t even mine. “This I should be able to control.”
“You’re sorry?” he asks, his brows pinching together so deeply they almost become one. “You’re sorry because you cried? You’re sorry you freaked out after someone drugged you? You’re sorry someone almost raped you?”
He’s out of bed in an instant, boxing me in between him and the wall before I can take my next breath. “Don’t ever fucking apologize to me for something you have every right to feel,” he says, grabbing my chin between his fingers roughly and forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Promise me. Promise me that when you’re here, with us, you let yourself feel and we deal with it together. We will learn to let it go together.”
The ferocity in his tone takes my breath away. His words sink into the depths of my shattered heart and find a way to make it not feel so broken. The man I was told was a cruel heartless killer doesn't line up with the man who’s creating a safe space for me while forcing me to process my trauma.
All of the therapists in my past have basically told me to hold onto my anguish, rage, and use it to fuel me and my drive. They encouraged my need for revenge, and even went so far as to give me stimulants to help me stay awake to train. They never made me feel safe enough to tell my truth or deal with it in a way I could let it go. The few grounding exercises I use are ones I taught to myself.
Damien's words cut through me in a way no one has before, and I find myself wanting to let all of the anger and hurt go. It’s too painful to hold onto it all. The bad outweighs the good in a way that has me forgetting how my parents loved me, the fun times we had together, and the days when life felt like a breath of fresh air.
“I promise,” I breathe, and I mean it. I want that feeling again. I want to be able to breathe and let myself soak in the good.
I lean forward, my forehead touching his chest as I do what he asked, I just feel. I let the fear run through me, then picture it slowly leaving my fingertips and dripping to the floor. Damien strokes a hand down my hair in silence, and I keep my eyes open, looking at the phoenix on his chest.
“Did anyone else see me when I was passed out?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer, but I need to know so I can process it and move the fuck on.
His hand doesn't stop its caress. “Lev covered you in a blanket. A few people saw you passed out, including Angelo, but other than that it was just Lev and I.”
“And you dressed me?” I ask, assuming yet still needing to ask.
“Lev and I did, yes. I called Doc when it happened and he asked us to look for needle marks. We tried not to pry much, but we also wanted to make sure to give him the best information.”
