Chapter 29 The Big Bad Thing
THE BIG BAD THING
DAMON
“This is your lifeline.” Sage runs her finger down a crease in my palm as I inwardly roll my eyes.
“And this is your love line.” Another stupid crease.
“And this.” She flicks her cheeky gaze up at me.
“And this is your, ‘I’m so blessed to have a friend that will drag my sorry ass out of the house and force me to socialize,’ line.
” She tilts her head. “It’s very prominent. How lucky for you, huh?”
I can’t help but smile at her absurdity. “I gave you my address for emergencies, Sage. Not so you can stalk me.”
Sage scoffs, dropping my hand. “I’m the stalker? Me? Please, you’ve been at the dog park every day for weeks now. Well, up until the big bad thing happened. So, if anyone is the stalker, it’s you. Plus, you’ve been MIA for ten days. That qualifies as an emergency in my books.”
The big bad thing. That’s what Sage is calling it. Personally, I think the word bad doesn’t nearly capture the anguish of the situation, and big somehow doesn’t seem…big enough.
Surprisingly, Sage’s reaction to the big bad thing wasn’t as strong as I expected.
I figured she’d scold me, shake her head, and tell me that I was sabotaging my own happiness.
But no. I wasn’t met with tough love. I wasn’t met with the devil’s advocate.
She simply sighed and forced me to go outside.
It’s unsettling. Her acceptance of my decision. Granted she doesn’t know the whole truth, only that I left, not what led to me leaving. But over the past few months, I’ve learned that Sage has no problem telling me how it is.
Except this time. No prying. No questions.
I should find solace in her understanding. I should use it as a testament that I did the right thing. But her silence alone makes me think that under the layers of, “Well, if that’s what you want,” and, “As long as you’re comfortable with your decision,” that she’s judging me.
“So…” She smiles up at the server as they set two plates of pasta on our table. “Am I going to see you in art class this week?”
I frown at her, picking up a fork. “No. I won’t be going.”
“Oh.” She shrugs, popping a meatball in her mouth. “Okay.”
My grip on the flimsy utensil tightens. I’ve never dined at a restaurant with such pliable silverware before. “Okay?”
“Mhmm.” She stuffs her conniving little face with spaghetti. “You do you, Damon.”
My jaw tightens. “I will.”
“Good,” she hums.
Frustration courses through me, and I slam my fist on the table. She doesn’t react. “Stop doing that!”
She gazes at me innocently. “Doing what?”
“Being so,” I wave a frantic hand in the empty space between us. “So…annoying.”
“Annoying?” She sets down her fork and leans back into her seat. “How am I being annoying, Damon?”
“You are, and you know it.”
She lifts a brow. “Mmm… I don’t think I do. I’ll need you to elaborate.”
My eye literally twitches. I should’ve never opened my fucking door. “I know what you’re doing, and you need to stop. Whatever reverse psychology crap you’re trying to pull on me won’t work.”
She grins. “Reverse psychology crap?”
“Yeah! This whole, ‘I’m totally fine with your decision to blow up your entire life and have no opinions on the matter.’ Stop it.”
“Oh… So you do think you’re blowing up your entire life?”
My gaze hardens. “No, I don’t. You do.”
“Me?” She dramatically grabs her chest. “I’m not the one who said it.”
“You didn’t have to say it.”
Another snort. “Do you suddenly have the ability to read minds? Wow, Damon. What an invaluable skill. Now, the question is… Will you use your new superpower for good or for evil?” She eyes me playfully.
“I’m leaning toward evil, but you do have a certain Batman energy about you, so it could go either—”
“Sage!”
“Damon.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, mentally exhausted by her subtle games. “Just stop, okay?”
Sage is quiet for a moment, a miracle, before she takes a deep breath, and says, “Listen, Damon. This is your life, okay? It’s not mine.
If you want to spend the rest of your days cooped up in some multimillion-dollar condo all alone wishing your life turned out different, then that’s your prerogative. ”
“See! Even the way you phrased that, I can tell that you don’t agree with my choice.”
Sage groans, rolling her head. “Well, of course, I don’t fucking agree with it, Damon, but what the hell am I supposed to do?
Hit you over the head with a mug until some sense is knocked into you?
You’re a grown-ass man, and you have the right to make your own choices, no matter how idiotic.
I’m done trying to make you see reason.”
A muddled sense of relief washes over me. “Was that so hard? Being honest?”
Sage gives me a weak smile. “There’s a time and place for honesty, Damon. Given the state of your condo and the fact I don’t think you showered for a week before I stopped by, honesty was the last thing you needed to hear.”
I swallow. “I’ll be fine. I’m just…processing.”
She tilts her head. “You can always go back, Damon. If you’re unhappy, you can go back. Given what you’ve told me, Quinton and Emery would welcome you with open hearts.”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t. I can’t go back.”
“Then don’t.” She pauses before casually changing the subject. “Oh! They found a lump in my breast. Did I tell you that? Big ol’ sucker.”
I blanch. “What?”
She picks up her fork and plays with a noodle on her plate.
“Yup. The big C. Apparently, we caught it early enough, so I should be okay after the mastectomy. But it’s funny.
” She chuckles under her breath. “Most parents leave their kids an inheritance, you know, money or real estate.” She glances up at me, and my heart sinks. “I inherited a gene. Funny, right?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Really? I think it is. Maybe not funny ha-ha but funny ironic. It’s my own fault, really.
I should’ve done the brCA gene test as soon as my mom was diagnosed.
” She shoves another meatball in her mouth.
“But I was scared.” She swallows, laughing again.
“For good reason, it seems.” She nods down to my untouched plate. “Are you going to eat that?”
“Sage…”
How is she so calm? How is she laughing? How is she making light of such a bleak and serious situation?
“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head. “Nope. Don’t look at me like that, Damon.
I don’t want your pity or your sympathy.
I’m happy. I’m in love. My small business is taking off, so I’m not going to let a little cancer get me down.
Got it?” She points her fork in the direction of my plate. “Can I have a prawn?”
I push the plate toward her. “You must think I’m ungrateful.”
She sighs. “I think nothing of the sort. Maybe you think that you’re being ungrateful.”
My jaw clenches. “I—”
“You do that a lot, you know? Put your own thoughts in other people’s heads and claim that it’s theirs. I get it, though. It’s like a self-preservation tactic. A way of protecting yourself. I hope one day, you’ll learn that nobody hates you as much as you hate yourself.”
My muscles clam up, nausea creeping up my throat. “My hatred is warranted, Sage. Trust me, you’d hate me too if you knew all the things I’ve done.”
“Does Emery know?”
I look away.
“Does she hate you? Or does she understand? Does she accept you just the way you are?”
I keep my gaze lowered. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Then what matters, Damon? You said that you’re processing. Well, spoiler alert, but at some point, the process is over. There’s always an end goal. There’s a finish line. What does the finish line look like? Because you can’t process something forever.”
“I-I don’t know. I just… I know I can’t be with them.” I swallow. “They have a chance to be happy. To be a real family. And I-I’ll ruin it. Maybe not today, or next year, but at some point, I’ll be the reason it all crumbles.”
Sage raises a brow. “Wow, so you can see into the future too? Amazing. So much I don’t know about you.”
I glare at her. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”
She rolls her eyes. “Listen, I know I don’t know the whole story, because clearly there’s a huge chunk missing, and you don’t have to tell me.
I’m fine with not knowing. But I am a bit confused.
Two weeks ago you were super stoked about the fact Emery is pregnant.
You even painted that animal mural thing.
What could have possibly happened to make you want to throw all of that away? ”
“The past caught up with me. That’s what happened.”
“I’ve always hated that phrase,” she grumbles. “It’s total crap. Your past is always with you. It’s a part of who you are. The notion that a past ‘catches up’ with someone, as if you can outrun it, is just a lame excuse for people not to process their issues properly.”
I scoff at the accuracy. “Well, it’s hard to process something that was hidden from you.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m sensing the catalyst of your problems lies somewhere in that statement.”
“Always so perceptive,” I mutter. “Must be your superpower.”
“Damon…”
I smirk at her. “Annoying, isn’t it?”
Sage tosses me a mock scowl. “Hardy har har. It’s nice to know that in the middle of a midlife crisis, sarcasm doesn’t elude you.”
My mouth gapes open. “Midlife? I am not in my midlife.”
“Yeah?” Her gaze skims my weary features. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. In the past two weeks, you’ve aged like a glass of milk.”
My expression hardens. “You’re such a bitch.”
She shrugs, unfazed. “At least I’m an honest bitch. I would like to think if I made something I regard as the ‘right choice’, nature wouldn’t punish me with wrinkles, dry skin, and bad odor.”
“If you dragged me out of my house simply to make fun of my appearance, I think I’ll be leaving now.” I stand up, glaring down at her. “Great chat, Sage.”
“Oh, stop!” She reaches across the table and pinches my sleeve, effortlessly dragging me back down to the chair. “You’re so sensitive sometimes. For someone who can dish it out, you certainly can’t take it.”
“No, I can’t. It’s one of my many flaws.” I cross my arms like an insolent child. I quickly drop my hands. I don’t need to give her more ammunition.
She grins, noticing my abrupt change in sitting position. “Good call. I was going to start calling you a pout.”
“Wouldn’t want that…” I let out a long, laboured breath, my gaze flitting out the restaurant window. A woman with a stroller walks by and anxiety flutters in my chest. “What…” My pulse quickens as I turn back to Sage. “What day is it today?”
She blinks. “Really? Jeez. It’s Sunday, you caveman. Why?”
A tower of guilt crashes down on me, and I struggle to breathe under the debris. “I…”
She’s going to hate me. If she doesn’t already, now it’s certain.
I missed the appointment. Friday. Quin said it was on Friday.
I missed it. By choice, though? Did I conveniently forget to keep track of the minutes, hours, days, leading up to such a big day?
Or was it an accident? Did I genuinely lose track of time?
It doesn’t matter, does it? They’ll think it was on purpose. After kicking Quin off my doorstep, after him telling me the date, after my bitter, sour, cold reaction, they’ll think it was on purpose.
Maybe that’s good. Maybe she needs to hate me. If she hates me, she’ll be able to move on. Anger is easier to bury than sorrow. And that’s what she needs to do, bury me. Bury me in an unmarked grave and forget I ever existed.
Hell, I’ll even dig my own grave.