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Damien is reading the notes. I thought about if he was selling me. When he might be gone. I was thinking on paper when I wrote those things…and I’m not thinking about those things anymore. I don’t want to escape.
God, some small part of me wants to scream that he kidnapped me, of course I wanted to escape.
But I fucking don’t want to escape. Not now. Damien’s arms are the only place I feel like I belong. And I have goddamn ruined everything.
Tears are streaking down my cheeks. Whatever Damien felt for me looks to be totally crushed. He fucking hates me now, and really he should.
He can’t trust me. I never hid my conflict, but I tried to be good. Now every bit of me that I have shared with Damien is suspect, and he thinks that I’ve been lying this whole time. I want to die. Anything has to be better than how I feel right now.
14
Sarah
Damien turns to face me again, walking closer to me and that feeling of his body heat closer to me is the closest thing I have to feeling better in the hell in which my mind is trapped in. ”You went through my private papers in my study. You kept notes on how to escape. On the possible buyers.” Damien throws this in my face and I flinch.
What can I say? My eyes are welling up with more tears, and I want to cower. Damien probably thinks that I’m afraid of him. What’s really happening is so far from that. I’ve come to trust Damien. It’s this fucking moment that everything in me fractures.
I could lose him. Really lose him. And that is how I know—I love him. I love Damien. I just want to please him. I would be sold by him if it meant he was pleased with me. I don’t want to be without him, but I can’t stand the cold, hard fact that I’ve truly betrayed him. He knows it. If he wanted me at all, I’ve killed that urge. Now I’m just the girl who tried to escape.
I would say who could blame me, but that’s the thing. I blame me. I blame me for keeping the notes that I made about the tickets and everything I remember about the buyers. All the notes that I kept on him. I noted his schedule. I look like I’m trying kill him, with all these notes about his schedule. The truth is that I long since gave up on getting away beyond just not wanting to be sold. I want to stay with him and I no longer want to go about it this way. I kept making those notes because they feed my obsession with Damien. I have become obsessed with him, strange as that is. I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell him anything. The tears welling in my eyes sting and roll down in fat droplets streaking my cheeks.
“Damien I am so –” I try to get the words out but his hand closes over my mouth.
His other arm grabs me. He carries me to his study, crashes everything off his desk and lays me flat on my back on my desk. Damien flings papers everywhere, rogue office supplies smack against his carpet, making a smattering of a Pollack in prosaic paperclips. I want to stop him. Move his hand from my face and demand that he allow me to speak.
But I have no idea what I would say. I want to apologize and tell him the truth. I can’t.
“Of course you wanted to escape,” Damien whispers. His eyes pour their sadness into me. His anger is tinged with sadness and I know I have truly hurt him. I don’t want to be able to do that. I don’t want him to care about me. I want him to just sell me. I haven’t shown him the kindness that he’s shown me. I’m crazy for thinking this but there’s something about Damien. I need him. I need him to want to keep me. But he always seems so hurt and I can’t bear the idea that I’m what is making him hurt now. If I’m insane for wanting him, then he is the same kind of insane, and we need to stay together. But I’ve hurt him. If there was any chance that I could be his, I have killed it. Why hadn’t I destroyed the evidence? Why did I keep peeking? Why did I keep a long list of everything he’s done? My throat is raw already from the sobs wracking me. I realize I’m groaning against his hand, which he presses down harder.
Damien swallows. “Don’t say a fucking word,” he says is an eerily calm voice. His hand moves from my mouth. I don’t move on the spot for a moment. For some stupid reason I think he is going to kiss me. But why? Why would he kiss me as I cry and lie on his desk where he put me? I lean up to kiss him and his arms capture my forearms and his mouth closes over my mine, his body crushing my own. The firm wall of his chest against me makes my heart beat impossibly fast. I need this. I kiss him like I can show him how I truly feel. How sorry I am. If I only show him with my lips on his, my tongue caressing his, I have a prayer of making him understand. I want to tell him I love him.
