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WE LEFT THE club in silence but hand in hand. We’ve made it to the chalet, still in silence, still hand in hand. I just don’t know what to say. There’s not a coherent thought in my head, just a frenzied mix of lust, love, hurt, passion, hatred. I promised myself I’d never be back here again, eating out of the palm of his hand, playing the role of someone he can use. Except it’s not like that. I tell myself he’s toying with me, because I want to despise him for breaking my heart. But when we’re together, even rough and ready in the corridor of a club, he’s right there with me, in it with me. He always was.
“It was never the sex that was the issue,” I mumble at the entrance to the chalet. I tug his hand so he stops, and I look up at him, pleading, with myself, with him. “Clark, I can’t do this.”
His eyes look… hurt. But he nods and raises his palm to my cheek. I lean into him. His touch is so natural.
“I know. It’s okay. It got a little crazy back there.”
I liked it. I wanted it. I needed to come and for him to be the reason for it. But I know I shouldn’t have wanted it at all. I part-laugh, part-cry, a noise of complete confusion. Exactly how I feel. “The cold is pretty sobering.”
He lifts my chin to face him. “Look at me. I want to make love to you, Dayna. There’s nothing I want to do more. I know I hurt you, and I know you can’t turn that off overnight. I get it. When you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His devastating eyes drown me. He used to look at me like this. He looked at me like this that final Saturday night, when we made love, or rather, when he took me, brutally. Because whatever his father had done to him that day made him need a release. I knew he had a temper, but I hadn’t seen him like that before. He was out of control, and I wanted to be the person to comfort him and give him what he needed. And from the way he looked at me — the same way he’s looking at me now — I thought I was the most precious thing in the world to him. I told him I loved him and meant it with all of me.
And the next day, he left. He didn’t call; he didn’t text. A day later I was on Little Princess for the last time. He still didn’t call. And when I was in hospital getting checked over, when the scale of the explosion was broadcast around the globe, the phone still didn’t ring.
I take his hand from my face and turn towards the door, looking at my feet. We walk inside to find Amy holding a bag of ice to Matty’s chin. I stiffen in anticipation of another showdown.
Matty takes over holding the ice but he makes no move to stand.
“How about we give them a minute?” Amy says to me.
I’ve known Matty much longer than I’ve known Clark, and Matty’s always been there for me. Yet it’s Clark I’m concerned about, and Clark I turn to now, silently questioning him. There’s a shift in his face and in his demeanour. He’s lost the sparkle he had just minutes ago. But there’s no fight in him either.
“Okay,” I say, following Amy to the kitchen. She sits on the bench and I stand opposite, leaning against the island. “Are the others back?”
“No, they stayed. Dayna, I know you didn’t invite Clark here, and I know he messed you around and still does mess with your head. But… it’s not fair that Matty got caught up trying to look out for you. Since you are both here, maybe now is the time for you and Clark to talk it all through, each say your piece and see where you end up.”
Guilt racks my body. I really haven’t thought enough about how Clark and I are affecting the others. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
“I know, babes, we all know that.” She puts her hand on my arm and kisses my brow. “I’m going to bed.”
She’s right, we need to talk, really talk. In the past Clark has locked things up and lashed out, but since we’ve been here, maybe there is something different about him. Even the way he spoke to me on the doorstep — old Clark wouldn’t have said that.
I put a pan on the hob and half-fill it with milk. As I’m looking for the cocoa that I know is in one of the cupboards, Matty comes into the kitchen. His jaw is already bruising, and red from the ice.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says with a forced smile. “Hell, it wouldn’t be a proper birthday weekend if no one got punched.”
I move towards him for a closer inspection and gently run my fingertips over his stubble. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “I shouldn’t have got involved. Amy told me a few things, filled in a few blanks about you two.” He flicks his head in the direction of the lounge, where Clark is standing in front of the fire, watching us. “I should have stayed out of it like the others, let you two run your course.”
I nod. Whatever that course is. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
“I’ve always got your back, Dayna, you know that.” As warm as those words should make me feel, they hammer home the feeling that I’m responsible for bringing this mess on him.
I stand on my toes, too short even in heels to kiss his cheek otherwise. “You’re a knight in shining armour, Matthew Jonson.” I put my palm on his chest. “I’m just not a princess.”
He covers my hand with his own. “Poetic. You really tried, didn’t you?”
I laugh. “I really did try.”
He pulls me into his big, muscular arms and hugs me tightly before heading upstairs, leaving me looking at Clark. “Hot chocolate?”
“Sounds good.”
I get back to the hob and stir cocoa powder into the milk.
