Beautifully Broken

Eventually, the afternoon turns gray and night sets in. I stop thinking of the guilt and start reassuring myself I’m doing the right thing by leaving.

Things will only become complicated between Damian and me until he wants more.

I don’t know what the time is when I hear my bedroom door creak open and quickly squeeze my eyes shut.

“Cara,” Damian murmurs.

I’m hoping he’ll think I’m asleep. I hear the door creak again and let out a relieved breath. And then I hear Damian move, and pins and needles flush my body hot and cold all at once.

He didn’t leave like I thought he did.

The bed shifts under his weight as he sits down. I stiffen, waiting, but he doesn’t touch me.

“I want to help you, but I’ll leave it to you to come to me,” he murmurs. Then I feel his fingers over my hair, the touch soft and quick before he gets up.

Tears begin to sting behind my eyelids because I know we can’t continue down this path.

I want to cry because I don’t know what the future has in store for me. There will always be a death sentence hanging over my head. It’s terrifying having a faceless enemy, one I can’t beat.

I don’t know much about the mafia, but I do know they kill. If I stay with Damian, it might end up leading to him being killed as well.

God.

Not after all he’s done for me.

I’m so empty and filled with longing for the only place I feel safe that I give up the fight. Wanting to feel safe one last time, I climb out of bed.

When I open my door, it’s to find Damian waiting for me.

He closes the distance between us and lifting his hands, his palms are warm on my cheeks. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I wish you’d talk to me.”

I shake my head and, taking hold of his hand, I pull him toward his bedroom.

This is all I’m giving myself, one last night safely in the arms of my protector.

I crawl onto the bed and wait for him to lie down before I snuggle against his side. Once we’re comfortable, the silence begins to stretch around us.

“Damian,” I whisper, struggling to deal with all the disastrous emotions wreaking havoc in my chest. “Why did you keep me?”

“I’d rather not answer that one,” he denies me an answer for the first time.

I pull back so I can see his face better. He’s frowning, and the worry muscle in his jaw is jumping again.

“Why not?” I push, needing to know.

“You’re healing, Cara.” He tries to smile, but it looks like a grimace. “Let’s leave it at that.”

I lower my eyes to his chest, thinking about what he just said. Why would it have anything to do with my healing?

“Uhm…”

I can feel the frustration begin to pulse off of him.

“Why can’t you just leave it?” he grumbles, but after taking a deep breath, he finally admits, “I failed Leah. I left her unprotected, and he beat the shit out of her, knowing it was the only way to get to me. I failed her, and fuck,” he hisses, “I failed you, too.”

I try not to see the connection - that I’m nothing more than a replacement for Damian’s girlfriend he couldn’t save.

His voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper as he continues, “When Jeff told me you were being held in that container…” He reaches for my face, but just before his hand touches my cheek, he drops it to his chest. “I just knew I had to get to you. I felt sick knowing they had you.”

“Me or Leah?” I whisper, slowly lifting my eyes to his. “Did you go to get Leah or me?” I ask with a quivering voice.

His face darkens, and I see the killer, just like he was that day when he came to get me. He lifts his head slowly, and my heart starts to beat heavily, thumping faster when he sucks a breath through his teeth.

“I dragged you out of that fucking hole,” he growls. “I cleaned you, Cara.” My name sounds bitter on his lips. He takes a breath, and I know he’s not done.

“Don’t…” I start, but he holds up his hand, and the gesture alone makes the air crackle.

Then he says, “I feel because of you. I hate because of you. I’m angry because of you. I wish I could go back and torture them, make them suffer, instead of giving them such quick deaths.” His voice drops low, and every word is like a punch. “When I watched those recordings they made of you…”

He pauses, and I start to shake my head, willing him to stop.

“That’s not what killed me, Cara. Hearing you scream at night for those fuckers to stop is what eats at my fucking soul. Not knowing how to make it better frustrates the shit out of me. Do you know how fucked up I feel because I was too late?”