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And then what?
I don’t know if there’s anything to look forward to afterwards. I want to hope there is.
But I also don’t want to live on false hope.
Again, something in Demyen shifts. He grows colder. Stands up straighter. And as I flip the suitcase lid back open, I see his fists clench.
“If you wanted to leave so damn bad, you should have done it already.” His voice is just as cold as his demeanor. “You don’t need to wait for an excuse like this.”
It comes out of left field, but I know it’s his pride stepping up to the plate. It’s his need to grasp control of his world that’s talking over the hurt I still see in his eyes. “Dem?—”
“I mean it.” He takes a few deep breaths and looks at me like I’ve just backhanded him across the face. “Just tell me the fucking truth before you go running off back to your ex. Give me the dignity of at least that much.”
I drop the last of my clothes into the suitcase and zip it up, hoping the sound masks my sigh. I’m quickly running out of energy to argue. Shit, I’m out of energy to carry this baggage—literally and metaphorically—out the front door. But he asked, and I agree: he does deserve the dignity of the truth.
Most of it.
There’s one thing, which is currently the size of a fig inside me, that I can’t ever tell him. If anything, I have to act fast to make sure Martin never suspects a thing.
Shit.I feel a wave of nausea sweep over me. I swallow back the bile and brace myself for whatever may come, both now and in the future.
“The truth is, I’m not sure I’ll make it to that door.” I look him in the eyes so he knows I mean every last word. “But I have to. Thetruth is, I’ve never felt so safe or loved or… or…homeuntil I met you. Even when things between us were iffy.”
Swallowing hard, I continue, “And the truth is, I want to vomit my guts out at the thought of setting foot anywhere near Martin. But worse than that is the thought of what he could do to my baby girl.Ourdaughter, Dem. So be pissed at me all you want. Hate me all you want. At least I’ll know you won’t forget me.”
I was supposed to get all that out without choking up. I failed miserably.
But, tears or not, it’s time to go. I can cry in the rideshare. I quickly yank the suitcase off what was once my bed and turn to leave.
Demyen’s hand covers the doorknob.
And then I’m backed into the door, my breath stolen by his kiss.
We cling to each other. Our tongues tangle like it’s the last time we’ll ever have this dance. I pour my heartache into him and drink his down, and for a moment, I’m not sure whose salty tears I taste between our lips. I’m not sure it even matters at this point.
When he pulls away, it’s with a low growl of frustration. I don’t move. Neither does he.
Then he grabs the doorknob again. The handle of my suitcase is in his other hand.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
And somehow, I know that I don’t have to say anything, either. All I can do is hope and pray he knows how much he means tome, how much I will love him and miss him for the rest of my life.
However short that life may be.
38
DEMYEN
There are a thousand things I want to say to Clara. A thousand promises I want to make that this isn’t the end. Iwillbe coming back for her. I love her. I’ll never stop loving her or fighting to bring her home.
But I don’t say a fucking word.
I’m too pissed at Martin—and too raw from the reality that Clara is, in fact, leaving me—to trust my own mouth.
I’m also too stubborn to let her go that easily. Or let him think he’s won that easily, either.
He wants to make a deal? Fine.
