Chapter 9 Raina
Darius stands in front of the sliding glass door, staring out at the beach and the ocean beyond. His silhouette is a drastic contrast to the dull, overcast sky. The gray clouds hang low, casting a muted gloom that drapes itself over the world outside.
He turns and smiles at me. The warmth of it is a blast of heat compared to the damp winter day outside. There’s something electric about him—his energy vibrant and alive, a beacon against the dreary backdrop.
It’s the complete opposite of what I am now. Not being able to talk… it’s been a strain. Okay, that’s an understatement. I feel like I’ve fallen into a dark hole and can’t climb out.
“Raina,” he calls, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What do you say we ditch this place? We can jump on The Storm and be out of here. It might be exactly what we need.” His voice dances with a playful lilt, teasing, doing his damndest to drag me out of my mood.
But how can I think about leaving and having fun when I don’t even know the extent of my voice?
I’ve been too afraid to utter a syllable—what if it doesn’t even work anymore?
It could sound like I’ve spent a lifetime chain-smoking unfiltered cigarettes…
Nobody would want to hear that, not when my voice was compared to that of an angel.
Then there’s everything with Dickless hanging over my head.
The songs he stole from me—little pieces of my soul pressed into every one.
A trail of hints to all the trauma I buried in those lyrics, sitting out there for anyone to follow.
Because he has the raw, journal versions.
The ones I wrote while pouring my heart onto the page, purging myself of memories that still haunt me.
I’ve had plenty of time to sit here and think about it, and there’s one conclusion that I know unequivocally—I can’t sing for him ever again.
So, what does my future even hold? Where can I even go from here?
“Come on,” Dare presses, the sound of his voice vaulting me out of my thoughts. He steps further into view, his lean frame casting long shadows across the room. “We could escape this gloom together.”
I meet his gaze, my silence a challenge, one that he isn’t afraid to face head-on.
I want to say yes. I want to feel the sand beneath my feet, to taste freedom again, to pretend none of this is happening to me.
Yet, doubt creeps in like fog—what are his true intentions?
I can’t shake the feeling that his charm veils something deeper, something I’m not ready to confront.
“Just imagine it,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe, exuding effortless confidence. “Somewhere tropical. The wind in your hair, the sound of waves crashing, the warm sun shining on your face. We could leave all this behind, even if it’s only for a few days.”
He flops onto the bed, landing in the spot that has formed to his body from having spent so much time with me here.
He’s the only one who hasn’t respected my need to be alone, to wallow in my self-pity and—if I’m willing to admit it—my fear.
He ignored every text demanding he leave, and all the thrown pillows landing squarely in his face.
Dare has remained by my side, letting me know that no matter what happens, the good or the bad, he’ll be here as a steady reminder that I’ll never be alone again. He’ll weather any storm next to me…
Something changed when he brought me back to life.
Some kind of connection that can never be ignored.
There’s a pull, even now, that I can’t deny, even if I wanted.
A need to be close to him. Having him here with me brings a comfort I can’t name.
Which actually drives me nuts. It sends me into a tailspin of guilt knowing I want to roll into his body and rest my head on his chest, to feel his arms wrap around me, to even simply grab his hand in mine.
I shouldn’t feel this way when I have three very attentive—
Boyfriends?
We’ve never put a name on what’s happening between us, it’s simply progressed naturally.
It’s something none of us have questioned too deeply, it felt right.
We probably should put more weight into the nightmare that will undoubtedly come in the future, but somehow it doesn’t scare me knowing they’ll be there alongside me.
What terrifies me more than anything now is losing them.
But why do I feel the same way about Darius?
He rolls toward me and stares at me for a moment before tucking a lock of hair around my ear. The briefest caress of his fingertips has my face turning into it, chasing his touch, wanting more. Always more. But never making it known because this is wrong. I shouldn’t want it.
What the hell am I doing?
I can see the wheels turning in his mind, the playfulness giving way to something more serious. “We really should take a break from all this bullshit. I’m not asking for forever. Just a moment away. Sometimes, you have to take risks to find out what you really want.”
For a brief moment, I panic thinking he can somehow read my mind, that he can hear the turmoil rolling through my thoughts. But then I realize some of it must be written on my face…
The air thickens between us, charged with unspoken truths. There’s a struggle within myself—the desire to break free from my own fears, to leap into the unknown, yet shackled by the terror lurking behind every self-doubt. My heart pounds in my ears, and I fight the urge to flee.
I lick my lips before biting down and pinning him with a pleading look.
“You’re right. Let’s just take a step back,” he finally says. “You need some time to think about it. And answers. You need those before you can make any decisions.”
He nods his head like he’s trying to remind himself as much as me. Tomorrow we should know everything we need to. The doctor will be here to check on my throat, to let me know if I can start using my voice again.
After that, my life will forever change from the one I’ve known. Because no matter what he says, I won’t go back to that toxic life.
Darius leans against the pillows piled up in front of the headboard and crosses his arms behind his head, his presence filling the space like an electric charge.
The sun-drenched beaches he described still hang in the air between us, a tantalizing escape that feels impossible.
It will never be just the two of us. I hold his gaze, steady and unyielding, but inside, my heart thrums with uncertainty.
“Okay,” he says, breaking the silence, and I brace myself for whatever smooth line comes next. Instead, he begins to speak, his voice shifting into something more animated, a storyteller in his element.
“If we aren’t escaping to white sand beaches and crystal blue waters, let me take you back to London,” he starts, his eyes lighting up. “I was just a kid, maybe eight or nine, with this wild mop of hair and a voice that could hit every note without breaking a sweat.”
The image flickers in my mind—a little boy dancing through crowded streets, weaving past towering buildings.
I almost hear the hum of life around him, the pulse of the city.
Darius’ words paint it vividly: bustling markets, the smell of roasted chestnuts, children laughing as carolers sing off-key renditions of holiday classics.
I lose myself in his descriptions of the past, his words painting them like a vivid picture in my mind’s eye.
I hear the off-tune pitch of the children singing, flinching at the way he depicts it.
I remember all too well having to sing in a group like that, but in my case it was the church choir.
There were some members who made me want to stuff cotton in their mouths.
They shouldn’t be allowed to sing ever again.
“Raina? You okay?” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I flinch, meeting those piercing greenish-blue eyes. They glint with mischief, but there’s something deeper lurking beneath the surface, a flicker of vulnerability I’ve yet to fully grasp.
I nod my head quickly, too sharp. My heart races, and I bite my lip, staving off the flood of questions threatening to spill out.
What are you really hiding, Darius? Is any of this real, or am I just another mark in your game?
Do I really even mistrust you, or is it everything in my life I’m second guessing?
“Seriously, though,” he continues, his tone playful, yet earnest. “It was chaos, but in a good way.” He gestures animatedly, as if the memories themselves are alive, swirling around us like a whirlwind. “You should’ve seen the looks on their faces when I hit that high note! Priceless.”
His enthusiasm is contagious, and for a brief moment, I let my guard down, imagining his current scene: a cluttered classroom, the scent of pine needles mixed with paper and fabric paint.
A young boy standing tall amidst a choir of ear-splitting voices, a light shining even then.
But the warmth fades as quickly as it comes.
I unclasp our hands and reach for a notepad.
The skepticism grips me once more, curling around my thoughts like smoke.
“I love hearing about your past, but how do I know it wasn’t just another story crafted to charm me?
How do I know you’re not playing a part to win over the famous Raina Lexington? ”
He reads the note, and the laughter dies on his lips. His expression shifts, eyes wide with surprise morphing into a flicker of hurt irritation. Everything about his tense shoulders says he’s on the edge of storming out of my room. “Is that what you think? That I’m just some kind of… performer?”
Shrugging my shoulders in a firm sign of maybe, I hold his gaze, unyielding, a challenge hanging in the air between us. The pen scratches against the paper as I write. “You’re so good at this. So good at making me feel special. Making everyone feel special.”