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Damon opening up his true deepest feelings to me…
In those few weeks of being the crime boss’ captive mistress, I felt like an entire lifetime had passed - a wonderful, erotic, deepening lifetime full of passion and love and partnership.
And then it ended as abruptly as it had begun.
And now I’m here in this quiet mansion with no Damon in his office and no love between these walls.
And I am feeling a sense of dread.
I’m wanting the world to swallow me whole.
There’s only one more place in this sad building to go...
The door to his master bedroom is shut. For a heartbeat, I’m worried it’s locked, but all it takes is for me to turn to handle and I’m inside the room.
60
AVA
The momentI walk into Damon’s master bedroom, I am hit with a glaring wall of monitors - all data and images and things that just blind me with their...unnaturalness. There are tons of the devices, way too many to keep count of at first glance. Bright blue screens. And the wires are everywhere. It is so damn overwhelming at first.
And then I see him.
Lying in his bed, hooked up to all these medical machines.
My poor Damon...
The room is dark. Jim is evidently not letting much sunlight into the space while his boss is stuck in here. I resist my caring, womanly urge to rush over and rip open the curtains to let the fresh air in.
I bet Damon – thedark, coolman he likes to be – doesn’t want to be bathed in sunlight while recovering in bed.
“Damon?”
My tiny voice echoes feebly across the room like a mouse’s squeak.
The man in the bed stirs at the sound. I see his head start to rise from the pillow.
He’s moving...
“Ava?”
His voice is soft, but still there. It’s still – somehow - that same deep resonating baritone that haunts my dreams.
It’s still the Damon I remember. Hidden by pain and restricted by wounds and quietened by struggle, but it is stillhim.
“You’re awake?” I ask. “Can I come in properly?”
The man moves again in his bed. His dark eyes shine at me through the blackness.
“This isn’t a dream?” he asks. “It’s really you, Ava? You’ve come to see me?”
“Of course I have come to see you,” I reply. “And, yes, last time I checked, I wasn’t a dream. You can pinch me to make sure, though. Jesus, you’re like Dracula in this room.”
And then he really moves. In one movement, Damon launches himself –erupts- from the bed, letting out a grunt as he rises to his feet.
It’s all so...improbable. Surreal. He ought to be bedridden. The man received a knife into his stomach, and it’s not even been weeks since he was on life-support in hospital.
He certainly shouldnotbe standing, but here he is doing so.
