Chapter 41 The Torrential Downpour
THE TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR
DAMON
I thought I was fine. I thought I’d be past this.
How unfair to her. To him. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried.
But I can’t fight it. I can’t control it.
Not at night. Not when the demons come and pull me to the depths of hell.
I’m broken. Sullied. When the sun is up, I can see the light.
I can find hope in her eyes, in the future we’re building.
But at night…
At night, I drown.
Wake up!
I'm submerged in the same fucking dream again, trapped within the lucid nightmare that refuses to loosen its grip on me. The park, the laughter, my family—so deceivingly normal.
And yet it all unfolds with the same cruel predictability.
Wake up! Wake the fuck up!
How many nights has it been now? How many painful reminders?
I’ve lost count.
It’s a sunlit Sunday, the sky a vast, innocent canvas of blue, but I know what's coming. I know it will all change in a split second. It’s the calm before the storm and no amount of dream logic can shield me from the impending upheaval.
My mother smiles at me. And like clockwork, it’s time.
The air grows thicker. Ominous. Gray clouds swirl around me. Thunder claps in the distance. Destructive. Malevolent. Exactly what I deserve.
I hold my breath as the dream spirals into a nightmare.
As it always does.
We run, seeking shelter from the rain that morphs into a torrential downpour. Vicious droplets sizzle our skin as we flee the once-idyllic park. And then lightning strikes, deadly and precise.
My father falls first, collapsing into a waiting coffin. Terror tightens my chest, my screams useless against the unrestrained forces of my psyche.
Another clap of thunder and my mother falls next, another coffin materializing to claim her lifeless body.
I try. I try so fucking hard to save her. But I can’t move. My legs, my arms, my entire body is locked, frozen as I desperately attempt to free myself from my mind’s shackles.
No!
In a flash of light, Gabriela falls next. And then the coffins multiply, surrounding me in a haunting graveyard. An eerie burial ground. Th rain pounds down on me, drowning out my anguished cries. Headstones taunt me from every direction. Dirt and mud and rocks cover the once-polished ground.
And then she appears—Alison.
Draped in black, she floats toward me, her smile unsettling. How can she smile at me? How can she look at me with anything but anger? Fury. The storm rages on around me, but her expression remains serene.
Stupid girl. She shouldn’t smile. I did this. I did this to her.
She's an apparition of death—a death I caused. And I watch her in helpless horror as the cycle repeats. The thunder comes, and I want to close my eyes. But I can’t.
I’m paralyzed, forced to relive her demise over and over and over again.
And then the lightning strikes, tearing her apart, but there's no coffin waiting to cradle her. To hold her. To make her comfortable.
Alison lingers, suspended in the air, a shredded soul with no sanctuary, no resting place. I look to the heavens, pleading, bargaining with forces beyond my understanding.
And suddenly, I’m free. My body is once again under my own control. I run toward her, breaking free from the shackles, desperate to catch her. The thunder roars, and I sprint, each step a futile attempt to outrun my deadly past.
But it’s too late and the lightning claims her once again. And then she’s gone, fragments of her soul dispersing into the wind.
"No... No!" I scream. “No!”
“Damon!”
“No!”
“Damon!”
“No…”
“Damon, wake up. Wake up, Damon.” Her voice slices through the crippling terror of the dream. “Damon…”
I follow her pleas, using each syllable of my name as a guiding beacon to reach back home. It’s cold and scary but I cling to her sweet, angelic voice until I’m safe. Until I’m no longer a prisoner of my own making.
With one final push, I tumble out of sleep in a jolt. A gasp seeps past my lips, and I blink against the reality of my present. It’s early morning.
I’m home.
"Hey, you're okay,” Emery whispers, caressing the damp side of my cheek as my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. “You’re okay.”
The room is bathed in the soft glow of electric flames, quietly crackling from the built-in fireplace below the mantle. Burgundy drapes flow from the ceiling, cocooning the canopy bedframe.
I’m home. This is home.
My muscles begin to relax, my heart rate slowing to a comfortable cadence.
I’m home. A home I share with her, the woman I love. And with him. The man who loves my woman.
Closing my eyes, I focus on Emery's rhythmic breaths, her hand stroking my skin, my hair. Her touch grounds me. Tries to erase the lingering unease in my chest. Tries. And often fails.
"I want to help you, Damon," Emery whispers. "How can I help you? It’s been weeks of this. I… I wish I could do something. Tell me what I can do.”
My eyelids flutter open, and I trace the delicate lines of her mesmerizing features. Her perfect little forehead, those plump lips, the slope of her nose. She looks just as gorgeous as the day I met her. That day, my life was changed forever.
But there’s something different about her.
It’s in her eyes. It’s in the way she looks at me with such heartbreaking empathy.
She looks the same. But she’s not. She’s lighter now.
Softer. Even her voice carries more of a melodic tone.
It’s a song I could listen to for centuries and never tire of its magic.
Some days, I’m afraid to touch her. I’m scared to hold her hand. I fear that one day, I’ll touch her, and she’ll feel all my evil. All my sin.
Despite the countless times she’s told me to forgive myself, I can’t. I say I do. I smile and tell her I’m fine. But we both know it’s a lie. Quin knows too. He’s always been quite perceptive. I’m glad Emery has Quin. She deserves someone stable. Someone honest. That’s not me. It can never be me.
“I’m fine, baby. It was just a bad dream.”
I’ve said these words enough times that I’ve almost mastered their authenticity.
I’m on the precipice of earning a merit badge in the art of deception.
I know we’ve all promised to be truthful with one another.
To have open communication. But how many times can I break down before they both realize there’s no fixing me?
Before they both decide that I’m a lost cause?
It’s selfish, I know, but I prefer to keep my demons in solitary confinement. That way, they can’t taint her. They can’t drag her back to a place she just crawled out of. She’s running on hope for the first time. I can’t be the one to destroy that.
“Maybe it’s time to talk to a professional, Damon.”
Emery’s brows scrunch together, her gaze flitting across my tightened features. She’s searching for an ounce of hope. I know she’s found it herself, otherwise, she’d never recommend a shrink. She believes I can get past this. That I can find peace. How I wish she were right.
She squeezes my hand. “Please? I think it could really help you.”
I swallow, forcing my expression to remain gentle, appreciative of her concern. “We’ve been over this, Emery. We both know that’s not an option.”
How the hell am I supposed to spill my guts to a fucking shrink when my problems are rooted in covered-up manslaughter?
I can’t sit down with Dr. Tweed-Jacket and simply say, “I’m having a recurring nightmare where my ex-girlfriend, who I accidentally killed in a car accident while I was drunk driving, reappears as a frighteningly peaceful ghost. Oh, and my father covered up her death and never told me about it.
Oh, and then my father, my mother, and my sister all died in a helicopter crash a year later, and I was the only survivor.
Oh, and the woman I currently love has said ex-girlfriend’s heart beating inside her chest. Oh!
And I’m in an unconventional relationship with her and another man, with whom I had also previously shared a partner.
Who, you may ask? You guessed it. The woman I killed.
The shrink will need a shrink after hearing that fucked up tale.
And I’d be in jail.
Rightfully so.
Emery frowns, sighing. “I just… I just want you to be happy.”
See? I’m already doing it. I’m already dimming her fucking light. Just by existing. Just by being around her. I’m sucking the joy out of her. I can see it. I can feel it.
Why doesn’t she just let me go? She was right to leave me before. I understand that now that I have all the facts. How can she love someone like me? I’m not a good person. I’m not good for her. I’m not good for anyone.
Her frown deepens as her question goes unanswered for a second too long. “You’re not happy…are you?” She averts her gaze, shoulders slumping as she rests against the headboard. “I’m sorry, Damon. I’m sorry that I told you…” Her jaw tenses. “It’s my fault. I should’ve just stayed away.”
Her unfounded guilt makes me want to punch a fucking hole through the wall.
She’s sorry? She’s sorry? What the fuck is she sorry for?
How twisted. How sick. Why is she apologizing to me?
Her fault? She thinks this is all her fault?
I want to laugh. I want to scream. I want to shake her so violently that all those ridiculous thoughts escape from her beautiful mind.
“Emery, stop.” I place a hand on her fidgeting fingers. “Just stop.”
She glances at me, her eyes glossy. And now I’ve gone and made her cry. Fucking fantastic. If Quinton were here tonight and not on some fucking business trip, he’d deck me right in the face for making her lips tremble like that.
“I just…” She sucks in a shaky breath. “I hate seeing you like this, Damon.” She swallows, fixing her messy hair. “I-I’m going back to work today. I’m worried that…” She trails off, not needing to finish her thought. That’s not a solution. “Will you be okay alone?”
I understand her concerns. Three weeks ago, my behavior was erratic. Unhinged. I can still feel that barrel pressed against my temple.
“I’ve signed up for an art class,” I say, setting a mental reminder to sign up for a fucking art class. “I’ll be fine.”
“Really?” Emery beams. Literally beams. Light shoots out of her, and for a moment, I feel her joy.
“Really.”
My lips stretch into a wide smile. A real smile. Because how can I fake being happy when she’s looking at me like that? Like I’ve just cured every rare disease in the world. God, I wish I could see what she sees. Maybe that would help. Maybe then, I’d deserve her.
I lift my hand and rake my fingers through her hair, tugging on the roots, pulling her closer to me. My forehead rests against hers, my breath fanning against her parted lips.
“And I am happy, Emery. I get to wake up every fucking day and look at you. Hold you. Kiss you. Touch you.”
Emery squirms, and heat radiates from her naked body as she sidles closer to me under the sheets, her impatient hands gliding up and down my thigh, inching closer to my growing erection.
“So touch me, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she coos, undulating her pussy against my hip. “Show me just how happy I make you.”
Maybe I don’t need a shrink. Maybe Emery can be my therapist. My cure. Maybe in time, she’ll fuck the demons right out of me. Or she’ll silence them.
Preferably forever.