From the Ashes (Possessed 2.50)

“When she’s ready.”

“Are you going to tell me?” His patience is gone.

“Nope.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“No one’s in danger. No substance abuse. I’ll get her there; I swear.” Hoping I can.

“I don’t doubt it, man.”

“I need her prison records, though.” I request, pointedly.

“Why?”

Thoughtful for a moment, I wonder if he knows. “Something happened while she was in there. She’s afraid to tell me. But there’s something, a trigger, to what makes her tick now. I want to know what it is.”

“Are you serious about her?”

“Of course.”

“Then maybe you should wait for her to tell you.” Fucker feels the need to be logical.

“Get me the file, and I won’t open it for now. Deal?” I’m trying to compromise while having all the information I need about her at my fingertips.

“Done.” He reluctantly agrees as he goes to search for it.

Ashley

Stretching after a night of amazing loving with Declan, I’m slightly disappointed to find him not beside me. He told me sometime in the early morning hours that he had to work, so I knew it wasn’t because he was leaving.

I have had the best night’s sleep in longer than forever, even though we didn’t do much of it. The few sporadic hours I did get to rest were refreshing, nightmare-free, and for once, I’m waking up feeling happy instead of lost.

I like the way he makes me feel safe, warm, whole. Like a person instead of a thing. He expects nothing but honesty and gives me everything.

We have a ton of stuff to work through, and I think we can do it. His level of understanding when he revealed my most inner demons was surprising. I thought for sure he’d have been repulsed.

Standing, I stride to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for my day at the youth center. One of the other volunteers has an event at her daughter’s school, and I promised to cover for her. I am looking forward to spending

the day with these kids. Some are incredibly smart, some shy, and some, like me, are broken. Those are the ones I truly hope to impact.

I know I’m not the best role model for anyone, and I am sure the curators of the center would rather I volunteered elsewhere. But I believe I can offer some of the angrier kids an understanding ear. Not that the counselors aren’t fabulous with them, but they don’t know what it is like to be that mean and angry child. I do.

I’m beginning to come to terms with having to let go of my regrets. I know I can’t keep beating myself up. I’ve apologized to those I wronged, and aside from my brother and parents, I have forgiveness. I wish it were enough, however.

I hate that I’ve disappointed my family so badly. I would love to take it all back. I hope for so many things, none of which will come to fruition, and that’s fine. So long as I keep moving forward, I suspect I’ll be able to continue healing.

Looking over my nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, I see my cuts, my scars. My story as Declan calls them, mixed with his love bites and tiny finger-sized bruises. While to others, I imagine it would make an ugly sight, to me it paints the picture of the intense loving and understanding of two souls colliding in passion. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

A knock on my front door interrupts my daydreaming. Hoping it’s Declan, I wrap my robe around me before skipping to the door. Not looking through the peephole, I’m shocked to see my parents on the other side, and they look a mess.

“What’s wrong?” I say in a rush, opening the door wider for them to enter. “Is Cecilia okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. No one’s hurt,” my father says, walking around the small couch. My mother is still standing at the door, her eyes riveted to my neck.

“Did he do that to you?” she whispers, horrified.

My fingers glide their way up to my neck lovingly. I know there’s a fingerprint there, and I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about it. To me, it’s a sign of his affection.