Even Heroes Have Scars

[93] Fall In Line

TW: Fear of Abandonment, Discussion of SA (not in depth), Discussion of Addiction

Ansley's P.O.V.

There were very few ways around this encounter. First of all, I should've worn waterproof makeup. Second, I should've ensured that Britney stayed in the kitchen where she was supposed to be, rather than letting her come out into the main area behind the counter. Third, I should've assigned someone else to wash dishes, as there was another employee working at this time as well. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I got into a bar brawl," I lied. "It was pretty rough. Some bitch couldn't handle my swings, so she grabbed my wrists."

Britney laughed. "Yeah, okay. Why would you even be in a bar? You're sober, right? You think I'm dumb?"

"Kinda, yeah. Look, it's none of your business as to why I was at a bar," I started, but she interrupted me.

"I don't need to hear the lies, Brooks. There's only two ways you could've gotten bruises like that. Either you and your girlie friend got in a fight and she hurt ya, or..." she paused before leaning in to whisper, "y'all're into that kinky, BDSM shit."

My heartrate quickened, and my stomach churned at the mention of Demi having hurt me, but I masked it well. I groaned and forced a smile. "Fine, you caught me. We were experimenting with new stuff."

She immediately gagged. "Oh, gross, I don't gotta hear that. I'll take your word for it."

"You asked!"

"Yeah, out of concern. Trust me, ain't ever gonna happen again, you nasty lil perv." She walked away back to the kitchen, and I sighed with relief.

Okay, sex injury was the lie I was going with. Not far from the truth, as the situation very well could've escalated to that point if I allowed it to. But if I wanted to avoid confrontation like that, I needed to do a better job of concealment. She was very close to figuring out the truth, and, considering I wasn't even one hundred percent sure what the truth was, it frightened me.

Demi's P.O.V.

Knowing that my family wanted to speak to me gave me an overwhelming amount of anxiety. Some of it was nerves of having to engage in a discussion about my sobriety with them, but the other part of it was excitement from believing they came around and were willing to accept this new part of me and my life.

Yet even with all of those emotions floating through me, it was hard to focus on anything other than my situation with Ansley. I really fucked up, and I didn't even know what with. I wondered if hypnotherapy could help me remember, but honestly, all I wanted was for her to tell me what happened and how it made her feel.

I thought about couples therapy. She and I had a lot of things we needed to work out now. Not just regarding my sobriety, but everything that had been going on in the past few months, mostly with me. I never knew how to steer discussions, and I wasn't getting any better, and she couldn't see any progress. But then again, maybe I was the only one that needed the therapy. She was fucking perfect, and I was screwing up so much.

My stomach immediately dropped when I walked through the door of my house. Max, my bodyguard, had picked me up from Ansley's and taken me to the diner. He then gave me a ride home. He obviously wasn't as clueless about this situation as I was when he 'followed me inside to say hello to my parents.'

Sitting in my living room was my entire family. And also in the room was Phil McIntyre. And Mike Bayer. No fucking way. This was a fucking intervention.

I started to exit the room the same way I came from, but Max stopped me and pointed to the recliner in the corner, the best spot in the room to sit if you wanted the entire audience to see you.