Chapter 67
Damien
Play - Lover, Please Stay by Nothing But Thieves
I keep reaching out to you
When I'm confronted with something that reminds me of what my mother went through, the emptiness she left behind, the fear of getting attached to someone because everyone always ends up leaving, I think back to the boy I was.
I see his reflection in the mirror again, empty, emotionless, silent, and lost. All alone.
And every time I see that same look in someone else's eyes, something inside me breaks.
With her, it was always worse. I stop thinking, I stop analyzing. All logic vanishes. I simply refuse to watch her sink. I don't want to see this bottomless sadness. I don't want to see this fear consuming her from within.
I don't want to see her hate herself even more.
I cup her face in my hands; my palm is stained with blood. It hurts, but I don't care, I don't feel it.
“Look at me.” Her gaze finally met mine. It was hazy, distant; a part of her was still somewhere else despite everything. “Listen to me. We’re going to do something.”
She blinked slowly as if fighting to gain control back. From all the rage, the built up fear that turned dark.
“Do you trust me?” A few seconds passed before she nodded weakly. “Good. Then you’ll put on my jacket and let me handle this. I’ll get you out of here and take care of the rest.”
She didn’t reply. Her eyes slid behind me to the man’s body. Her tears hadn’t dried yet; there was blood on her face, on her dress, everywhere.
I took off my jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders, and took her hand in mine. This time, she squeezes my fingers loosely. I help her up; her balance is unstable, so I put an arm around her shoulders as we leave the room.
In the hallway, I keep my back to the cameras as much as possible. The jacket obscures part of her face. With the dim light and the distance, the difference in our builds with the dead man inside the room isn't very noticeable.
I lower my head toward her as if we were a couple. As if we were whispering in each other's ears. As if this night were like any other.
“It's going to be okay, I promise,” I whisper to her.
We walk slowly to the elevator, the doors close behind us and silence falls immediately. I take her in my arms and she barely reacts at first. Her forehead rests against my shoulder, and then I feel her hands tighten around me.
“Focus on my voice, not the memory. Me,” I whisper.
Choosing someone who's suffering is a particular kind of tragedy. Because no matter how much you want them, you can't get inside their head and fight the monsters for them.
You just stand there, watching, hoping and picking up the pieces when everything falls apart. But it's worth it. It always will be.
I know it the moment her eyes lay on me when the doors open on the ground floor, I would pick up the ruins that her soul is built from and rebuild it every time she needs it.
A few minutes later, she settled in the back of my car. I close the door and stay outside.
The phone rings three times before he answers, “What did you do this time?”
I look through the window. She's motionless, her gaze distant, my jacket slipping off her shoulders.
“I need a cleaning.”
My contact replies with a long sigh, “How urgent is it?”
“Very.”
“I'm on another continent. If you want me to come quickly, it's going to cost you.”
“I don't care.” My gaze returns to her for a second before adding, “Do it. Send me the bill afterward.”
“You know I'll bankrupt you,” he laughs.
“Do it anyway.”
A long sigh escapes his lips, then he replies, “Okay boss, I’ll be there in an hour, maybe a little longer if I get a flight right away.”
“Be there.”
“Send me the address.”
I hang up, and a few seconds later, I give him the location, then stand there, in front of the car, watching her, as if looking away for even a second could be enough to lose it.
I thought wanting her meant knowing her, I was wrong.
There were rooms inside her grief that even I couldn't find even if I tried my hardest to navigate how messy and dark her mind was, I was still lost on how to read her.
I had spent months watching her and still missed the most important thing. How easily she would close herself up whenever danger was finding her.
The journey to the St. Ellesta residence takes place in almost complete silence. I regularly glance towards her, but she never looks at the road. Her eyes remain fixed somewhere in front of her, on a point I cannot see.
She was looking at the city as if she were trying to say goodbye.
What do you need from me, Mireya?
When we arrive, she doesn't protest when I help her out of the car, she walks forward quickly, not looking back at me.
I unlock her bedroom door and let her in, her cat appears almost immediately.
Usually, Blue is wary of me at first. This time, he doesn't even look at me, he goes straight to her, like if he understands she needs him.
I help her sit on the edge of the bed while I run the shower in the small bathroom here.
She doesn't say anything. I don't even know if she hears what's going on around her. Her hand absentmindedly caresses Blue as he purrs close to her chest.
When I came back, she was in the exact same position.
“Come on.” She looked up at me, and when her eyes met mine, I felt like she recognized me again. “Just a shower.”
She nodded and grabbed my hand. Even beneath the hot water, she was still trembling.
I washed my hands first, ignoring the sting of my own wound, then turned back to her.
Slowly, I cleaned the blood from her skin. She kept her eyes lowered, letting me see every part of her she usually tries so hard to hide.
When she finally stepped out, I wrapped a towel over her shoulders and looked away as she changed. Giving her the only thing I could. Some control.
I didn't know what to fix first, so I just stayed there watching her sit next to her window, with Blue jumping on her lap. Because caring for her was as easy as breathing. But wanting her was the part I couldn’t allow.
She looked exhausted from existing, so I sat next to her, not saying much at first, until her head fell down my shoulder.
“Whatever is hurting you…give it to me for a minute,” I say, putting my arm behind her back.
She looked at her hands as if they belonged to someone else, then she said, “I didn't want to.” She keeps her eyes fixed on the window before continuing. “Or maybe I did…” Her breath trembles. “He tried to force me and I just…”
Her eyes close for a few seconds. But I don’t want to interrupt her. I want her to let it out. To let me listen and see me stay even after that conversation.
“I remembered,” she adds softly. “I remembered how much it hurt.” Her voice breaks completely on the last word. “And then I couldn't see where I was anymore.”
She stops for a moment, her mouth parting as if she wanted to speak but the words got too heavy for her to say. So I reach out for her hand, squeezing her fingers.
“I felt like I was suffocating,” she whispers finally, “Like I was still there and I knew I wasn't, but my body…” She shakes her head. “My body didn't understand.”
“Look at me.”
Her eyes meet mine, red, exhausted, terrified and angry at the same time. Angry for feeling guilty because she chose herself for the first time in her whole life.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
“I…”
“You, Mireya Vitelli, didn't do anything wrong,” I repeat the words until she stops trying to argue. “You defended yourself.”
Tears immediately welled up in her eyes. “I’m so angry.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“I know.”
She lowers her head, and I realize how empty she looks when she’s like this.
“If he had hurt you…” I break off. “If he had managed to hurt you, I would have killed him myself.” She looked confused but I only met her gaze with certainty as I continued,“I’m proud of you for this, for standing up for yourself.”
Her cat purrs softly on her lap as I look at her profile, illuminated by the moonlight. And that thought comes back again. Always the same.
Wanting and caring for someone who doesn't want to be saved is another way of suffering. Because you see the pain, you see it perfectly, but you can't tear it from your heart.
After a long moment, she finally turns toward me. “Thank you.”
“No need.”
“Yes, you do.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you for coming back.”
“I told you I would be watching you, Mireya. Don’t thank me, I’ll always come back for you.”
She finally leans completely toward me, her arms gently encircle my neck. I close my eyes for a second, and inhale her existence as the air my lungs always craved for.
I’m finally understanding that you could want to take care of someone with all your heart and still watch them sink.
Then she steps back before saying, “You can go.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods, “Yes.” Her gaze returns to the window. “I’m going to be okay, I just need to be alone.”
Something in my chest tightens for no logical reason.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Don’t stress yourself out with what happened tonight. I took care of it.”
Her eyes met mine again, brows furrowed, following me as I got up, “Why?”
“Because I made a wish with you last time you were hurt. I want you to be safe.”
God, I don’t even recognize the man she made me become. The more she shuts herself off, the more I want to stay open for two.
“You... Thank you…” she whispers with a broken voice.
“Do not let this destroy you,” I say as my hand rests on the handle, and despite myself, I turn around one last time.
She's still sitting by the window, Blue on her lap, the sky lights behind her. She seems to be there, and yet a part of her already feels very far away.
I wish I could do more, know more and help more, but there are wounds you can’t survive for someone else.
So I just left, and made sure the hotel room was cleared before going back to my office.
Mireya Vitelli is going to be my undoing, and I’d drown happily in whatever place she pushes me into.
And it is terrifying.