Chapter 45
I almost respected Dalia’s wish.
I had graciously allowed her to slip away, but that didn’t mean I didn’t stay close by.
Kay insisted on ringing in the New Year with Sylas at some exclusive club in London, while Cillian had likely barricaded himself in one of the many rooms of his castle, drowning out the noise with earplugs at his mother’s tiresome charity gala.
I ended up at a bar, sullying my coat against the sticky countertop, soaked with the residue of alcohol as the idiots’ laughter grated on my nerves. Not by choice. But duty.
Dalia was dancing by herself in the middle of a bunch of assholes, who were staring at her as if she was fresh meat. I knew a part of her did it on purpose to hurt herself—or me, in case she was aware I’d been watching her for the past couple of days. She was staying at a hotel with her grandma, who was probably asleep, so here she was, having no one to celebrate New Year’s with.
She had me. She just didn’t know it.
I narrowed my eyes at the sorry excuse for a man, adjusting his cheap, commercial tie after downing three vodka shots, his head bobbing to the music. His gaze fixated on my broken doll as if he stood a chance with her. When he rose from his seat, I sprang from mine, sending the stool crashing to the ground in my haste to block his path with my arm.
“Don’t even try,” I warned him, my blood already boiling.
The asshole laughed. “And who are you?”
“Nice tie.” I clicked my tongue and snatched his tie.
I twisted it until it threatened to strangle him in a chokehold. He gasped for air, and it did nothing to me. It would be a shame to end up in jail because of him, but then again, it is what it is.
The guy choked, desperately clutching at his knot. “Chill, man.”
My patience was running dangerously thin. I was desperate to feel something, anything—to break free from the suffocating void.
With a forceful shove, I pushed the idiot away and returned to my seat. He was just the third fool I’d had to scare away from Dalia. Thankfully, I had bribed the owner to close at midnight so I wouldn’t have to deal with them for long.
I had lost her, but that didn’t mean any of those jerks could have her.
She halted her dancing, whispering in the ear of a bulky biker dude. The man, likely in his late thirties, grinned smugly and trailed Dalia to a more secluded area. A surge of rage ignited within me, coursing through my entire being. I shadowed them to a dimly lit corridor, but Dalia was nowhere in sight. Instead, four of those bikers were lying in wait for me.
The jackass swung his fist at my face. Pain shot through my lower lip as it split, blood welling in my mouth with its metallic tang. I released a thin, mocking laugh before wiping away the blood with the back of my hand.
“That’s all you got?” I jeered. “Now that I let you punch me like a caveman, you’ll leave that white-haired woman alone.”
“He has a crush.” The one with a Santa-esque beard cackled, a beer clasped in his hand.
Crush , as if that would potentially describe how I felt.
With a disdainful sneer, I snapped my neck to the side, inviting whoever dared to come at me for another primitive act of violence. My brain was too numb to even think. His lumbering approach was so predictable, so painfully obvious, that I effortlessly sidestepped his clumsy punch. But the others were quick to follow suit, launching themselves at me like rabid dogs.
While I was crystal clear on my reasons for wanting to see them bleed, their desire to rearrange my face remained a baffling enigma.
Our fight spilled out from the cramped hallway into the central room, where tables and drinks were sent flying in our wake. I’d like to claim I had the upper hand, but, alas, being outnumbered four to one hardly put the odds in my favor.
Things escalated to the point where security guards wrenched us apart and hurled us on the outside.
“Get out!” they barked, stating the obvious.
“We were protecting a young woman,” the one with a bleeding lip whined, pointing his inked finger at me. “She claimed this guy was following her around and said he’s her stalker. She asked us to teach this narcissistic prick a lesson if he got too close.”
Their accusing stares bore into me like daggers, but I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. The broken doll had become the puppet master, pulling the strings from behind the scenes. She hated me and wanted to see me suffer. Maybe there is hope for us after all.
“I have to go,” I drawled. “Let’s not make this a habit, shall we?”
I traced the familiar route to Dalia’s hotel in the dead of the night, the silence broken only by the ominous echo of my footsteps. It didn’t take long before I caught sight of her, twirling like some twisted ballerina beneath the sickly glow of the streetlights. So delicate.
The sound of my approach drew her attention, causing her to glance over her shoulder. And when she spotted me, her so-called stalker, she brazenly thrust her middle finger at me.
She had known I was watching her all this time.
I sent her a text.
Me: I got beaten up for you. I hope you enjoyed the show.
Dalia: Not enough for my taste. Stop following me.
Me: Not until you’re back to being yourself.
I skulked through the shadows, trailing her in silence. I had to make sure she arrived safely. She paced faster, fists clenched tightly at her sides, still ignoring me.
Once she vanished into her lobby, I gazed upward for a fleeting moment. The light of her bedroom switched on, and then I turned on my heel, feeling the strain in every muscle. What a shit night.
So being the utterly self-absorbed prick that I was, I decided to grace my old therapist with a little visit since he lived a stone’s throw away. As the countdown to midnight hit its peak, all hell broke loose. People inside their homes screamed while some even spilled out onto the streets in groups. I scowled at the commotion, particularly annoyed by one fool who tried to hug me in a feeble attempt at celebration.
I finally reached that sorry excuse for a fence and shoved it open. Lights spilled out from the windows of the yellow suburban house. Good, he was up. I wouldn’t have to wake him. I pressed Mr. Henry’s doorbell, instantly silencing the music emanating from inside . Look who just crashed the party. Seconds later, the door creaked open to reveal that skinny old man wearing one of his checkered shirts.
“Hello? Who are—” He squinted, adjusting his glasses. “Levi? It’s been what, four years?”
“Surprise,” I sneered, spreading my arms wide.
He scrutinized me from head to toe, not bothering to hide his grimace and deep frown. “What are you doing here? You’re bleeding! How did you get my address?”
“You’ve always been observant, Mr. Henry. Quite the optimist for a therapist,” I said, tilting my head to the side to wave at both his wife and son, who eyed me like I was some serial killer. “I got into a fight set up by my lovely ex-girlfriend, but that’s beside the point. Found your address with a few clicks online, and here I am, in need of a therapy session.”
“Levi.” Mr. Henry sighed, just like he used to do when I was a teenager. At least he was the only shrink in town who didn’t lie about being too booked out to receive me. “It’s New Year’s, and it’s past midnight. Come see me at my office—”
“No, I need it now,” I pressed, a nerve working in my jaw. “Name your price.”
“You know I don’t do this for money.”
“Well, I’m desperate. Look at me.” I gestured to my battered face, knowing Mr. Henry had a soft spot for lost causes.
He glanced over his shoulder at his wife and son, who nodded in agreement. “Fine, you can come in, but no more than an hour.”
I strolled past him, offering a friendly tap on the shoulder. “Always too empathetic for your own good. Should’ve shut the door in my face while you had the chance.”
“And you’re still as self-absorbed as ever. Thought you might’ve learned to love yourself by now,” he deadpanned, motioning for me to take a seat on his tacky floral sofa while tossing me a bag of frozen peas for my throbbing forehead. “So what brings you here? Haven’t seen you since your mother’s funeral.”
I glanced at his son, who stared at me with wide eyes, probably around eight years old, seated in front of his early 2000s gaming PC that was shut down. I never quite understood how someone could be a therapist and still end up poor.
“Mattias, I’m with a patient. Why don’t you go play one of your games in your bedroom?” Mr. Henry’s voice dripped with nauseating kindness as the boy hesitated, his eyes still on the PC. “You know the computer is broken. We’ll get you a new one for your next birthday.”
“Or you could just listen to me, and I’ll give you a thousand for this session,” I offered.
“I won’t take your money, Levi. I’m helping you free of charge because you seem… in need.”
“I don’t like charity,” I spat, striding toward his son, who nervously shuffled in his chair. “Move.”
The child complied, so I took his chair and pried open the computer’s casing.
“Give me whatever tools you can find,” I instructed the kid. His father gave me a look with raised eyebrows, so I added between clenched teeth, “Please.”
Mr. Henry approached cautiously. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing this old thing,” I said.
“Okay, so what did you want to talk to me about? How are you doing, Levi?”
“Spectacular. I’m glad you asked,” I replied, snatching the pink box of tools from his son’s grasp. “You were the one who diagnosed my mother’s autism. Why didn’t you try to help her? You know we never fit in here in this town.”
Mr. Henry blinked. “I tried to reach out to her, but she said she was fine.”
“And you believed her?” I snapped, my eyes gunning at him.
He cast his eyes downward, avoiding meeting mine. He was a good man, and that was precisely why it made me feel better to blame someone else who wasn’t me—it was too easy to make him feel remorse for failing one of his patients.
The kid tugged on his sleeve with a smile. “Can I watch him, Dad?”
“It’s a private conversation,” Mr. Henry continued.
“I don’t care about my privacy,” I said, disassembling the computer to reveal its circuitry. “So back to the topic. I finally learned to love someone. I think. If love is about wanting to live for that said person and not wanting to die. Being obsessed with everything about her and being afraid that something will happen to her. She has been constantly on my mind for nine years now. I’m exhausted, and I want this fucking—sorry, big word—pain to stop. But it does not. So I’m here so you could teach me how to stop feeling like—” I searched for a polite word.
“Like a loser,” the boy piped up, chuckling. I’m glad someone was having fun at my expense.
“Thank you. A loser, exactly. A pathetic loser.” With a small brush, I removed the dust covering the vents and cooling fans. The machine hadn’t breathed correctly in years, almost like I was feeling right now without Dalia. “And then, I lost her.”
“That’s a form of love, but what strikes me is your self-loathing regarding this feeling, as if you view love as a weakness.”
“I wasn’t born to know and feel love, Doc,” I said, identifying a few loose connections and corroded contacts.
“You don’t know what love is about. You need to learn how to love correctly. When you feel love, you feel overwhelmed, and that’s normal. It’s new for you.”
“Dalia doesn’t love me.” I swallowed harshly, a knot in my heart forming. I could fix the hardware issues of that computer before moving on to the software, but I couldn’t fix that damn knot. “Not anymore at least.”
“And how do you know that?”
I spun the chair around and displayed a thin smile. “Because I forced her to be with me, and I destroyed her life.”
He snorted at me. “You can’t force someone to be with you.”
“I can prove the contrary.” I raised a brow and turned the PC back on. “I forced her to be with me, just like I’m forcing access to your computer right now.”
With a series of keystrokes, I initiated a thorough system scan. Lines of code flashed on the screen as the diagnostic tools identified and fixed software glitches, corrupted files, and outdated drivers.
Initially resistant and sluggish, the computer, just like Dalia was, gradually responded to my interventions, awakening from its digital slumber. The computer powered on, the familiar startup sequence unfolded on the monitor, the hum of the old hard drive spinning to life.
“That was so cool,” the boy cheered.
Glad he thought so.
“You can’t force someone to have feelings for you,” Henry said, covering his boy’s ears. “Did you force yourself on her?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her to be your girlfriend?”
“No, I imposed it on her.”
He gestured toward the couch, his son eagerly bounding to his now functioning computer. “And how did she react?”
I settled back on the couch while he took a seat on the sofa in front.
I hooked an ankle over my knee, resuming my tale. “She told me it’s not how relationships work. So I invited her on a date, and then she kinda introduced me as her boyfriend to this guy’s father who wanted to set her up with his son.”
Mr. Henry coughed, another grimace plastered on his face. “You’ll have to start from the beginning.”
For the next hour, I told him everything that had happened with Dalia in detail. Details, I imagined, he wished he’d never asked for.
“You’re silent. Aren’t you supposed to talk about how much of a screwup I am?” I quipped, breaking the silence that followed my sad little story.
“I think you learned a lot from your mistakes.” I couldn’t read his face; he didn’t betray one inch of emotion.“It’s the first time you’ve experienced such an intense feeling and desire to get to know someone. You changed your habits and prioritized someone’s needs above your own. You’re healing. But it seems that your overprotective and controlling tendencies got in the way of your relationship.”
I rolled my eyes, slumping into the couch. “No shit.”
“No shit!” the boy echoed, engrossed in playing Call of Duty on his resurrected computer while Mr. Henry closed his eyes in exasperation.
“I can’t tell you if she’ll forgive you. It’s up to her, but Dalia gave you a chance once.”
“A chance I fucked up.”
“And how do you feel now that your revenge is done?”
“Like…” I glanced at the kid, destroying his enemies on the battlefield. “A pathetic loser.”
“Do you want what’s best for her?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Even if you’re not what’s best for her?”
I let out a thin laugh, my finger tapping on my hand in agitation. “What kind of question is that?” My finger tapped faster, my jaw clenching. “Dalia is mine. She’s what I need. I can’t see her with another man, it’s killing me.”
“You’re losing control,” Mr. Henry calmly said, gesturing to me to breathe deep.
Four years ago, I would have stormed out of his office and told him to go to hell, but now I reclined on the sofa, craning my neck up, and I begrudgingly followed his advice, inhaling deeply.
Point taken.
“Yes,” I conceded through clenched teeth. “Even if it’s not with me, I want her to be happy.”
“I’m proud of you.” I could hear him smiling.
“Well, don’t be too satisfied,” I retorted, fixing him with a steely gaze and tightening my grip on my hand. “If anyone hurts her, I’ll still kill that bastard, even if she still doesn’t want to be with me. And I don’t care if you think I’m not enough for her, that I should just give up. Because I can’t give up, doc. I want to fight.”
“I never said you should give up.” He lifted a brow, an amused smile curling on his lips. “You like to fix the machines, just like your mother with her musical instruments. It’s a family trait. Why is it satisfying for you?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. I have control over it. I can communicate with the machine better than with humans, and it makes me feel…” Not powerless.
He hummed. “Sometimes it’s easier to fix something else than fixing what is broken inside you.”
“Dalia sewed me back up,” I defended. “She repaired me.”
“And what did you learn?”
“That I can’t force someone to love me.”
“Yes, you can’t make someone love you, Levi. Just like feelings don’t go away like that. If she has feelings for you, she still will, but she’s hurt, that’s understandable and—”
I dug out the USB key from my pocket, the one she’d given me on Christmas. I hadn’t found the time to listen to it yet. Although, time wasn’t the only issue; I also didn’t want to feel the loss, the pain. But he said she could still love me, so I had to feel that love again.
Leaning in, I handed the USB key to Mr. Henry. “Can you play this?”
He frowned skeptically.
I sighed. “I promise I didn’t put any malware in.”
He took the key, and I sprawled on the couch, looking up at the ceiling with cracks.
“There’s only one track on it,” he said, inserting the key into his stereo. “Butterfly.”
As the first notes emanated from the violin’s strings, I closed my eyes. “Doc, meet my Dalia. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Her melody wrapped around me, its tendrils dark and airy. Each of her notes were like a caress, her strings touching the deepest recesses of my soul, resonating not just in my ears but reverberating down to the core of my stitched-up heart. It soothed me like a lullaby and calmed my breathing. It was as if she was there with me, whispering through the strings.
We listened to her music in silence. When it ended, I shifted to a sitting position. The warmth that her music had ignited within me dissipated, and the world seemed to have lost all of its colors, shadows encroaching once more.
“Can you feel her love through her music?” I asked him, and he responded with a light smile. “What should I do to make her choose me?”
“You need to earn her forgiveness and her trust back. Respect her boundaries. Think of what she needs, and then maybe she’ll choose you. Maybe you’re not enough for her yet, but you can be. We can all improve and become better human beings. I’m not asking you to change who you are, because let’s be honest you’re you , but you proved to me tonight you’ve already become better for her.”
“So what?”
“You can become the man she deserves.” He rose from his chair and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sleep here tonight. Towels are in the second drawer in the bathroom.”
I shook my head. “No, your house gives me the creeps. Plus, I’m better back at my suite—”
“Stay,” he insisted as if he could read me. He’d definitely be a Unifier. “We’re not peasants. I’m sure you can sleep on the couch?”
A lump formed in my throat. I wasn’t accustomed to being welcomed, even less wanted. He knew the monster I’d always been, and he was letting me stay under the same roof as his family?
“Thank you,” I muttered.
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you say those words. Maybe miracles can indeed happen.” He chuckled, then tapped the play button, allowing Dalia’s violin music to fill the room once more, and then he left the remote by my side. “Happy New Year, Levi.”