by KL Donn
“Tell me something.” She nods. “Have I ever allowed you to think I was anything but obsessed with you?” She shakes her head as much as my grip allows. “Then why the fuck are you trying to turn this situation around on me?”
Seeing her demons waging war behind her eyes as she answers, I understand her trying to push me away, but I need to hear her verbalize it.
“I’m panic-stricken,” she whimpers.
“Over what?” My voice is still hard. It seems to be the best route to take with her. When I’m demanding her honesty rather than asking, she snaps to attention, and I’m sadistic enough to admit I like that she’ll do whatever I say.
“Going back.” Her words are barely audible.
My blood boils. Realistically, I know that if she hadn’t gone to jail and faced the consequences, she might have never accepted how selfish she was. How mean she was. Doesn’t change the fact that I wouldn’t like to beat the fuck out of her brother for forcing it on her. The things she went through, things I’m sure I’m not even aware of yet, left her broken in a way I worry she’ll never come back from.
“What will you tell Zach?” Her concern is singular.
“If you were me, if you were obsessed with the woman you’re contracted with to find out all of her deepest, darkest mysteries from and you did, what would you do?”
She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. I think she finally understands my conflict despite the fact I’d rather shield her from everything bad in the world.
I watch as she licks her lips, wanting to follow the same path with my own tongue. “I’d tell.”
“Why?” I demand, wanting to know her logic.
“To protect her.” Tears stream down her face.
Fuck.
I can’t wait for the fucking day when her tears are dried, and she gives me smiles and laughter instead. Dragging her to my chest, I inhale her sensual scent. She smells like me. Our still-nude bodies clash in a fierce embrace.
“Please don’t tell him,” she begs through her tears.
Shit on a stick.
I say the one thing I know I shouldn’t because more than anything in this world, I want her trust. “I won’t,” I vow. Hoping against hope, I’ll be able to keep it.
Chapter 7
Declan
Leaving Ashley in bed after spending most of the night making love, I head out to see Zach. I know I need to tell the other man something, or he won’t stop harassing me, and he might get someone else involved that would only set her back.
I also plan to look into whatever I can find out about her incarceration, medical records, therapist notes, etc. Anything I can get my hands on. Something happened while she was in there, and it’s holding her back from healing and moving on with her life.
Just as I’m about to hop on my bike, even though it’s windy as hell and I can almost feel winter coming, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Glancing at the screen, I groan. “Yeah.”
“How’s it coming? Has she talked?” The eagerness in Zach’s voice puts me on edge.
“I’m on my way in now,” I tell him, hanging up before he can get another word in edgewise.
The short drive to his downtown office is chilly yet exhilarating. It helped to clear my head, and I was going to need that in dealing with my friend.
I park beside the two-story brick building. Before I’m off the motorcycle, he’s there with a cup of coffee in hand. I eye him skeptically. He never gives me shit unless he wants something, which I suppose he does.
“Well?” he asks before I can bring the warm brew to my lips.
“Why are you so eager?” It feels like there’s more going on than I’m being told. Again.
His loud sigh is followed by an unwillingness to meet my hard gaze. “Her parents called yesterday.”
Not exactly shocking to me. “And?”
“They think you’re abusing her…”
Cold laughter bursts from my chest, but there’s no humor. Nothing’s funny about that accusation. There’s an energy between her and me, something completely unexplainable, almost magical, and hurting her is the farthest thing from my mind.
“You asked me to do a job. By any means necessary, I believe were your words. Get into her life is what you told me.”
“I know,” he agrees.
“Now you’re questioning my integrity?”
“I promised them I’d ask.”
Taking a sip of the too sweet coffee, I think of how best to explain Ash without giving away our own dynamic. “She’s a wreck, you know. Thinks she deserves the worst the world has to offer.” He quietly listens to me. “Her parents confirmed some of her worst fears yesterday. Did they tell you that?”
His look is quizzical for a short second, but I see it. “They just said they worried about who you were.”
“Naturally, you confirmed I wasn’t some maniac, right?”
“Yes, of course.” There’s no conviction in his tone.
My anger is growing by the minute. All of the people that should have protected this woman, that should be protecting her now, seem to have their own agendas where she’s concerned.
“When you called me, you were genuinely concerned about her. What changed that?” He’s caught off guard by my directness.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands.
“You’re worried about her folks, now? Their opinion of me!”
Running an angry hand down his face, Zach looks around to see we’ve gathered a bit of attention. Like I give a fuck. “Let’s go inside and talk,” he suggests, walking away from me.
Following, I ask him, “What’s so fucking bad about the way I treated her yesterday?”
As we enter his office, he finally confesses. “They saw a bruise on her collarbone.” He eyes me as if he knows how I handle my woman.
A smile crosses my lips as I think of the way she explodes in my arms when I restrict her airflow. Maybe one day, she won’t need that to come all over me, but for now, she anticipates it, and as long as she does, I’ll keep fucking doing it.
“Your point?” I won’t tell people what she needs to get off.
“You gonna make me ask it?” he snaps. Obviously not wanting to come out and question if I’m hurting her. Realistically, it’d be safer for him if he didn’t.
“You hurting that girl?” he finally asks after I don’t answer.
“Hurting?” I roll the word over in my mind—she’s not complained. “I guess that depends on a person’s perspective.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!” He throws his hands in the air, exasperated with my non-compliance.
“It means that, yeah, I fucking hurt her. And she begs for more every time.” When he attempts to say something, my tone deepens. “Am I abusing her, though? Fuck, no. And you, ya rat bastard should know better than that. Anything I do to her she asks for.”
He’s like a fish, his mouth gaping open and closed before he finally finds his words. “All right, then. I’m done. Don’t need to know anymore.”
After a quiet moment, I tell him, “She’s hurting, man. Bad.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“Yes.” I won’t lie; she is.
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
“Will she?”
“When she’s ready.”
“Are you going to tell me?” His patience is gone.
“Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“No one’s in danger. No substance abuse. I’ll get her there; I swear.” Hoping I can.
“I don’t doubt it, man.”
“I need her prison records, though.” I request, pointedly.
“Why?”
Thoughtful for a moment, I wonder if he knows. “Something happened while she was in there. She’s afraid to tell me. But there’s something, a trigger, to what makes her tick now. I want to know what it is.”
“Are you serious about her?”
“Of course.”
�
�Then maybe you should wait for her to tell you.” Fucker feels the need to be logical.
“Get me the file, and I won’t open it for now. Deal?” I’m trying to compromise while having all the information I need about her at my fingertips.
“Done.” He reluctantly agrees as he goes to search for it.
Ashley
* * *
Stretching after a night of amazing loving with Declan, I’m slightly disappointed to find him not beside me. He told me sometime in the early morning hours that he had to work, so I knew it wasn’t because he was leaving.
I have had the best night’s sleep in longer than forever, even though we didn’t do much of it. The few sporadic hours I did get to rest were refreshing, nightmare-free, and for once, I’m waking up feeling happy instead of lost.
I like the way he makes me feel safe, warm, whole. Like a person instead of a thing. He expects nothing but honesty and gives me everything.
We have a ton of stuff to work through, and I think we can do it. His level of understanding when he revealed my most inner demons was surprising. I thought for sure he’d have been repulsed.
Standing, I stride to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for my day at the youth center. One of the other volunteers has an event at her daughter’s school, and I promised to cover for her. I’m looking forward to spending the day with these kids for once. Some are incredibly smart, some shy, and some, like me, are broken. Those are the ones I truly hope to impact.
I know I’m not the best role model for anyone, and I’m sure the curators of the center would rather I volunteered elsewhere. But I believe I can offer some of the angrier kids an understanding ear. Not that the counselors aren’t fabulous with them, but they don’t know what it’s like to be that mean and angry child. I do.
I’m beginning to come to terms with having to let go of my regrets. I know I can’t keep beating myself up. I’ve apologized to those I wronged, and aside from my brother and parents, I have forgiveness. I wish it were enough, however.
I hate that I’ve disappointed my family so badly. I would love to take it all back. I hope for so many things, none of which will come to fruition, and that’s fine. So long as I keep moving forward, I suspect I’ll be able to continue healing.
Looking over my nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, I see my cuts, my scars. My story as Declan calls them, mixed with his love bites and tiny finger-sized bruises. While to others, I imagine it would make an ugly sight, to me it paints the picture of the intense loving and understanding of two souls colliding in passion. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
A knock on my front door interrupts my daydreaming. Hoping it’s Declan, I wrap my robe around me before skipping to the door. Not looking through the peephole, I’m shocked to see my parents on the other side, and they look a mess.
“What’s wrong?” I say in a rush, opening the door wider for them to enter. “Is Cecilia okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine. No one’s hurt,” my father says, walking around the small couch. My mother is still standing at the door, her eyes riveted to my neck.
“Did he do that to you?” she whispers, horrified.
My fingers glide their way up to my neck lovingly. I know there’s a fingerprint there, and I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about it. To me, it’s a sign of his affection.
“Yes,” I murmur with a smile, unsure of how to explain why I love it.
“You like that he hurts you?” Mom cries out.
Rolling my eyes, I tell her, “He doesn’t hurt me, Mom.” How the heck do I explain this?
“It certainly looks like he does,” she insists. Looking to my dad for help, he avoids eye contact. I don’t blame him.
“I promise, he doesn’t hurt me. Declan makes me whole. He couldn’t hurt me.”
She looks skeptical, but relents. “If you say so.”
Nodding my head, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
My father’s throat clearing has me spinning to face him. “We owe you an apology, Ashley.” He must see the confusion on my face as he continues. “When you left yesterday, you thought we didn’t want you. That we wish we’d never had you. That’s not true.”
Dropping my gaze, I’m not sure how to proceed. I do think that. How could I not? I called them on it, and they never denied my words.
“When you came along, we were set in our ways…in our life. We didn’t want to change that. It was selfish on our part. We should have been around for you more instead of leaving you with nannies that had no interest in anything other than a paycheck.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I still can’t look at either of them.
Hands on my shoulders have me looking up and into my father’s tear-filled eyes. “Because we failed you, Ashley. We let you down.”
Panic tightens my chest. “No. No, you didn’t. I screwed up. I humiliated people so they would feel what I did. I couldn’t stand to see anyone else happy. That’s on me, not you.”
They look at each other, a silent communication between them. “But that’s just it,” Mom says softly. “You wouldn’t have been in such turmoil if we were there for you more.”
Could it be true?
I had always hated seeing other people happy. It hurt my heart. When I saw how miserable Cecilia was, I latched onto it like a lifeline. I was ashamed to say she was an easy target because of that.
“I think,” my father begins, “we’re all going to have to agree to disagree here. We have all made mistakes. We all need to heal and move forward.”
“Please, Ashley, you have to know we love you so much. We couldn’t be prouder of the woman you’re becoming. It might have been a long road to get here, but baby, you are.” My mother’s tears have my own spilling forward.
“How can you be proud of me when I was in prison? What’s to be proud about that?”
Wrapping me in her arms, she speaks gently into my ear. “You might have gone to jail, Ashley, but it’s the way you handled court, your punishment, the release. All of it, dear. You, daughter of mine, are everything I wish you to be.”
Oh, how I wish that to be true, and maybe to them, I am. Maybe to them, I’m as good as I’m every going to be. Maybe I can be better than I want to be.
Maybe, one day…
Chapter 8
Ashley
Arriving at the youth center just before I’m to clock in, I know I’ve cut it close. Of all my parole requirements, Zach is strictest about my volunteer work. He won’t tolerate me being late or missing a day. I understand. It’s been detrimental to my state of mind in the last month.
Being with these kids gives me perspective on my life. What I want…what I need to get there. I feel like today marks a new day for me. The air is crisper, the leaves brighter, the sun soothes my soul as it shines down on me.
Declan, I know, is a huge part of that. I want something solely for me for once. I want to be better for him. I want him to want me for the real me. Even though I don’t quite know who that is yet, I have a feeling he’s going to push me until I find out.
“Morning, Ashley,” Tabitha, the director of the center, greets me as I hang up my stuff. “You look different today.” Her observation has me checking myself, not seeing anything new.
“How so?” I ask.
“Your aura is happy.” She smiles, walking away like that explains anything. I know she’s into reading tea leaves and crystals and a bunch of other weird stuff, but this aura thing is new.
Shaking it off, I go in search of the check-in list. Every time a child comes in they must sign their names in and out and state something personal about themselves. It doesn’t have to be deep. It can be their favorite color, shoe size, what they ate for breakfast or if they ate breakfast. Something that makes them feel like they have control. It isn’t much, but what they tell us is all their choice.
For the most part, it works. Just that tiny tidbit of information has allowed me to connect with three teens. I’ve
been able to extract more from them by those questions, and in return, I tell them as much about me as I feel they can handle.
There’s one girl, Sage, she just turned seventeen. Her parents seem odd given the way she’s explained them to me. Her father is a bishop in one of the Mormon communities in the state, her mother has never worked outside the home, and she has four older brothers and sisters.
Nothing is overtly wrong at home that she’s told me. She just feels suffocated. Torn between her religious upbringing and wanting to be free to explore who she really is. I can relate to that. I keep telling her that she’s young and has plenty of time to discover what her life will become. Her main priority should be finishing school, being herself, and never letting peer pressure persuade her decisions.
She knows who, or rather, what I am. When we first met, she’d somehow drug it out of me. She’s a good listener for sure. One of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. When I told her what I had done, she said a prayer of forgiveness for me right on the spot. I was stunned. Never have I felt so humble in my life.
“Ashley!” I hear a happy squeal from behind me as I walk towards the rec room.
“Hi, Sage.” I smile at her. My jaw drops, she’s wearing pants. I’m rendered speechless. I didn’t think she was allowed to wear anything but a dress, and holy shit, she’s topped it with a peplum blouse! “Look at you!” I enthusiastically exclaim. Last week, she told me she wanted to change her wardrobe, so I encouraged her to go to Goodwill and see if there was something there she would be permitted to wear at home.
“It feels wonderful,” she shares, conspiratorially.
“How do your parents feel about it? They like your choice?” I’m so excited for her. Maybe her parents aren’t as strict as I’d first thought.
An emotion akin to disgrace flashes across her lovely face. “They don’t know.”
“Sage, you have to tell them.” I’m trying to scold her, really I am. The pure joy that’s radiating off of her makes it hard, though.