My days in suspension are miserable. I can't sleep properly. I don't feel like eating anything. The room gets messier and messier as the days drag on. I can't even bring myself to get out of bed and go shower.

Lucien says he's worried for me. He came and apologized to me for yelling and saying those things, but the damage is already done. I continue to feel hostile towards him for not letting me explain what happened with Trent. And now that he's not angry anymore, I don't even have the energy to argue my side. I just want to give up.

Being grounded doesn't really upset me. I don't have the will to leave my room anyway. My friends text me that they'll help me sneak out but as much as I love them, they're not who I want to be with right now.

Daemon's still not allowed to see me and Lucien has been keeping him busy on missions from dawn to nightfall to make sure of that. Lucien says it's for the best, which makes me resentful. I hunger for Daemon's presence, the way I feel around him. When he comes by the house to meet with Lucien I secretly look at him out the window through the curtains. I find him looking too, a grim look on his face. I wish he longed for me like I long for him. 

The nightmares also get worse. When I'm able to sleep, I'm haunted by my stepfather's wrath. Or Henry's. Even when I'm awake, I'm held captive by the horrible memories, my mind forcing me to recall the specific things Alpha Ferix did to me. Dangling a knife over my ankles, threatening to cut off my feet if I try to leave the house. Holding my face down in a tub of water as a punishment for stealing an apple from the kitchen. The screams of my mother I heard while under the water, trying to get him to stop. Letting his friends use me as an ashtray when they came over to drink, pressing their lit cigarettes butts into my skin.

It makes me feel so nauseous, so disgusting. I look at myself in the mirror and refuse to accept that it's me I'm looking at. That's not me. That can't be me. That thing doesn't even look like a person. It looks like a shell of one, with hollowed-out eyes and a disfigured, bony body. I hate him so much, that boy in the mirror.

In the midst of my depressive episode, Lucien comes to see me after I've turned away the third meal of the day, refusing to eat.

"Why aren't you eating?" he asks me as I lie in bed, turned away from him.

"I'm not hungry,"

"You're a growing teenager. You need to eat,"

I don't reply. I don't care that I'm growing.

"Ash, I think you need to see a doctor. This behavior...it isn't normal,"

I clutch my arms tighter around me, curling into myself. The thought of leaving the comfort of my room for some stranger to evaluate me sounds terrible. Am I becoming a burden to him? Is that why he wants someone to fix me?

"You think I'm not normal?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Lucien tries to explain. "I--I just want you to get better. But I don't think I'm the best person to help you do that,"

I hate the way he's speaking to me. Like I'm a charity case or a sensitive child. I glare at the wall, chest tightening.  "Maybe I don't want to get better," I say, my voice coming out as barely a whisper.

"What was that?"

"I said, maybe I don't want to get better!"I sit up to face him, my voice rising along with my distress. "Maybe I just want to waste away in here, rot and die!" I finish, my chest heaving. 

Lucien is quiet, looking at me with sad eyes. The expression he has makes me want to cry. "You don't mean that. Please, Ash. Please, my boy. Let me take you to see someone, okay? If you don't like it, we can leave immediately,"

My resolve crumbles at the desperateness in his voice, my eyes welling up with tears. "You promise?"

"Of course. I promise,"

*

The next day, Lucien takes me to the psychiatrist. I'm a bundle of nerves as we check-in, waiting for me to be called. The lady assigned to me is very friendly, an omega as well so I feel comfortable. She asks me a few seemingly normal questions about my sleeping and eating habits. I tell her I don't like sleeping and that I have no appetite. She asks me if I have any idea why and I lie, telling her I don't.

She talks with me for a while, even making me fill out this long virtual survey on an iPad she hands me. I try my best to be honest. I know Lucien's paying for this so I don't want it to be a complete bust. Then she calls Lucien back in. She tells him my diagnosis, prescribing an array of medications for my anxiety and depression. Wow, I must have a lot of problems if I need that many pills.

"The medication can help, of course, but a mate will be a much more effective treatment for PTSD like his," she says. If only I had a mate. But someone like me wouldn't have one.

"I see..." Lucien scratches at his chin, appearing deep in thought. 

I'm kind of zoned out as we leave the office, not really registering what just happened. I feel numb. This whole day has been weird. I can't wait to go back home.

*

It's nighttime and I'm in bed again, in a simple black hoodie and shorts, laying over the covers. I stare lifelessly at the array of orange pill bottles that sit on my desk. I should probably hide them in the bathroom cabinet so my friends don't see them when they come over. I'm too tired to get up and do it now, though. I let my eyes flutter closed, letting the hoots of the owls outside lull me to sleep.

That is, until the hoots are interrupted by a loud tap. It sounds like something hard was thrown against my window. I quickly jump up, going over to investigate. I've had a fear of the window lately. But it's locked. I can just look and I'll still be safe. And it was probably just a falling pinecone.

So I pull back the curtain, nearly fainting from fright when I see the silhouette of a human figure right outside, a large hand pressing against the window. I'm about to scream for Lucien when I realize who it is.

My heart soars and I quickly unlock the window for Daemon, opening it up to let him inside. He stands on the roof slat just under my window, dressed in his usual all black.

"Y-you scared me to death, Daemon! How did you get up here?" I ask as he climbs in with a grunt, dusting his hands off on his dark jeans.

"I scaled the wall," he shrugs like it's nothing, taking a seat on my bed and I stand before him. I gawk at him, wondering how he managed such a feat. I mean, my room is on the second floor!

I wring my hands nervously as we lock eyes, realizing how I must look like utter shit. "U-uh, I look terrible right now," I say, my hands going to hide my face. "I wasn't expecting--"

But Daemon grabs my hands in his to stop me. "You don't, Ash. That hasn't even crossed my mind,"

I flush at the contact, his skin hot against mine. I can't help but want more.

"Okay..." I'm at a loss for words. Why is he here? Didn't Lucien ban him from seeing me?

Daemon's eyes flicker to something behind me so I follow his gaze, my stomach dropping as I spot the medication on my desk. "Oh, th-those are--" I slip my hands from his grip, rushing over to grab them and block them from his view. I try to scoop them up in my arms so I can go put them somewhere, just anywhere where he can't see them, but the bottles slip from my grasp and loudly clatter to the floor.

"Shit." I feel my face get hot and I bend over, quickly scrambling to pick them up. "Shit."

But then Daemon is next to me, gently grabbing my arm to refrain me from picking up the bottles. "Ash, stop," he says.

"But I--I don't want you to--" my voice cracks and I'm mortified as I start to cry. Why do I always have to fucking cry in front of him?!

"Hey, hey," Daemon pulls me off the floor, looping his arms under my waist and knees as he lifts me, carrying me to the bed. "What's wrong?" he asks as he sets me down, his arm around me.

The question and the tenderness of his actions have me breaking down. "I don't want you to think I'm a freak..!" I start to sob against his shoulder.

"Why would I think that?"

"B-because Lucien took me to the psychiatrist today and I'm--I'm not normal. M-my brain is all messed up inside," I confess, grasping his shirt tightly.

"And they put you on meds?" Daemon's voice is gentle, so unlike his usual tone. His hand is rubbing up and down my back, which calms me down a little.

I nod, another round of tears welling up as I try to speak. "I'm just so scared, Daemon. That there's something wrong with me,"

"Look at me, Ash," Daemon's hands cup my face and lift it to face him, his dark eyes holding my gaze. "Look at me,"

I bite my lip, reluctantly staying put as I let him see my tear-stained face, hoping I don't look too repulsive to him.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. So you're going through some shit up here," he taps my head lightly. "But that's not your fault. That's your response to what's happened to you so don't ever blame yourself,"

"B-but what if other people don't see it that way?" I sniffle.

"Who gives a fuck what they think? Everyone has their own shit, whether they're willing to admit it or not,"

"Even you?"

"Have you seen the way I act? Especially me." Daemon says humorously, a grin twitching on his lips as I giggle softly in response. I feel so much better already, like a weight's been lifted off my chest. Just being in his presence lights me up inside.

"There it is," he says, "I missed that pretty smile of yours," Daemon's eyes twinkle, taking my small hand in his large one. I blush, butterflies exploding in my stomach. His hands are rough and worn from hard labor, they feel so strange on my soft ones. Not that I don't like it.   

"W-what?" I squeak, "You're lying," I look away, not able to take the compliment.

"I'm not," he denies, but I know it's too good to be true.

"Come on, Daemon," I reluctantly pull my hand out of his. "Nothing about me is pretty. Don't make fun of me,"

Daemon sighs in slight aggravation, running a hand through his hair. "You think I came all the way here, at midnight, climbed the roof, just to make fun of you?"

"T-then why are you being so nice to me?! Y-you hated me when I first came here, and I still don't know how you feel about me! I don't know anyth--"

But then he's reaching for me, pulling me into a crushing embrace. At first, I'm startled, my words drying up on my tongue as I wonder what's come over him. But his embrace is so warm and strong and touching him just feels so good that I can't help but melt into it. I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of it as he holds me. "Ash," he breathes, his voice so compassionate I don't recognize it, "I don't hate you. I could never hate you,"

Like the crybaby I am, I'm tearing up again and clutching onto him for dear life. "Then hold me. Stay with me. Don't go."

"I won't," he promises, softly stroking my hair. "I'm not going anywhere,"

I cling to him for the longest time, even as he lies us down on the pillows and pulls the covers over me so I won't be cold. I don't let go because I don't want him to leave again and not be able to see him for who knows how long. To leave me all alone for the dark thoughts that plague me to come creeping back in. I hate being deprived of him, his rugged handsomeness, his teasing smirks, his touches that set my heart aflame. 

Curled up against him in the comfy bed, head on his firm chest as he holds me, I'm so at ease, despite being in such a vulnerable position. Because I trust him. He's not like Henry. Or my stepfather. Sure, he's bigger and stronger, an alpha. He has the power to hurt me like they did.  But I know he won't. And he's shown me he'll do what it takes to protect me. And while I don't know why, it makes me like him all the more. 

Soon I find myself fading off to sleep, his heartbeat sounding faintly under my ear like a lullaby. I have no nightmares.