Broken, p.26
Broken, page 26
You have no idea how many questions are running through my mind, but I will kindly enlighten you as to just a few. For example, why hasn’t Damien told me the truth? Why has it taken him three years to re-enter my life? Where was he when I was shot and recovering from said shooting? Afghanistan? Or what about before, during and after Adrian? Why did he lie to me? Why has he continued to lie to me the entire time he’s been back in my life? Was he hoping I would remember? Was he ever going to tell me the truth?
It’s gotten to a point that my head is banging so much, I’ve given up trying to make sense of the chaos. That being said, so many things about life with Damien Take Two make so much more sense to me now. Damien’s eerie ability to read my mind and make me feel instantly comfortable; no wonder I felt like I was talking to an old friend after just a couple of encounters with someone I believed to be a stranger. My subconscious at work, maybe? Not to mention Damien’s determination to be with me, despite my scars, my fucked-up-ness, and the short time we’d known each other. He already knew me, and more than that, he was already in love with me. My God, I even said to Damien it felt like I’d known him for years, and I told Jess that sex with Damien felt like we’d been at it for years. I guess now I know why, and yes, I know how ridiculous all of this sounds. Try bloody living it!
Talk about an emotional whirlwind. I honestly don’t know whether to feel ecstatic that the love of my life is still the love of my life or insulted that he’s practically manipulated his way back in. I can’t lie and say I’m not pissed off because I am. Damien’s lied to me. There’s no two ways about it, he’s lied, and is technically still lying to me every second we’re together. Okay, so officially he’s omitting details, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the same thing, and as much as I hate to say it, I feel a little exploited.
Damien’s had an unfair advantage, and I can’t help thinking the past few weeks have been one big charade. Damien knows me like the back of his hand, and even though I’m a different person from who I was back then, there’s no anxiety, scars or shitty experiences in the handful of memories I’ve been blessed with; I’m still me at my core. I’m still the same woman Damien fell in love with, just a little more broken than I used to be, and he used his knowledge to worm his way into my heart.
And that’s where the true issue wades in: how much did Damien know? Did he already know about Adrian? Or my no-touching deal? I mean, there’s just no knowing how much information Damien had at his disposal, and it hurts. Telling Damien and reliving the horror I experienced at Adrian’s hand was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, and if it turns out he already knew and had me repeat it for the sake of keeping up the pretence, pissed off will be a massive understatement.
What I will say though, is I one hundred percent applaud Damien and Paul for not letting any tiny little detail slip, and I’m genuinely thinking they’ve missed their calling as actors. I mean, hats off to them. If the shoe was on the other foot, there’s no way in hell I’d have been able to spend so much time with the man I love or his closest friend and keep my trap shut. I guess Damien’s determination to be with me, no matter what, is a force to be reckoned with, and in a way, it’s admirable. I am wondering what Paul’s take on the situation was, but something tells me he was all for a game of charades. Looking at it from a positive perspective though, which we all know is a rarity for me, it shows just how much Damien loves me. I mean, the lengths he’s gone to are, in a word, insane.
So, all in all, I have reached the following conclusions. One, I love Damien, and apparently, I always have; I just lost a few years. Two, Damien is undoubtedly in love with me, and irrelevant of where the hell he’s been the past few years, he’s made a tremendous effort to find me, which is arguably commendable. But there’s a three, and it’s not quite so positive: I’m angry. Damien kept me in the dark and lied to me, and whether his intentions were good or not, there are questions that need to be answered and gaps that need to be filled.
Will my love for him outweigh his betrayal? Most likely. But not before I get my explanation. When I find the courage and strength to broach the subject, that is.
“You need to rest,” Damien tells me, snapping me back to reality as we climb into his car.
“I’ve spent the past four days resting.” We all know I hate hospitals. “Besides, there’s no difference whatsoever between resting in a hospital or resting at home.” Damien wisely doesn’t argue.
After a far too slow navigation through Manchester’s morning traffic, Damien pulls up outside his warehouse home. Maintaining his gentlemanly style, he swings around, opens my door and helps me to my feet. I can’t lie and say I’m not grateful because I’m telling you, four days later, and I’m still aching all over. Every movement is hard work, and even breathing too deep makes my ribs hurt. Something tells me my recovery is going to be a little longer than I hoped, and the thought is increasingly infuriating.
Damien opens the main door, and I head inside. I’m about to tackle the stairs when Damien takes my hand and tugs gently, stopping me in my tracks.
“I’ll carry you up,” he offers.
I laugh until I realise it hurts like hell to laugh, and I quickly shut up. “Last time I checked, my legs are working just fine, thank you.”
I don’t give Damien a chance to argue, slipping out of his grip and taking one painful step at a time. I can practically hear Damien’s scowl behind me, but I manage to make it to the top without passing out. Damien makes sure to move past me to unlock and slide open his front door though, and I step inside. I’m surprised to find an empty flat, if I’m honest. I figured Jess would be here, waiting to go into fussing mode, but I’m going to assume Damien’s determination to get me to rest has something to do with her absence. She’s not the only one who appears to be elsewhere either.
“Amy not here?” I ask, following Damien into the kitchen.
Thanks to my heroics, something Amy has not stopped thanking me for the two times she visited me, Amy survived the car incident unscathed. She was supposed to go home two days ago but she’s decided to stick around a little longer. I have a feeling making sure I’m truly okay is something she needs to do before she returns home, just to ease her conscience. Not that she has anything to feel guilty for. None of what happened was her fault, but I guess there’s probably an element of survivor’s guilt at play, though thankfully, I’m not dead, just injured.
“She spent the night at Jess and Raif’s,” Damien explains, pointing a finger to the couch, gaining him a pointed look from me.
“I’m gonna go get in my pyjamas first,” I state as Damien sets the kettle to boil. “If that’s all right with you?”
Damien scowls. “I’m only –”
“Trying to take care of me,” I cut in with a slightly petty tone. “I know.”
I let Damien press a kiss to my forehead before making my way to his bedroom. Sliding out of my jacket, I sit on the edge of the bed and reach down into the suitcase Damien retrieved from my flat yesterday in preparation for my homecoming to grab my pyjamas, but when I do, I can’t help the yelp that escapes my mouth. Damien is in the bedroom like a shot.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I groan. “Just hurts to bend.”
“Let me help,” Damien says, reaching into the suitcase and depositing my pyjamas on the bed.
I stupidly move to take off my shoes, but I’m swiftly back to yelping. Damien takes the reins, sliding off my shoes, and the disdain is written all over my face.
“Just let me help, babe,” Damien says softly. “I’d rather that than risk making things worse.”
Damien moves to slowly lift off my top, and I let him without argument but with a scowl. Normally, I would enjoy Damien taking my clothes off, but not now. Now, I’m extra angry. I’m angry I’m unable to do basic things because I need to recover from the aftermath of yet another bad experience, an experience that could’ve quite easily killed me. Some days I’m surprised I have a body left to be broken. I’ve spent so much time battered and bruised, healing and recovering, and just when I’d managed to heal enough of my emotional wounds to feel like a relatively normal human being… Boom. I’m back to being broken.
Damien helps me into my pyjamas, and I slowly make my way back out to the living room. I sit on the couch, but when I move to put my feet up, I stifle yet another yelp. I think the last dose of painkillers I took at the hospital is wearing off because holy hell, my entire body, especially my ribs, is in unspeakable agony.
“Chuck us some painkillers please, babe,” I ask Damien, who is in the kitchen.
Damien appears beside me with a freshly made brew and pops two tablets in my hand. Relatively comfortable in a sitting position on the couch, I revel in the sweet aroma of coffee as I swallow the pills.
I take a few more sips before the nausea creeps back up, and I’m yelping in pain to the bathroom. I just about manage to lift the lid before the projectile vomit takes over. Damien’s hand brushes my neck, pulling back my hair, and when he rubs a hand up and down my back in a rhythmic motion, I’m warmed by his comfort. I need it. I need him. Not in a pathetic take-care-of-me way, although I obviously do if my stubbornness took a back seat, but in a more, I just need to be touched and feel loved kind of way.
Once I’m done vomiting, Damien disappears and reappears with my toothbrush, and I quickly wash my hands and brush my teeth.
“If you keep throwing up,” Damien says, hovering in the doorway, watching me like a hawk, “I’m taking you back to the hospital.”
I rinse my mouth, turning off the tap before answering. “I’ll be fine,” I insist. “It’s not like I ain’t been through this shit before.” A bump to the head is nothing new, neither is bruised ribs or broken bones. “I think I’m just gonna lie down for a bit.”
Damien follows me into his bedroom and helps me find a non-agonising position before squatting down in front of me, tucking my hair behind my ear. I instinctively close my eyes, revelling in his touch again, but when I do, all I can see is the car screeching towards Amy, and I force my eyes open again.
“You okay?” Damien asks.
“Stay in bed with me,” I pathetically plead. “Please.”
“Course, baby,” Damien says softly, climbing in beside me. “Whatever you need.”
I ever so carefully nestle into his chest. His arms wrap around me, and all the emotions I’ve been holding in the past few days come pouring out in a waterfall of tears.
“Am I hurting you?” Damien asks, loosening his grip a little. I shake my head, and his grip tightens. “It’s okay, babe,” he soothes. “I got you.”
“Why me?” I sob. “Why does bad shit keep happening to me?”
Damien sighs. “Don’t do that, babe. This…” He hesitates. “You got hit by that car because you’re the most selfless woman I know, and you were too busy thinking about making sure my sister didn’t get hurt…” Oh right, yeah. This one is all my own fault. I almost forgot that part. “I’m so sorry, Dani.”
I manage to lift my head to look at him, annoyed by the guilt in his eyes. “Don’t you do that either,” I order. “Do not put my shitty luck on your head. You ain’t my bodyguard, so pack it in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It’s a poor attempt at humour.
“I’m serious.”
“Okay,” Damien says softly, but I glare at him. “Okay,” he repeats dramatically.
Half-satisfied, I lay my head back down on his chest and let the sound of Damien’s heartbeat soothe me. We lie in silence for a little while before Damien surprises me by breaking it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life,” he says, his voice trembling a little. “Seeing that car hit you and being powerless to stop it…” He pauses, and when I look up at him, a stray tear is falling down his cheek and melting my heart. “I ran as fast as I could, but finding you motionless on the ground… I honestly thought I’d lost you for good.”
For good. I wouldn’t have noticed the significance of those words before the accident, but I do now, and the tears fall from my eyes.
“You stopped breathing, Dani,” Damien continues, and my eyes widen in surprise. The doctor gave me a full rundown of the events, but he never mentioned I stopped breathing, or maybe he did, and I switched off, either is possible. I was pretty out of it for a couple of days. “Your heart stopped beating for less than a minute, but…” Damien’s voice trails off.
Take a second for that to sink in. My heart stopped beating. I died. For less than a minute, I was gone. My stomach churns at the anguish that must have caused Damien. I hold him tight, reaching a hand to his cheek. Ignoring the pain, I kiss him with everything I have, and when I pull away, I wipe the tears from his eyes.
“I can’t lose you, Dani,” Damien states.
Why do I get the feeling Damien’s just omitted an again from that statement? Holy mother of light bulbs. I was dead, and I’m not talking about the car. After the shooting and in an unsuccessful attempt to keep me safe, Ray and the police let the world believe I had died along with my family. In the months I spent in the hospital afterwards, not once did Ray mention Damien or a fiancé, or anyone… Does that mean Damien thought I was dead? Is that what kept him away?
“Oh, my God.” I’m talking to myself. “Raymond Jackson, I’m going to kill you.”
I bound out of bed in a moment of pure rage, instantly regretting it when my ribs scream in response.
“What?” Damien asks as I hunt down my jacket from the bottom of the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find my phone.”
“Why?”
“Because I need it,” I snap.
“Dani.” Damien moves to stand in front of me, grabbing a hold of my hands. “Stop. Talk to me. Who’s Raymond Jackson?”
“Ray,” I spit, Damien’s innocent act only managing to enrage me further.
“The police officer?” He doesn’t let up. “Your uncle’s partner?”
I force myself free of Damien’s grip, overwhelmed with emotion and unable to process it. So many lies. So much deceit. I trusted Ray, and I trusted Damien, and both of them have kept things from me, life-altering things that should never have been kept. It’s almost funny how quickly I’ve gone from heart-melting to pure pissed off but add in the discovery that I died and the whirlwind of emotions clouding my judgement, no wonder my head feels like it’s about to explode.
“I need air.” I dart out of the bedroom, but Damien is hot on my heels, gently grabbing my arm and stopping me just shy of reaching the kitchen.
“Woah, Dani,” he pleads. “You need to rest.”
“No,” I state. “What I need is to clear my head.”
“Why?” Damien asks. “What’s going on? What are you not telling me?”
I laugh a highly sarcastic laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
I yank my arm free from Damien’s grip and try to make my escape, which yes, is idiotic right now, but I don’t care. It’s also feeble, and I think deep down, I know that. Damien’s standing in front of me quicker than I can blink, blocking my path and forcing me to stop once again.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Damien asks. “Do you blame me? Is that it? Because if you’re leaving to punish me…”
I scoff. “Yes, because I’m that childish,” I say sarcastically, which Damien clearly doesn’t appreciate since he’s scowling. “You know I don’t blame you for the car accident.”
“Then what?” Damien pleads. “Why are you trying to run away from me?”
I inwardly laugh. Damien’s hit the nail on the proverbial head, and it’s downright annoying. I’m doing what I always do when things get rough – I’m running and hiding, or I’m trying to, at least.
“Because since the shooting I have only ever trusted two people more than anyone else,” I yell, omitting Jess for dramatic effect. “And it turns out, both of them have kept secrets from me, and it hurts, and I’m pissed and…”
I turn away from Damien, lifting my hands above my head, but when the pain sears through my chest, I opt to wrap them around myself instead.
“Dani –”
“Ray is one,” I cut him off. “The other is you.” Damien’s silence tells me either he’s cottoning on or he’s genuinely too confused for words, so I turn and face him. “And what I want now is the truth. All of it. Every last detail, right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What truth?” Damien asks, and I honestly can’t tell if his dumbfounded tone is genuine or fake.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Let me jog your memory.” See what I did there? “Damien Eugene Coyle.” And yes, I randomly remember Damien’s middle name, and the emphasis on that fact has Damien’s face dropping to the floor.
“What did you just call me?” he asks as I force myself to the couch, unable to take the pain of standing any longer. “I never told you…”
“That’s because you hate your middle name.” I remember that fact too. “But I think it’s a tribute to a…” I look to Damien, seeking clarification. “Family member?”
“My mum’s brother. He died from leukaemia when he was six,” Damien explains, his eyes lighting up as the metaphorical light bulb above his head shines so bright it’s close to bursting. “You remember?”
“I remember bits,” I say quietly.
“About me?” Damien asks, sitting down beside me. “About us?” I nod. “Dani…” Damien leans in, his intention to kiss me evident, but I put a hand up to stop him.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I state. “I love you, and you have no idea how happy I am to remember things, and to see you alive, but I am major league pissed off at you for lying to me.”
“Dani…” He repeats my name, albeit in a pleading tone this time around, but he makes no further attempts to kiss me, sighing heavily instead. “When?”
