Isolated

Chapter 89

*Seven months later*

A lot has changed in the last seven months. Well, I guess that is an understatement. Compared to the shitfest before, everything has changed in the last seven months. Including our cake-baking skills.

The cake made it to our oven safe and sound. As long as I didn't forget about it while we're getting ready, it should turn out to be one very sexy cake. Why was I baking a cake? First of all, cake is amazing. Second, Luke and I were hosting a house warming party for his family. We needed a kickass desert after the kickass barbeque.

Between Luke working, him going to therapy, and me going to therapy, we've been pretty busy lately. And that was after we moved into our new house. It left us with little time to see the family, so we figured a cook-out would be nice. The preparation began after I got home from therapy at about 1:30 this afternoon. So far, I started the cake, thawed the meat, showered and got ready. Luke just got home from work, so he had a little catching up to do before his family arrives.

Standing in front of our dresser mirror, I was in a nice red sundress with floral print around the edges. It fluttered gently against my knees from the open window's summer breeze. Hair down, my wavy black curls draped around my shoulders. My necklace was in place, engagement ring secured on my finger. Spraying a little perfume to finish, I caught Luke's eyes in the mirror. He stood behind me, staring at me with a soft smile while he undid the buttons of his uniform.

Turning, I walked up to him with a smirk and finished undoing the buttons for him. "What are you looking at, officer? You creepin' on me again?"

His eyes met mine with amusement. "Don't pretend you don't like it, pretty girl." He shrugged off his uniform vest, undershirt, and utility belt. "You love your creep."

"I cannot deny that," I smiled. "So, perv, how was your day of fighting crime and saving the world?"

Yes, guys. Luke decided to remain a police officer. He strived for purpose and knew he was a damn good police officer. Plus, he wanted nothing to do with his family's money anymore that had dirty origins, so he needed to continue making a living. However, he was conflicted over his decision – and occasionally still was.

He goes to therapy weekly from all he's been through. Continuing as a police officer was a main issue. He felt like a hypocrite after breaking so many laws. You know, from our days of kicking ass and taking names. But his therapist was helping him. She actually was the one who encouraged him to continue in law-enforcement. She believed remaining a cop would help with the guilt. Which it has slowly. Though he was still conflicted, Luke was doing better each day.

"Today wasn't bad. They are still pushing me to go for a higher rank, but it will be a while until I'm ready. Also, Ramper was demoted to desk duty for the day so that was fun to watch," he chuckled, moving to our dresser. He snagged a muscle shirt from his drawer, pulled it over his bare chest, and glanced back to me sweetly. "How was your session?"

Well, time for my shameful update. Unlike Luke (and most normal therapy-goers), I went to a psychiatrist more than once a week. And more than one hour a day too. That's right guys, I wasn't acting all dramatic before for no reason. I was one hell of a fucked-up little mess.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I drove to a mental health facility about half an hour away. During my sessions, I speak to one of my three therapists. For four hours each of those days, we talk – and talk and blah blah blah. Yeah, I know; I'm dedicated, and you should feel sorry for my ass for having to go through that three days a week. Honestly though, it wasn't too bad.

If you couldn't guess, I hated it – loathed it – when I first started going. But after several months of going, I became used to it. I can even acknowledge, and embarrassingly admit, that it has helped me significantly. My nightmares were still frequent; I was still fairly paranoid, but not to the level I was before. There was still a lot I needed to work on, but I was doing better. Especially with my self-image. From talking a lot about my past, my mother, my father, the cult, and all the trauma and death... it made me really open my eyes. I won't bore you with the girly and emotional details. Just know I was doing better, okay losers? I was doing much better and was anxious to keep improving.