Page 94 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

Chapter forty-two

Ashia

‘Lovely’ – Billie Eilish, Khalid

The AC casts a nice breeze against my face, and with the lights turned out, it’s actually quite peaceful in the recreation room.

I’m still sitting on the far side of the couch, while Zeke and Tay sit a few feet away from me on the other.

Damien’s cousins went home not too long ago.

Half of them were too drunk to drive, so they had to hackle the sober ones into taking them back to where they live.

Serena moved Adrien out of the way so she could sit next to me, and once Carter set the kid up in the system fully, he went home.

There were details that Carter, Zeke, and Alex needed to discuss that weren’t exactly light conversation, and while I tried my hardest to pay attention, it was like I couldn’t fully absorb it.

Though, after they discussed upcoming rotations and supply drops, we all settled down to watch a movie.

Things seem to be slowly getting back to normal.

Now that Dust is out of the way, practically immobilized by Dranan’s capture, there hasn’t been any activity from them.

So, normal patrols are being laid out, but the new shipments from DJ are still being organized, and now that Damien has more of a truce with CMMC, they’ve started to be more thoughtful with what comes in.

Carter said they won’t jeopardize what they grab from DJ to appease them, but that they’ll keep them in mind more when trying to order or pick through what DJ can find.

A cheesy rom-com plays on the TV, and while it’s funny to watch, I find that I’m laughing blankly.

The problems the couple faces are so ridiculous.

I never understood these movies. There’s always some stupid miscommunication that is avoided until the last fifteen minutes of the movie, or it’s just some asshole who only speaks to the other character because of a bet or hired job, and then they fall in love somewhere among the lie.

Trust is completely shoved aside in these movies, and their idea of a happily forever after the movies’ events is laughable.

Though, watching an old lady and a famous movie star dance around a fire singing a Lil John song, like the last movie we watched, is humorous.

It's little moments like the one in that movie that matters. The small reprieves among the chaos where everything else falls away. Walking down a shadowy path, playing charades with a group of children, or laying out under a storm. Even in the movie we’re currently watching, the main female character is sitting outside on the roof of her porch and enjoying the sunny weather just as the main male character pulls up in his car.

It reminds me of my balcony when I was a kid.

Most of the time, I would be out there hiding, but after I was forced back home, I would wait out there for Richard every evening—something I came to look forward to.

Even on days he didn’t work, he would drive by at the same time every evening.

I suppose it was our silent way of checking on one another .

I remember the weather vividly when I would wait outside for him.

No matter the season, that’s what I would focus on.

In the summer, the heat would barrel down on my skin until I turned red, and then just tan darker as the season went on.

Sometimes, I would wait outside early so I could get away, and I’d be out there too long.

It would hurt like hell the next day, and every move I made seemed to pull and aggravate the tenderness of the burns, but I would still find myself on that balcony the next day.

Much like every movement does to me now, but I keep moving in hopes the next step or stretch won’t hurt as much.

In the winter, the cold bite from the gusts of freezing wind would swipe across my face, and even as the snow fell and made the roof slippery, I would wait outside anyway—desperate to see him drive by.

It would fascinate me sometimes to feel the flakes land on my cheek and melt, only for each one to take longer and longer as my skin chilled further.

Sometimes the snow would cover my hair long before the grass, and eventually it became a race to see which would be able to hide in plain sight first.

There are still moments that I find myself pining for that type of monochromatic bliss, times when I can completely lose myself in peace.

Then, I was still a kid, and it was easy to push the troubles away.

Now? I’m finding it harder and harder as the days pass.

It’s not that Damien or the others are distracting, and they’ve done a good job at helping avoid the destruction that happened only a few days ago, but now even the peaceful moments, like sitting around and watching a movie, are filled with pain.

It's not excruciating, and even though it’s died down some, it’s just a constant reminder of what I’ve tried so desperately to shove to the side.

Another dark time that I have to push past. I’ve asked Carter to share details with me, hoping that it will help me move forward, but he’s been reluctant.

How did they get past the gate? How did they overpower the mercenaries guarding the house?

How did they get inside? Countless things that don’t add up, but he won’t tell me.

He just keeps assuring me that they’ve analyzed everything extensively and reworked the security system to prevent it from happening again.

I hate feeling like I can’t trust it. Carter and Damien have worked hard over the past few days to ensure that everything is fool proof, but wasn’t it that way before?

What could they have done differently? We still have enemies that lurk on the other side of these walls, and they’re sitting and waiting for us to get comfortable again—surely analyzing every move we make before they can find the opportune moment to strike again, whether that enemy is living or dead.

Hugo is never going to leave this building alive, but that doesn’t change anything.

He’ll forever be one of the ghosts in my head, and his marks will be a permanent reminder on my body.

A body that I’m trusting to carry our baby, when it’s failed me in so many other ways.

It holds a mind that attacks itself and retains scars from events that I want long forgotten.

Copious amounts of money were spent to cover up the first time I was torn to shreds, and what about now?

Even though now the dressing on my wounds can be seen poking out of my clothing, will I ever be able to cover them up completely?

A pretty dress would definitely show every scar, not to mention a bathing suit or if I wanted to wear a lighter shirt when it’s too hot.

When, or if, our child grows up, will they ask me what happened?

Will I have to explain to them that even from the moment I learned of their existence, I wasn’t able to protect them from horrors I’ve experienced myself?

“Ash?”

Even after the beautiful day we had, where Damien stood up in front of all of our friends and family and confessed his undying love and loyalty, I can’t help but feel less than worthy—the farthest from it.

The women that get their happily ever afters don’t have scars like I do.

Hell, they’re beautiful, with not a blemish in sight.

They’ve never been used or abused like I have been, and they certainly don’t have the scars to tell the tale.

Women with marks like mine aren’t worthy of love stories, and it’s been that way for a long time.

Most tales talk of pure women, and I’m anything but untainted.

Will he see what happened every time he looks at me?

The images of Dranan’s hands on me replay over and over in the back of my mind, surely they do for him as well.

It’ll torture him slowly, forcing him to spiral downward until I lose him completely.

I know that he loves me, but what does he truly think now that another man has touched me?

My only purpose will be to serve as a reminder, whether he will intentionally look at me that way or not.

He’ll scorch the world until every reminder of that day is erased, but by then it'll be too late. I’m already a hollow shell compared to who I thought I was before this happened.

I’m ruined.

As fractured as I’ve probably ever been, but this time is so much worse.

This last act is just another piled on several other instances, and now it feels as if that’s all I was made for.

Push through, get dragged down again, persevere, and fall again.

It’s a vicious cycle, one that he just doesn’t see yet.

I have the perfect man acting out to avenge me, though he doesn’t see it as pointless as I do.

I’m practically nothing but recycled goods at this point—used and consumed to just be spit back out in a lesser form.

A broken toy that’s passed around.

“Ashia, can you hear me?”

I don’t want to feel this way. I want to go back to the lake, to the times on the roof, or on the greenway, looking down at the water that most likely holds so many tales.

Some good, some bad, probably some catastrophic reminder of floods that ripped through the town over the years, and some miracles of being the only water for miles.

I want to drown in nothing but his smell and his presence until it quite literally suffocates me, even if it gives off nothing but waves of a facade, a rolling lie that he doesn’t see me any differently than he did before.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know.”

Is there a possibility of moving on from this?

I know that Serena looked away when the feed was broadcasted for Damien to see, but did anyone else?

Carter watched, and while I know he didn’t want to, he had to try and trace the connection.

It was useless, though, and I’m sure he realized that after the first few minutes.

Serena may not have watched, but she said she heard everything he said.

Which means everyone else did too. His men, his cousins, my brother.

Did the men that stayed in the city see it?

The men in the truck with Damien? Was everyone around witnessing my downfall, and if they were, is Damien ashamed? Embarrassed?

“What should we do?”

“I’m calling the hospital psychologist. If she’s dissociating, I don’t know how to help her. We might have to bring her in.”

“Absolutely not!”

The last thing Damien needs is for his men to look at him with pity in their eyes.

He’s already afraid that they doubt him, and that he isn’t strong enough to lead them.

Ever since Henry died, and now the moles and mercenaries, his self-doubt is stronger than ever, and his men watching me be defiled certainly won’t help that.

I know he loves me, but I love him enough to know that I’m not good for him.

I have nothing to offer him, and clearly I’m not nearly as strong as I thought I was.

He doesn’t need a weak link, and I’ve known that for some time.

I just convinced myself that I could be stronger for him, be the force he needs, when in reality, I was feeding off of the force that was lying in wait to strike against me.

“Ash, come on. You’ve got to snap out of it…”

“No! Don’t touch her! Doctor Foley says not to touch her.”

“Well, is he saying anything useful?”

“Just hold on, Zeke. I’m trying to talk to him.”

“Fuck that, let me talk to him!”

I’ll never escape. It’s always when I’m feeling safe and secure that tragedy finds me.

When I finally feel at peace and not in a constant state of panic, and just when I finally feel that I’m home, something reminds me of why I shouldn’t.

I keep trying to create the life I crave with the man of my dreams, and the universe keeps punishing me for it—ultimately deciding that I’m not worthy of a life with happiness and contentment.

“That’s it. I’m getting Damien.”

“No! He’ll try to snap her out of it, and Doctor Foley said to try and let her come out of it on her own.”

“We can’t just leave her like that!”

“We have to, Zeke! If you try to pull her out of it, it may do more harm than good!”

Nobody should have to endure the despair that follows me.

A life with me is no life at all, and the people I love deserve so much better than me.

Serena deserves a friend that can go out and explore the world without having to constantly look over her shoulder, Zeke deserves a sister that can accept his want for a familial bond, and Damien.

My sweet, perfect Damien deserves a wife who can stand tall beside him regardless of the situation at hand.

A perfect mother for his children, one that doesn’t have the urge to lock the family up in a tower and never resurface.

He deserves a woman who will fight the storm with him and not sit here and cower while he cleans up my mess.

I should be down there, inflicting as much pain as I feel, but I can’t…

Because I’m nothing. Whatever false bravado I tricked myself into having is gone.

I’m broken, and I’m not sure there’s anything left to fix this time.