Once Cinque sits down in his previous spot, he closes the door, and after he beats the side twice, we start to move. The motions become harsh again, and I know I’m fading. It won’t be long, and I’ll either be back in that God-forsaken chair or strapped to another table, but for now, I can get some real rest. I’ll see her there. She always appears in my dreams, and even if it’s twenty minutes, I’ll take every hit of her I can get.
Cinque closes the sliding window between us and Quattro, then pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He takes two out and lights them before passing one to me. It’s been forever since I’ve had one, but what will it hurt now? My pregnant wife isn’t nearby for it to harm…
The smoke draws in and pulls at my lungs. The feeling is both excruciating and settling at the same time. A rush whooshes through my head, and it only makes the van spin even more. I let it seep in as I close my eyes and blow the smoke out, feeling some of this pain leave with it. I’m just going back to hell, and I need to prepare myself. I have to find a way out, with or without Victoria. She’s taking too long for my liking, and I’m still not sure what kind of game she’s playing. She could be telling thetruth, and she just might desperately need my help, but there’s still a chance that she truly is one of them.
And this all might just be one big test.
Chapter 33
Ashia
Two Days Later
‘How A Storm Breaks’ - Astyria
This is the first time in a while I’ve been out on our bedroom balcony. There’s not a nice breeze this time. The air is humid and damp, and it makes each breath feel heavy. It feels as intense as the weight on my shoulders. It’s dark out, and even though the moon is almost full, there’s barely any light shining through the clouds. The forest behind the house is nothing but a dark abyss, almost like if I were to step into the trees, I’d never make it back out.
It reminds me of when I was a kid, and I’d either stay up all night or have just woken up from my dad screaming at some ridiculous hour. When I would escape onto the awning roof toolate, it would be just as dark. The lights that lined the street we lived on were never working, so I could never see past the roof lining. It always somehow felt safer there than inside, though—probably because I always knew that if I just made it out there until morning, that Richard would drive by and see me.
I miss him. We haven’t talked in a few weeks, and while that’s normal for us sometimes, it feels weird now. Ever since the Andersons came to the Attic, and they found out what Damien really does, it’s like there’s this wedge between us. Serena has told him that Damien’s missing, but as far as I know, she hasn’t said much to him either, and I hate it. Before Damien and I found each other, Richard was my knight in shining armor. Not in the fairytale way, obviously, but he saved me back then. He took care of me, protected me, and I could always tell him anything. Somehow, he would always make sense out of anything.
Could he make sense of this life, though? I’m not sure that he wants to claim me anymore, and that thought makes the back of my eyes burn. I’m sure living a vigilante lifestyle was nothing he imagined for someone he considers a daughter. I wouldn’t change my life with Damien for anything in the world, but it would break my heart if Richard disowned me. I shouldn't think that way. He didn't yell or shout, and he didn't say that he was disappointed, but I could feel it. I should've spoken to him sooner. The silence between us is suddenly overwhelming. I'm going to blame the hormones, because I suddenly feel like if I don't talk to my dad, I'm going to burst into tears. It's not like if he says everything is going to be okay, that it'll magically fix this horrible situation, but I yank my phone out and dial his number anyway.
He might not answer. I mean, it is almost three o’clock in the morning, but I’ve got to try. When I was younger, I used to get this urge all the time. I would feel it every evening when I’d goout on the roof and wait for him to drive by. There was one night when he didn't drive by at all, and I was so scared that I ran away to their house. He was fine. He was just sick and didn't go to work that day, but my mind didn't even think of that possibility. We have this weird relationship where we give each other too much space, and then freak out when the distance becomes overwhelming. I guess it's my turn to freak out, because he hasn’t given in yet.
I pull the phone up to listen as it rings, and I immediately regret it. This could've waited until the sun came up. I know that somewhere deep in my depression-riddled brain. It's been too long since Damien's held me. That's all this is. I'm feeling super fucking needy, and he’s not here to coddle me. Anytime I feel like the world is ending, Damien would fix it. So, now that he can’t wrap his arms around me, I can’t help but crave the attention from the only other person in the world who’s ever been able to do the same. That burdening feeling only gets stronger with each ring, and as I go to pull the phone away, he surprisingly answers.
“Pumpkin? What’s the matter? It’s like four in the morning…” he says groggily, and hearing Richard’s voice apparently gives my eyes the permission to let a tear fall.
“It’s three. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called…”
“You know you can call me whenever, Ashia. I’m just worried, that’s all.” There’s a soft pause that's only filled with soft grunts, like he's forcing himself out of bed. “Is everything okay?”
“As okay as it could be, I suppose…”
“Is there any word on Damien?”
“No. Not yet…” I wipe the tears from my face. There’s another long pause, and I hate the way my throat tightens. I've never been good at these conversations. I either laugh or cry uncontrollably most of the time, but I try to push through it. “Listen, I know things have been weird between us lately, but—”
“What do you mean weird?”
My mouth forces itself closed. He’s not mad? He hasn’t been spiraling for weeks, thinking about his adoptive daughter being married to a vigilante? He wasn't necessarily Damien’s biggest fan to begin with, and Richard didn't even know the truth when we got married. There’s got to be more to this silence. I couldn’t have been sitting here freaking out just now when there was nothing wrong between us. My hormones cannot bethatout of whack.
“Well, I know you don’t necessarily approve of our life…” I softly start again, for whatever stupid reason.
“A father rarely ever does when that life involves his daughter being married, pumpkin,” he laughs softly, and just past that, I can subtly hear the coffee pot beep in the background. It's strangely comforting. They've had the same one for years. He says that it's ‘seasoned’ or something, and that a new one’s brews wouldn't taste as good.God, I miss coffee.I miss the subtle bitterness that hides behind all of the cream I dump into it.
I'll never forget Damien’s face when he tried my cup that one morning. His eyes were so wide, and he stared at the mug like it was going to jump out and bite him. That memory reminds me of the night before that, when he soothed me after one of my nightmares. He was so desperate to get me out of that bathroom… Even then, he fought my demons for me when I couldn't. I remember the relief on his face when I finally let him, and now, the tears really start to roll down my face.
“True, but you didn’t seem too happy after you left the Attic…” I choke out, desperate to keep the conversation going a little longer whileI get my shit together.
“It was a lot to digest, I’ll admit. It took Marla and I a few days to talk everything out, but we just decided to look at it like he’s in the military. I think it was easier for your mother that way.” He chuckles again, and I can’t help but reciprocate it—just to cover up the hiccup. “Our main concerns are that you’re happy,healthy, and safe, Ashia. Anything past that, we can accept. It might just take some coming around.”
“You weren’t afraid that I couldn’t handle it?” I ask softly, and I hear him slurp his coffee.Asshole. That sweet asshole.There are a few moments of silence—like he knows, even from miles away, that I just need a moment to breathe before he answers.
“No, and that might have been the hardest part about it all, honestly.”
“What do you mean?”
