Parking out back, I look at my house, the grimy windows, the dilapidated looking exterior. Just like me, except I’m broken on the inside too.
I’ve never been one for self-pity. Guess there’s a first time for everything.
I go inside. Stop the moment I’m through the door. Something’s wrong… it’s not anything specific, more like a shift in the air, my subconscious alerting me to something my conscious mind isn’t fully aware of.
I take out my gun and stalk through the house, instincts alert, ready, hungry even. If they’ve finally found me and chosen today of all days to hit me, they’re in for a world of hurt.
At the bottom of the stairs, I pause. A floorboard creaks upstairs.
I move silently, gun ready. Head tilted to listen for the smallest change in the sound.
It’s coming from Celine’s room…
The guest room, I correct myself. Notherroom.
She screams when she sees me holding the gun, throwing her hands up. “Damian – it’s me!”
“What are you doing back here?” I growl, lowering the gun.
She flinches, looking wounded. And I feel like an ass. “Hello to you too,” she says. “What does it look like? I’m getting my stuff.”
Her suitcase is open on the bed.
“Does Julian know you’re here?”
She chews her lip guiltily. “When we got to his apartment, he drank himself into a stupor.”
“How did you even get in here?”
Another guilty look. “On the way out, I swiped the spare key from the bowl. Are you going to put that thing down?”
I place the gun on the dresser. Celine has changed into a pair of torn jeans and a form-hugging sweater. We only had sex for the first time around seven hours ago, but my body aches just looking at her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she murmurs, sitting on the bed.
I lean against the wall. As far from her as I can get without leaving the room. My body aches for her closeness, her comfort.
“How are you doing?” she murmurs.
“Great,” I grunt.
“Don’t close up on me,” she says.
“Closing up is the only way I’m going to be able to deal with this, Celine.”
“No more nicknames?”
I grit my teeth. My jaw throbs. “We let it go too far. You know we did.”
She stands and walks toward me. The closer she gets, the flimsier my defenses feel.
“I know,” she whispers. “But I still want to check if you’re okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, shaking my head. “Not sure what that means anymore. If I’m ever going to be ‘okay’ again.” I sigh. “But dammit, it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to listen to me whine.”
“You’re not whining, Damian,” she whispers, placing her hand on my chest. “You’refeeling, and that’s okay.”
I touch her hand, telling myself it’s to push her away. But then I feel her warmth, and my body grows weak. My resolve shatters.
