44

44
My heart lurched with panic until I saw him in the kitchen moving stiffly as he set a mug on the counter.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” I said with my rough voice as I sleep.

He glanced. “And you’re supposed to stop worrying about me.”

I exhaled leaning against the doorway. For a moment, with the smell of coffee in the air and Damien standing there in my kitchen, it almost felt like a life that could have been ours but the thought was dangerous because nothing about us is ever going to be simple again.

And the deeper part of me, the part that still remembered how it felt to love him knew that maybe it will never have been.

Damien leaned against the counter with one hand braced to steady himself. His knuckles were raw and his wrist were bandaged where I’d cleaned the gash last night. His eyes were clearer than they had been but there was still a heaviness in the way he carried himself.like each of his movement cost him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, noticing the way I hovered.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like you’re waiting for me to fall over and bleed out on your kitchen floor.” His mouth tilted, not quite a smile. “I’ll survive.”

I crossed my arms still leaning against the doorway. “Survival doesn’t mean healed and you’re not making it easier when you insist on playing soldier in my kitchen.”

He let out a low breath. “I’ve had worse.”

That answer dug into me not because of the words but because of how casually he said them, like his body was just another battlefield he stopped counting scars from. I wanted to argue but the truth was, I didn’t have the strength.

I pushed off the doorway and walked toward the counter, brushing past him to grab my own mug. The heat of him.... his nearness.... was dangerous. My arm brushed his as I poured coffee into the chipped white cup.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” I muttered.

His head angled slightly toward me. “What exactly am I making harder? Eating the food you cook or standing her drinking coffee?”

“Existing,” I said before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was heavier than the words themselves. I sipped my coffee to avoid looking at him but I felt his gaze burn on my skin.

Finally, he spoke. “You don’t have to keep punishing me you know....”

I set my mug down, maybe harder than I meant to because of how the ceramic clunked against the counter. 

“And what do you think I should do Damien? Pretend everything is fine? Pretend you didn’t follow me, didn’t lie, didn’t become part of this mess from the beginning?”

His voice dropped. “I didn’t lie about what mattered.”

I turned to him then, furious at how calm he looked standing there with his bruised jaw and guarded eyes. “What mattered is Ivy, Elise and every girl who disappeared or those that died without any reason attached because someone wanted them erased. What mattered is that you knew more than you told me and now I don’t even know what the hell to believe.”

His jaw flexed but he didn’t look away. “Believe this....” His hand caught mine before I could step back. The contact was gentle with his fingers that are rough against my skin. “I’m here now, not because of Nolan, Boone or because someone paid me years ago to watch you. I’m here because I can’t stay away anymore and that scares the hell out of me more than anything else.”

My breath caught. His hand were warm grounding me. For a second, I let myself feel it.... the pull I fought against to forget.

Then I yanked my hand free. “You’re still bleeding through your bandages. Sit down before you collapse.”

He didn’t argue, he sank into the chair at the small kitchen table exhaling as though gravity had finally won. I poured fresh coffee into another mug and slid it across to him. He caught it with both hands while steadying himself.

We sat like that for a while, while the sound of our breathing becomes louder than the ticking clock hanged. The kind of quiet that is almost domestic if you stripped away the blood and lies beneath it.

I couldn’t forget, I couldn’t let myself to.

“When you were sleeping,” I said finally, “you kept saying something over and over. ‘Erase weakness.'."

His gaze flicked up, sharp now, like I pulled something out of the dark he never meant to show.

“Did I really said that?” he asked.

“Yeah, you did.” My voice was quieter. “What does it mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. He tightened his fingers around the mug while his knuckles becomes whitened.

“It’s not something you want to know,” he said at last.

“That’s not your choice to make.” I flared back

His mouth pressed into a line. He looked tired and so much older than he should. “Then give me time. Let me heal enough to tell you without bleeding out halfway through.”

The sharpness of his tone should’ve cut me but instead it softened something inside me. He isn’t pushing me away, he is just asking for time, something I don’t give easily anymore.

I stood, collecting my own mug and forcing my voice to be steady. “One night. That’s all you get. Then you start talking.”

He gave a slow nod, his eyes meeting mine with something that looked like both promise and warning.

“Deal.” He said with passion.

I left him at the table retreating into the living room before I could change my mind but even sitting alone there on the couch, I felt his presence seeping through the walls.

One night, that's all but somehow, it felt like the longest countdown I have ever agreed to.

The coffee cooled in my hands while he watched me drink it like it was a routine we used to share, and the past might smudge itself into the present if we stood still for a long time but I didn’t let it.

A hard knock rattled the door.