Chapter 137

R A V E N Somehow Alex managed to convince me to come to one of his little group therapy sessions. Of course I argued with him, but eventually, he wore me down. He needed me there at ten. One session wouldn't hurt—right? Climbing groggily out of bed and getting ready, I could hear Eliyah's snores radiating from next door. If there was an Olympic sport for sleeping, he'd win every time. There was no competition. I was halfway down the stairs when I suddenly felt it—a jabbing pain down in my stomach. My breath hitched in my throat. Oh. That's a kick. That's a kick for sure. Even if it stung, a smile managed to grow on my face. There you are. There's my little baby. I couldn't believe it had been almost four months already. Serena was getting married in what? Five? Six days? If I got any bigger, fitting into the bridesmaid dress would make it obvious to anyone who took one look at me. Just five more months to go, and then you'll be here, surrounded by all the people who'll love you. Even if you never remember me. "My name is Delia." "Hi, Delia," everyone in the circle synced. "Well, I've been an impulsive gambler for the last three years... I know I should stop, but I just... can't. It's ruined my relationship with my husband—he never speaks to me anymore, and I'm struggling to pay bills," Delia swallowed and forced the words out. He friend beside her encouraged her inaudibly, giving her a friendly smile. "It hurts when he ignores me." "Have you sat down to talk with him about this?" The therapist asked her kindly. "Maybe he's avoiding you because he's confused on how to handle the situation himself." Delia replied to her, my eyes locking with Alex in front of me. There was a soft pull on his lips. He looked peaceful, listening to Delia talk. You come here every Sunday? I asked him. When I can, yes, he turned to the therapist, who was busy talking with Delia. These people don't judge you. They listen and try to help. It's good for you, he responded. Delia talked for another several minutes before it was someone else's turn. "My name is Jonathan—most people just call me John," the next person greeted. He was an Asian man with cropped black hair and soft green eyes. John looked to be past his forties, watching with tired eyes and messy stubble. Everyone in the circle replied with their usual response. "I've been getting better at handling the death of my wife—thanks to you all," he admitted, passing a weak smile to the therapist. "It gets easier. Every day that passes—I don't really know how to explain. What's it been? Eight months now? It's not so hard to accept it now. It's getting easier, that's all I really know." "Easy for you to say," someone grumbled. My eyes turned to a young adult girl, sitting with her arms crossed tightly and a frown on her face. She didn't look the slightest bit happy to be here, or eager to listen to John. She added, "you dated her for three weeks and married her. You barely knew your wife to begin with." I turned to Alex, with a raised brow. He shook his head, telling me, her name is Angie. She's an only child. Both of her parents were killed by Oregon members. She's been coming here for the last two weeks because of her aunt. The therapist looked slightly pitiful when she looked at the girl, sitting up straighter. "Remember, Angie, this is a safe space. Try to keep any negative criticisms to yourself, please." Angie huffed and rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything further. Oregon killed her parents? When John was ready again, the therapist asked, "is the situation with your son improving as well?" He nodded. "He and I have been getting back in touch. His mother has him, for now. I'm going to court to try toget custody of him in a few months. He really liked Georgia—my wife—too. You know, he actually wanted her there for his thirteenth birthday—" "Christ, I can't listen to him drone on about this again," Angie cut him off. The chair screeched against the floor as she stood up, grabbing her bag from beside her. "I'll be outside having a smoke. Find me when he shuts up. Or better yet—don't find me at all." "Angie—" the therapist sighed. The girl stormed out before the therapist could finish her sentence. "I'm proud of you, you know," Alex told me, leading me to his car parked across the street. "What for? All I did was sit there and listen," I frowned, shoving my hands in my pockets and staring at my feet. My ears kept ringing. He fiddled with his keys before unlocking the door to the small truck. "Yeah, but it takes a big person to admit that they need help." "Whatever you say, I guess," I shrugged. "Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off at your place? It isn't that far from where I need to go," he said, climbing into the car and rolling down the window. I heard the ringing get louder, and I finally succumbed and let it filled my ears. It was a woman yelling, making me draw my eyes to a couple hidden beside the building. I snapped out of my daze. "I can walk. Where are you going, anyway? Doesn't Alex Fairwater have important business to deal with in his country?" "This is important business," he smirked, a faint amusement ridden in his eyes. I raised a brow, smiling insinuatingly. "Does Mr. Fairwater have a date?" I asked, wiggling my eyebrows. "He does," Alex chuckled, a small sign of a blush on his cheeks. "I'm going to a tailor to get my suit — but I mean, it won't be on me for that long anyway—" I shook my head, covering my ears. "Why do you always have a way to turn things dirty?" I sighed. "Have fun, loverboy. Tell me how it goes—or don't, depending on how explicit you two get." "Can do," he said. I tapped the car as he rolled the window up, driving off shortly after. When he was gone, my eyes cemented on the couple from earlier, now totally hidden in the crack between the two buildings. I could still hear yelling, making me move my legs in that direction. I must have a fucking death wish, I thought to myself, getting into other peoples' business. My eyes could easily hear and see the two of them fighting, even if nobody else could. I was starting to like my newfound abilities—they gave me a sense of power I'd never had before. I could see further, hear better, fight stronger. I was learning to hold my own, and that was a comfort I never knew I needed. "Get off of me, you foul bastard!" I heard a familiar voice yell, trying to shove a tall man away from her body. It was Angelica, the girl whose parents were killed by Oregon. "You broke up with me! Now that I have money, you want me back?! Get the fuck off, Trent!" Trent was at least a full head taller than her and shadowed over her entire figure. A dark smirk played on his lips. "Don't be like that, bitch. You know you can't—," "Hey!" I yelled, watching him move his hands where Angelica definitely didn't want them. Her mascara smeared down her cheek when she rubbed away a tear, but Trent wasn't ready to back away any time soon. "Stop shaking, Angie," he glared, pinning her to the brick wall. "Hey! Didn't you hear her?! Back the fuck off!" I snarled, shoving him off of her with little effort. Thank god for super-strength. The Hulk's got nothing on me. Angie didn't need to be told to run. The second Trent wasn't blocking her anymore, she bolted, leaving only me and her bastard ex to fight off. "Who the fuck are you supposed to—what the fuck is with your eyes?!" Trent scowled at me, although there was a brief horror stricken on his face. "Do you think it's funny to go around groping people?" I yelled, moving quickly when he tried to shove me to the floor. I ignored his question, punching him in the jaw. He tried to land a blow, but I ducked and tripped him over. "You're fucking crazy, you psycho! What are you, on drugs or something?" He crawled back, spitting blood on the floor. I kicked him back, over and over again. It took a few shots to the ribs before he realized that if he didn't get away soon, he'd end up with a lot worse than a few broken bones. "Okay! O-okay, I'll stop! Just get away from me!" He growled at me. Trent tried to shove my leg and make me topple over, but all he ended up doing was cutting his palm when his hand slammed the concrete too hard. Usually, a warning like that would be enough for me to back off. I never wanted to critically hurt someone, god forbid kill them. But there was adrenaline coursing through my veins, like a high. This time was different—I couldn't stop myself. He continued, coughing scarlet blood and trying to crawl away. "Are you listening to me? I'm sorry, okay! Just fuck off, you fucking creep!" Not a single sound left my lips. I was enjoying this, but I didn't want it to happen. I wasn't in control; there was no way to stop myself. He was about to yell something else, but I didn't give him the time. Instead, without even realizing it, I'd ax-kicked his head. Now he was lying on the floor, still, blood pooling out of his nose. And only then did I knock myself from my trance, shock setting into my bones immediately. No. No, no, no, god, no! I didn't—god— I looked at him, expecting to see a subtle rising and falling of his chest. But there was nothing. I couldn't hear a pulse. Oh, god! I kill - I can't have - I killed him! Then it all clicked into place. This is what losing Thanatos did to me. I was spinning out of control.