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In most situations where it’s a matter of the mind or a matter of the heart kind of thing, I almost always follow my heart. In my opinion, not enough people do, but this situation in particular doesn’t call for that kind of reasoning. In this situation, I need a weapon, and I know that I have to do something I don’t want to do to retrieve one.

I don’t like hurting people.

Even in the smallest kind of way.

Why?

Because I know what it’s like to be hurt.

I know what it feels like to be a punching bag for another person’s rage.

I know how it feels to have cruel words thrown at you like a poisoned dagger to the heart and all you can do is wait for the poison to branch off, working its way through your body. It pinches your nerves and holds your organs as hostages before it slowly kills you. Not only that, but the words somehow manage to strip away your confidence until you’re left standing naked in front of a mirror, picking yourself apart mentally…

Piece by piece.

Bit by bit.

That’s what my Daddy did to me.

His twisted words and brutal slaps made me believe that I wasn’t worth anything. That I was just like my whore of a mother, who actually wasn’t a whore at all, but couldn’t live with his torturous kind of abuse.

I don’t think about Mommy as often as I used to. Mainly because after a long, drawn out investigation, the police found her body in our back yard. She was buried twelve feet behind my old sand box. And she was just like how I imagined she would be. Nothing but a pile of bones.

There was no funeral, being that Daddy was in prison and my new home had become Oak Hill. I’m not even entirely sure what the police did with her remains because I never got the chance to ask, but I keep telling myself that one day I’ll find her.

One day, I’ll make it right for her.

One day I’ll see that she’s remembered as the beautiful and amazing wife and mother that she was.

If I ever make it out of Oak Hill alive, that is.

Tears swell in my eyes whenever I think about Mommy. My heart aches with remorse and weeps with sorrow for her and how tragically her life ended. I can’t imagine dying like that. I can’t imagine looking into the eyes of the person I loved most in the world, knowing that while their grip is tightening around my neck that they will be the death of me.

I start sobbing hard and I’m reminded of why I don’t like to think about Mommy anymore. My sobs come out fast and my tears rain down my cheeks. I start to scream. I’m so full of pain and sadness that I feel like screaming is the only way to release it from my body. Grabbing my pillow, I smother my face into and my screams morph into shrieks. I’m trying as hard as I can to muffle myself because the last thing I want is a staff member barging through the door and injecting me with more drugs.

“My sweet, sweet Addy.” I hear Damien’s voice and when I lift my head and look to my left, he’s sitting beside me. He strokes my hair.

Softly.

With gentle caresses and warm fingertips.

For once I don’t push him away. For the first time in a long time I feel like I need somebody and since he’s here I decide that that somebody can be him. I toss my pillow to the side and launch myself at him and we fall back on the cot. Burying my head into his chest, I inhale the scent of him. He smells like a combination of the outdoors after a thunderstorm and his own essence. This always seems to be the problem between Damien and myself.

It’s that he doesn’t appear as an illusion.

He’s so life-like.

He’s looks, feels, and smells so real.

And that always throws me for a loop because I don’t understand how this is possible.

I saw him die.

He thumbs the tears out of my eyes and kisses the top of my head. Heat pours from his body and drenches me as I wrap my legs around his. “No more tears, okay?” He moves his thumb back and forth across my cheek in a loving gesture. “I always did hate seeing you like this.”

I let out a long, strained breath and pull myself closer to him. I clear my throat as a wave of exhaustion splashes over me and suddenly I can barely keep my eyes open. “I know,” I tell him.

“Sleep, love,” he says.


Tags: Lauren Hammond Asylum Romance