Ephemeral

The weekend went by uneventfully. Meals I didn't want to eat, which ended in me getting scolded. Wounds I didn't want to get cleaned, but I had to anyway. And awkward tension around three of my brothers.

Thankfully, I was allowed to read and watch my laptop in my free time. I was now more than half way through the book, and things just kept getting creepier. Her boyfriend was currently missing, and she kept getting these weird notes and objects. A bloody screwdriver, a torn baby blanket from her childhood, and a Polaroid of her walking home. She couldn't tell if she was overreacting, but these items were left at the same rock every day with a new letter.

She needs to go to the police. But of course, if she did that, the book would be much shorter.

Today was Monday, which meant I had my first therapy session. Kieran and the twins were back at school, despite Cassian's protesting. One look from Valen, and he knew he wasn't getting anywhere.

Valen and Atticus had an important meeting. 

Which left Damien. 

Damien was taking me to therapy. 

Lovely.

Atticus didn't clean my back this morning, so I assumed I didn't need it anymore. How I was going to shower remained a mystery. Do I wash with a rag? How will I make sure I'm fully clean?

Brainstorming my best course of action, I started gathering my clothes. What does one wear to therapy? It wasn't a formal event, right? Would she judge me if I wore sweatpants?

Better be safe than sorry.

I decided on a black skirt with sheer black tights and a cream-colored sweater. I wanted to read outside before my appointment this afternoon, but still look nice when I attended the session. As I gathered my outfit, the door opened without a knock. I needed to start locking that. I jolted in my spot and snapped my head behind me.

Damien was standing with his hands in his suit pockets, staring at me expectantly. "You need your cuts cleaned and your smoothie," he ordered.

Good morning.

"But Atticus isn't here." I furrowed my brows, confused at what he was getting at. I never heard Atticus come home.

"Atticus isn't doing it. I am," Damien said in his usual cold and bored voice.

"I can wait," I blurted, "for Atticus to come home." I looked at Damien wide-eyed. It was bad enough he needed to take me to therapy. I did not want him touching me or my back. 

"You are getting your back treated now, and that is final." Damien left no room for argument with his statement. "Come," he commanded, pointing to the ground before him.

I set my clothes down and walked towards him, keeping my eyes on the wood below me. "Good girl." He was pleased with my compliance, placing a firm hand on my shoulder and walking me into the hallways toward the examination room. His hand was acting like a guarantee I wouldn't bolt back into my room.

As we walked into the room, he suddenly lifted me onto the table and set me down. I could have done that myself. He rummaged through the cabinets, grabbing the same things Atticus regularly grabbed. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? We can wait for—"

Before I could even finish my sentence, he started speaking. "I know what I am doing, child. Roll up your sweatpants."

Rude.

His harsh tone and unpleasant holding made me realize I'd been taking Atticus's care for granted.

I rolled up my sweatpants and allowed him to see the burn. His expressionless face remained as he began working on the area. Contrary to his usual hard handling, he was surprisingly gentle with my skin, lightly rubbing on the thick paste and covering it in film. "Lay down on your stomach and be still," he ordered bluntly.