Page 54 of Fighting Shadows

“I’ve got you,” he says, stepping into the running water, his clothes still on, not caring that they now cling to his skin as the water runs over us both, “Jesus, Cupcake, why are you showering in hell water?”

“I feel dirty.” The tears come unbidden, mixing with the water from the shower, and while it hides them from sight, I can’t help the wail that comes from me as I collapse in Dominic’s arms.

Feet thunder up the stairs. I can hear them all coming, and I burrow myself further into Dominic’s chest.

I don’t want them to see me like this, to see me brokenagain.

I was getting better, I was healing, and now I feel like I’m the same girl who came to them from the hospital the first time.

Broken.

Wanting nothing except to die so I could be with Chlo again.

Dominic’s arms tighten around me, almost as if he can hear the thoughts running through my head, “Do you want to get out?” he asks me, his tone soft like he’s coaxing me out of the darkness with sheer will alone.

“I don’t know.”

The door to the bathroom suddenly becomes overfilled, and four sets of eyes zero in on my red skin and how I’m huddled into Dominic.

“Pumpkin, are you ok?” Atlas asks, his body jerking forward as if the need to hold me in his arms is too much.

Shaking my head because words fail me right now, my nails dig into Dominic's arm in an effort to keep myself upright, “Let’s get you out. Can you get her some clothes? And I’ll help her in here. We’ll be out in a moment,” Dominic tells them, waving themfrom the bathroom as he steps out of the shower and lifts me over the side of the bathtub.

“You’ll get through this Autumn. You’ve come too far not to,” he says, pulling my wet, naked body into his, his hand cradling my head to his chest.

“I’m tired, Dominic. I'm so tired of everything, and I just want to be done with it all. I have no memory of the last fourteen days, yet somehow, my brain is determined to try filling in the gaps, and I don’t know what’s worse: the reality of what happened or the made-up scenarios that I know are fake,” I tell him.

“I think we need to make an appointment with your therapist. You need to talk this through with someone who can help you. We’ll be there for you, always, and we’ll get Charlie and make him pay, but you need to speak to someone,” Dominic says, his hand stroking through my hair in a soothing motion.

“I think that’s a good idea,” I murmur in agreement, “What if he recommends me going back into the program?”

“Then you go back, and we’ll be here waiting for you, but one thing at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I agree. Pushing up on my toes, I kiss him softly, his pillowy lips against mine, grounding me back in the here and now and not in the past with my memories.

Dominic stops me from going any further, pulling back with a groan, “As much as I want to, Cupcake, we can’t. You need to speak to your therapist and figure out how you feel before any of us touch you like before again, and before you get in that pretty little head of yours, it’s not because we don’t want you. We want you, and we ache for you, but we want you to be okay, and I refuse to put you back in the headspace you were in before. I’m taking no chances of losing you,” he says.

He kisses me one more time before pulling back. The boyish grin on his face that I love so much doesn’t quite reach his eyesthis time, but he pushes it as much as he can. He then wraps the towel around me and leads me back into the bedroom, where a comfortable coffee-colored lounge set is laid out on the bed waiting for me, along with some polka-dot fluffy socks.

Dominic leads me over to the bed, sitting me on the edge as he uses the towel to dry me off and then dresses me, his movements slow and careful as I watch him.

I cringe when he reaches for my arms, the marks around my wrist tender from the handcuffs that I was apparently in for ten days, but he kisses them with tenderness that I forget all about what they came from for a moment.

“I love you. I love every single part of you—the blemish-free parts and the ones where people dared mark you, including yourself, but you are still the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” he says, his eyes boring into mine, showing me the truth behind his words even when my mind tells me otherwise.

“I love you too. I’m sorry that I’m so broken,” I tell him, trying my hardest not to cry.

“You aren’t broken. You have trauma; there’s a difference. You will get past it, you will come out of this stronger than before, and I can’t fucking wait to see the woman you become without it.”

My eyes sting from his words, but the sheer truth in his voice tells me that he really believes what he’s saying. “Now, how about some food? I think I heard Zander saying that he was going to be making mac and cheese.”

“Sounds good.”

Chapter 28

To my Chlo,

I’m home again. Well, my new home is at Zander's house, but it feels more like home than anywhere else ever has.

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