Chapter 19
Mila
Scars are like icebergs; at first glance, you only see the shape above the water. It ’ s always interesting or grotesque enough to capture people ’ s attention at first glance.
No one usually looks deeper; they don ’ t dive under those uncharted waters because fear of the unknown holds them back; it seals their heels to the floor or twists their spines so they don ’ t have to look at the waves hiding the lurking monsters beneath them. Memories, just under the scar ’ s surface, begging to be set free, but no one is ever brave enough to ask, so those nightmares stay hidden under the scars, using that thick callus skin as a camouflage.
I feel the memories hiding now, just beneath my flesh, under that ugly red scar Dom carved into my skin. Forever lurking. Hunting. Squirming and shuffling, slithering and tiptoeing, trying to worm their way up from my scar into my mind.
Some nights, I feel him inside of me; instead of faking that I enjoy it, I show him my true feelings. He doesn ’ t stop.
Why would he?
He was a demon wrapped in flesh, stinking with charm; I fell for it all, allowing him to lure me in so he could take everything from me.
He wanted my last breath, and the only reason he didn ’ t claim it was because of Dash King. My other monster who wants more from me yet so much less at the same time.
Calm down. That ’ s it; take a deep breath.
Stop. Don ’ t dig your nail into the palm of your hand. There, that ’ s it. Hold the handle of your luggage instead.
This bag feels like a fishing hook, and I ’ m the bait being cast into a sea of sharks.
While recovering at home for the last two months, I caught up on school assignments and spent quality time with my dad. It ’ s the longest duration we have ever spent together. Some nights, we had nothing to say, and others, it was too much to bear.
This nice little safety net is about to drop me back into the choppy waters. Dad ’ s work needs him now more than ever. He has to put on a bold new face, proving to his clients that his office is stable again. I have to put on my old mask, and I ’ m his dutiful daughter, who is well-rounded, levelheaded, and, oh yeah, has no scars that haunt her.
I have to smile and pretend to be the happy fiancée.
Pretend again.
It should be easy. It ’ s just a role I have to dance to.
Damian ’ s car pulls up to my house as if this were one of his routine visits, but today, he ’ s my chariot here to take me away.
It ’ s always Damian, sometimes daily. He ’ s tried to knit himself into the patchwork quilt of my life, like a new square that somehow brightens the dark themes that have consumed me.
As if a shadow vanishes in the sunlight, I retreat from the window, concealing my disappointment that it ’ s Damian, not Dash. I haven ’ t seen Dash at all; it ’ s as if he ’ s embodied a ghost. The presence of it haunts me. Sometimes, I look up, feeling his eyes on me, but that ’ s just my silly heart, hoping for what can ’ t be.
How do I communicate with someone who is deaf and has walls so thick I can ’ t even see his face?
I know Dash loves me; I see it in his silence.
Watching me bleed was the final straw for a man like him. I am his weakness; that ’ s what he meant when he said I was a predator.
He, however, found a new way to protect himself from me. He ’ s turned his skin into coarse desert sand; he ’ s impenetrable now; his defenses are so tiny you can never single one grain out to stab it, yet his strength is so numerous you can ’ t target it all at once.
I can never scoop all of him up and beg for him to hold me while I cry. He just slips through my fingers, leaving a burning, rough trail behind.
I can ’ t find enough glue to piece Dash back together; there ’ s just too much, the aftermath spread too far and wide.
Sand hides in all those cracks, and you can never get it all out, so you give up and try to live with the irritation.
That ’ s what he considers me now—just another pain. I ’ m a pitted and corroded mirror. No amount of washing will fix me because that grime is under the surface, behind the glass—under my scars. The only way to remove the rust from the mirror is to break the glass, but then it ’ s too late. You cannot use the mirror because it ’ s shattered, making you appear distorted and ugly.
The only way to remove the filth from our minds would be to carve it out, but then we ’ d just be shells too cracked to hold anything.
No amount of poking and prodding will have Dash bending his knees to me.
I don ’ t know what to do.
Knock, knock . Damian always knocks twice but then enters without waiting. His black boots, gleaming clean, stride into the foyer, and his eyes find me in a flash. A wide smile greets me, but it never reaches his eyes. Those eyes of his are always digging, looking for signs of what I ’ m hiding.
“ You ready?”
“ If I said no, would it matter?”
He takes my luggage, his lips pressing thin. “ Remember what Titan and I told you? We ’ re here, and we won ’ t stop being here. Dash is here, too.”
“ Just in a different way,” I mutter sadly. “ I don ’ t know what to do, Damian.”
“ Give him time.” Damian places his hand on my lower back, guiding me out the door and into his car. “ No matter how strong a fortress, time will eventually erode it.”
Damian is like a river that has reached a mountain of rock; he keeps pushing, gently slipping into the tiny pores, turning them into cracks, then caverns, pushing and pushing until the hope he speaks turns into a river that has etched its way through the rock.
I don't want his hope right now. I want honesty.
“ You ’ re right, but sometimes time doesn ’ t stop to look at the mess it made; it just moves on.”
◆◆◆
“ I ’ ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Blaze flashes a goofy grin as he pulls up his shirt, showcasing his scar to the entire art class.
I rush towards Blaze, arms outstretched, abandoning Damian at the entrance. This morning, walking the campus with Damian made me feel like a walking scarlet letter. I was aware of hushed whispers and brief flashes of movement as students scurried away, daring not even to be touched by my shadow.
Distance seemed to be my punishment for loving a monster.
Distance from Dash and everyone except Damian and Titan.
“ It ’ s good to see you on your feet again,” Blaze whispers in my hair.
I bury my face in his chest while hugging him tightly. He visited me in the hospital, but with Titan and Damian looming over him, the conversation was short and rushed. Seeing him in class after he was attacked by Dom, grinning, joking, and painting means the world to me.
“ I ’ m so sorry.”
“ Why? Chicks dig scars?” He hugs me back, but then Damian joins us, and Blaze loosens his grip.
“ I thought you were dating…what ’ s his face? That hot rugby player?”
Blaze waves his hand, “ He was so last month, Mila. I ’ m into women, not girls, but women. As for men, if I find one who has a bigger cock than me, then I might make an exception. But, at last,” Blaze fakes exhaustion as I swallow down my giggle. “ It ’ s so hard to find a hot guy with a huge dick and has a brain, not to mention wants to be my submissive. I ’ m always a top.”
“ Enough,” Damian snarls, moving closer.
“ Oh, insecure are we?” Blaze jokes as he eyes Damian ’ s pant zipper. I burst out laughing, which is the only thing that stops Damian from forever silencing Blaze. Damian regards my laugh, and something lightens in his eyes.
“ Confidence reduces the need for outward displays of one's size.” Damian replies in a milder tone.
“ True, unless you ’ re packing like I am. How can I not brag about Guinness size, man?” Blaze hits his shoulder playfully, but Damian doesn ’ t budge nor crack a smile.
“ Don ’ t touch her,” Damian warns. “ I know what you did, and we appreciate that, but she ’ s not yours, and you ’ re not one of us.”
I ’ m suddenly a chew toy two heathens are fighting over.
“ I didn ’ t try to stop Dom so I could earn a favor from a King. I did it because she ’ s my friend. Mila always sees the good; she ’ s the type of person who looks at a weed and considers it a unique flower.” Blaze flashes me a press grin.“But one look at Dom ’ s face told me he had snapped. I did it to protect her because some flowers have thorns small enough to kill."
Reaching out, I grasp Blaze's hand.
“ We ’ re going to get started with class in five minutes.” Professor Winters calls out, her eyes too timid to look our way.
Damian tenses, his eyes meeting mine for a sustained period. Looking deep, I see a fear buried deep within. It has me reaching out my other hand, reassuring him, “ I ’ ll be fine.” I nod.
What monsters plague him? I want to grab them and cast them into a deep sea. Deep down, all his narrowed looks and stern warnings are just layers of protection covering what I ’ m assuming was a frightened child.
Blaze looks at Damian, “ You should know that every Friday night, the class gets together now. We have a big art party, and then we donate the art to local galleries. I guess we are all trying to be good before we graduate and our parents get their hands on us again.” Blaze flashes Damian a smirk.
“ Mila,” Blaze looks at me, “ You should join us. We take turns driving the art to the galleries every week.”
“ I ’ ll drive with her, no problem.” Damian nods. “ Just tell me where and when.”
I squeeze his hand, wishing it was Dash ’ s, but wishing is like throwing seeds onto untilled soil. It ’ s left open to the elements; the wind scatters it, and the sun overheats it until it ’ s cracked and chipped, unable to produce much of anything anymore.
◆◆◆
Titan escorted me to my room. Dash had evaded me the entire day. I felt like a rubber band being stretched. Each time I changed classes, I was pulled, my eyes searching for Dash. His absence was like a glacial wind.
You know what the cold does to rubber, don ’ t you? It crumbles it.
I feel like shattered remnants as I lay in bed. My room is a disaster; I didn ’ t unpack, instead just tossing my stuff around. I need the chaos and clutter to distract my mind from the cut, clean distance Dash created.
Knock, knock, knock.
I sit up abruptly in bed, grabbing my phone and pulling the covers higher as I hear my roommate Amanda answer the door. I don ’ t talk to her much; she has guys coming over all hours of the day. I pretty much avoid the main living room area of our dorm, only passing it when I need to come to my private room.
“ Oh,” she clears her throat. “ Hi,” she answers, her voice so saccharine that it makes my teeth feel so dirty that only a good dental cleaning can clean it.
No verbal replies came; instead, stern feet walk towards my locked door. “ Mila is sleeping,” Amanda shouts in hope. “ You want to hang out?”
My door opens, and Dash ’ s face appears as he withdraws the key he used to open my door.
He came!
Slam! He shuts the door in Amanda ’ s face.
The silence, nothing but his bitter glare, slithers up my body until it wraps tightly around my neck. Even in the dark, I can see his chest heaving, fist clenching as if he ’ s trying to stay in control.
I want the lights on. I need to see his face. “ Da.. Dash.” Oh no. I wish I hadn ’ t lost my voice, but I ’ m scared one wrong word or reaction will shove him over the cliff.
He came. This is good, right?
Time erodes. I ’ m time to Dash King. My presence is licking away his layers. Damian was right. The question is, how much time does Dash need? How long can I endure these games?
Just like the first time he came to Empire, he ’ s sneaking into my room again. This is a new game. It ’ s both his self-inflicted torture and healing balm. He ’ s allowing himself to see me but not fully have me. It ’ s cruel yet calming because I know he still craves me.
He retreats, but I advance in bed, ending up on my knees.The blanket drops, revealing my yellow sleeping shirt, which looks more grey under the night ’ s dark shadows.
Another step. Thud! His back hits the wall, and his knees buckle as he sinks to the floor.
I don ’ t know what to do. I want to run to him. I move, but his head whips up. “ Stay in bed!”
I jerk back, knees shaking against the mattress.
“ Go…” he exhales as if he ’ s been running a marathon.
Why do I get the feeling he ran as far away from me as possible before he was compelled to turn around and run right towards me?
“ Go to bed!” He yells.
I linger, unmoving, fighting between what I want and his demands.
“ Go to bed, Mila!”
My swallow sounds loud as I sit back down on the bed. “ Co…come with me,” I offer now, happy it ’ s dark so he doesn ’ t see my tears.
His head leans back against the wall, knees up, and he rubs his temples in pain. “ I need you to sleep so I can!” he shouts. “ Don ’ t you understand? I need to sleep! I need to know you ’ re in this bed, sleeping, so I can rest.”
Guilt floods me. “ You don ’ t want me to see the emotions covering your face; you want to be with me in my bed, but you don ’ t know how. Let me help you. I ’ m not hurt anymore, Dash. Let’s start over. We both made terrible mistakes but the worst would be ignoring the love we have for one another.” I beg him to start over, like we did in the showers. Just wash away the past, put it to bed, and wake up differently.
It ’ s a shame that changing the wings of the devil isn ’ t as easy as it seems. How do I paint something white when the darkness continues to stain every attempt?
“ Go. To. Sleep.” He sounds so exhausted and broken. I lick my lips, catching my own tears on my tongue.
Our love was like a cactus, dense and thorny, perplexing. It was not pretty or fragile like petals, but it was not ugly either; it was just different.
We tried to water it and force it to grow strong enough to withstand the intensity of our world. But we forced it; over watered the roots. We were trying to prepare for the drought, forgetting to realize we never had to prepare because we were designed to survive a life without love.
What was supposed to nourish us turned soppy and moldy. It became a sickness that weakened us.
Maybe if I starve us, all the sickness will dry up, and then we can start again. I ’ ll be more careful this time, watering only when needed. Maybe we can salvage something. It might not be love or hate, just something that can make this life tolerable.
I ’ ll try, and I ’ ll be patient for as long as my heart can handle it. I do as he says, resting my head on the pillow and closing my eyes.“It ’ s okay to be scared, Dash.”
“ I ’ m not scared. I ’ m tired.” The anger in his voice is gone, replaced with a lethargic calmness.
“ So am I,” I slide my hand under my pillow as I curl up into a tight ball. “ but I fear I can only sleep peacefully when you're in bed with me.”
“ You don ’ t need peace, just silence, no nightmares or outlandish dreams. Just sleep.”
“ Fighting your fear is a battle you can ’ t win, Dash King. Fear wins every single time. One glance at fear renders you sightless; one touch taints your mind. You can ’ t fight it.”
“ So it ’ s hopeless.” He whispers, making my heart thump in glee. I just need to keep him talking, whether it's wicked words or whispers of his anguish. As long as we keep talking, we can fix things.
“ No. You have to ignore it. Walk away, grab onto hope, and move on.”
“ This is me walking away,” he hisses.
I know his greatest fears are both loving me and losing me. If he continues to act as he does, his fears will come true. I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling. “ This is you staring your fear dead in the eyes, allowing it to consume you and destroy us.”
You can ’ t cage me and expect me to survive, Dash.