42

42
Damien’s POV

Her breathing slowed before I realized she was asleep. The storm outside battered the windows but it didn’t shake her.

Camille’s body curled tight at the edge of the couch, one hand tucked under her cheek like she was trying to hide from the world. I sat down aching, the heat of her touch lingering where her fingers had brushed against my skin.

She didn’t want to linger, I know her too well. She hates giving me her soft side, hates when she forgets to keep her walls up. When her hands pressed the cloth to my wound and her voice trembled telling me to sit still..... God, I could feel the part of her that still wanted me. She thinks she hides it well but she doesn’t.

I leaned back carefully into the cushions in order not to wake her up but part of me wanted to. Just so I could see her eyes one more time, tell her things I should’ve said before the lies.

She looked so peaceful. Peace was something Camille Hayes had been starved of for too long.

Her hair fell loose across her cheek because it's still damp from the rain. I had the insane urge to reach out and brush it back but I couldn’t, not yet. If I touched her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I promised myself that tonight isn’t about taking anything from her, it's about giving her something she didn’t even realize she needed.

I closed my eyes and the memory hit, one of those nights ago when she would wake up in cold sweat trembling in my arms while I hold her until the tremors stopped, whispering into her ear that she wasn’t alone.

I used to believe that I could be enough to anchor her but somewhere between then and now, the world ripped holes between us we can’t stitch together.

And still.. I want her.

My gaze drifted down to the faint rise and fall of her chest. The blanket had slipped, leaving the curve of her shoulder bare. A bruise marred her arm, it's old but not gone which made something violent stir in me..... The thought of what have been done to her, what she must have endured while I wasn’t there. I will burn the world before I let her carry another scar that wasn’t mine.

She shifted slightly on the couch, a small sigh escaping her lips. My chest clenched so hard it hurt. She didn’t even know what she is doing to me, how she dismantled me without trying.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, watching her like she might vanish if I blinked too long because she can.

“Camille,” I whispered, the name catching rough in my throat.

She didn’t stir.

Good, she needed the sleep but I couldn’t stop the flood of words I’d never dare say to her awake.

“You don’t even know, do you? How many nights I kept myself breathing just because of you. How many times I walked away from jobs, from people, from money because it meant keeping you safe.”

My voice was low, more of confession than sound.

“I was supposed to just watch you at first, keep tabs and report, that was the deal, but when you laughed that night at the lake when we went for an outing, you remember? God, you must remember. You have had too much to drink and you laughed like the world wasn’t a graveyard. I think that was the night I knew I couldn’t just watch anymore, I couldn’t let you be someone else’s story.”

Her hand twitched in her sleep and her fingers curling as though she felt the weight of my voice, even in dreams.

I dragged a hand over my jaw, ignoring the sting from the split skin, I felt the pain.

“I’ve ruined this,” I murmured. “us. Still, you take care of me, made soup and tell me to sit still like I’m yours.”

A bitter laugh scraped my throat. “I’m not yours. I’m the mistake you’ll never outrun. But God, I want to be, I want to be the one you reach out for when everything falls apart and not the one you doubt in the dark.”

My chest burned with everything I couldn’t change. I glanced at the scars on my hands and the blood drying at my temple, a reminder that every time I came back to her, I brought danger with me.

Yet, here she is, asleep on the same couch, close enough I could reach for her if I want to.

My body remembered her better than my mind did. The way her skin felt against mine when we were making love. The heat of her, the softness, the way her breath used to hitch when I touched her..... Every memory throbbed through me now like a curse and a lifeline.

I wanted to crawl across the space between us, bury my face in her neck, remind her what it felt like when nothing else existed but us. But if I did, she’d hate herself in the morning, so, I rather cut my own throat than give her another reason to hate herself. I just sat there, waiting.

The storm roared louder with wind shaking the frame of the house. I dragged the blanket up around her shoulders with my fingers brushing the soft line of her collarbone. She didn’t wake up.

“Sleep Hayes,” I whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”

That’s what I have always been, the watcher. The man in the shadows, keeping her from falling apart completely while I unraveled in silence.

Tonight, sitting here with her warmth seeping toward me through the space we shared, I let myself want her laughter, her forgiveness and her body against mine like it used to be, every broken piece fitting together.

She arranged herself again, closer this time, her knee brushing mine which made my heart kicked hard in my chest.

I froze.

Her head tilted toward me, her cheek brushing the edge of my arm, I couldn’t move nor breathe. She is not awake yet but her body reached for me anyway, like instinct and memory.

My throat ached. If she knew the truth, all of it, she will never look at me again, and maybe, that’s what I deserved.

But now that she is pressed against me in her sleep, I let myself pretend she is mine again even if it's only for a few hours before the world reminded us both how cruel it could be.

I leaned back slowly and carefully in order not to wake her then closed my eyes. Her weight against me was light, barely there but it steadied me in a way nothing else could.

Tomorrow, I will have to tell her more. The lies and the secrets will come clawing back. Boone, Nolan, the Institute, none of it is gone yet.