Page 126 of Xavier

Thirty-seven

Her

“Who are these from?” I ask, as Cameron carries a large bouquet of flowers into my office. I try to bite back the hope that the card will be signed with an X.

“From me,” he replies, with a smile, setting the vase on my desk.

I hope he doesn’t see the disappointment on my face.

“Oh, they’re beautiful, Cam. What’s the occasion?” I pull a rose from the bunch and bring it to my nose. Not much of a fragrance, which is why I like flowers in the first place, but still beautiful.

“Do I need an occasion? How about, just a reminder of how much I appreciate you being my partner, and that I’m excited about our future.”

“This is very sweet, Cameron. But you didn’t have to do that. You’ve done so much for me these last few weeks.”

“It will never be enough, Isabella.” He winks and walks out the door, whistling down the hallway as he goes to his own office.

Something about the way he says my name causes a scrunching inside my chest. It’s been three weeks since anyone has called me anything but Isabella, but day by day, I’m feeling more distanced from the adopted name.

There's nothing wrong with Isabella. But I miss Malynda. And the life she was supposed to have lived. I shake my head and focus back on the designs in front of me. The youth shelter has almost finished its renovations and hopefully, in a few days, I can start moving things in. I only have about ten days to get everything ready for the grand opening. I scan my list of furniture that still needs to be ordered and try to estimate how much labor will be needed for the painting and fixtures installations.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been working on it until I look up and the sky outside the window is a soft pink, sinking into night.

The office is almost empty and my neck cracks as I stretch it to the side.

For the first time in weeks, I feel so tired I might actually be able to get some sleep.

I shove my laptop into my bag and flick the light off. I can see Cameron on the phone in his office and I give him a wave as I make my way out.

The building's foyer is empty except for the security guard and I smile at the doorman as he wishes me goodnight. I step out into the cooling air and stop dead in my tracks.

It’s him.

Here.

Damien.

I freeze, my entire body cold and hot all at once.

And then I turn to run.

“Please! Stop!” He reaches out, his hand circling around my wrist, stopping me. I shake him off so hard that my shoulder almost pops out of the socket.

“No! Don’t you fucking touch me.” I yell, all the rage of twelve years built up inside me, drenched with fear.

He throws his hands up into the air.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m not going to touch you. Or hurt you.”

“Too late!” I yell again. I can see rather than feel my lip quivering, and I try to relax, counting to five under my breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I-...”

“No.” I hold a hand up to cover my eyes from the sight of his face. “I don’t care. Don’t ever come near me again. I dropped the charges from you breaking into my apartment because I didn’t want to drag… anyone else into this. So you trashed my apartment, he bashed you. Let’s call it even. But I’m warning you, don’t ever come near me again.”

I spin around and start to walk away.

“It wasn’t me! You have to know, it wasn’t me!” He shouts, a desperation in his voice I can’t place. I stop, even though I know I shouldn’t. But something... something makes me stop. “I swear, it wasn’t me who trashed your apartment.”