Page 82 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

“The doctor is going to explain this all when she comes in, but you’re on strict bed rest for three days, and then they’ll check to see if you need more time off of your feet or not.

You have three deep wounds, and then… a few minor lacerations.

Plus, some other obvious injuries…” she trails off.

“But, thankfully, there’s not as much damage as there could have been. ”

I just nod again, which I feel I’ve done a thousand times in the past few minutes, because I’ve apparently lost any ability to respond.

There’s just nothing to say. What am I supposed to say?

‘Okay, great?’ Because, no. Not great . Nothing about this is great .

I close my eyes once more, attempting to push the horrid thoughts out of my mind.

There are many other things I should focus on, Damien and I are alive, and the baby is okay.

We’re battered, beaten, and barely hanging on from the sounds of it, but we’re alive, nonetheless.

Living, breathing, and reliving the last thirty hours of torture.

Dranan’s voice still plays in my mind; all of the taunts and degrading remarks are burned into my psyche, and they probably will be for as long as these marks serve as a reminder on my skin.

Which, unfortunately, will be for a while .

While years of therapy and experience should help me through this, I don’t want to think about it.

I don’t want to relive the images or hear the sounds in my sleep.

Six additional years of a different haunting is not something I can stomach right now, and I can feel myself avoiding it.

It's not healthy, and after all I've been through, I know that. I just… can’t.

It’s like there’s a blockage in my mind this time, something telling me to push past it.

A tiny little voice that says ‘you’ve done this before and survived.

You’ll persevere again,’ and while I know deep down that it won’t solve anything, it seems like my only option right now.

I have my fiancé to think about, my baby to take care of.

There’s no option to fall apart, and I won’t allow this to tear me down like the rest of my life has.

I’ll endure the ghosts and demons, because that’s what my family needs me to do.

That’s exactly what Damien did for me, and at least if we’re broken, we’ll be broken together.

I look back over at Damien and study his handsome face, taking in all of his features like I’m bearing witness to him for the first time.

It’s not that I could ever forget what he looks like, I just want to remember this moment, how even unconscious and half dead, I can still feel his love for me—knowing he’s searching for me, even in his sleep.

Though I can’t help but be afraid of what his eyes will tell me when he wakes up.

“Do you want me to wheel you closer to him?” Ser offers, and I look over to her with a hopeful expression.

“We’re allowed to do that?”

“Bitch, I'm a certified trauma nurse. I'll do whatever the fuck I want.” She bobs her head and points to the air like she’s scolding her conscience for telling her not to do something.

With her motions full of that ever-present attitude, she stands up and walks to his side of the room to carefully move his wires and tubes.

“How does she ever lose an argument?” Carter asks as he shakes his head, half adoringly and half agitated.

“Oh, she doesn’t.” We shake with genuine laughter, which leads to my painful groans.

Both of my shoulders radiate with pain, and the large cut that moves down the middle of my chest stretches with the ache.

The sting only serves to piss me off, like he’s laughing at me for trying to have a normal moment.

“Shit, sorry, Ash. I didn’t think to not make you laugh. Ser said the only thing you're allowed to have is acetaminophen, which I’m sure doesn’t help the pain much,” Carter says timidly.

“It’s okay, I'll take what I can get. They say laughter is the best medicine.” I try to appear indifferent, but when the words are spoken through gritted teeth, I’m sure they can tell I’m not. We grin at each other but stop once Ser clears her throat.

“Carter, come help me,” she not so nicely demands as she walks back over to my bed, and he gets up without a glare or argument and helps move me towards Damien.

Serena puts down the railing to my right and lowers his left railing before pushing the beds together and locking them in place.

Carter then moves their chairs over to Damien’s side and sets them down gently, careful not to disturb him.

His familiar scent immediately hits my nose, instantly soothing my troubled mind, and I have to resist the urge to scoot over and snuggle against his unconscious body. It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to dive into his arms and never resurface, but I just… wish he had woken up first.

If he’d woken up first—if the universe were generous enough to allow him a moment to process what happened—perhaps he could look at me without the influence of my defeated eyes on him.

It would be easier if he would’ve been able to lay eyes on me before I laid eyes on him.

He could decide what he wants to do with his ‘broken little toy’ without me there to persuade him to keep me.

I feel sick just thinking that.

Deep down, I know how ridiculous the thoughts are.

The words that Dranan spit from his chops were nothing but lies and calculated degradation, knowing that I would feel this way.

Damien loves me more than I ever thought could be possible, and I’ve never been so sure about anything else, but the real question will be who he hates more—the creature Dranan is, or the monster he’ll see himself as.

“So what happened to Dranan?” I ask quietly enough not to wake Damien, but to try and turn my thoughts on to something else. Thoughts of what Damien is going to do to him creep their way into my brain, and I secretly hope that he’s already getting a small taste of it.

“Zeke drove him back to the Attic. They’re holding him until you and Damien are released,” Serena whispers. “I can only imagine the things Damien has planned for him.”

Same, girl. Same.

“Even I'm scared, and I’ve seen him do some shit. But that’s if Zeke doesn’t kill him before we get back,” Carter says.

I wince in pain, and I feel my shoulder twinge with a burn as I roll on my right side to face Damien, egging my anger further.

“Be easy, Ash. You have a pretty bad gape on the back of your shoulder.”

Yeah, you don’t say?

“I remember Carter, thanks,” I seethe, but then immediately regret it. I shouldn’t sound so hateful, no matter how much pain I'm in. Nothing about this is Carter’s fault, and I should be a big girl that remembers how to handle her emotions. “I’m sorry, that sounded way shittier than I thought.”

“No, you're fine. I understand, pain pisses me off, too.” He huffs out a small chuckle, but looks to Ser, clearly not only meaning a physical ache. She looks back at him, and then they both look away like their eyes alone burn each other.

“We’ll let you get some rest,” Serena says, breaking the awkward silence and purposely not looking back at Carter. “You should probably eat soon. What do you want me to get you?” The light churn of my stomach is still there, and I can’t tell if I’m hungry, anxious, or nauseated by the hormones.

“Do smoothies suffice?”

“Are you feeling sick?” She squeezes my hand again.

That’s an understatement.

“Yeah, a little,” I concede.

“Then I don’t care if I have to drive across town, I'll get you one.” She smiles softly and lets go of my hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if she walked into a smoothie bar and demanded that she stand beside the barista to watch them make it properly.

“Thank you.”

“Love you, we’ll be back.”

“Love you, too.”

“Come on, puppy dog.” Serena waves Carter towards the doorway, and I shoot him a weird, questionable look, and he just shrugs before following her. I shake my head and relax against the pillow again.

I’m not sure I’ll ever understand their dynamic or the tension between them.

Hell, I’m not even sure they do, but obviously she likes him enough to still talk to him, and that’s an achievement.

He should be proud of himself. Ser doesn’t normally give men a second go around, but it seems like she’s almost chasing after him .

My neck cranes as I turn to look at Damien again, admiring the strong jaw I so frequently trail my finger along, and the nose that makes me melt as he buries it in my hair.

Those ever-changing blue eyes are buried just beneath the lids rimmed with perfect lashes, and they reside just above the dark circles that appear to be permanent.

His features are worn, like he’s too exhausted to ever feel invigorated again, and his skin, while still warm, has that eerie paleness.

One that only manifests when enough blood is lost .

If it wasn’t for the heart monitor vocalizing the beat that I know drums for me, I’d probably be more on edge, more afraid that it will flat line, but I know he would never leave me in such a finite way.

This man lives for me, just as I do for him, and the knowledge has me watching as his chest rises and falls.

Not because I’m afraid the movement will cease, but because of the gentleness of it.

It's soothing, a warmth that never dulls.

Even as I lie here in the dark recesses of my doubt, the comfort he brings me will never falter.

In a demonic world, he could wake up and be repulsed by me, never wanting to lay eyes on my defiled body again, and I would still look at him the same.

He would still mean as much to me as he does right now, and I would always hold onto the reprieve he brings my troubled mind.