Page 16 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

Chapter eight

Ashia

I walk down the stairs after Damien, but he’s walking so fast, I can’t keep up.

His shoulders are tense, and he has that dangerous punch to his steps.

That muscular jaw has a tick, and I can tell by the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists that he’s gearing up for something.

Whatever was said on the phone clearly upset him, and I hate how he’s shutting me out.

Normally he would at least give me some sort of information. What could have made him this uneasy?

“Damien?” I try to call out to him again, try to stop him, but he’s already in the garage by the time I make it halfway down the stairs.

Quickening my pace until my stomach pulls, I walk toward the door, only to hear the bike rev its way down the driveway.

I look through the windows to watch him take off, and the further the sound gets, the deeper my heart sinks.

Carter walks back in from the garage and slams the door, clearly on edge as well. He immediately finds my gaze and furrows his brows, as if in confusion.

“What happened, Ashia?” he asks angrily.

“I don’t know. We were just sitting in the bathroom together, he answered a phone call, and then pretty much stormed out.

He didn’t even say anything.” I hold my arms up and talk with my hands, showing that I’m just as perturbed as he is.

Carter squints his eyes, obviously more confused than he was before.

“Why were you guys in the bathroom?”

“I had gotten sick, and we just hadn’t moved yet.”

His face relaxes and then frowns in one motion.

“Oh, shit.” Zeke mumbles out, and I look over to him. His face is just as worried as Carter’s, and now I feel like they know something I don’t. “I can go after him.”

“No, I think you've said plenty!” Carter snaps at him and starts pacing. I’ve never seen him lose his cool before, especially with someone from DH. He’s normally the calm, cool, and collected one, not this anxious, worried mess.

“What’d you say to him?” I ask Zeke, needing to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.

“You know the kind of head space he’s been in, Zeke!” Carter yells and grips his hair, clearly terrified of the repercussions of whatever Damien just left to do. What the hell is going on?

“I know, I'm sorry!” Zeke shouts .

“For what?” I shout, grabbing both of their attention. They look at each other before Carter takes a few steps towards me, acting like I’m going to bolt at any moment.

“When D thought you died, let’s just say he didn’t take it well.” He eyes the room, seemingly looking everywhere except me as he rubs his forearm.

“Well, I know he’d been on edge, and that he pointed a gun at Derek that day, but he apologized for that.”

“That's not all he was going to do with it,” Zeke says, and I look back at him.

“What do you mean?”

“He was going to kill himself, Ashia.” I snap my head back to Carter as his words hit me deeply.

That type of pain is excruciating, and to think that’s how he’s felt is like a stab in the heart.

“That’s why he was locked in your room with the gun.

He had it pointed to his head when he heard you speak.

” I suck in a deep breath and silently will my stomach not to fall to my feet.

Why wouldn't he tell me that? I know he’s been stressed since that day, but I had no idea it was to that extent.

The thought of what he must have felt, or what was going through his mind, makes me want to race after him, pull him back into the house and never loosen the grip I plan to hold onto him with.

What would’ve happened if I didn’t wake up right then?

Ten more seconds…? Five more…? Not even… ?

“What the fuck did you say to him, Zeke?” I turn back to him with wide eyes and a shakiness that makes my fear more evident.

“He offered to have my girl come over, and I may have said something stupid along the lines of not wanting to put a target on her back.” He grabs the back of his neck, knowing he messed up.

“ZEKE! Why the fuck would you say that?”

“We were busting each other’s balls! I wasn’t thinking!”

“Clearly!”

“Alright, you two.” Carter holds his hands out like he’s trying to settle two dogs about to fight over food, and walks closer to me. “You said you got sick, are you okay?” he asks a little gentler, though it does nothing to ease my worries.

“I'm fine. I told him I'm fine.”

“Okay, did you hear anything on this phone call? Anywhere he could have gone?” he asks intently.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t even realize he was on the phone until he hung up.”

“Okay. If it was that quick it was probably one of the moles. Zeke, you call Jeremy, and I'll call Darren and Bradley.” They spring into action, practically diving to grab their phones. Bright lights shining through the living room windows draw my attention and I snap my head towards the driveway to see Serena’s car pull in.

A wave of disappointment floods me. Not that I'm not happy to see her, but I'm saddened it’s not Damien coming back.

After a few moments of Zeke and Carter continuing to scramble, she walks through the door.

“Hey!” she says excitedly as she shuts the door and turns around. Then, she grimaces, clearly sensing the tension. “Wow, the vibe is seriously dark in here.”

“Do you have your med kit in your car?” Carter asks her as soon as he hangs up.

“Yeah?”

“Can you check Ashia’s vitals?”

“Yeah, hold on.” She walks back out, only to walk back in just a few seconds later. “What’s wrong?” she inquires as she starts to unpack it.

“She threw up a little bit ago, and Damien got worried,” Carter says before putting his phone back to his ear. Ser scrunches her brows and digs through the bag a little faster.

“You got sick?” She walks me over to the couch to sit down and starts pulling out what she needs as she looks around the main floor. “Where’s the Big Bad Wolf?” she sneers and packs some attitude into that punch.

“I don’t know.” I roll my eyes and shake my head at her. “He said he was going to take care of something and then left. He didn’t tell any of us where he was going. He’s so stressed and anxious, I'm worried about him.”

She scoffs and mimics my shaking movements, like the idea of me being worried about him is ridiculous.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Ash,” she spits out, and I narrow my eyes at her.

“Did you know he was going to kill himself that day?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

If she knew, why wouldn’t she tell me? Surely my best friend would tell me if my boyfriend was going to end his life—no matter how she feels about him.

Though, she hardly looks up at me with a gaze that screams guilt before it shifts to agitation, then she averts her stare and puts the blood pressure cuff on me. “Ser, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought it was a very serious lapse in judgement in a very difficult situation. He thought the love of his life just died, and then you were okay. So, I didn’t think there’d be anything to worry about.

I certainly didn’t want you to worry about it, and… ” She hesitates and looks away again.

“And what?”

“I might have said some…not so nice things to him.” she mumbles, and I cock my head at her.

“What did you do?”

“I screamed at him…and hit him…and I asked him why he couldn’t have just stayed away from you…” She looks up at me with innocent eyes, but I shove my compassion towards her away .

“SERENA!”

“Hey, I apologized later. I was upset and angry. I had just done chest compressions on my best friend! I was scared, too!” she shouts and goes back to adjusting the cuff.

My agitation fades and simmers into sadness as her true feelings surface.

I need to try to remember that she went through a lot as well, and that it wasn’t just me and Damien that were affected.

“I’m sorry…”

“Stop fucking apologizing, Ashia. It’s not your fault you almost died,” she snaps at me.

“It’s not his either, Ser,” I retort.

“I know that! I’m sorry. I get it. Okay? I should've said something to you,” she says with feigned understanding, like she doesn’t actually believe what she’s saying.

“Well, now he’s just stormed out of the house going God knows where to do God knows what.

” She listens closely to her stethoscope, and I can tell that she’s counting in her head.

It’s necessary for what she’s doing, but I think it’s also to calm herself down.

I stay quiet for a few moments, knowing that if I distract her, she’ll just have to start over again.

I hear Carter quietly talking to Zeke, and I focus my hearing on his whispering.

“Bradley texted and said he told Damien to go the Pirate Sip, but he couldn’t say what for. He doesn’t have time to talk right now.” The Pirate Sip? The shitty run-down bar on the other side of town?

“Your vitals are fine. It’s probably your anxiety. Did you call the ER?” Ser asks, snapping me out of my concentration.

“Damien did, yeah,” I answer, not really paying attention.

“What’d they say?”

“Derek said to wait and see if you thought I needed to go in.”

“I don’t think so, everything seems pretty normal.

You need some water? It’s probably time to take your medicine.

” She stands up and walks into the kitchen, whispering and mumbling to Carter as she walks.

I feel extremely on edge, like if Damien doesn’t come home in the next sixty seconds I’m going to explode.

If that was his mindset last week, what is it like right now?

Obviously Carter and Zeke are just as worried as I am, which only solidifies my desperation.

He didn’t plan, or even tell anyone where he was going, and now he’s got a large head start and it’ll be too late if he needs back up.

What if whatever he’s walking into is too much?

Or if he’s in such a manic headspace he wrecks the bike?

I should just sit back and ask Carter to track him, call him, and try to calm him down, but what if that just distracts him, or he refuses to answer?

I’m not going to sit by and wait for him to come home injured, or worse, not come home at all.

While they’re distracted, I start to sneak my way to the garage—stepping lightly, but in longer strides so I don’t make a sound.

They’re too engrossed in their own conversation to worry about what I’m doing, and I take full advantage of it.

Once the garage door lifts, I know I’ll only have a matter of seconds to leave before they catch on, and when I spot my car parked in the middle, I silently curse myself.

My car keys are upstairs. So, I have no choice but to grab the keys to the Charger off of the key hook and press the button to open the garage.

I quickly start the car, feeling the powerful engine roar to life. The moment the garage door is open just enough for me to slip through, I back out, leaving the sight of Carter running out into the garage in the rearview, and drive away before they can stop me.