Page 49 of Unforgettable
I spent years at the mercy of others. Having my every choice stripped from me. Debased and treated worse than an animal. I hated it. I couldn’t wait until the day I would be free. With that freedom came a world of possibilities and decisions. So many that it overwhelmed me. As much as I wanted to be free, I almost hated the freedom. When Matthew took charge, I could breathe again.
“There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Matthew’s relieved voice startles me out of my inner turmoil. “What are you doing in here?”
Without a conscious thought, I wandered into the recovery suite I used after Damon beat me. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and worry it with my teeth. Concern flashes through Matthew’s eyes. He closes the short distance between us and wraps me in his big strong arms.
I pull away, giving him a smile, hoping it passes for a genuine one. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Dr. Martinez seems happy with how I’ve healed up, and If I keep using the salve, the scars should almost fade away completely.” I avoid mentioning the other stuff we talked about.
“You talked about Dr. Klein, right?” Matthew asks.
I have to battle down the prickle of anger that wants to escape. I remind myself that he only wants what’s best for me. He tells me as much. I just nod because I don’t trust myself to not take my frustration out on him.
He pulls me back into his arms, gently massaging my back. I swear the man has a sixth sense when it comes to my moods. The anger leaks out, and contentment comes to the forefront. His perceptiveness is one of the things I love about him. He doesn’t need me to hash out every little thing with him because he just knows.
He’s fierce in his protectiveness of me. He won’t let anyone hurt me, including me. “Are you mad?”
I shake my head and sigh. “Not mad. Frustrated. More with myself than you. I hate that I can’t just be normal. I hate feeling defective… weak.”
He kisses my lips fiercely. “You are not defective. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. You’ve been traumatized. Anyone would struggle in your shoes. And you are not weak. You’re the strongest person I know. It takes balls of steel to agree to recognize that you need help.”
The rational part of my brain hears the truth of his words. It even makes sense on some level, but I can’t reconcile it in my head. The irrational part of my brain works hard to stir up anger at Matthew for overstepping and arranging for a psychiatrist to come speak with me without talking to me about it first.
No one should be forced into therapy. My mind picks that to focus on, and the anger rages back to the surface. I pull completely out of his arms and pace the length of the room. I have too much built-up nervous energy, every second that I spend thinking about the shrink and Matthew going behind my back to set it up, the more my anger grows.