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I give him a sour look, and hope that he knows that won't be enough to apologize. "You don't trust me."
"I do," he disagrees.
"No, you don't," I slowly back away from him. "Today, at the police station, you proved that.”
"That whole event, I will admit, it brought back some bad memories."
"That's no excuse." Crossing my arms, I look at him, letting my gaze drill into him as anger wells up inside my chest again, along with the pain. "You're not the only one who's fucked up here, you know? You’re not the only one with wounds. I almost started to doubt you. When Logan said you were my stalker, I could have believed him. After all, he's got the cards, and the timeline fits. The stalker showed up when you did. It could make sense, if I wanted to believe it.”
Damien says nothing, but looks at me with impatience. His hands are clenched into fists and veins bulge from his arms as he holds all of his feelings inside.
Frustrated, I continue to speak. "But I don't distrust you. I believe in you, Damien. I believe in you because I know who you are. I just thought that you trusted me too."
Slowly, he lets go of my hands. I can see a glimmer of relief in his eyes.
He’s clearly pleased to know that I trust him.
Damien slowly takes a step toward me and pulls me back to him.
"You're right," he states. "I have no excuse for what I've done, and I apologize for it."
I nod slowly, but I know that doesn’t change how this open wound is still latent inside me.
"It will take me a while to trust you again," I tell him.
"I'll be patient, then." He carefully pulls me towards the door. "In the meantime, I brought you a peace offering".
I arch an eyebrow toward Damien as he guides me out of the room.
As soon as we step outside, I notice that the room smells of something sweet and delicate. "Flowers?" I ask, frowning.
Damien looks at me with a calm smile as he guides me down the hallway until we descend to the second floor.
Sure enough, both the living room and the entire hallway over to the kitchen are filled with roses. Hundreds and hundreds of roses, all perfect, all blood red.
"Damien, what did you do? Raid a flower shop?"
"No need to, not when you own a few yourself."
"I thought your investments were geared toward the music business?"
"I own a little bit of everything."
"Of course you do," I mutter.
He leaves me in the center of the room, so I can take in the scent of flowers all around me. "What am I going to do with so many?" I ask, picking up one of the petals and examining it closely.
"Whatever you want," Damien tells me. "I can have someone come in to arrange them for you, if you prefer."
"That won't be necessary..." I sigh. "You brought me so many flowers that you’ve probably left a couple of lovers without them."
"I probably bought all of the roses in New York," he declares proudly.
"I hope the amount of chocolate ice cream you’ve brought me is equivalent," I joke.
"Maybe it will be. But I think you’ll like my other gift better."
"What gift?" I ask.
