Chapter 23

23

Acid – Two Weeks Later

“How are you feeling today, Acid?” Dr. Baser asks, and I look at him.

His caramel eyes are soft, but I guess therapists have to have a softness to them, right?

I look back at the fish tank, the fish catching my attention.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” I admit. “The nightmares are getting worse. The more I talk about my past, the more they consume me, but last night, in my nightmare, it was Perrie….”

And fuck me, did I wake up shit scared.

Being away from her, I’m struggling. I need to hear her voice, to feel her in my arms; she quiets the demons taking over.

“Tell me about it,” he demands gently, and I flinch, the dream flashing before me.

“Stop fighting, will ya? I paid good money for this,” the man growls behind me as he grips my hips, forcing me to thrust inside the woman positioned underneath me, her bright brown eyes sparkling with glee and lust, her pupils blown, proving she’s on something as she brings her hands up and squeezes her nipples, causing her walls to flutter, and making bile rise up my throat.

The urge to vomit is strong, but last time that happened, I got four new marks on my back.

“Squeeze my neck, baby, squeeze it good for me, yeah?” she demands. I flinch as the man behind me, who is naked, takes my hand and bends me forward, forcing me to grip her neck like she requested, his hand over mine tightening, and he moves his other hand to my right ass cheek, and my tears fall as he grips it, forcing me to move quicker.

I hear him groan behind me as the woman’s orgasm takes hold. Her walls squeeze me, but no pleasure takes me, only sickness.

I try to move my hand when her walls stop, but the guy behind me doesn’t let me. Instead, he squeezes harder and continues to force my hips to move as I feel wetness on my ass.

I blink and look back at my therapist, my heart pounding, and I whisper, “When I finally freed myself, when the man had finished, I looked down, and the woman was dead, but instead of the woman from my memories, it was Perrie.”

“And you vomited when you woke up?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, not this time. I was covered in sweat and breathing hard, petrified the dream was real, and that she was dead.”

He nods. “Acid, why do you think the woman changed to Perrie? I mean, what you dreamed was a memory, correct?” I nod. “Then why do you believe the image changed to her? Do you think you’re a danger to her?”

I scowl, and deny, “I’d never lay a hand on her that way, ever, I’d rather die!”

He smiles. “Exactly, so why do you believe the woman, one of your abusers, turned into the woman you came to love?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He smiles again, and states, “Yes, you do. You’re just scared to say the words out loud, and that’s okay. But I believe, once you admit it to yourself, you can start to heal. So, tell me, Acid, why?”

I look back at the fish tank, my heart racing, and I murmur, “Because I miss her…. Because subconsciously, I want to replace all the trauma with happy memories of her, with her . Because she’s my heaven….”

I look back at the therapist, and he nods, closing his book before saying, “Well done, Acid. I believe you’ve made a breakthrough. Ever since you arrived at Lark's, you’ve struggled with your nightmares, and yes, talking about them, talking about your past has most likely brought them back, but you’re getting somewhere now. You’re on the road to healing, and you’ve allowed yourself to see what Perrie truly means to you.” He smiles at me. “We’ll leave it here for today, give you a break.”

I sigh but nod before standing and walking out of his room, grateful for the break.

Talking has never been my strong point, and the first three days, I barely said anything.

I walk into the room assigned to me—white walls and utilitarian furniture, and I sigh as I look around. I know I’m doing the right thing, but fuck, do I miss Perrie.

I notice the paper and pens on the desk walk over to it, taking a seat, and picking up the pen. I promised to write, and I’m going to keep that fucking promise to her. I just hope she’ll be there for me if I return.

My Tinker,

Fuck, I miss you.

I had another therapy session. It was about you, of course. I had a dream last night, and it was bad, Tinker. Instead of my abuser dead after the man behind forced me to choke her while fucking her, it was you dead, and I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I’m scared, Tinker. I’m afraid that I’m not enough for you, that my past will dirty you, but I’m more scared of losing you….

I swallow hard and lean back for a moment. I promised her I’d be honest, I promised I’d let her in, but fuck , it's hard.

What if she reads the letters and never wants my hands on her again?

Swallowing the rising panic, I continue.

When I was fourteen, I’d stolen from this guy. Aiden owed a shit ton of money, and I, fuck, sweetheart, he was going to try and pimp out Eli. I couldn’t allow it.

The man was in his sixties, and fuck, Tinker, I scared the man so much he had a stroke.

He made it through, but not without problems.

He’s in a care facility without use of his left side, and I’ve been funding his stay ever since I got my first pay from the club.

When I gave the fucker, Aiden, the old man’s gold watch and wallet, he grinned before a couple who lived down the road appeared. Mr. Allen held me down while his wife rode me, all while I begged for them to let me go.

He got off on watching his wife rape kids. I slit the fucker’s throat after I became a prospect for the club, then I drowned his wife in the bathtub, the same way Aiden tried drowning Eli.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I love you, Perrie. Please don’t judge me for what I had to do to keep Eli as safe as I could.

Forever Yours,

XX

I throw the pen down, breathing hard.

I fucking hate that I’m doing this, but I know it’s the only way to move forward, to get the fucking girl I need like my beating heart.

Sniffing hard to contain my emotions, I grab the envelope addressed to Perrie at the club’s address. I’m hoping it’ll keep her there instead of her being on her own. I’ve been sending her a letter a day but have yet to receive one back, and it fucking hurts.

Maybe she’s sick of me. Perhaps I’m too dirty for her….

Shaking my head, I put the letter in the envelope just as there’s a knock at the door. I turned to see Ben, an orderly.

He gives me a wrinkly smile, “Any mail?”

I nod and walk over to him, handing him the letter. He grins and hands me one back.

I thank him before he leaves, then sigh, knowing it’s probably from Piston, demanding I return home when I’ve finished, that we have the rest of The Killers to hunt down and kill.

Fuck, I’ve heard from most of the brothers, all gloating about how Pamela was stabbed in an apparent “mugging” before a bullet split her head. I have to admit that satisfied me, especially knowing all my abusers are dead, yet I haven’t received anything from my girl.

Sighing, I turn the envelope over but freeze when I see the handwriting. My stomach tightens, and I quickly open it, my pulse racing.

Ollie,

I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to write you back, but you see, I’m pissed at you!

I chuckle.

You left without a goodbye because you hate them, but what about me, huh? I needed one last kiss before you left. I needed to tell you what you did to me and what you helped me overcome.

I miss you, Ollie. It’s not the same without you, but I know you're doing what you need to—I can see that in your letters—and I’m so proud of you.

You’re my rock, Ollie, and I never got to say it to you, but I love you, I do.

My eyes tear up as I sit down on the bed.

Keep fighting your demons, Ollie, and when you get home, I promise to try and fight them with you. I promise to let you in and give you my truths about the scars.

I won’t write again because you need this, but I expect my letters, even if I have to go to the club for them.

You’re my universe, Ollie, and you always have been, so don’t give up.

Come home to me….

Always Yours,

XX

“Fuck,” I murmur and lay back, my heart pounding. “For you, Tinker,” I whisper, “I’ll do this, and then come home to you.”

It’s a promise I intend to keep.

Ready or not, sweetheart. We’re happening….