Broken, p.12
Broken, page 12
“She’s a good friend,” Damien compliments.
“Yeah, she is,” I admit. “She hasn’t been home yet. She’s still at Raif’s.”
“Raif probably won’t let her leave,” Damien jokes.
“Those two have definitely hit it off.” Two peas in a pod, I reckon. “How’d you and Raif meet? I get Paul…”
“Raif’s Paul’s cousin,” Damien explains.
“You three seem tight. Danny not so much.”
“Danny’s a kid. He’s like nineteen. He only joined the band to get some gigging experience.”
“Paul’s older though, right?”
Damien nods. “Thirty-four.” He chuckles. “I remember a couple of newbies on the unit. It was Paul’s last tour, so he was the daddy, you know.” I smile. “The arrogant twats thought Paul’s age was a disadvantage and made the grave mistake of challenging him.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say they never did it again.” I laugh. “Paul got a warning, mind, and a stern reminder we were supposed to be fighting the enemy, not each other, but Paul’s not the type to back down. Man’s my brother in every way bar blood, but even I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Noted,” I joke, before sighing. “Pretty sure my cousin and me were like that, as close as siblings, but we had a weird family set-up.”
“How so?”
“We all lived together,” I say. “As in parents, aunt, uncle…”
“In one house?” Damien asks, surprised.
I nod. “A big house, but yeah.”
“You must have had a really close family.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I agree, ignoring the sting in my heart.
“Do you remember the house?” Damien asks.
“Not really,” I answer. “But I went back after the fire to see if being there would trigger any memories…”
“That can’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t.”
Silence falls, the conversation turning a little too heavy, but as Damien takes my hand in his, a wave of comfort washes over me, and I manage a weak smile.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Damien says.
“How’d you work that one out?” I ask, taken aback.
“You got shot,” Damien replies bluntly. “Suffered a brain bleed, lost almost all your memories, yet here you are, sipping on coffee and smiling that gorgeous smile.”
I sigh. I guess I’m being dragged back to reality a little quicker than I had hoped, and the inevitable awkward conversation I’ve been avoiding is growing closer. I can either face it or I can cut and run.
“On that note,” I say, rising to my feet. “I should probably be heading home.”
Damien sighs. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
“I know,” I say calmly. “I’m just trying to avoid the conversation.”
“So, there’s a conversation to be had?”
I retake my seat, sighing. “We both know there is.”
“Do I want to know how it’s gonna go?”
“Probably not.”
Damien sighs, tugging on my heartstrings. I don’t want to hurt him, I really don’t, but the reality is hand-holding is one thing, being intimate is another thing entirely.
“I don’t care, Dani,” Damien says, a hint of desperation in his voice. “About your past or your anxiety issues.”
“Except my issues run a shitload deeper than anxiety,” I state. “I can’t be touched without my past flashing before my eyes for crying out loud, and…”
“And what?”
I force myself to meet his gaze. “It hurts.”
“Hurts?”
“I can feel the pain,” I tell him. “Like it’s physically happening even though it ain’t, which is why I can’t be…” I choke on a breath. “Intimate. I can’t physically be with someone.”
“I don’t care,” he repeats, glazing over my pain admission as if I never spoke it.
“You say that now,” I argue. “But further down the line, you’ll need more. You’ll deserve more. I can’t give you what you need.”
“How do you know if you don’t try?” he asks, and reluctantly, I silently admit he has a point.
Damien moves a little closer and lifts his hand, his eyes asking for permission. For some undefined reason – curiosity or hope, perhaps – I find myself nodding. He gently runs a finger down my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear, and my breath quickens. I lower my head, my body hardening in anticipation, but with a single finger under my chin, Damien raises my head back up again. Our eyes meet, and his sky-blues burn into mine, awakening a fire in the pit of my stomach. I should walk away, but as he leans in closer, the smell of his aftershave or deodorant or whatever intoxicating me, I find myself helpless and unable to move. Damien trails his finger down from my chin, onto my neck… I pull away, my breath caught in my throat.
“I can’t do this,” I say, my voice trembling as I rise to my feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Dani,” Damien pleads, standing up. He knows I’m going to run, and I know he wants to follow or stop me altogether.
“No,” I snap. “Please, just don’t.”
I take off running, fully aware that if he wanted to, Damien could easily catch up to me, but I’m hoping he decides to listen and leave me be. I keep running until I reach the furthest edge of the park. Out of breath and feeling a little weak at the knees, I crumble onto the nearest bench and let the tears of self-pity and regret flow. I never should’ve let things with Damien get this far. Stupid, selfish, and everything in between.
I sit on the bench for a while, watching the many dog walkers and runners pass me by until I force myself to drag my arse to the nearest train station. The journey home is short and sweet, but as I walk up to the communal entrance, the nausea hits. I hadn’t thought about the possibility of seeing James again, and now that I’m alone, any confidence I had has dissipated. Luckily, I manage to get inside without incident, and I could not be more grateful. I am considering finding a new place to live though, as the thought of bumping into James on a regular basis makes me cringe. I will never forgive him, so there’s no chance of being polite or civil either.
Once inside, I sink into my couch, wrapping my arms around my body, and I let myself cry, hopelessly and endlessly. Unfortunately, there’s a knock on my door. I contemplate ignoring it, but Jess’s voice begs my attention, and I reluctantly let her in.
“What’s wrong?” she asks as I throw myself back onto the couch, Jess moving to sit beside me. “Dani?”
“Things came to a head between Damien and me.” I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need someone to talk to. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose, and other than Damien, Jess is my only other option.
“What are you talking about?” Jess asks.
“I can’t be with him, Jess,” I sob.
“Why not?”
I sigh. “Because my past is more fucked up than you can imagine, and as much as I want to move on, I can’t. I can’t let it go. Every time I close my eyes…”
“But surely Damien understands that,” Jess says softly. “He doesn’t seem like the type to push.”
“He’s not,” I agree. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to…” I don’t even want to say the words. “Be intimate.”
“Oh, Dani.” Jess suddenly looks as if she might cry. I can imagine she’s got a few theories about what I’ve been through running through her head. None of them good.
“But I knew this,” I say. “I knew it would come to this, and I let it because I was selfish and stupid and –”
“It’ll be okay,” Jess soothes, taking my hand in hers.
“How?” I ask, a little louder than intended.
“Because I’m here for you,” she says. “In any way you need me, and eventually, it will be okay.”
I manage a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
And that’s exactly what Jess is – a friend. The only friend I have right now, for which I’m grateful. Damien was right about one thing, my therapist too if I think about it: I can’t deal with my shit on my own. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not planning on sharing the ins and outs of my colourful past just yet, but I need someone to cry on, someone with no strings, non-romantic strings at least, attached.
My issues are psychological, I know. My therapist always said I have the power to overcome my fears if I’m willing to try, and in so many ways, I already have. I moved to a new town, got two jobs, and I’ve socialised in the indoors-only sense. That’s a far cry from the non-verbal mess I was two years ago, believe me, but when it comes to relationships, I don’t know where to start. I want to believe Damien’s touch would bring me nothing but comfort, and that he would still want me despite my fucked-up-ness. I even want to believe I can eventually learn to let go of the past and finally move on, but then I flashback to him, and my hopes and dreams shrivel into nothing.
But then the rollercoaster that is my mind crawls back up from the dip it just dived into, reminding me I have nothing else to lose, so why not take the leap? I could throw all caution to the wind. I could tell my cannon-armed guards to stand down and bare all, right here, right now. If I stand any chance of taking the risk and embarking on a relationship with Damien, he needs to know what lurks beneath, so why not now? That way, he will have the full picture and… I sigh. I can barely look myself in the mirror, so there’s little chance Damien will be able to hide his disgust and seeing it on his face will destroy me. I’m going around and around in circles, and I’m starting to feel dizzy.
I don’t know how long Jess and I sit in silence before she opts to make us both a brew, leaving me to curl up on the couch with my thoughts. It’s short-lived though, and just as Jess is about to hand me my cup, the sound of my intercom buzzing pierces my eardrums. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who is on the other side.
“Leave it,” I tell Jess. My phone rings, but I ignore that too.
“Dani,” Jess says softly. “It’s not fair to leave him hanging.”
With a heavy sigh, I force myself to my feet. Without saying a word, I press the door release and open the front door. In seconds, Damien tentatively wanders in, looking, I don’t know, relieved, maybe.
“I’ll give you guys some privacy,” Jess says, heading for the door. “Just knock if you need me.”
I nod, sitting back down on the couch, and Jess leaves. Damien continues his tentative movements to sit on the opposite couch, twiddling his keys in his hands, and it only makes me feel guiltier. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want Damien to have to deal with my crap.
“I tried looking for you,” he says. “I should’ve run straight after you.”
“I told you not to,” I remind him. “And I shouldn’t have taken off in the first place.” I should’ve handled the situation like a grown-up.
Damien sighs. “I didn’t mean to push.”
“You didn’t push.” I shrug. “Things were going the way they were going.”
“I don’t want things between us to change,” he says, that hint of desperation making a second appearance. “I liked the way things were going.”
“Except they can’t keep going that way.”
“Yes, they can,” Damien insists. “I honestly don’t give a damn about your baggage, Dani. I don’t want to give up on whatever it is between us. Not when I think we could be great together.”
“You have to,” I state, trying to hide my emotion. “I can’t put my baggage on you. I won’t put it on you.”
“I can handle anything you throw at me.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“I want to,” he almost pleads, leaning forward to sit on the very edge of the couch. “I want you to let me in. Let me share your pain. Hell, I’d take it away if I could. You don’t have to deal with everything alone.”
“I know that,” I say with a slightly raised voice. “But it doesn’t change anything. I’m too fucked up.”
“We’re all fucked up one way or another,” he says, raising his voice to mirror mine. “Your problem is you’re closed off in your bubble of self-pity and negativity, pushing away anyone that cares to know you, too afraid to let anyone in because if you did, if you let the walls you’ve built around yourself break down, you wouldn’t have an excuse to hide anymore. You might actually have to live your life, and to you, that’s scarier than any of the shit that goes on in your head.”
Seriously? He’s not wrong, to an extent, but it does nothing but piss me off. I stand and move around the back of the couch, folding my arms across my chest.
“That’s not fair,” I snap. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, and you have no right to judge me. In case you ain’t noticed, I have been trying, yet every time I do, bad shit happens. Look at all the shit that’s happened with James, for God’s sake. Bad shit follows me around, and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
“Drag me down,” he begs, clambering to his feet and moving to stand facing me. “Please, drag me down to hell for all I care. If it means I get to be with you.”
“Why me?” I suddenly ask. “You can have any girl you want, and you pick the most complicated lass around. Why?”
My paranoid side is reawakening. Damien’s determination to be with me is unnerving. I’m being ridiculous, I know, but what if Damien’s kind and caring personality is all an act? What if he’s manipulating me into getting close to him in some sick and twisted game he wants to play? I mentally shake my head. No. I don’t believe that. I can’t, I won’t believe that.
“Because there’s something about you,” Damien says softly. “I knew it from the first time I saw you, as cheesy as that sounds. I can’t explain it and yeah, we’ve only known each other for two seconds, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. All I know is when I’m with you, I don’t want to be without you.”
I shake my head, the tears starting to fall, but at least my paranoid side has dampened a little, my rational side taking over. If he was playing a game, it wouldn’t involve letting me develop feelings for someone else; he’s too possessive for that.
“I am begging you,” he pleads. “Don’t push me away.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I say. “One look underneath, and that attraction you feel will turn to disgust.”
“That could never happen.”
“Damien, please –”
“Just let me in,” he begs, cutting me off. “And if you’re right, if I don’t like what I see, I’ll walk away, but I already know that nothing you could tell me will send me packing. Give me the chance to prove that.” I stand, staring into his sincere sky-blues. “Please.”
“You really want me to let you in?” I ask.
“Yes.”
It’s now or never. Before I have time to change my mind, I lift my top and pull it over my head, leaving me standing half-naked with just my bra for coverage. Damien’s face drops to the floor as he takes in the sight of the whip lashes, the deep bite marks, and the knife wounds that cover my torso front to back. It’s not a pretty sight, and my torso makes my scar on my face look like a freckle, but Damien wanted me to let him in, so here I am in all my disfigured glory.
Let’s see how Damien likes this part of my never-ending, multilayered sob story, shall we?
Chapter Eleven
“This is why I don’t like to be touched,” I state, still standing half-naked in front of Damien. “Because every time I feel someone’s hand on me, it reminds me the only touch I have ever felt is one of mind-numbing, searing pain. Every time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of what I’ve been through, what he did to me. I don’t have the luxury of moving on from the past because the bastard carved it into me. Adrian –” I quiver at the use of his name “– made sure I would never, ever forget.”
“Dani,” Damien says softly, but I shake my head, quickly putting my top back on and wiping the tears from my eyes. “What…”
“I was kidnapped, beaten –” I pause for breath, not wanting to say the next part out loud “– and raped.” Damien’s eyes widen. “Over and over, for months. Adrian ruined me, and there’s no coming back from that.”
Damien merely stands staring at me. For the first time since I met him, Mr Always-Has-an-Answer-for-Everything is speechless. He looks angry too, furious even, but I’m assuming it’s at Adrian and not me.
“It’s a long story,” I offer.
“I got time,” he says in a weird, biting-back-his-anger kind of tone, and I sigh deeply. I guess I’ve opened the floodgate, so there’s not much point in trying to close it now. I drag myself back to the couch and sit. Hesitating, I take a few deep breaths before speaking again.
“After I got shot,” I start, knowing I’ve already explained that part. “I needed surgery for the brain bleed. I was taken to the hospital, but as far as the media was concerned, I died along with my family. It was for my protection. The men my uncle was targeting were powerful drug dealers, the kind of guys willing to commit murder to protect their business, and if they knew I was alive…”
“They’d have finished what they started,” Damien finishes my sentence, sitting down beside me.
“But…” I say, laughing nervously. “And this is gonna sound stark raving bonkers, but I swear to you, I ain’t bullshitting. I actually lived this shit.”
“Tell me,” he urges.
“Turns out,” I say, “one of the most respected doctors at Royal London Hospital was behind one of the most sophisticated drug syndicates in London. God, saying it out loud, it sounds so ridiculous.”
Damien shakes his head in disagreement as I brush my hands over my face and sigh.
“Doctor Adrian Harris,” I say spitefully. “He was my surgeon. He could have killed me whilst I was under, but he didn’t. Funny, since I was supposed to die with my family, a murder he orchestrated, but unfortunately for me, he saw my face for the first time and liked what he saw.” Or at least, that’s what he told me. “On the day before I was due to be discharged, I was taken for an X-ray to make sure my broken bones had reset properly, only I never made it to X-ray.”
