Secrets & Submission

ELLA

There is purpose in suffering.Damon’s previous declaration has wreaked havoc on me since I woke up in the middle of the night and struggled to get back to sleep. With my eyes feeling heavy, the questions roll around in the back of my mind.

What the fuckpurpose is worth what I went through? The tragedies that so many people endure have purpose?

The question sticksto my tongue as Damon takes his seat on the patio chair across from where I’m lying. In high-waisted jeans and a cream sweater, I don’t have to worry about covering anything from him.

“Enjoying the fire without me?” he jokes, leaning back in the chair. The fire burns bright behind him.Damon’s gotten back to his more casual, friendly banter with me. Any bit of tension or uncertainty since The Firm found out about Zander and I has subsided entirely.

But why would he tell me there is purpose in suffering? The more I think about it, the more it almost seems cruel. The question is still there, but I swallow it and answer, “It’s the perfect day for the fireplace out here, don’t you think?”

“There’s a nice chill out here, I’ll admit.”

What purpose could be worth this? I’ve been thinking about it all day. He said there was purpose in suffering, but what could possibly be worth the suffering that comes with loss?

“Something on your mind?” he questions and I run my teeth along my lower lip, considering him.

“Did Z send you out here to babysit me while he left?”

With a shake of his head, Damon crosses his ankle to his other knee.

“You look like a therapist, you know that?” I point with a chipped nail and add, “Especially in a collared shirt under that sweater.”

“You sound like a patient avoiding meaningful conversation.”

I huff out a laugh and ask, “What’s it called when you keep thinking about the same thing over and over?”

“Obsessing?”

“No.” I’m quick to dismiss that suggestion. “When it’s things that make you sad.”

He nods and says, “Ruminating. Excessive thinking about negative feelings.”

Snapping my fingers, I point at him and say, “That’s the one.”

“What are you thinking about?” he questions but then corrects himself. “What can’t you stop thinking about?”

I watch his foot tap on nothing in the air.

“Missing James,” I confess under my breath and I let my expression show the sadness I’ve been concealing as I add, “Don’t tell him. Please.”

“Zander?”

Swallowing thickly, I nod.

“He knows that you miss him. But I won't tell him anything in our conversations. It’s only between the two of us.”

“I can’t stop thinking about how if James had looked, even though he had the right-of-way, or if I’d seen it quicker and yelled.”

“That must feel heavy.”

I murmur without looking back at him, “Endless loop about my current suffering.”

“I have to be honest.” He waits for me to peek up at him before he tells me, “I’m not a fan of that loop of yours.” He offers me a kind smile and raises his brow.

“That would make two of us.”

“But I’m happy that you’re talking about it.”