86 – When he returns

86 – When he returns
Leonor...
I crawl back into bed after another long shower that does nothing to comfort me. The past few days have been the same blur over and over.
I wake up, Damien forces me to eat, I stay in bed, take another long shower, sleep. That’s my cycle.
I can’t even tell how long it’s been anymore. I lost my phone on my wedding day, when I ran from the escape I was supposed to make.
The only connection I have to the world now is Damien.
He takes care of me and stays close, but I’m so drained I barely notice him most of the time. He leaves for short moments, but he always comes back. He always comes back, and he’s always here for me.
Damien walks in through the door and heads straight past the bed. He pulls open the curtains, and the only reason I don’t complain about the light is because it’s already night.
“Come on, Leonor. Get up and get dressed. We have a dinner to attend,” Damien says.
He moves around the room, and I have no idea what’s going on. I pull the blanket over my head and curl up again. I’m not ready to face the world.
Apparently, he disagrees. He yanks the blanket away without the slightest gentleness and tries to pull me up.
It reminds me of my mother. She used to do the same thing, maybe even worse.
“Leonor, you’ve been in that bed for three days. Today, you’re getting up and being the rebellious woman I know you are. I’m sure you’re cursing me in your head right now. Good. Be that person again,” he says, lifting me in his arms and carrying me to the bathroom of this ridiculously luxurious cruise suite.
It’s funny how he wants me to fight back, wants me to be rebellious. It’s like he forgets he’s the same man who demands my obedience and submission.
I’m too tired to argue, so I let him put me in the tub.
But instead of filling it, Damien turns on the shower, and the water that hits me is cold. I jump up instantly.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, already heading back to the bedroom.
He catches me, lifts me again, and drags me back under the freezing water. I hate cold water.
“You asshole! What are you doing? Trying to give me pneumonia?” I snap, and he laughs, still holding me in place.
The water soaks both of us, and he doesn’t seem to care.
“I tried doing it the easy way, but I should’ve known better. With you, it always has to be hard. You never bore me, Nor.”
“You don’t understand that my life is over! There’s nothing left for me! I don’t know what to do. Just let me grieve in peace, for God’s sake!”
He wraps his arms around me, gently pressing my head against his chest. My body slowly adjusts to the water’s temperature, and against my will, I start to feel comforted by his warmth.
“You’re just scared right now, not really hurting. You hated him,” Damien says, and I pull away.
I don’t fight him, but I reach for the hot-water knob and shove him out of the tub. I throw my soaked clothes at him.
“I just lost my best friend. I don’t know when I’ll see my mother again. I can’t even remember the last time I attended a music class or danced. I’m being accused of murder, and I’ve lost complete control of my life. That’s what I’m grieving, Damien. Now get out. I need to take my shower.”
He smiles contentedly, holding my clothes in his hands. Congratulations to him for getting what he wanted.
“That’s my girl,” is all he says before leaving the bathroom.
I hate him. He might be saving me, taking care of me, but he does it in ways that test every ounce of my patience.
As soon as he’s gone, I curl up on the floor. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go anywhere with him. I want to lock myself away, preferably far from anyone.
I sit under the warm water, and I don’t even have tears left to cry. I just want my mother. She’d know what to say, or at least she’d irritate me enough trying that I’d forget my pain for a while.
A noise from outside catches my attention.
The suite’s walls are thick, but Damien left the door slightly open—another way to keep an eye on me. Someone’s talking to him, and though I can’t make out who it is, I know that voice.
It brings back flashes of my wedding night, when everything fell apart. My memories of that night are so scattered. I was too high, too drunk. All I have are broken fragments that don’t fit together.
Enzo. Romero not breathing. I think Damien’s brothers. A rushed escape… nothing that makes sense.
I finish showering and find myself listening to the voices outside getting louder. I can’t make out what they’re saying, and honestly, I don’t care.
I’m tired. Tired of everything. The plan is to walk out there and throw whoever’s disturbing my mourning out of this room—mourning for my life, my friend, and my mother.
I wrap a towel around myself and only then realize there’s no change of clothes waiting for me. Of course. My life can’t stop getting worse for even a second.
The man's voice outside gets louder, demanding something from Damien. By now, I’m more pissed off than sad. A little more of this and I'll leave here wanting trouble.
I pause by the door, wondering if I really want to get caught in a mafia argument. The voices get clearer.
“It’s about time you learned to respect your limits when speaking to me. Know your place, Dario. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” Damien says.
I decide to wait. He’ll leave soon, and it’s safer if I stay hidden. For all intents and purposes, I am hiding here because I am suspected of killing my husband, the Don of the mafia.
“I respect you, Damien. We all do. But you need to know your place too. The old man may not be here right now, but he’s still the Don. We answer to him,” the other man replies.
Dario. I store the name in my mind.
“We all know who’s been handling everything. You don’t want to start a fight with me. That’s your last warning,” Damien says again.
I open the door just enough to see his face. The man standing opposite him is young, older than me but younger than Damien. He looks a lot like him, just… less striking, but still dangerous in his own way.
The tension between them thickens the air. I hold my breath when the younger one smirks, the same dangerous half-smile Damien and Romero both had. The smile that means someone’s about to lose.
I hate that. Nothing good ever follows that smile.
“The old man also told you to stay away from his wife, but you’re still fucking her. When he comes back, there won’t be a last warning,” Dario says.
When he comes back...
What does that mean?
Before Dario can blink, Damien’s fist connects with his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Dario hits the floor. Damien steps back, giving him space to get up and dares him to try again.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I walk out of the bathroom.
Dario looks at me first, he’s facing my direction. Less than two seconds later, Damien’s eyes find mine, as if he can feel I’m there.
I cross my arms, clutching the towel tighter around me.
“What did you mean by ‘when he comes back’?” I ask.
They both turn their attention fully on me.