I’m pretty sure the minute my head hits the pillow, I will be out in seconds. The adrenaline is wearing off now that I know Ember is safe and by my side.
When we both crawl into bed to sleep, Ember curls her body up next to mine. I have a flashback of when we first slept together in the dank cellar with nothing but a couple of blankets to keep us warm.
“I’ll try to do better,” she murmurs as sleep is setting in for both of us.
“You’re trying your best. I know you are.” I close my eyes, no longer able to keep them open. “We’ll figure it out,” I say with a yawn. “We always have up until this point and will continue to do so.”
I hear her breathing deepen, and I know she’s off to sleep. I just hope she doesn’t have any more nightmares. I hope the same for me.
Fuck you, Richard.
Fuck you straight to hell.
Part of me hopes he dares show his face here. I’d make him pay for everything he did to this woman. He’s broken her, but I will make sure I pick up all the pieces and help her figure out how to heal.
Come, motherfucker.
Come to my house.
I’m ready for you.
18
Christopher
Frustration is not something I handle well. Patience is not a quality I possess. Hanging up the phone with my real estate agent has me wanting to throw something at my editor’s door. The only thing keeping me from doing so is that I’m borrowing his office after a shoot to have a little alone time, and trashing his office won’t go over well.
“The market is crazy right now,” he said.
“I’m working as hard as I can,” he assured.
“I found a fixer upper, but it’s not ready to move in to,” he offered.
“Maybe in a few months, more inventory will open up,” he ended the conversation with.
Ember and I need to get out of my mother’s house before she truly drives both of us crazy. I can feel Ember is growing frustrated herself. She doesn’t understand why we’re in this holding pattern, and I know she’s as anxious as I am to get in our own house that she can finally make her home. Transition into normal society isn’t being helped by her walking the halls of my mother’s elegant and stuffy estate, unable to call anything hers.
There’s a knock on the door, and I figure it’s Max wanting his office back. “Come in, I’m done,” I call out, trying to shake off my annoyance at not having the call with my agent that I wanted.
“Max said I could find you here,” Marissa says as she enters the office and closes the door behind her.
Fuck. She’s not going to just let this be.
“I know I may not be the person you want to see,” she begins as she walks fully into the room. “But you left so abruptly in LA that we weren’t able to finish our conversation.”
“I felt we did,” I state, not wanting to be mean but still having to be honest.
“I spoke to your mother last night, and she told me that Ember is having a really hard time. That you both are considering having her get professional help. At an institute. I’m here to offer my support in any way. I know how hard this must be, and I want to be here for you.”
I let out a breath at the same level and intensity a dragon would release a flame. “No. I’m not having my wife committed. It’s never been an option, nor will it. This is nothing more than the ramblings of a hopeful but delusional old bat.”
“She told me you’re struggling with the guilt.”
“Marissa… I don’t know why you’re talking to my mother in the first place. But I can assure you that Ember is doing just fine. She’s getting stronger each day. And yes, I’ve gotten her a therapist to help navigate the waters, but we are far from talking mental hospital.”
She looks down at their manicured nails in what I can only assume is disappointment.
“I’m sorry if you thought that opened a door for you,” I say much harsher than intended.
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m struggling here too, you know. Do you even care about that?”
“Of course I do,” I say, softening my voice. “But I’ve been honest and straightforward with you, Marissa. I’m sorry. We are over… and will always be over. Maybe I should have said the last sentence to you earlier. I’m sorry.”
“There’s going to be a day Ember won’t be with you. She’s unstable. It doesn’t take a therapist to see that. We all see it. Everyone around you sees it. And we all see you are still held captive. You haven’t truly escaped yet. I want to be there for you, but I can’t just stand here and watch this.” She takes a step toward the door and then looks over her shoulder at me. “I wish you luck, Christopher. Based on what your mother has told me… you’re going to need it.”