Damien enters our bedroom, goes to the closet, and takes my clothes out one by one then throws them on the bed.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask, feeling myself becoming a wreck of nerves too.
He doesn't answer but continues taking my clothes out of the closet. After all my clothes are spread on the bed, he goes to the bathroom and takes all my products, puts them in a toiletry bag, and sets it over the clothes.
In that moment, I get in front of him and push him.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? AND DON'T YOU DARE TURN YOUR HEAD AND IGNORE ME OR I SWEAR YOU'LL SEE HOW I REACT AFTER A LONG DAY!"
"I'm moving your things to another room," he tells me simply.
"And when did you make this decision?"
"When I saw your hand covered in blood. From a wound I caused," and he shifts his gaze above me.
My anger falters when I look at him. He doesn't look like the leader of a criminal organization right now. He looks like a little boy drowning in guilt, and the fire in my chest dims.
I take his hands in mine, and this makes him look at me with so much affection, so much pain, so much disappointment.
"It was a scratch caused by the fact that I didn't watch where I put my hand. It's my fault, not yours," I whisper to him because I want my words to somehow reach that organ in his chest that I feel vibrating through his shirt.
He swallows hard.
"I couldn't hold onto your voice when you said my name the first time," he murmurs. "I heard you, somewhere in my mind I heard you, but I couldn't stop. All I had in my head was your voice when you said they forced you to eat that damn soup." His voice breaks. "Understand that I can destroy anyone, I can set fire to anything, I don't care, but the thought that I could, that I did, do something that causes you pain makes me sick."
My chest tightens when I look at his face, when I see his nails digging into his palm. Maybe until now he hasn't had someone who cares, who understands that those episodes don't define him. He looks at that scratch like it's the end of the world, but I look at him. At the man who doesn't give up on being with me, at the man who gives me all his attention and love.
"No, but you heard me after. And that's all that matters to me, Damien. I didn't know about these episodes, but now that I do, I'll be your anchor every single time. I'll be the voice that brings you back, the hands that hold you tight, the person who doesn't let you lose yourself. Because there's no version of my life where I could give up on you." The desire to lower my head and stay silent almost stops me from continuing, but no. "There's no world where I wouldn't fight to reach you, to pull you back to me. I need you to believe that, to feel that in every fiber of your being. Because I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. You're mine, with all your shadows and demons, with all your episodes and nightmares. And I'll repeat this to you every day until you understand that there's no going back for me. There's no 'back' since I found you."
I look at him as he watches me tenderly, not understanding where these words are coming from, but he doesn't need to understand. Everything I said is true. If I need to fight with his mind to keep him beside me, I'll do it. Because what he doesn't understand is that in the middle of the chaos in my mind, he's always been the calm. And it's time he has that too.
"You shouldn't have to fight to reach me, don't you understand? My mind should recognize you instantly. HOW THE HELL COULD I HURT YOU WHEN YOU'RE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON TO ME?"
My heart's going to burst right next to his because I feel his worry, I feel his pain, and I wish I could take these emotions and carry them for him.
"Does it happen often?"
He knows I'm talking about his episodes.
"No, only when I'm very stressed or angry."
"Good. I'm going to make you chamomile and valerian tea to calm you down. Meanwhile, you're going to put my clothes back in the closet, and my creams better be arranged in the bathroom in the same order they were."
He frowns, and his gaze narrows on my face. He won't find what he's looking for. He won't find repulsion, fury, disappointment. Just acceptance, and his jaw clenches.
"You're not safe with me," he tells me flatly.
"Maybe, but I'm in more danger away from you. However deep you fall into these episodes, I feel in every drop of blood circulating through my veins that you wouldn't hurt me. Can you say the same about that psycho stalking me? Can you say the same about all the dangers waiting for me outside this house? No, you can't. So I'm staying here beside my husband, who I know will skin alive anyone who tries to hurt me."
I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek while he remains frozen. His hand tightens slightly around my waist, and I stay with my lips on his cheek, and I kiss him again and again.
"’Skinned’ is too mild for what I'd do to them," he tells me quietly, and I smile against his skin.
After making sure his gaze is clearer, I pull away from him.
"The dresses better not be wrinkled, Damien," I say as I leave the room.
Vasili waits for me at the bottom of the stairs with a somber look.
