Branded(86)
“I AM messed up, but it’s okay. I’m going to get help. I’m going to talk to someone. Even though I don’t have the urge to do it anymore, I want to make sure I never do again. I want to be good for you, I want to be a whole, healed person for you.”
He wraps his arm around me and hugs me tightly. “I just want you to know, you’re already perfect for me. Everything about you is exactly what I need, but if this is something you need, I fully support it. Don’t do it for me, do it for yourself.”
I smile up at him. “I love you, Drake Jefferson Taylor. I will do it for myself, I promise. You put a mark on my heart that will never go away. You branded me with your love and I know it’s the only thing I’ll ever need to keep the pain away.”
“A mark on your heart, huh? So it’s sort of like I pissed on my territory,” he says with a laugh.
I smack his chest and laugh with him. “You’re an ass!”
He moves quickly, flipping me over onto my back and resting his body between my thighs. “I’m your ass, my little Fireball, and you’re stuck with me. I just need you to promise me one thing.”
I slide my hands through his hair and feel him harden as he presses himself against me. The smile slips from his face and he looks down at me seriously.
“Never, ever die on me again. My heart can’t take losing you a second time.”
I look up at him, this man who fought for me, believed in me and saved me from myself. I look at him and I know that I’m the luckiest woman on earth.
“I promise,” I whisper softly as me slips inside of me. “No more dying, no more branding, nothing but this.”
He moves inside of me and I sigh in relief, having him right where I need him.
“This is all I need to breathe,” I whisper.
Six months later…
“I can’t do this anymore,” DJ tells me in a frustrated voice.
I put my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Yeah? Well, I can’t either!”
He throws his hands in the air and stomps away from me while I cross my arms in front of me waiting for him to say more. I just know he wants to say more. Clearly, he hasn’t pissed me off enough in the last hour.
“You can’t keep doing this to me. It’s killing me. KILLING ME!” he shouts to the wall.
“Oh, my God, quit being so dramatic.”
He whirls around and stomps back to me, grabbing the binder from the counter on his way. He holds it in front of me and stabs at the open page.
“Five times. FIVE FUCKING TIMES you’ve changed the backsplash in this kitchen and now you’re telling me that THIS is the one you have to have.”
I stare longingly at the Tuscan marble tile that he’s pointing to and sigh. “It’s so beautiful.”
He growls, tossing the binder back on top of the counter. “The crosshatch silver was gorgeous, the Murano Mosaic was stunning and the brushed nickel was…I forget, what was the brushed nickel again?” he asks in annoyance.
“Complimentary to the appliances,” I reply through clenched teeth.
“Killing me. Motherfucking killing me,” he mutters before pulling his phone out of his pocket and calling the contractor.
I smile in victory, bouncing over to him to kiss his cheek while he tells the contractor that I’ve changed my mind. Again. He smacks my ass when I turn away and head out onto the front porch.
Flopping down on one of the Adirondack chairs, I kick my feet up on the railing and look out at the yard.
The last few months have been a whirlwind of emotions. I started seeing a new psychologist and I really like her. I still see her once a week and she’s helped me get to the root of my issues and learn how to transfer the anger and hatred I sometimes feel into something healthier. I go outside and scream, I take a walk or I beat the shit out of the heavy bag DJ hung in the garage. Most importantly, I talk to him about everything. Nothing is held back, and he always knows what’s going on in my mind and my heart. He even accompanies me to some of my appointments so he can learn about my problem and understand how to help.
I thought telling DJ everything was hard, but it was nothing compared to telling my best friend. Finnley cried silently when I told her about my burning addiction and how I’d used it to cope through the years. She had a hard time forgiving my father once she knew the extent of his abuse, but she knew I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for him. It felt good to finally confide in her and I know our friendship is stronger because of it.
I’m still working at the hospital after a short medical leave and taking time to bury my father. DJ is still working full time as a paramedic, telling me he might go back to the fire department in time, but for right now he’s happy where he’s at. When he has to transport someone to my hospital, he always sends me a text on the way so I can meet him downstairs for a quick kiss. He tells me it’s because he can’t get enough of me, but I know a part of him still thinks about that day on his front porch when he couldn’t believe I was alive. Even six months later, he still needs the reassurance that I’m here, I’m okay and I’m real.