This was initially published on AO3 on October 21, 2018. I have decided to add it to my account.
I don't own ACotaR, that right (to my knowledge) solely belongs to Sarah J. Maas. Enjoy.
"Oh my god, Cassian, can you please close the blinds?" Feyre groaned, shielding her eyes from the painful sunlight making its way into her room. Cassian, her wicked roommate and best friend – although, the latter was definitely in question, given the situation – chuckled and ignored her plea. "I swear to fuck," She continued, trying to grab him without opening her eyes. "If you don't close those blinds this instant, I'm going to strip your ass next time you come home wasted and dump you outside on the balcony, without any Advil or water, all night and the next morning. I am not even fucking with you."
"Dammit, Feyre." Cassian whined, moving to block the unwanted daylight. "Why are you so cruel?"
"'M not the one who was toying with a hungover friend." She deadpanned back, stretching out on the couch, and opening her eyes at last. God that was painful. "Ugh, what was in the alcohol last night? I feel like someone ran me over with a green double-decker, school bus."
"Mm. That is an oddly specific description." Cassian hummed back, sitting down on the couch beside her. He reached out and tugged her against his chest.
"Oh shut up, asshole." Feyre settled into his arms, slumping against him. Despite their constant bickering, and the headache that threatened to explode her brains, Feyre's favorite spot after a long night of drinking was Cassian's arms. Hey, it wasn't her fault he was just so damn comfy. "What's for breakfast?"
Cassian laughed aloud, the rumble causing Feyre to jerk forward and backwards with him. "First you curse me, then you beg me for favors? Feyre, love, you need to reorder your priorities. But," he continued when Feyre began to move away. "I have prepared a work of art that someone of your caliber will appreciate in more than one sense: artistically I have made scrambled eggs to portray your brains- ack!"
Feyre had rolled over on his chest and had her hands around his neck. She giggled when his eyes went wide. "What was that, oh Cassian, darling? Do my brains seem all that scrambled to you?"
"Given the current, ahem, current state of affairs," Cassian strangled out, "I'd say yes, your brain has definitely been scrambled." Feyre released her hold on his neck and stared into his eyes. "But Feyre, if you wanted to be my mistress you only needed to ask." He continued, voice lowering into a husky drawl.
"Ha! If that's how you charm all the ladies, Cassian, no wonder you're single." Her roommate pouted. "Now bring me my breakfast. Oh and an Advil and glass of water would be great, thanks."
Feyre squealed when Cassian shoved her off him. "Yeah you're right." He grumped, standing up and grinning at where Feyre was now sprawled on the floor. "I've sunk way low; I'm just your little bitch." He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead before flouncing towards the kitchen.
Somehow, and don't ask Feyre this because despite having lived with Cassian for several years now, she was not his keeper – and damn, imagine trying to be Cassian's keeper? That was probably a twenty-four-seven job; but she digressed. Somehow Cassian, a six-foot-two, muscular to the point of ripping his shirt every time he flexed, macho man had mastered the art of flouncing. Something which, Feyre herself, couldn't do without cracking up laughing past two steps; and yet, there was Cassian, dramatically throwing his hips side-to-side as if his life depended on the movement.
He was such a spaz.
Feyre groaned when a bright light lit up the world behind her eyelids. She ached everywhere and for the life of her she couldn't remember why. Just then, a rough hand pressed against her brow and a thumb rubbed her temple. The pressure was soothing and chased away the headache that threatened the edges of her mind. A body settled against hers and an arm fell across her body, pulling her snug into the hold of the other person.
"Feyre dear." Murmured the person, breath light against the shell of her ear. "Wake up, dear."
Feyre resisted opening her eyes, the memories of the night before rushing back. Breathy moans and grunts of passionate lovemaking filled her chest to bursting and she snuggled closer into the arms of her husband. "Tamlin." She replied with a grin. "My husband, oh that's perfect." She finally opened her eyes to the sight of his face, lit up with joy at her declaration.
"I love you, wife of mine." His eyes sparkled, the desire clear as the sun lighting their room.
"I love you too, oh husband dearest." Feyre darted in, placing a small peck at the corner of his mouth right where her favorite freckle was. "Come Tamlin, the ache between my thighs is not nearly deep enough. We made plenty of love last night, I'd love if you would pound me into this mattress."
Tamlin's eyes darkened to the point of ebony, whereon he rolled over her and whispered a simple as you wish, before carrying out her request.
Feyre writhed and moaned beneath his ministrations and brute-like intensity. Oh, she could get used to this.
Tamlin was the best decision she ever made.
When Feyre was five, her family moved to Michigan. Their new home was colder than Maryland and snowed a lot more. Their house had the best yard for making snowmen and snow-angels and Feyre loved it. They had a shed behind the garage for her mother's landscaping tools, and her father put together a swing set he ordered in the mail so they could touch the sky whenever they felt so inclined.
Feyre loved the swing set.
When Feyre turned six, she invited all of the neighborhood kids to her party and they took turns on the swing between chocolate, cake, and games. Feyre said they were all welcome to use her swing set whenever they wanted to, and for a few weeks after the party she had friends over every day. Soon though, only a handful were coming over, until there was only one who came every day he could.
Lucien was going to be her best friend forever.
When Feyre was seven, Lucien made her pinky-promise to keep his secrets from her family. In the solemn surety of a child, Feyre never told her parents about the bruises Lucien showed her on his chest; and when she found him hiding in her family's shed, she snuck blankets and pillows and food out to him and they had a slumber party behind the snow-blower. When Feyre couldn't sleep outside with him, she made sure he had plenty of food to eat and always was out in time to say goodbye. Goodbyes weren't fun, but she knew he'd come back.
Lucien always came back.
When Feyre was eight, Lucien didn't come back. She waited, thinking it was a gap between visits and knowing that he would come back eventually. Her parents made Feyre and her sisters be inside before dark because the "Vanserra's little boy had been taken, so soon after the Claire girl in Deverton," which was annoying because then she couldn't check the shed every night before she went to bed. She made sure to fill up the basket with food every week though, so he must have been by a few times.
Feyre missed Lucien.
When Feyre was nine, her parents made her wear a black dress to a party where she met Lucien's family for the first time. His brothers all looked angry and sad and his parents looked like all grownups do, with flat faces and downward curved eyes that drooped as if they always wanted naps (which made sense, since her own parents seemed so obsessed with making Feyre sleep). Feyre slipped from her mother's hands when she saw a pretty box that everyone was looking at. Inside was a doll with blotchy skin and red hair. He looked like Lucien, but Feyre knew Lucien could never lay so still, he was pretty terrible at hide-n-seek. He was good at carving figures from soap, though, so she guessed maybe that's what he did here. If her parents frowned half as much as his family did, she'd probably want to play hide-n-seek too.
"Come out, come out wherever you are." Feyre really missed Lucien.
Why was she crying?
Mean brothers don't become murderers.
When Feyre was 19, she married Tamlin, a British twenty-eight-year-old executive who was living in Detroit. He showered her with presents on their first date and she hated him. But on the second date they went hiking and he told her that he had never met someone as beautiful as her and he was glad he hadn't met her when she was in high school or he would likely have been sent to jail for being a pervert. Feyre thought he was hilarious. They dated for one year until he knelt down on one knee and proposed.
They had a whirlwind wedding and incredible honeymoon.
When Tamlin came home, six months into their marriage, Feyre greeted him by pressing herself against his body and carding her fingers through his hair. "I have a surprise for you."
"Is my surprise you?" He asked, placing his briefcase down where he stood and gathering her to him.
"No, silly." She chuckled, breathing in his scent. "How am I surprise when you've known me for so long?"
"Dear, every day I see you, still with me, is a surprise and a lovely one. How do I possibly deserve you?" Tamlin placed a line of sweet kisses down her neck, hands rubbing her back. Feyre giggled back, but pushed him away regardless.
Feyre swatted his hands, stepping away, carefully. "Of course you deserve me, as I deserve you. We are each other's loves and I am very glad for it." She gave him a cheeky grin before sauntering away, one hand firmly grasping his. "Come, I want you to see something."
Hands clasped, they made their way towards their room, Feyre ever so softly squeezing his hand in happiness. She reached inside and flicked on the lights before giving him a little push so as to enter first. Tamlin glanced around briefly, at first seeing nothing new; but when she gestured to her side of the room once more, he noticed the cradle set up and waiting. "A- a child? Feyre you're pregnant?" He whirled back to her, amazement and something else coloring his eyes.
Feyre dismissed the other emotion and surged forward, wrapping herself around him once more. "Yes, yes! I'm pregnant and a few weeks along. I'm due on your birthday and oh isn't that just the best present ever?" She squealed.
"You're not going out again, are you?" Feyre's voice called out behind Tamlin as he put his coat on. "You went out last night; I thought maybe we could have a night in? You'd drink wine and I'd drink grape juice." A chuckle, an acknowledgement of the child on the way. "Come on baby," hands encircled Tamlin's waist and cupped his chest. "Just you and me, a night in, doesn't that sound lovely?"
Tamlin spun around in her grasp and looked down upon her beautiful face. "Oh dear, I wish I could, but this is a work thing; and you know how they get when I skip out on work things. How about this, I'll get through this one deal and then treat you to dinner? I can't say when the deal will pull through, but you'll be the first to know. Deal?"
Feyre sighed. "Deal. But I am the first one, no drinks with the boys before me. Got that?"
Tamlin leaned down to nuzzle her lips, "Deal."
Another sigh as the silver jaguar pulled from their driveway. "Shh, shh, lovely baby." Feyre murmured when the child kicked. She cradled her belly and looked out the window. "Daddy's busy right now, but he loves you as much, if not more than he loves me. Shh. Momma's here."
Tamlin never had time anymore, at least not since Feyre announced her pregnancy.
"Lucien." Feyre said gazing down at the beautiful child the nurse had placed in her arms. "His name is Lucien and he will be my best friend forever."
The nurse chuckled, "I sure do hope so, my dear. That's what I used to think about my boys, but oh, they do so like to fight me. Watch it, when your little Lucien reaches seventeen years old, he'll be quite against being 'best friends' with his mother." After putting away a few miscellaneous items and asking Feyre how to spell the name, the nurse left the room.
"Oh Lucien, you'll always be my favorite little boy." Her thoughts wandered to a redheaded seven-year old and a great big toothy grin that he reserved for her alone. This time Lucien would live past eight-years old and his life would be a fantastic one. "I promise, Lucien; you'll live on forever."
"What kind of name is Lucien, anyway?" Tamlin asked, combing his hands through his hair.
"The name of your son." Feyre replied. She sucked her cheeks in and leaned away from his penetrating expression. "Maybe if you'd looked at me once, in the past nine months, you could have had something to say about naming him. But, since you apparently couldn't bear to look at my disfigurement," at this Feyre gestured to the bump still protruding from her midriff, "you have absolutely no say in naming him!"
"Excuse me?" His hands jerked first to his chest, then to his face, back to his hair once more, before settling on the chair beside him. "I have been working nonstop to keep food on the table, cater to your need for more and more clothes to fit your swollen body, and pay for the preparations that that child needs!"
Feyre flinched when Tamlin spat at her, his lip curled in a clear display of disgust. Shaking his head, Tamlin turned around as if to regain his composure; he violently rolled his shoulders, forcing them to relax. After taking a deep breath he turned back to face her. Meanwhile, Feyre's thoughts were racing as she tried to understand why Tamlin had been so keen on ignoring her and their child since he found out.
Everything else in her mind blanked when a crazy thought jumped out, and before she could think to sensor herself, the words crawled from her throat despite the tightness that was forming, "Wait, do you think that he's not yours?"
The room stilled. Tamlin was breathing heavily. Harsh and stilted puffs of air, in through his mouth and out through his nose. His shoulders sagged at her question and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "You do, don't you?" Her words almost shattered the silence, and yet the tick-tick-tick from the kitchen clock filled in for any other words, letting that fragile quiet remain for just a little while longer.
Together, their stares remained fixed: his on the door leading to their room shared with a newborn, hers on his face and scrunched eyebrows. She watched a drop of sweat roll from his left earlobe down his neck until the drop his collard hid it from view. When she lifted her eyes to his once more, she found him watching her. That unreadable look in his eyes was back, but now that she knew what he feared, she understood what was there.
Anguish.
The emotion explained the knots in his back when he came home from work, the increased drinking and going out, his short and tight replies every time she brought up a baby room or names. If Tamlin honestly believed his love had cheated on him and was pretending a bastard child was his… and while Feyre couldn't fathom where he'd dragged that notion from, which was an issue she would need to sort out at a later time, she could sympathize with his struggles.
Oh, how self-centered she had been these past few months, thinking he was falling out of love with her; when in reality his love for her was so great that his imagination, while terribly incorrect, was tearing him apart!
"I'm sorry." His expression was torn, staccato breathing making him gasp. "I'll try harder." Feyre's heart melted. "You're so beautiful, Feyre. Any man would be lucky to have you. I see them watching you and I can't help but wonder if they have had you."
"Hey Lucien, daddy loves you." Feyre smiled as she watched her two favorite boys in the world.
"Feyre~!" Warm arms wrapped themselves around her waist from behind, the distinctive whine in the person's voice making them easily identifiable. "Don't go. I know you love this man and that together the both of you are going to take on the world and conquer every foe and have lots of babies and– and– you know, just be generally awesome. But," Feyre felt the whoosh of an indrawn breath rush by her left ear, causing goosebumps to form. "But, what am I going to do without you? You know the apartment just won't feel the same when it's poor, old, lonely Cassian left behind!"
A blossom of joy filled Feyre's heart and fizzed and bubbled until the glee burst outwards in the form of a giggle. "Oh Cassian, let's be honest here. The most you're going to miss is not having a cuddle partner when your 'foolproof' plans fail again; and when they don't fall through, both you and I will be glad I'm not there to disturb your loud and raucous sexual encounters."
Cassian spun her around and took a step back. "You wound me!" A dramatic hand was thrust against his forehead as he fell to the floor in a deep swoon.
Feyre kicked him.
"You're moving?"
"Yeah." He rolled his shoulders and leaned further back into his seat. "I got this great job offer in Washington state. You know Seattle, right? City with the best coffee in all of America?" He threw a grin her way, "You gotta come visit some time. I'll show you every coffee shop under the sun–"
Feyre's hands tightened around her own to-go cup. She was happy for him, absolutely. But recently, she'd been debating on how to tell him about Tamlin's disinterest in her other than sexually. She'd wanted to have a girl talk on why her husband was refusing to look at her except when blasted. She understood that she needed help because she wasn't a guy and didn't know how they thought. But now that Cassian was moving and had a lot of packing and planning to do… a weakness spread through her muscles. She realized that, at least for the time being, her marriage was up to her now. Her future was dark and depended on her.
"–but none of that's important anyway. What's important is that you keep me updated on what's going on here, I'll update you with me, and maybe we can schedule a few skype dates every now and then!"
Ringgg. Rinnnngg. Feyre pressed the speaker against her ear; her knuckles were turning white from the pressure she was applying to the device. Had she been more aware and less desperate, then perhaps she'd slacken her grip a little, take a deep breath or two. But Tamlin had gone too far this time and she needed her friend to be there for her.
Rinnnn– sstss, "
"Finally." Feyre cried out, tears dripping down her cheeks in relief. "Thank god I reached you. I need a friend right now; I don't know what to do about Tam, anymore. He's been acting so weird, and I really need a guy's' perspective."
"Um…" Crackly static filled the other side of the phone, "I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't think you have the right number."
"Whaat?" Had Feyre any pride left, she may have been ashamed of the dry, rasping noise she made. Then to herself, she wondered how she hadn't seen this coming. She and Cassian had lost contact ages ago, from no reason other than busy schedules clashing, lost letters in the mail, and cancellations for skype. They eventually reached the point where even a phone call was beyond rare. "Yeah actually." Her grip on the phone became loose and barely there. He'd honestly been her last hope. At this point she really had no plan. "Yeah that makes sense. Okay thank you. Have a wonderful–"
"Look." The man interrupted her. "This isn't my phone, my buddy's in the shower. I can ask him if he knows your name or not, or this Tam person."
Feyre detected a strange emotion in the man's voice as he interrupted her, did she sense worry? But oh, she was so tired. The strength she'd conjured up to make the call had run dry as soon as the voice that wasn't her friend's spoke up; and now, now the relief was gone and all she felt was hollowness. Undoubtedly, this was a wrong number. Tamlin had gone through her phone and deleted all her contacts; any calls of help would be to the wrong person.
Who was the buddy in the shower anyway? For all she knew, the man was her old coworker from the elementary school she taught art at. Not someone who could help her now.
"Thank you for your offer, but…" Feyre hung up.
Then she threw her phone on the ground and stomped down, hard.
Asking for help had never been something she was good at, anyway. Her parents raised her better than that.
"Cassian?"
"Yes, Feyre?"
"I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, Feyre."
Lucien would not have the childhood his namesake had. Feyre promised herself this. So whenever Tamlin shouted or cursed, or accused her of cheating, she would make sure Lucien slept through its entirety and that Tamlin's focus was on her alone.
He was only a baby and already had a little brother on the way. She didn't mind the bruises so much, as long as she knew the child on the inside and the child on the outside were safe.
A mother's duty was to her children.
"Cassian." Feyre decided to name her second baby Cassian.
The pattern, she mused, appeared to be naming her babies after boys and men who meant the world to her but eventually left her behind. The first to a kidnapping and suicide; the second to moving away and moving on.
When she was a child, she believed Lucien would never leave her. But he did, when the kidnapper's abuse became too great, he hung himself in the basement he was hidden inside with a piece of twine and the rafters he climbed to hide. She read the police files, they were on public records after all.
Again, growing up and moving in with Cassian, sharing many nights of drunken abandon with him; she imagined he was to be her best friend that would never leave her. Even after he moved away, they were to stay in contact. But as he grew busier, she let him have his time until now, they barely write one another.
Lucien and Cassian were her babies; and maybe the first should have been called Tamlin, to keep him from assuming the worst. And maybe by refusing to call him and invite him to name their children she was instigating their fights. And maybe he should have been the one to drive her to the hospital instead of tossing her the keys and warning her not to crash the car. But again, maybe Feyre was to blame for her marriage being in shambles. Maybe she wasn't. As far as she was concerned, supplying sperm wasn't enough of a contribution to merit a child being named after you.
Lucien and Cassian were wonderful and positively impacted Feyre's life, even in their absence.
Tamlin remained. The one she almost maybe didn't want to stay.
But Feyre promised him forever and her babies deserved a loving family. Lucien and Cassian would be each other's best friends and maybe stay their mother's, even during their rebellious years.
Feyre was almost ready to quit her minimum wage job and tell her father to go fuck himself and get off his ass and do something, god dammit. All day on a Wednesday during spring break, she rehearsed and memorized what exactly she was going to tell him. Other than the fact that she couldn't possibly keep working three jobs, plaster a smile on her face in school every day, and maintain her average B's she'd had since before she started working.
When mother died a few years back, he'd taken a couple weeks of paid mourning time to prepare funeral arrangements, explain the situation to his daughters, and grieve. He had gone back to work and for a few weeks, he had been okay. Then a work accident happened and next thing the Archerons knew, their father was incapacitated at home, receiving worker's compensation, and draining their bank account dry.
Feyre tried to be patient; she loved her father, had loved him twice as much since her mother's death. However, he stopped being a father when he no longer could provide. Then it was up to his children to care for him.
At some point, he either left or was let go. Then he spent every day at home, "recovering." He promised them – Nesta, Elain, and Feyre – that once his leg healed he would start applying for jobs.
But his leg never healed and, as he promised, he never started looking.
Feyre fantasized her father would get out of his lazy chair, listen to her speech and realize he was letting his daughters down; he'd stand up, grab his cane to leave and start looking. She dreamed about how she would review his resume for him, point him towards buildings, she had seen Hiring: apply inside signs outside.
Today. Feyre promised herself. Today she would convince him to live again.
The three empty beer cans and rush of white noise from the living room dried up the words in her throat. His slumped form, melded with the lazy chair before the television, created a misshapen and disheveled creature that Feyre knew would never hear, let alone listen to her.
Moving in with her friend was weird. Moving in with her friend who was a guy felt even weirder.
But since her father went over the deep end, Feyre knew she needed to leave. Her father had taken to staring at the wall where their TV used to be, his hand loosely clasping an invisible can of beer, when alcohol was no longer affordable and his daughters unable to purchase any.
She did her best for him, after she moved out, selling the house and putting him in a one-person apartment, whose rent she paid every other month. She made sure he fed himself and had the appropriate medicine to keep his leg from aching.
Besides, Nesta had already run off with Elain in tow one night, after doing what Feyre could not, quitting her jobs and confronting their father to look at them, dammit. When he did little more than ask them how their day went, her sister had run upstairs and packed her bags. She was almost eighteen and had graduated from high school a year early, but hadn't gone to college for lack of money and a desperate need to keep close to the only family she had. Yet, Nesta had declared her father too far gone and left at last.
Feyre had clung onto hope that her older sisters would contact them, perhaps with a location to visit or write. Her hope only lasted so long, however. Since none of the sisters had cell phones at the time of Nesta's departure, only their home address was connecting the three of them. Feyre's decision to move her father away was her way of letting her sisters go, finally.
She was alone.
So she moved in with her friend Cassian, who was five years older than her nineteen years.
Feyre knew Tamlin abused her.
But she stayed because… because why? Did she enjoy the routine of receiving injury in the event Tamlin came home angry, which he typically did? Did she crave the harsh, unforgiving sex he'd force upon her after his temper ran low? Was she so terribly desperate for a man in her life that the one she managed to catch was her self-assigned soul mate and tormentor?
No, no, and no.
Feyre knew she was a victim and had no reason for staying.
Yet, she had her children who deserved a whole family. Her children deserved college, careers, beautiful wives, and a father.
She had a father who was wasting away in an apartment, who she barely visited anymore in fear of incurring the wrath of Tamlin. Her father deserved at least one loving daughter to care for him in his old age and unchanging state, he needed love to remind him who he was, he needed food to stay alive; he needed her.
Feyre had sisters who promised to return, who might come back one day for the sister they left behind, like Nesta promised. Her sisters deserved a littlest sister to love and play dress up with, encourage to date, and coo over her children.
Feyre stayed because she had hope in her future and believed that maybe, possibly, one day Tamlin would pause and realize his mistakes. She had a husband who deserved a loving wife who'd take care of the home and children and cook him dinner and– and even submit to him when he came home angry.
Feyre knew she was abused, had no reason for staying, and yet Feyre stayed anyway.
I'd like to say that what Sarah wrote involving Feyre and Tamlin's relationship hit very close to home. I know I've done the character's no justice, nor the situation they were placed in, but I love the awareness Sarah brought to this type of abuse (the kind that sneaks up on you and attacks from the inside out).
:) I'll post the next chapter tomorrow night after I finish my Physics II homework.