Chapter 19

Dr. K thinks I should sketch out my trauma. Apparently, some of the people here use journals to work though their thoughts, but this doctor chick thinks that I’ll do better with my creative outlet.

What she doesn’t know is that I haven’t sketched a single thing since drawing the picture of Nessa’s baby bump while Boris and I planned out the nursery ideas.

The paper is in front of me, pencil in hand, but nothing comes. It’s infuriating. And I can’t figure out how to change it.

A knock sounds at my door, a welcome distraction. I expected it to be Nessa, so I’m a little surprised when I turn and find Kai standing in the doorway.

“Can I chill with you for a little bit? The kids are all doing a big activity in the kitchen, and it’s too loud in my room.”

Something I’ve noticed about Kai is that he doesn’t like it when the kids yell when they play. I think it’s safe to say that it’s a trauma response to hearing cries of fear and pain so often that he has a hard time differentiating.

“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the couch beside my sketching table. He flops down, pulling out a small package of Twizzlers before tossing one into his mouth.

His teeth might actually rot out of his head from this candy.

“What are you working on?” he asks, gesturing towards the blank paper on my desk.

Shaking my head, I put down the pencil. “Nothing.”

I try to wave it off, but Kai leans over, his head on his fist as he looks over my desk. He is barely a foot away from the paper, but looks at it as if he’s analyzing something in a museum.

“Is that the name of the piece? Nothing? Because if so, you totally nailed it.”

I can’t help but laugh as he sits back, a satisfied smirk on his face. “You’re a real piece of work,” I say, ruffling his hair.

He smiles, taking another bite of the red candy before picking up a pencil.

“What do you normally draw?”

I shrug. “Whatever I feel. Sometimes the lines start off as an emotion, like how a writer begins to type the words they feel, the line slows like that, taking shape to create the story I want it to tell.”

He nods before his face scrunches in confusion.

“So could you feel something like a circle?” he asks, drawing a lopsided circle on the page.

Picking up my pencil, I start where he left off.

“It’s not just the feeling though,” I say, taking the line up the page and beginning to draw the head of a giraffe.

I keep the line long, never lifting my pencil as I come back to the circle Kai drew and turn that into a shoulder point for the animal.

Soon, that one line has crafted a very detailed giraffe. Kai watches me closely, and when I lift my pencil, his mouth drops open.

“You start with the feeling, then you turn the feeling into a story.”

“Damn,” he says, blowing out a breath. “You did that all with just a single line.” Kai drops the pencil back into the cup at the head of the desk and sits back. “What else can you draw?”

“A lot of things, I guess.”

Don’t judge me for being vague. I can’t tell a kid that what I like to draw the most is my girl with tears running down her face while she swallows my cock as if it were her fecking job.

“You should draw something for Nessa that Lev can tattoo on you guys.”

“Why do you say that?”

He pulls out another Twizzler and takes a bite.

“Nessa said she wanted a tattoo like the rest of you. Maybe do something with that?”

A light bulb goes off in my head. Kai puts on his headphones and lays on the couch while I turn back to the paper.

It all starts with a feeling.

=====

Flipping through the pages of a book dedicated to Aiden, I show Nessa everything I drew today. I didn’t leave for hours, my pencil stuck to the paper, trying desperately to get all of the images inside my head and sketched in charcoal.

The first is the sonogram we saw of our little girl, her heartbeat strong under the picture, just like it was that day. The next is her tiny fingers and toes.

I drew them in our hands, touching our faces, and eventually, I gained the courage to draw Aiden how I remembered her.

Her sweet little face, tiny features that still somehow made her look just like her mother. Page after page, I put every emotion down until I decide to sketch a few flames, giving me the idea.

“What if Lev tattooed something like this around your wrist,” I suggest, showing her how the design would flow perfectly from the bracelet we all wear.

“I love it,” she whispers, outlining the edges with her fingers. “Let’s do it. Go get Lev.”

“Right now?” I ask, shocked that she doesn’t want to think more about this.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I’m learning that if I don’t take what I want when I want it, then it might be taken from me.”

Her face grows sad, and I scoop her into my arms. Tears flow between the two of us, but we let them fall together. Just like the pencil and the paper act like an outlet for me, crying is all she really has right now.

So I let her have it and do everything I can to comfort her in the process.

Eventually, the tears stop, and her clear eyes look up into mine.

“I want this, Killer.”

So we spend the rest of the evening with Lev in the room, Boris and me at Nessa’s side, and Kai sitting in the window looking out at our little girl’s light.