Page 47 of Hold Me Down
She kicks against my cheek, and even though I know how ridiculous it is, I cry harder at the movement, like she’s responding to me. I can’t wait to feel our baby’s tiny chest move against mine as she draws in a breath. I want to tell her and her mother that I love them until my heart stops beating, and then I’ll whisper it into the wind, hoping she’ll be able to hear me until she joins her mother and I in eternity. She deserves to know she’ll never be alone, that we’ll always be with her. Even after she undoubtedly learns who I really am, she’ll always get the best version of me. She doesn’t deserve to grow up with my pain, andI’ll always do everything I can to shield her from it. My mind may become a wasteland, filled with nothing but delusions and ghosts, but I know the only thing left standing will be my love for them.
That willalwaysremain, even if my sanity doesn’t.
Chapter 16
Ashia
Two Days Later
‘Is It Really You?’ – Sleep Token
My eyes flutter open, met only by a soft glow from the small plug-in light. The bed isn’t as warm, and there’s a chill to the room that isn’t normally there. I slowly sit up and look around, almost immediately noticing Damien’s side of the bed, empty. The bathroom door is open, and the light is off, seemingly unoccupied. Our bedroom door is still shut, without a sign of anyone walking out of it. As my eyes scour the rest of the room, I catch the now-closed nursery door, and a faint light shining beneath the wood.
I get up as quietly as I can, not wanting to worry him if he’s in there. He’s been on a ledge lately, almost like he’s waiting to fall off. Urgency has been radiating from him, coursing through hisveins like adrenaline. He’s always either working out or talking to someone that isn’t me—either secretly going over things with one of the guys or Victoria. Hell, he’s even talking to Dr. Von more than me. If I thought it was helping him, I wouldn’t mind, because that’s what she’s here for. But he’s more tense now than I’ve ever seen him, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he snaps.
It’s inevitable at this point. There’s so much tension building within him, and I just want to help somehow. My hands and limbs are constantly energized, fueled with the need to dosomething, but he feels so far away. He doesn’t talk to me about it—anyof it. Even though I’ve heard the stories and watched the tapes, it’s still impossible to imagine the pain he went through.
He’s always carried so much on his shoulders. Now, the voices are taunting him for what he’s done. It’s not his fault, and I want to scream that at him until it sticks. He needs comfort and a little grace, if he would just let himself have it. I hate that he’s withdrawing himself. I'm giving him time and space, and I'll give him as much of it as he needs, despite the pain I feel. My heart is breaking as I watch him wither away. I don’t know how to help. He’s been so back and forth, so hot and cold, that I can’t tell if he wants my presence or not. Whenever we’re close, he clings to me like heneedsme, but then something inside of him tells him to back away, and he listens. I’m too afraid to push back, but only because I’m scared I’ll just hurt him even further.
I slowly push the nursery door open, unveiling my God-like husband. He’s standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and breathing heavily, yet still as a stake. His skin shines under the light, like he’s containing something inside of him—something dark. New scars riddle his back tattoo, making the design even more mesmerizing. One of them runs down the forehead of his inked skull, making it look almost cracked beneath the reapersitting on top. My husband is fighting demons that aren’t his to bear, and the proof lies in the marks.
He tenses even more with every quiet step I take, clearly sensing my presence. One of the windows to the room is open, and there are a few paint cans spread throughout the space, showing me what he was planning to do. His eyes remain forward, like something is going to jump through the window and attack us. I want him to take in the cool air coming in. I want my warmth to seep into his skin and soothe his fear as I step up behind him. He doesn’t turn around. His stare remains locked onto the window, and my chest hurts.
I want him to look at me. I want to stare him in the eyes until the pain is gone. My body tingles with yearning, dying for the chance to reallyseehim again. He won’t let me in. No matter how much space or silence I give, no matter the reassurance, he just won’t. He’s so afraid about howIfeel that he’s not really sinking into whatheneeds. I want to scream. I want to throw these paint cans in the trash and tell him that none of this matters if he’s notherewith us. Somehow, I have to make him realize that nothing he’s done has changed my feelings for him, that the only thing keeping this distance between us ishim.
The man I love is in there, buried so deeply beneath the pain that I’m starting to believe he’s doing it on purpose. Not only to protect himself, but me as well. I thought by giving him time to process, he would open up on his own. Dr. Von was supposed to help him deal with what happened, but he’s just piling everything else on top, hoping to drown it out. He needs to let it all out. Holding onto this pain is killing him, and he’s fading away right in front of me. I can’t take it anymore.
I finally reach out to touch him, running my hands up and down his bare back. He shutters, but then instantly relaxes under my touch like that alone has healed something. The electricity between our touch is as present as ever, even as myfingertips graze the raises and dips of injured tissue. Tears well up on my bottom lids, desperate for more intimacy. I can feel the anger under the marks like it lives in his skin. Rage and fear radiate from him, and even as I press my palms firmly into his back, I can’t draw it away.
My hands glide across his hardened muscles until I can't help myself, and I wrap my arms around him in one swift, frantic motion. I pull him close to me, stealing his space like I own it. One arm latches around his stomach and the other reaches up to his chest, planting my palm against his heart to guard it. The muscle pounds against my hand, erratic and harsh, trying to claw its way from his chest just to get a chance to touch me. I press my face to his back and just hold on tight, like if I let go I'll lose him forever.
Heavy breaths overtake me in an attempt to control my tears, and I squeeze harder, mimicking the tightness in my chest. He doesn’t respond other than tensing up again, but I’m not letting go. If he’s drowning, I’m suffocating with him. If we’re going to war, then I’m suiting up. Where he goes, I go. Without question. Without hesitation. No preparation. I’ll dive in, headfirst. If we’re living the rest of our lives in chaos, I welcome it. There is no halfway—there never has been with us. It’s all or nothing, and it willneverbe nothing.
A tear finally falls from my eye, barely grazing my cheek before it falls onto his back, breaking him instantly. He wraps his arms around mine, entangling the fingers that were on his chest with his own and grabbing me like he’ll die without the sensation. I miss thissomuch…this raw, untamed passion. The glimpses he’s shown me here and there aren’t enough, I wantallof him. All of the crazy, the bold, the madness, the fear—everything. Ineedit.
He turns in my hold, finally allowing his own urges to take hold, and wraps his arms around me. A dam breaks and hisyearning collides with mine, proving he’s just as torn apart by this distance as I am. His grip is just as strong as he grasps the back of my head, pressing our foreheads together like I’ll be able to hear his thoughts. The tension in the room is so thick that I can’t move. I don’t want to. Our mingled breaths whip across my face, pulling me in. He’s shaking so badly that I can’t help but tighten my hold, lending my strength to keep him together.
“Please, baby. Tell me what you need… Please? Talk to me…” I sob and beg, unable to hold back any longer. My hands move on their own accord, gripping his face in my palms and forcing it closer. Our tears mix against our cheeks and run down to drip on our skin. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it. Just name it…”
He reaches up and takes my hands in his, almost choking on a sob when he finally opens his red, icy eyes.
“I don’t want to kill anyone…” he pleads, his words agonizing. His voice trembles in pain, but I stare deeply into his erratic, kaleidoscope eyes, determined to hear him out. “But it’s like I need to. They won’t stop. They won’t go away… This urge just keeps coming back, and I can’t shake it…” I lay a hand back on his chest, taking every hit from his pounding heart. He sobs again, and I nod, already coming up with a plan.
“If that’s what you need, then that’s what we’ll do.” I caress his face, and he looks down at me with defeat in his eyes. Somehow, voicing those few words has made him feel like a monster all over again, and I’m going to tame it. “It’s not the same, baby,” I reassure him. “Youdecide who.Youdecide where, and you do it foryourown reasons. Just like before, okay?” I nudge against him, and I can’t stop the shaky sigh I let out when he nods against me—seemingly agreeing with my declaration. “You donothave to do anything you don’t want to do.”
He nods again, but more languidly, like all he needed was permission, and now he’s ready to topple over. I grab his faceagain, not letting him fall. He can take every ounce of my strength with him until he can stand on his own.
“You get dressed and leave it to me. I’ll get everything else ready, okay?” I crash my lips to his, refusing to let him back out. He kisses me back like we’ll never get the chance again. Our tears run along our lips, mixing on our tongues before I tear myself away, turning and stepping in one desperate movement. He snatches my hand before I can get too far, though, pulling me back like he’s afraid I won’t return. “It’s okay, Damien. I’m right here,” I promise him. “Just get dressed.” I squeeze his hand before I let go and walk out of the room, more determined than ever to help him.
I miss him. The way he smiles and laughs, how he jokes and smirks at an insult—I miss it all. Hell, even how he wields a knife and holds a gun. His strength is a force of nature, and I know it’s fighting to break through. There’s so much conflict in his eyes. His internal war is rising to the surface. I know he’s battling to break past this pain and guilt. Iseehim, and I’m not letting him disappear again.
My fist makes contact with Zeke’s door before I even realize I’m standing in front of it. I don’t know what time it is or how long everyone has been in their rooms. We went to bed rather early, but it’s so dark outside that it’s hard to tell anything. Zeke answers the door rather quickly, though. So, either it’s still early in the night or his mind is also plagued by sadness. His eyes immediately meet mine, and that brotherly worry takes over his features.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asks frantically, but I just shake my head at him.
“I'm fine. I need you to take Damien hunting, like right now. He’s getting dressed.” I know how crazy and jumpy I probably sound, but I don’t care. Zeke looks towards our room and then back to me, probably going over the options in his head beforehe nods only once—matching my determination. Pride and relief shoot down my spine as he steps out of the room, instantly heading for Carter’s door and banging on it.
“Get out here,” he demands. Alex pops out of his room next, clearly hearing the commotion, and Carter isn’t far behind. They walk up to us with curious looks on their faces, but thankfully, they don’t look as alarmed as Zeke and I.
