Perfection of Suffering (The Shadows of Wildberry Lane Book 1)

by M. Sinclair

  It was hard not to love Dahlia.

  Before I could comment on anything, Yates’s phone lit up with an alert as his computer began to make noise. His eyes widened as he cursed. My chest tightened, that feeling of foreboding hitting hard.

  “We have a major fucking problem.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dahlia Aldridge

  When I woke up, I couldn’t tell what time it was, but I had to assume early afternoon. My eyes felt heavy with sleep as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Yet underneath it all, there was a nagging sense that I needed to get up. I was missing something important that was happening. I could feel it. It was a battle of wills, though, and when I finally managed to open my eyes all the way, my head felt fuzzy, almost drugged, and there was a buzzing noise filling the room.

  Crap, that was annoying. Who the heck was calling and texting me?

  The buzzing went off again and again, making me finally groan as I reached out to find my phone. I yanked it from the charger, remembering briefly that I had plugged it in when I had pulled myself onto the bed after falling asleep on the floor for a bit. My body was thanking me for that, but I was still feeling heavy and lethargic.

  Squinting at the screen, I pushed my hair from my face, feeling flushed from the way the afternoon sun and heat was hitting my skin. Maybe I was getting sick? I blinked, refocusing on my phone.

  What the hell?

  My eyes widened as Instagram notifications began flooding in, the small app ticking up in numbers as my stomach dropped. Confusion and fear grew in my chest as I clicked on the app. I had suspended my personal account, but I’d left my photography one open despite not touching it in months. I had promised I would start using it again after the bullying stopped, but it seemed like that wasn’t going to be an option anymore. Crap.

  The room spun as my hand came to my throat, realizing I’d been tagged in seventy-six photos. Oh no.

  Everything seemed to ice over inside of me as any sleepiness vanished and reality crashed into me like a mack truck. I felt a small noise break from my throat as I clicked on the profile that had tagged me in all the photos. Clearly it was a spam account… How did I know that? It was literally named ‘Uggo_ho46.’ You know, as in ‘ugly ho.’ I had no idea what the forty-six stood for, except maybe ‘for six,’ but how did that make sense?

  I felt my mouth drop open in realization that all posts were about me.

  Every. Single. One.

  Most of them were familiar pictures, the ones I’d been receiving the past several months with pig ears and enlarged body parts. Circled parts. Then there were new ones. I had no idea how they had gotten them, but they had photos of me kissing Yates and Stratton. The first in Yates’s office and the second after the fight in that small park. Those alone weren’t bad, but whoever had taken it had drawn five actual dicks onto it as well. Mature. I am guessing my ‘for six’ was in reference to that? Like six dicks?

  … and there was the photo of both twins kissing me at the game.

  I was torn between laughing at the absurdity of this and crying with frustration. It was also really goddamn disturbing that someone had managed to capture all of these moments. Moments that meant far more to me than they realized.

  Tears began to well in my eyes as I tried to ignore the hollow feeling running through me. What had I done to deserve this?

  With shaking fingers, I clicked on the comments under one of the newer pictures that had received 2,000 likes already. Like a bad accident, I couldn’t stop looking as I scrolled through. Some people stood up for me, saying that this was a ‘bullshit spam account,’ but most were joining in on the mean comments. I mean, it didn’t help that the bio now read, ‘Dahlia Aldridge. I take 6 at a time - hit me up.’

  Was this a fucking joke?

  I inhaled, suddenly feeling more helpless than ever before. I needed to be strong and keep it together, but I wouldn’t be able to hide this. It was everywhere. There was no escaping the truth of what was happening to me, and they would know that I had been lying about the bullying stopping.

  I could lose them over something like this.

  Panic roared in my chest as bile filled my throat. Sprinting towards my bathroom, I pulled my hair back as I voided all of the food from the past twenty-four hours in the toilet. Tears began to trace down my skin as I threw up three more times before I was dry-heaving and sobbing.

  My heart was beating a million miles an hour, my breathing rough as comments continued to pop up on the phone that was next to me on the floor. Thousands of people. Thousands, most of whom had no idea who I was, yet were ready to gang up on me… for fun?

  Abby had probably paid for some of them, but not all. No, the account was growing, and the followers began to tick up, even recognizing some of the names from our school. I hated this. Everything spun as I completely sunk to the tile floor of the bathroom. I let out a small whimper, knowing that I couldn’t cry anymore. It was literally impossible.

  I was running on empty, curled up on my side as my gaze traced the grout between each tile. The sound of the air-conditioning coming through the vents hummed. I closed my eyes, trying to find some way to ground myself.

  I was exhausted. Numb. I was at ground zero and sinking in quicksand.

  My phone buzzed with a text as I dragged it towards me, praying it would be one of my boys even though I knew it probably wasn’t. They would just come over. I didn’t want them to find out. God, I wanted to hide my shame and embarrassment, but if this was happening, then there was nothing I could do about it. Absolutely nothing.

  I wanted a hug. That was what I wanted. I almost laughed at that—god I was so pathetic. The words on the screen blurred as it hammered another nail into the metaphorical coffin of my weakness.

  Now everyone knows what a greedy pig you are.

  Have fun losing everything, whore.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as everything went dark for a few moments. I couldn’t tell you how long I laid there before I opened my gritty, sore eyes and wondered how long it would be until someone showed up. I was so glad that my parents were gone on a private flight right now.

  They were going to be so disappointed in me. I just knew that they would look at me with that concerned look that was filled with disappointment that I didn’t tell them.

  Crawling across the floor towards the shower, I pulled myself up and turned on the water. I was so cold, yet at the same time I was rapidly becoming drenched with sweat. I was shaking, and I just kept thinking that if I could get warm, I would feel ten times better. I stumbled into the shower and sunk down onto the tile floor, putting my head between my knees, the hot water running over me as my pain threatened to drown me. Sticky, tar-like pain that was filling my lungs and covering every limb.

  Why wouldn’t it wash off?

  The commenters had been agreeing with her. Agreeing with how I looked. About me being a whore. I was starting to agree with her, also. I mean, why would so many people lie about that?

  Eventually the shower ran cold, my shattered thoughts only worsening as my trembling increased. When I finally stopped the water, I pulled myself out and sat down against the glass wall, sinking in on myself as I felt myself wanting to throw up again.

  I would never forget this moment.

  There were moments in life, so seemingly insignificant, that had the capacity to change everything. Moments that you would remember until the day you died. Moments that made you feel… like you wanted to die. This was one of those moments.

  One of those moments where I realized that everything was spinning out of control at once. That everything in my life was falling apart, ripping at the seams, as if someone was tearing me up piece by piece.

  My forehead touched the cold, hard floor of my bathroom as I curled in on myself, a sob breaking from my throat.

  How had I gotten here? How had I found myself stuck in such a horrible situation?

  My throat burned.

  Tears streamed down my face.


  I couldn’t do this anymore.

  I had lied—I would never perfect the art of suffering in silence. I wouldn’t last that long.

  I knew that like I knew my last name. I was about to hit rock bottom, and I wanted it to end. I had never in my life wanted to just stop living as much as I did in this moment. I couldn’t do this anymore.

  At some point, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

  I wasn’t surprised, and I couldn’t hide the truth anymore. Accepting my fate and embarrassment, I dragged myself towards the door, trailing water from my soaked clothes across the way before pulling it open. I was fully expecting it to be one of my guys.

  And it was… sort of. Dermot stood there, his slight concern turning into full-blown shock, probably mixed with horror, at my appearance. His arms almost instantly locked around me, pulling me hard against his chest as I let out a small whimper.

  He knew.

  Dermot let out a low rumble as he gently ushered me back into the room, kicking my bedroom door shut behind us as he led me towards the bed. I began to shake even more, and he looked down at my clothes before tugging off my heavy sleeveless top, the sound of the wet material hitting the floor, leaving me in just a sports bra. Unlike my normal reaction, I didn’t even blush as he hooked his thumbs in the band of my athletic shorts and slid them down my legs. My skin broke out into shivers, the reality of being practically naked in front of him breaking through the haze slightly, but he didn’t seem to notice as he grabbed a quilt from the end of my bed and wrapped me in it.

  I watched his lips move, making me realize that he was saying something, but the dull buzzing in my ears had me unable to process it. I knew I was having a panic attack. The worst yet. But it didn’t change anything. I couldn’t function or focus right now. I was just here, existing. Barely.

  “Dahlia, sweetheart,” his compelling accent finally broke through my numbness. “I need you to get under the covers. Your lips are blue and you look like you’re about to pass out.”

  I was. Nodding like a twit, I couldn’t get my body to move, and Dermot seemed to make an executive decision as I stared up at him with unblinking, wide eyes. He easily lifted me up and onto the bed before sliding onto it himself and pulling me against him, my body curling against his as my head buried against his warm chest.

  “They are everywhere, D,” I whispered as I searched his green eyes. It didn’t help that my family’s name was so large. I knew people would focus on this. After this weekend? After I was attacked? Yeah, this was a lost cause.

  Dermot inhaled and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t worry, baby girl, we will figure it out. Trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  I did. I wasn’t positive it was valid trust, but it was very much trust. His arms tightened around me as I found myself falling asleep, the light humming that came from his throat vibrating his chest. As my body deflated, I began to float between the land of consciousness and sleep, the adrenaline slowly draining from my body as I gave into the numbness that I knew would protect me.

  “Dahlia?”

  That was Kingston’s voice, and I could hear feet on the stairs. When my bedroom door flung open, the intensity seemed to drop into something darker. I wanted to see King’s expression, but I was so comfortable, the concept of opening my eyes seemed like a lot of work. Plus, this could be a dream, and if so, I wanted to stay wrapped in it. Safely.

  “She finally fell asleep.” Dermot’s accent was thick and full of anger that wasn’t reflected in the way he held me. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wake her up yet.”

  “We were just fucking notified, how long has she known about them? How the hell have they been up for so long?” I could hear a vibrating fury, and I would bet a million dollars that he was clenching his jaw tight enough to shatter it. I wanted to calm him, but I couldn’t. I was absolutely exhausted, my form sunk into the bed.

  “I got here about an hour ago. I came back from the store when I got the notifications,” Dermot explained quietly before he exhaled. “Fuck, King. She looked like she was half dead. She was soaked to the bone, still wearing clothes from practice, and trembling. I am guessing she sat underneath the shower for a while. I also think she threw up and may have passed out on the bathroom floor. Her phone was in there.”

  He was rambling.

  “Fuck!” Kingston snarled as something hit my bedroom wall. Hard. “This is fucking bullshit. Where is her phone? Yates has already contacted the legal team, but I need to see who the hell—”

  King was cut off completely by something he saw.

  “What?” Dermot demanded. I could feel his heartbeat jump under my ear as I melted further against him, wanting to fuse myself against his massive frame. He would keep me safe.

  “Look what they sent her!” he bit out and then grunted, “Where is Yates? I need to get him this—”

  “Already here,” his familiar voice sounded from the door. “Give it here. I am almost done getting this shit taken down. I want to see if I can track that number, though.”

  “Where are the twins?” Dermot asked, his voice tinged with heartbreak that I didn’t fully understand.

  “Sterling is keeping Lincoln and Stratton downstairs for now. They lost their shit a minute ago, and I know if they see her like this, it will be ten times worse,” King bit out.

  Those were the last words I heard for some time.

  When my consciousness finally resumed, my hand ran up Dermot’s chest, not opening my eyes yet. I didn’t really care when and where we were. Everything felt soothing and numb, the space moving at a fuzzy, almost sloth-like pace.

  Exactly how I wanted it.

  The post-panic attack haze. Probably not healthy, but essential to survival until I could wrap my head around the emotions hidden underneath all of it.

  Finally forcing my eyes open, I found Dermot sleeping, and a cursory look around the silent room told me we were alone and that it was early evening. The last bit of light was showing through the windows, and I considered closing my eyes and going back to sleep. On the other hand, I could hear voices downstairs, and while I wasn’t ready to focus on them yet, it did urge me to get up. I slipped from bed, moving from Dermot’s muscular cage of a body, and made my way towards the bathroom.

  I looked down at my stiff sports bra and boy shorts, my hair in matted tangles. Trying to ignore any evidence of the disaster that had occurred earlier, I brushed my hair and braided it back out of my face before scrubbing my teeth methodically.

  I could feel how dehydrated I was, and I felt a bit dizzy as I made my way towards my wardrobe, quickly changing out of my stiff clothes into fresh cotton boyshorts, a bralette, and an oversized top with matching shorts. I let out a tired sigh at the effort all of that had taken as I crawled back into bed and wiggled up against Dermot, his arms instantly closing back around me as a soft rumble escaped his throat.

  “Baby girl,” Dermot murmured in a thick accent, making my throat tighten at the nickname. I mean, I loved ‘lass,’ but this felt more intimate, and I found myself nuzzling into chest more before I looked up at him. His eyes were almost an olive shade, filled with sadness and understanding as his large hand trailed up and down my spine slowly, keeping me as close as possible.

  “Thank you,” I croaked out, my throat dry and sore.

  Thank you for literally everything.

  Dermot frowned, sitting up before handing me a water bottle. I followed him up and drank it slowly but completely. I winced slightly as the liquid hit my empty stomach, making Dermot’s grip tighten on me. When I tried to bring my knees to my chest, feeling self-conscious, he pulled me towards him, not giving me an inch of space, and I found myself needing that.

  I sunk back into my pillow, my knees draped over his legs. He was propped up onto his side, looking down at my expression and running his fingers along my stomach in a soothing pattern. I let out a small exhale and closed my eyes.

  “How long?” he asked, his voice soft but edged in anger. Not
at me, though. I knew that.

  “Since this past January. It just kept getting worse.” I inhaled, feeling shaky.

  “Not anymore,” Dermot promised. “Yates managed to get most of it down already. They also may have your phone…” He winced. “They are trying to figure out who has been sending you shit.”

  I nodded knowingly. “It’s my own fault, D. I was… am… I am so ashamed and embarrassed that it got this far. I feel so stupid, and I just wanted it to end. I figured if I kept ignoring it that it would go away.”

  “It will now,” Dermot promised, cupping my jaw gently.

  My eyes flickered down to his lips and the slight scruff against his cut jaw. I liked the feeling of how close we were and his hands on me. I shivered as his grip tightened slightly, drawing my eyes up to his gaze.

  “Dahlia, don’t look at me like that.”

  It was a warning, but I wasn’t listening to it, because I saw the blatant heat there. What was the point in hiding how I felt about Dermot when I had essentially laid bare the rest of my secrets? It was nerve-wracking and freeing, but more than anything, I wanted to end today knowing that I had cleared everything.

  I was done with secrets. It was exhausting.

  Instead of teasing him, I leaned forward hesitantly and pressed my lips to his, needing to show him how much I appreciated what he had done. How he had taken care of me. How much I needed him in my life, even if I hadn’t realized it before. I loved my boys, but Dermot and I had an instant connection from the moment I had met him. Something that was warm and affectionate, but more than anything, filled with heat and attraction.