Chapter 63
Damien
Play - Where’s My Love - Acoustic by SYML
Crossing Line
This library is starting to haunt me, or maybe it’s the memories of us in here that does. Either way, we’re still here. She knows that the best opportunity is this gala.
What she doesn’t know is that I don’t want her to participate. It’s strange to feel this way. To be jealous I mean.
I don’t remember inviting it in. It tastes like anger, the necessity of interfering, pulling rank and rewriting everything, even the entire mission just to keep her out of it.
I should feel proud that she's almost done with her formation, that she did so well that she's one of the best students at the academy. And I am.
She’s sitting next to me, focused on what I just told her about the donors and what it involves; and she cracks her neck. Once. Then again.
“You crack your neck often,” I say, without really thinking.
She looks at me, head titled to the side, eyebrows almost touching for her confused look. “I do that?”
And I stupidly smile, pulling her chair toward me with my feet. “Yeah every time we work together and you take a sip of your water, you crack your neck.”
Her hand falls on her nape and she replies, “I didn’t … you’re probably right.”
“You have a lot of habits, Miss Vitelli.”
The smile on her face returns, it’s still sad, it’s still not complete, but it’s here and I’m happy to see it again. “Oh? like what?”
“You crack your fingers after you write for more than five minutes.”
“I do that but it’s for stress relief.”
“You also love to put your hand on your cheeks “
“That’s not a habit. I do it because my face is often warm and my hands are cold.”
This time, a faint smile appears on my lips as I remember how soft she looks whenever she’s too exhausted to hide her sadness. “I know, I’ve touched your face before. Your cheeks turn red whenever you’re anxious or overthinking.”
“You finished analyzing me yet, Mister Caldwell?”
“No, you also draw eyes every time you dissociate, it could be on paper, on any surface that is drawable. And you have a disgusting amount of shells in a jar in that room. And judging by the fact that it ends up piling up since you started being here, I suppose you’ve been collecting them.”
“You also have a lot of habits!” She says with a lot of determination.
“Mmm, tell me more?”
“You never crush your cigarette on the ground or on an ashtray, you always use your fingers.” She grabs my fingertips and touches the burned scars there, “and judging by this, it’s been going on for years.”
“That’s not a habit that’s more of an observation from you.”
“You also touch the scar on your nose every time you’re focused on what I’m saying.”
“Still not a habit.”
“You also bite your lower lip whenever you finish taking a sip of your coffee.”
I pause for a second and tilt my head. “You’re paying attention to me.”
She looks up, forcing me to meet her eyes. “And so are you. Am I right Mister Caldwell?”
“I am. I find you quite fascinating.”
“You should be focusing on our mission next week.”
But I can’t focus on anything else anymore. I keep choosing her like it’s not slowly undoing me. The way she hides so much pain, thinking I don’t see it.
And I do. I feel it in ways that I don’t understand.
My mind begins to treat her like something already lost that must still be kept close, or else I’d die from her absence. And it is scaring me. More than anything, it terrifies me.
I can’t have her. But I can’t stop wanting to.
Her eyes are begging me to keep trying until she finally tells me what is hurting her that much.
They’re begging me to never stop trying because all I can see in them is loneliness, like an ocean waiting for something to reach it, to break its stillness, to make it feel less alone, even for a moment.
I have never seen someone look so lonely while being surrounded by people who love her.
“What are you thinking about?” She asks to bring me back to this moment.
Unfortunately for me, about you…
I don’t think she understands how often I look at her and mourn all the tenderness she was denied.
“Why are your eyes so sad?”
She stops smiling at that moment, as if she’s scared again of what that would mean, is it judgement, is it worry? I think both are not reassuring to her.
“Why is it important?” She says softly.
“One day, you’ll understand how important it is to me.”
Her finger brushes my jaw and she sighs, “Don’t do that.”
“What are you scared of?” I ask before my tone turns serious. “You’re strong in so many ways, Mireya. Do you realize that?”
Her eyes turn to an invisible object in front of her before she talks again, “If you looked closely inside my soul, Damien, you’d find that all my strength was built from fear and pain.”
“If that is your foundation, I will make a home of it, let it ruin me,” I reply without thinking.
Her eyes turn back to me, confused at first, softening slowly as a smile appears on her lips, “I don’t want it to ruin you like it ruined me. You won’t survive it.”
I grab her hand in mine pulling her closer until her whole chest falls onto mine. She lets her head find comfort on my shoulder, as my arms encircle her, “Stop pushing me away, I won’t go anywhere.”
I hear her voice shaking, “We can’t cross the line.”
“I think we already crossed it, Mireya.”
Her soft fingers find mine, and she brushes them before replying, “I think so, too.”