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Damian and I’ve been spending almost every day together. Any free hours we have after work or on the weekend we spend with each other. We talk about mundane things like our favorite colors or things we love to do. Pretty much all the basics we can think of. It’s like we’re in our own little bubble of bliss.
Sometimes, I have weak moments where I doubt myself, afraid of trusting my instincts about men, considering how wrong I was about Ash, but I stifle those dangerous thoughts. Not all men hurt women. Most importantly, Damian wouldn’t hurt me. He just wouldn’t. I refuse to live in a world where that would ever be true. He’s the one who’s turned on the light in the dark cave I’ve been living in for years. Now, I refuse to return to the darkness. I crave to be in his light. I’ve been without it too long.
We've been trying to tame our passion for one another. We both know how close we are to sleeping together. But it hasn’t been easy, especially for me. That man has way better self-control than I do.
I wish I didn’t have to go tonight. I wish I didn’t have to see the man who stole years from my life, and my chance at real happiness, but I have to. I’m proud that I stood up to him that day. I went from being a scared little girl to a woman who no longer gives a shit, one who’s sick of being afraid. When I saw what he did to my neck that night, something fractured within me and it’s been chiseling off bit by bit, leaving me with an open wound.
I put on a black, sleeveless, sheath dress with a silver belt and black stilettos. He told me he has something special planned, so this seemed appropriate. I’m surprised he didn’t pick my outfit for me. I mean I would’ve just worn yoga pants and sneakers but that would’ve caused a major fight. I’m notthatbrave.
I’m supposed to meet him at his place first. He apparently has some sort of surprise for me. Can’t say I’m not majorly apprehensive about what that may be.
I grab my cell to check the time and notice I’ve missed a few texts from Damian.
Damian: I miss you.
Damian: I hate that you’re going to see him.
Damian: Please be careful, baby girl.
My heart squeezes inside me at his words and my chest aches, knowing how much pain I’m causing him.
Lilah: I’m sorry, Damian. For everything. I can’t wait for all this to end. I’m counting down the minutes until we can be together. I’ve been running for years, always looking over my shoulder. I can’t wait to stop running. I can’t wait to be yours.
Damian: I feel the same, baby. You've come into my life at the most unexpected time. I need you. There’s so much I want to tell you, but I want to do it in person. Come over later tonight. I’ll stay up.
How could a man be so masculine, yet be so forthcoming with his feelings? He’s all sorts of perfect and I get to keep him all for myself.
Lilah: I want to tell you more too. I’ll see you tonight. I’ll be thinking about you the entire time.
Damian: I know.
I put myself in his place, imagining him being inside another woman, even one he doesn’t want, and it kills me, my heart would explode. I don’t know how he’s surviving this. Two more weeks. That’s all. Then I can finally be done with this game and find happiness with the only man who can mend my broken spirit.
I look in the full-length mirror one last time, smoothing out my dress, and head out. The drive’s short, so I arrive in front of Ash’s door ten minutes later. I get ready to knock but pull back. Unease creeps up my body.I can do this. I can do this. Everything will be all right.Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, then hold it and release. I quickly knock before I change my mind. The door swings open within seconds and he’s there, all smiles and pleasantries.
He devours my body with a heated gaze. “Damn, I’m one lucky son of a bitch.”
I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Thank you.” I’ve been faking it for so long it comes naturally when I want it to. As I walk inside, the fragrant smell of garlic mingled with the sweet smell of tomatoes attack my nose. There’s noise coming from the kitchen. It sounds like someone is mixing something in a bowl. That’s strange. Who’d be here cooking? I didn’t see any other car in the driveway. “It smells nice. Is someone here?”
The corner of his mouth curls upward into a deep smile. “That’s actually part of your surprise. Close your eyes.” I look at him speculatively, unsure of what to expect. I do as he asked, and sense him moving to my left, looping his arm around mine as he guides me forward, toward the kitchen. Once we stop, he says, “You can open your eyes now.”
I pry them open to find a short, grey haired man dressed in a chef’s uniform preparing something on the stove. The man stops what he’s doing, wipes his hands on his apron, and walks over to us. He extends his hand to me in greeting and I shake it. A natural, inviting smile brightens his face making his olive-colored eyes gleam.
“Hello, I’m Chef Roberto. I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things, of course.” I smile back as he continues. “I’ve prepared a wonderful three-course meal for you two, as well as a chocolate lava cake for dessert. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m definitely famished, thank you. I’m sure everything is delicious,” I remark, looking around at his preparations. He nods his head and walks toward what looks like a large bowl of pesto. “You two may have a seat. I will be serving your first course shortly.”
“Thank you, chef. We’re looking forward to it,” Ash says, as he curls his arm around my waist, pulling me close. We make our way to the dining room. The table’s adorned with a red tablecloth, gold flatware, and crystal wine glasses. The center is scattered with white rose petals and the large votive candles provide a very romantic ambiance.
I’m not sure what any of this means. He’s never gone out of his way to be romantic in the last few years, not since the abuse became more aggressive. I hope I’m wrong and this is sincere. Maybe he truly doesn’t like being so angry all the time, maybe all this is a positive sign for the both of us, for our own separate futures.
He pulls a brown leather chair for me and takes his seat directly across. “Would you like some wine?” he asks, pointing to the two bottles already on the table.
I try not to drink too much when I’m with him, afraid of losing my inhibitions, but a few sips won’t hurt. “Sure, that’d be great.”
“Red or white, babe?”
“Red. And thanks for planning all of this.” I don’t want to appear rude or ungrateful. I want this night to go as smoothly as possible.
