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I slow my breaths after a few minutes to imitate sleep. As expected, he stands up and leaves. I embrace myself, shielding myself from the agonizing pain wrecking my insides. My heart aches, but there isn’t much I can do about it.
On one side of the door is Damien’s pain, and on the other side is mine. Our pain, combined, cripples us both. I wait for him to come back to bed. The bed cools me without him in it, and with every passing minute, the hurt continues to grow until I can’t take it anymore. I rise and tiptoe to the living room. His frame tenses, sensing me watching him, but he doesn’t turn. On the glass table is his whiskey drink. I have the perfect image of how he was when we were apart—a lost man trying to tend to his broken heart with a drink strong enough to ease both the pain and forget the loneliness.
“Go back to bed, Bria.”
His voice lacks the anger from only hours ago, soothing my heart, but I need more. I need his arms around me and to feel his heart beating in synchrony with mine. Nothing else will do it for me.
“I can’t sleep.” He shelters his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I need this time for myself.”
I can’t control the pain anymore and rush back in the sanctuary of the cold bed. A cry flees my quivering lips. In all the years, he has never said that to me. I sob in my pillow. The bed dips. He is here, he came, but this time it doesn’t calm me.
“You’re killing me, baby. Please, I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I love you, forgive me. Just stop, please stop.”
I can’t halt the breakdown of this heart of mine, stupid and still weak. With trembling fingers, he catches a strand of my hair, playing with it. This gesture holds so much. He tries for me, and strangely, my pain increases. He’s always afraid of losing me. With this knowledge, the tears subside into sniffles. When I have them under control, I whisper, “Leave, Damien. It’s okay.”
“I don’t want to.” His hands tighten around me. This weakness from the threat of losing me shatters me. Will we ever be in balance again? I am still ill, and for however long this continues, he will always give in.
“But you need to.”
“Why do I get the impression I have a choice now, and if I stand up and leave, I will screw things up?”
Through wet lashes and blurry eyes, I peer at him, at this gorgeous man I love with everything in me. There are no words left to say as we both admit his decision won’t break us, but it will leave a scar. I do the only thing I can.
He needs time alone. I will give it to him. I crawl toward the end of the bed and get up.
“But not if I go first.”
“Bria, what are you doing?”
I half smile, reassuring him. I love him like this, forever mad. Without his love, there is no me.
I trudge away, leaving him there blinking at me in complete shock. I can’t stay inside, there’s not enough air left. I find one of his jackets, wrapping myself in it. Damien’s smell surrounds me, and I slip through the terrace door where the chilly air awakens my numb skin. My hands hang over the balcony frame, and the moon soothes me. How many times has she witnessed a similar situation. She offers me comfort, even from afar. The night is her gift, allowing us to grieve undisturbed and in complete privacy. But she can’t protect me from the cold penetrating my insides. There, on the terrace, it’s as if time stopped. Minutes or hours later, when I turn numb, I’m lifted by strong hands. I put my head on his shoulder, and like an addict, I crave the warmth his body emanates.
“Are you cold?”
“Just a little.”
But my clenching teeth betray me. He wraps his arms around me, and my body awakens, even my heart leaps at his nearness.
“Why?”
It’s one question, but with too many possible answers. I answer with the first that comes into my mind.
“I wanted to feel.”
“What?” he asks, his forehand creasing.
“The difference between your presence and absence.”
“Bria . . .” He presses his forehead on mine, whispering my name, a curse and a blessing because I am both, it’s just he never realized, but I do. He could have had a life, normalcy, a future, but he got me—a big uncertainty.
“You let me walk away.” I shouldn’t have said this, it’s my heart, my weak heart loving him, just him, forever him.
“I could never let you go,” he confesses, cupping my face, turning my gaze back to him. There it is, neither of us is right. We’re both mad.
“Still, it feels like you just did. I don’t know how to . . .” Selfish little monster, my heart, why do you do this?
