Heal All Wounds || Chapter 13. Wrennie and the Slow Lift

Author’s note:

1. This is the last chapter of the material initially written for my FanFiction account. From now on, it’s tabula rasa. I’ll now have a week to work on the next chapter. Your comments, suggestions, and discussions are highly appreciated. Please, let me know what you think!

2. Just a reminder that on my blog and on my JukePop account I answer reader’s comments at the end of each week cycle, just before posting a new chapter, so that I don’t miss any feedback. It can still happen, but chances are I answered to your comment. I’m endlessly grateful to all of you reading and commenting! Interaction with the readers is crucial for my writing; it’s the whole point of writing, actually! So, keep expressing your opinions, and thank you!

3. Just a small announcement here: I decided to open an AO3 account here, same name as on most of my media: kkolmakov. I’m considering putting there all sorts of fanfiction that isn’t fanfiction in a canonical sense. Currently, it’s a story about fairies and fauns. The next one will be 1930s Agatha Christie style mystery. Have a peek if you want 🙂

Thank you!

Love you all ardently,



“Did August Anderson ask you out?” His eyes are strangely tense, and here you were thinking the issue has been reserved. Bugger. Why do you have a feeling like you are missing something? And then a familiar manky feeling creeps into your noggin. Fuck it, John.

“OK, don’t tell me… You seduced his fiancee, and now you’re worried he has tried the same?” You are only half joking, but apparently the half that is serious isn’t that much off. Oh fuck it, John, indeed. He has this wonderful cold expression in his eyes that habitually makes you want to punch his masculine jaw. It is his bloody ‘Dr. T isn’t talking’ face. Fucking fuck.

“Wren…” Oh hell with it, cue the condescending tone. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s dangerous…”

And somehow that is your green light. Wrennie outburst – also known as a gingersnap – in three, two, one… You roll from under him and sit up.

“You know what, John… Shut up right now. This is exactly what you said about Maya…” Your voice is turning into a bloody hiss. “You probably don’t remember it, but you fed me whole bunch of bloody rubbish of how she was dangerous, and seduced some mysterious daughter of a friend, and then it turned out you shagged her and she hates your guts for that.” You see his jaw set. Oh? So you were right, it was a pile of poppycock. Lovely. “So what is it about Auggie?” He jerks his face up and gives you a glare.

“Oh, he is Auggie now?”

“Yes, he is.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had lunch with him, I liked him, he is a nice bloke. Until proven guilty he is just an ace of a mate.”

“Can you just trust me on that, Wren, and avoid meeting him again?” His tone is even and expressionless. Who the fuck does he think he is?!

“Seriously?” You might be staring at him with your mouth half open. What the actual?.. “No, John, I am not going to avoid a person just because you think he’s not good company for me! What’s next?! Thea is too chavvy?! I can’t wear the clothes I like?” Yeah, it’s clearly not about Auggie, but also clearly, you have had a lot bottled up, and it’s now fountaining out of you, like out of a well shaken bottle of fizzy drink.

“Wren…” He’s still keeping his temper under control, but the bright blue of eyes and tense lips are not a good sign. “Please, I am being patient with you here.”

Yeah, wrong choice of words, John…

“Patient?! It’s me who is being fucking patient. We have just had a discussion of me having a shelf in your bloody closet, my clothes are still kept in a guest room of your flat!” Yeah, Wrennie has gone ballistic.

“And I just told you I am buying a new place for us so that you actually have a whole closet for yourself!” While you’re raising your voice, he’s is dropping into a growl.

“Exactly! Don’t you see?! You are buying us a place! Have you asked me?! Have you shared this idea with me when it was just born in that giant head of yours?! Did you say, ‘Wrennie, dear, I think you are bloody uncomfortable to wash your knickers in my sink and then cowardly dry them on a chair in a guest bedroom, of which I have five!'” The last word is a sodding shriek from you. “I offered you compromise. It was childish and bloody daft, but I was trying! I offered a ring for a shelf, and what did you do?!”

“What did I do?” That’s it. That’s his enraged snarl. You have heard it before. It’s bloody terrifying, except you are too far gone to care.

“You just bought a flat to not deal with it! I try to learn to play this game together, as a team, and you’re just playing a different one. It’s like we are in a canoe, we need to learn to row together, and you are suddenly pulling out a parachute!”

You are flailing your hands in the air, and he suddenly catches one of your wrists. He’s holding it tightly, not hurting, but it is very controlling.

“Sod it, Wren, it has nothing to do with the bloody shelf! It has to do with August Anderson, and you disappearing until two o’clock at night after a lunch with him. I called the lab, you weren’t there. Where were you?” You loudly gasp.

“You did what?! Are you mental? Am I supposed to report to you about each of my steps?!”

“Don’t twist my words, Wren. It doesn’t bring nice results.” He is gritting his even white teeth. You just hate these perfect teeth of his! Everything about him is so fucking posh, and sophisticated, and groomed, and bloody…. perfect! “And stop evading! Where have you been?!”

You jerk your hand back, and it hurts a bit, the skin is reddish, and you stare at it. He looks at it too, and the furious expression is gone from his eyes.

“Wren, I’m sorry…”

You jump off the bed and rush to the hall, grabbing your handbag from the floor. On the way you push one foot into the shoe that fell off when you pounced at him; the other one follows; and you are jerking the front door. He rushes into the hall, when you already have one foot out.


If only he sounded upset, or frightened, or at least surprised, but it’s like he is calling a dog. Commanding and absolutely fucking expecting you to turn around and sit on the floor, your tail pressed between your legs.

You tumble down the stairs of his bloody posh building, the lift would take forever, and you just need to let all this barmy energy buzzing through your veins out. At some point your flat clad foot slips, and you land on your arse. You hiss, jump up, and speed up. The handbag is painfully hitting your hip, scratching your skin with the buckle, and you swear dirtily.

Midway you give up, return into the floor hall, and hit the lift button. And then again. And again. You are shaking, but you are not crying, You are probably shell shocked. What the fuck just happened?

And where the fuck are you supposed to go? You can go to the dorm, but if Thea is there you will have to answer her questions. And she might be there with Jimmy. You can call Killian, but then you remember that he’s apparently with Lan right now. You have couple more mates, here and there around the city, but no one close enough to ring at three at night and crush on their sofas. Most of them don’t even have sofas, you are a poor student after all. Except you are not. You are a fiancee of Dr John Thorington, the Sun and the fucking Moon of the modern neurosurgery. For a second you regret refusing to accept a car John offered to buy to you. You don’t drive but you would have had a license by now and you could drive somewhere and sleep in the car. At that time you told him you don’t want to kill our planet even more and asked him whether he had a Jag in mind. Judging by a guffaw, you weren’t that off. You were mildly disturbed by it then; you are shaking with rage right now. It’s all the same, isn’t it? Him trying to control you, to buy you, to organise every bloody facet of your life the way it is convenient to him. A flat he will buy, a lab near his current flat, the fucking wedding, the ring he bought months ago…

You tumble outside, taking gulps of nippy night air, and you have nowhere to go. You push your hand in the pocket to check the time on your mobile and your fingers bump into a piece of paper. It is a napkin from the cafe you had lunch in; it has Auggie’s number and hotel room on it. You exhale, pulling out your mobile, and dial.

6 thoughts on “Heal All Wounds || Chapter 13. Wrennie and the Slow Lift

  1. Much as I like this couple, I’m hoping Wren puts a sensible stop to the wedding and to the relationship because John needs to have everything blow up in his face before he realizes what an arsehole he’s being. That said, Wren can’t just forgive him; he has to work for it and prove he won’t control her if they do get married. If this was a real-life situation I’d be advising Wrennie to run for the hills because guys like this DON’T change but of course in a fiction-verse…just keep it realistic and make John genuinely repentant because there are some very impressionable young women reading your stories and abuse (because yes, what John keeps doing is borderline emotional and mental abuse) should NEVER be normalized or *shudder* romanticized. *Shoots a pin-up of the author of 50 Shades of Grey*

    1. @Rilawa: I normally reply to comments before posting the next chapter, but I decided to answer to yours right away, because THANK ALL GODS AND DEITIES! I could never understand how all the warning signs regarding John’s behaviour that I’ve been throwing around so generously never made most readers worried! He IS manipulative, controlling, and bordering to abusive in his behaviour. The point of the last chapter (with John’s previous behaviour now expressed physically) was to show that such attitude as he’s demonstrating would only escalate. The higher the stakes (in his case, the more worried he becomes for the wedding), the more such person as him perceives there is a threat to their control, to a status quo they perceive desired – the more prominent their control, and eventually abuse will become.

      My initial plan (as far as I remember) was Wren’s running and breaking it off with him; not just cancelling the wedding, but taking a break from the relationship with him to gain her sense of self, and her independence. I’m now pondering where to take this story.

      Thank you so much for saying that it matters what I write, and that there are those who might be influenced by my writing. I always perceive writing as a responsibility; and always try to be careful and thoughtful even in the silliest of my stories (*cough* as an example a consensual kiss between a fairy and a puck in my AO3 story 😀 )

      Again, thank you for reading and commenting, and giving my stories a thought! It’s endlessly flattering, and warms my heart!


  2. Hi Katya, I am probably being dense here, living in the wilds of Wales as I do, but who is Auggie Anderson? am I missing something vitally important here? please help…your ever loving reader, Eirian

    1. Hi Eirian!

      No, you aren’t missing anything vitally important at all, and I don’t think your location causes your confusion 😀 (I’m super jealous by the way. I miss living in Europe!)

      August Anderson is a modern version of my original character Amrod, son of Mablung, whom I created for my Middle Earth fanfiction. He received his name after the character from an American TV show “Covert Affairs.” I in no way promote the show, I just found the actor very attractive. August ‘Auggie’ Anderson, a blind, super athletic CIA hacker (I kid you not! :D) was to me the only redeemable feature of the show, and I only lasted three seasons. The actor is Chris Gorham, if you intend to google 🙂

      Amrod/Auggie is a traditional third wheel/gooseberry in Thorin+Wren stories, and instead of bringing a new character in, I introduced him when the story was posted on FF.net when I needed another man. And to enjoy the outrage in the reviews such as “That damn Amrod again!” 😀

      That’s about it 🙂

      Thank you for reading and commenting!


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