Chapter 27 The Caged Bird
THE CAGED BIRD
EMERY
I push Damon toward the balcony, the cool evening air hitting us as we step outside.
How could he be so foolish? So careless? And in front of the paparazzi?
Damon stumbles and leans heavily against the balcony railing, his breathing ragged and uneven. I turn to face him, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and concern. I want to scream at him, to reprimand him for his idiotic actions, but my voice catches in my throat.
He looks up at me, almost innocent, pure. “You lied to me,” Damon whispers, residual anger lingering on the tip of his tongue as he glances down at the necklace. “You…lied to me.”
I freeze as Damon's words register, his accusatory tone slicing through me. Is he seriously blaming me for his actions? It's like he's reaching for any excuse to justify his behavior. But his words also sting with a hint of truth.
“The necklace?” I ask, shaking my head. “You punched him in the face in front of dozens of reporters because of a fucking necklace?! Damon, we are here to represent your company. A company that, based on public opinion and stocks, is failing. What were you thinking?”
His lip twitches. "I wasn't thinking. That's the problem." He takes a purposeful step toward me, his eyes hooded and dark. "Why is it so fucking hard for you to listen to me? To obey me?"
“Obey you?” My scoff is laced with bitterness and hurt as I shake my head. "Maybe because I am not a damn dog.”
“No?” His jaw ticks as he aggressively flicks the stem of the necklace. “Then why the fuck are you wearing a collar?”
I blink. “What?”
Damon runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Jesus, Emery, do you not see what’s happening? He’s claiming you, and you, you’re fucking allowing it.”
I swallow, the weight of the diamonds almost unbearable under his pained gaze. “It’s just a necklace.”
“Maybe to you,” Damon says. “But to him, it’s an opening, an invitation. One that you’ve accepted.” He pauses, face paling. “Are you…interested in him?”
I could lie. I could tell him that Quinton means nothing. I could say that he has nothing to worry about. But that would be a lie.
“He intrigues me,” I answer honestly. “Quin… He intrigues me.”
Damon winces as if I slapped him across the face. “And I do not?”
I can see two paths before me, each with a distinct promise.
The first path burns with passion and desire.
It’s a path that I have already walked. Will continue to walk.
It sizzles with an intense heat that both consumes and strengthens me, like a sword forged in the scorching pits of hell.
It’s chaotic and messy and oozing with toxic waste, and yet, I am powerless to resist its pull.
The second path remains untouched and untapped.
But welcoming. So fucking welcoming. It’s green and lush and glowing with intellectual ease.
There’s no intensity, no pain, no danger that I can sense, but there is depth.
A depth that calls to me like an angel’s whisper, and I’m so fucking tempted to take a step forward and explore.
The path of thunder shakes my core, the lightning illuminating the darkest corners of my mind.
But it cannot be dark forever.
“Can I not find two men intriguing?” I ask, placing a hand on his vibrating chest, the earth beneath his feet quaking at my response. I tilt my head, giving him a soft, manipulative smile. “Intrigue is just that, Damon. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“Overreacting? Given what you just said, I think my reaction is exactly what it should be,” Damon grunts, wrapping his hand around my wrist. His grip is firm, solid, unflinching.
It makes me feel trapped, like a bird in a cage.
I can’t handle any more cages. “Do you want to fuck him, Emery? Is that what you want?”
“Let go of me,” I say, and he drops his hand immediately. “You need help, Damon.” I rub my wrist, shaking my head at the sad man standing before me. “Professional help.”
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, ashamed and small. “I—”
“Are you, though?” I ask. “I get that you and Quin have problems, but I’m not an idiot and neither are you.
Whatever elicited this reaction is something bigger than just a necklace.
” I sigh. “You told the reporter earlier that you spent the last two years grieving. Well, grief has stages, Damon. And I-I don’t think you’ve ever left the anger behind.
Because this,” I motion around him, “this is some unresolved grief, in some way or another.”
“I—”
“I’m done talking to you,” I say, picking up the train of my dress. “Figure your shit out, Damon, because I have no desire to carry your baggage. Either unpack it or I will pack up and leave. I’m going to check on Quin.” I flash him a stern look. “Do not follow me.”
As I make my way toward Quinton, a wave of guilt crashes over me. It feels like I am abandoning a wounded child, one who is unable to articulate their feelings. But he’s not a child. He’s an adult, a grown-ass man who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants.
Perhaps it’s a result of his upbringing, or maybe his inflated ego is to blame. Or, the explanation that haunts me with unshakeable guilt, is that he fears losing me to the same sea that swept away all those he dared to care about before.
My sympathies are with him, they really are, but I am not a solution to his problems. I am not a remedy, a cure, a magical concoction that heals all his wounds, his scars, his pain.
I’m also not a distraction. And that is what it feels like sometimes. That he uses me to forget. I’m a hypocrite, I know. I use him too. But soaking in pleasure is always so much more attractive than soaking in pain.
But his pain fuels mine and mine fuels his. There’s only so much agony a human body can take.
“You need ice,” I say to Quinton. He looks up at me, the cloth napkin in his hand dotted with blood. I glance down at his ruined white tuxedo. “And that’s going to stain.”
“You’re still here,” Quinton muses, standing up. He gives me a crooked smile. “I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“No, you’re an idiot.” My gaze darts to the service doors that lead into the back kitchen. “This way. Let’s go.” I look back over my shoulder at Quin and lift an impatient brow. “Do you want a bruise?”
Quin chuckles, following me. “I wouldn’t mind a bruise. I feel like it would make me look rather dashing, wouldn’t it, darling?”
“Don’t darling me,” I state, slipping past the waitstaff as we sneak through the swinging doors.
I ignore the puzzled looks from the cooks as I zero in on an ice machine.
Grabbing a fresh cloth napkin from a nearby tray, I flip open the lid and stuff the cloth with ice cubes. “Here. Put it on your nose.”
“You’re quite bossy, aren’t you, little Emery?” Quinton presses the ice pack to the side of his nose and leans against the prep table. “There. Happy?”
I roll my eyes, jonesing for a cigarette. “Am I happy that my boss got caught in 4K socking GQ’s Man of the Year in the face? No, can’t say I am.”
Quin smirks. “Yes, that was terribly unfortunate.”
I shoot him a knowing scowl. “Really? Because it seemed like you knew exactly what was coming.” I tilt my head. “What did you say that pushed him over the edge? I don’t fully understand.”
Quin clicks his tongue. “It’s not my place to say.”
I scoff. “Seriously? Somehow, Damon’s privacy is now important?”
He gives me a coy shrug. “We have a complex relationship, darling. You know this.” He glances down at my necklace. “Why did you lie to him?”
“Why?” I release an incredulous laugh. “Maybe because I knew he’d react exactly as he did.” I lower my voice in an animated whisper. “In case you didn’t know, he really doesn’t like you.”
“Mmm,” Quin hums, lowering the ice pack. He cocks his head, his gaze dancing around my face. “And yet you still wore the necklace.”
“I solved the puzzle,” I say, clearing my throat. “And it suited my dress. It’s just jewelry, Quin. It’s not like I fucked you.”
He grins, chuckling under his breath. “Liar, liar, evening gown on fire.”
I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
He gives me a cunning smile. “You didn’t solve the puzzle, darling. Do you know how I know?” He pushes himself off the prep table, striding toward me. He arches closer, whispering in my ear. “That puzzle is unsolvable, Emery. There was no correct answer.”
“I—”
He takes a step back, brimming with amusement.
“You smashed it open, didn’t you?” I press my lips into an unimpressed thin line.
He expels a boisterous laugh of total satisfaction.
“Brilliant! I knew you would. Granted, it was a tad of a gamble, but I was right. I almost feel like champagne is in order.”
“Oh my God. Stop,” I grumble, cheeks flushing from embarrassment. “Fine. Yes. I smashed it. So what?”
“You were curious, weren’t you?” he asks, the joy emanating from his body attempting to taint mine. “You just had to know, didn’t you? I find that incredibly endearing.”
I glower at him. “Are you done now?”
He shrugs. “If you want me to be.”
“I do.”
“You don’t like when people figure you out, do you? You find it invasive, probably uncomfortable.” He pauses, twisting his lips in thought. “You’re very much like the puzzle box in a way. Unsolvable.”
Damon pops into my head. I intend to solve you. I stifle a shudder. “What makes you say that?”
“I have a great read on people. One of my few valuable skills,” he says, offering me a steady smile. “Don’t worry, darling, I don’t wish to smash you open. I quite like the look of you intact.”
That’s what Damon is doing. He’s breaking me, smashing my walls, hoping to uncover a gem inside.
He’s confident something beautiful is hidden under the surface, under the layers of protection.
He’s willing to destroy the exterior to relish in the glory of his discovery.
But at what cost? What if there’s nothing inside?
What if he incinerates the only thing holding me together?
“What’s on your mind, little Emery?” Quin asks. “Where are you right now?”
“What?”
“Where are you?” He hesitates for a second before bringing his hand up to my cheek. His fingers brush softly against my skin as he adds, “You’re not here right now. Where are you?”
“I’m just…” His touch lulls my brain into verbal submission. “I’m thinking about Damon.”
His expression remains gentle, unaffected. No jealousy. No anger. It startles me; the contrast. “What about him?” he whispers, continuing to stroke my cheek.
“That he’s…” I swallow. “That he’s wrong about something.”
“About what, darling?”
“Me.” The word trembles off my tongue. “That he’s wrong about me.”
“What about you?” His breath tickles my skin, warm and soothing and borderline prescriptive. Like a sedative. A drug. A synthetic combination of chemicals.
With a shaky breath, I push him away, unwilling to let more toxins into my body. “I should find Damon. I need to…”
But I don’t find him.
All evening I search for him, avoiding Quinton as I mingle with the appropriate people, as I glance over my shoulder every chance I get. He left. He left and didn’t say goodbye. It shouldn't bother me. I told him to stay away. He opened my cage.
But I’m still inside.