“Damon!”
“No!”
“Damon!”
“No…”
“Damon, wake up. Wake up, Damon.”Her voice slices through the crippling terror of the dream.“Damon…”
I follow her pleas, using each syllable of my name as a guiding beacon to reach back home. It’s cold and scary but I cling to her sweet, angelic voice until I’m safe. Until I’m no longer a prisoner of my own making.
With one final push, I tumble out of sleep in a jolt. A gasp seeps past my lips, and I blink against the reality of my present. It’s early morning.
I’m home.
"Hey, you're okay,” Emery whispers, caressing the damp side of my cheek as my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. “You’re okay.”
The room is bathed in the soft glow of electric flames, quietly crackling from the built-in fireplace below the mantle. Burgundy drapes flow from the ceiling, cocooning the canopy bedframe.
I’m home.This is home.
My muscles begin to relax, my heart rate slowing to a comfortable cadence.
I’m home.A home I share with her, the woman I love. And with him. The man who loves my woman.
Closing my eyes, I focus on Emery's rhythmic breaths, her hand stroking my skin, my hair. Her touch grounds me. Tries to erase the lingering unease in my chest. Tries. And often fails.
"I want to help you, Damon," Emery whispers. "How can I help you? It’s been weeks of this. I… I wish I could do something. Tell me what I can do.”
My eyelids flutter open, and I trace the delicate lines of her mesmerizing features. Her perfect little forehead, those plump lips, the slope of her nose. She looks just as gorgeous as the day I met her. That day, my life was changed forever.
But there’s something different about her. It’s in her eyes. It’s in the way she looks at me with such heartbreaking empathy. She looks the same. But she’s not. She’s lighter now. Softer. Even her voice carries more of a melodic tone. It’s a song I could listen to for centuries and never tire of its magic.
Some days, I’m afraid to touch her. I’m scared to hold her hand. I fear that one day, I’ll touch her, and she’ll feel all my evil. All my sin.
Despite the countless times she’s told me to forgive myself, I can’t. I say I do. I smile and tell her I’m fine. But we both know it’s a lie. Quin knows too. He’s always been quite perceptive. I’m glad Emery has Quin. She deserves someone stable. Someone honest. That’s not me. It can never be me.
“I’m fine, baby. It was just a bad dream.”
I’ve said these words enough times that I’ve almostmastered their authenticity. I’m on the precipice of earning a merit badge in the art of deception. I know we’ve all promised to be truthful with one another. To have open communication. But how many times can I break down before they both realize there’s no fixing me? Before they both decide that I’m a lost cause?
It’s selfish, I know, but I prefer to keep my demons in solitary confinement. That way, they can’t taint her. They can’t drag her back to a place she just crawled out of. She’s running on hope for the first time. I can’t be the one to destroy that.
“Maybe it’s time to talk to a professional, Damon.”
Emery’s brows scrunch together, her gaze flitting across my tightened features. She’s searching for an ounce of hope. I know she’s found it herself, otherwise, she’d never recommend a shrink. She believes I can get past this. That I can find peace. How I wish she were right.
She squeezes my hand. “Please? I think it could really help you.”
I swallow, forcing my expression to remain gentle, appreciative of her concern. “We’ve been over this, Emery. We both know that’s not an option.”
How the hell am I supposed to spill my guts to a fucking shrink when my problems are rooted in covered-up manslaughter?
I can’t sit down with Dr. Tweed-Jacket and simply say, “I’m having a recurring nightmare where my ex-girlfriend, who I accidentally killed in a car accident while I was drunk driving, reappears as a frighteningly peaceful ghost. Oh, and my father covered up her deathand never told me about it. Oh, andthenmy father, my mother, and my sister all died in a helicopter crash a year later, and I was the only survivor. Oh, and the woman I currently love has said ex-girlfriend’s heart beating inside her chest. Oh! And I’m in an unconventional relationship with her and another man, with whom I had also previously shared a partner. Who, you may ask? You guessed it. The woman I killed.”
The shrink will need a shrink after hearing that fucked up tale.
And I’d be in jail.
