"Let me out! I want to leave," I cry, my voice cracking as I twist and turn and claw at the impenetrable door. "Open it! Open the fucking door!"
“Don’t fight us, Damon.”
Fight, Damon.
THE QUEST
EMERY
There aremany different types of love. There’s love that hurts you, that teaches you a lesson. A love that brands you with bad decisions and regrets, sizzling your skin, marking you for life. There’s love that heals you, that soothes your shattered soul. A love that binds together all that has fallen apart, that mends each piece with precision and care until every ounce of agony is stripped and buried and gone.
And then there’s love that fights, that moves mountains and oceans to ensure your safety, your survival, your happiness. A love that’s selfless, a love that transcends all logic and reason. A love that battles the hands of fate. A love that breathes life into your body.
A love that would give its last breath to you.
When I was young, I would climb into the tub, andlower myself down. I would plug my nose and submerge myself under the water. I’d hold my breath. And I’d wait.
How long would it take for my survival instincts to kick in? Would my body naturally know that it was in danger? Would my brain command my limbs, my muscles, my heart to fight? Would I fight for life? Or would I give up?
I never gave up.
Even on the darkest days when I saw no future, when the path to joy and light was muddled with complex uncertainties, with unwillingness to believe it would all get better, I never gave up. Every time, I’d emerge from the water, gasping for air, my lungs angry and crying but so fucking grateful to hold hands once again with oxygen.
There was something inside of me, a voice, a whisper, a hopeful static that buzzed in my ear. While the entire world was screaming at me to give up, to give in, to put myself out of my existential misery, this tiny hum of faith cut through the noise.
And I breathed.
I owe my life to that hum. To that whisper.
And so does Damon.
I stare at the heart monitor, unable to look away.
It’s quiet at first, a low murmur.
But it grows. Like a crescendo of the most powerful, most world-defying symphony the universe has ever heard. It’s a song of longing, a song of resilience, a song of fight. My pulse matches its beautiful cadence, each glorious beep.
He didn’t give up. He listened to the whispers.
He fought.
Quin expels ragged breaths, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the hospital blanket as he leans back on his heels, gaze glued to Damon’s open eyes.
The room is silent. Not a word. Not a sound. Jaws dropped. Faces pale. Bodies rigid and tense.
Damon blinks, disorientated as he swallows. “I—” His voice is raw, hoarse, and oh so fucking mesmerizing. “I knew you liked me, Q.” My nose tingles, tears welling up in my eyes as a smile, a cheeky little grin clips Damon’s lips. His gaze flutters up to Quin’s shocked features. “But I never thought I’d see the day you’d be straddling me.”
I gasp, springing out of the wheelchair as I stumble toward him. Quinton doesn’t move, frozen in place as I throw myself into Damon’s chest, weeping.
“Oh my God.” I fist his hospital gown, fingers locked and fearful that it’s all a dream, an illusion. “Oh my God.”
But then he touches me. His hot, large palm finds the back of my head, his lips pressed against my temple—soft, heavenly,real.
“I opened the door,” he whispers into my messy hair, his hold on me tightening. “I opened it, Em.”
I sniffle, pulling away, frantically scanning his face as confusion captures my features. “What door?”
He smiles at me, a secret on the tip of his tongue. His expression softens, his chest rising as he breathes. He’s breathing. There’s air in his lungs, there’s blood inhis veins, and his heart is pumping life through his body.
