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“We all will be.”
None of us are alone in this war that we’re internally fighting and no one should ever have to go through it by themselves.
We might not have the same demons, but we’re bound together by their destruction.
TEN
KILLIAN
The weekend is finally over and I know that my girl will be back in the building today. Desi only works on the weekends at the front desk, so Ainsley is only here five days a week. That’s only five days that I could potentially run into her and maybe change her mind about sneaking around.
I won’t push her if she doesn’t change her mind. Respect is a big thing for me and even though I might not always be the nicest to her, I will always respect her decisions and thoughts.
I spent the entire weekend, lying around like a worthless piece of shit. The depressed feeling was something that I typically am able to avoid, but it was consuming. Every night, I ended up jerking off, pulling on my cock harder, punishing myself for it not being fucking Ainsley.
None of it makes sense and she has my head caught in a mind fuck again. I’m not concerned with it deterring my progress in treatment. I’ve been clean for well over a year and even before then, I never truly struggled with addiction. At least, not to any substance.
The only thing that I can hope to get out of being here is working through my own issues. My fucking mommy issues and the mental problems that stemmed from that. The unfiltered anger and rage that I get. I’m not a threat to others anymore, but I’m more a threat to myself than anything.
Instead of breaking bones in other people’s faces, I can’t seem to stop breaking bones in my own fucking hand. After sitting down with Dr. Conrad though, I feel like I’ve definitely made some progress with getting on the right treatment plan.
Nolan has been pushing harder, trying to delve deeper into my mind but I’m not really interested in entertaining his curiosity yet. I’ve told him the bare minimum about my childhood and life with my mom. Enough to keep him satisfied. He hasn’t attempted to talk about being in the foster system yet and I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about that either.
It wasn’t that bad, but it was bad enough that I’m not ready to dig into that trauma. I never experienced physical abuse until I entered my first foster home. My mom was never emotionally or verbally abusive either, so that wasn’t introduced into my life until foster care too.
I’m beginning to wonder if life is just one constant mind fuck.
Even after putting in all the work that we’re doing here, is it really going to change anything in the end? It won’t change the past and everything that had already happened. I guess it could change the course of our future, to break the vicious cycles that we’ve been caught up in.
I don’t want to fall back into the same vicious cycle with Ainsley. I want her to see the best version of me—the version that she deserves.
I just want to be the man who deserves to be loved by her.
At this point, that’s the only driving force that I have behind the work that I’m trying to put in here. Whether I change or not, doesn’t affect me without her. I don’t give a fuck how I turn out without her in my life. I want to change for her, to be better for her.
* * *
The entire morningpasses by without a single run in with Ainsley. The damn door that leads to the front of the facility is locked and since I don’t work here, I don’t have one of the special badges that will get me through that shit.
The ball is entirely in Ainsley’s court at this point. She’s the only one who holds the magic key to come through that door, so it’s up to her if she’s going to take me up on my offer or not. I know her better than she knows herself, but I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I underestimated her willpower.
I need to chill the fuck out. It’s only lunchtime. The day isn’t over yet. There’s still hope.
I laugh out loud to myself as I put my dishes in the bin for the dishwasher. Yeah, fucking right. Hope. That’s a goddamn joke at this point.
Cracking my fingers, I leave the dining hall and walk over toward the common room. Some of the guys are playing pool while others are watching some movie on the big screen TV. I don’t typically hang out in here or if I do, I keep to myself. I’m not here to make any damn friends, even though Nolan had encouraged it. Some bullshit about how it might make treatment go a little faster.
Fuck that.
I walk over to the art area of the room and grab some materials before taking a seat at one of the tables. Drawing was something that I had always been passionate about, but not passionate enough about it to do something with. I passed my time in jail drawing with the bullshit materials they allowed us to have there and reading.
Now that I actually have some charcoal and pieces of canvas, I feel like I can really lose myself in something. A distraction. A fucking healthy one for once.
My hand moves swiftly as I make strokes across the canvas. I don’t typically sit down with an idea of what I want to draw. Freestyling is more my method. Whatever comes to my mind ends up on the paper or medium in front of me.
“What are you working on?” Nolan’s voice breaks through my concentration as I finish the strokes of the waves crashing against the shore.
Ignoring him, I wipe my fingertip through the swell of the wave, smudging the charcoal across the canvas. It smears, creating a darker contrast where you could easily get lost in the water. The undertow of the ocean, just threatening to pull you under.
