by Tempest Phan
His usually bright eyes were fractured, the light in them dimmed by his pain. He closed them and whispered, “I couldn’t save her. That monster got her and I couldn’t save her.” The last words were choked out, their edges etched in pain.
I leaned in and pressed my forehead to his, feeling the darkness flow from him to me, feeling the black shards of his pain plunge and swirl around me. I hoped he could hear my heart reach out to him, feel it embrace him. His breathing was labored and shallow. I pulled back and kissed him gently on his bloody cheek, tasting the metallic tang against my lips.
He closed his eyes tightly again, as if to contain his nightmares, as if to prevent them from leaking out again. “I was looking for you. I thought you might have gone home, after . . . after . . . and I couldn’t find you. And by chance, I came into the library. When I saw him on you, I snapped.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “If something had happened . . .”
“But nothing happened. It’s ok.” I touched his cheek again. “I promise you, my heart. It’s ok.”
“You mean everything to me, Mirabella. Everything. I would die for you, die a million deaths, die a million times over.” And then, looking at the bloodstains he’d left all over the cream interior, he said, “I totally fucked up your car.”
I just smiled at him through my tears. “Fuck that.” I would die a million deaths for you, too, my Damien James Mortensen.
Damien
That night, I laid in bed, thinking of what had happened earlier. The sheer terror that had taken a hold of me when I’d realized what was happening, when I thought for even a second that she’d been in danger. Rage started to bubble back up as I replayed images of that bastard on top of her, hurting her.
I would have killed him. If Bella hadn’t talked sense back into me, I would have killed him, killed him and relished it, too. The darkness was threatening to take hold. I felt the panic and helplessness rise forth. What if I hadn’t thought to go looking for her? What if I had failed her just as I’d failed Emily? I willed myself to stop thinking about those scenes, willed myself to think of her instead. I closed my eyes. Her bright eyes, the way she made me laugh, the way she made me feel. Before I could stop myself, I thought back to when she’d walked in on Rachel and me.
Even before I had caught her at the door, she had been in my head, invading my mind, already replacing Rachel in my thoughts as I fucked her.
I’ll wait until you’re ready . . . I won’t ever give you up.
Oh, but it was nearly unbearable. In my waking fantasy, it hadn’t been Rachel or Amy or Justine or Andrea on the receiving end, it had been Bella. Always Bella. Each girl I fucked, I imagined to be Bella. It was so wrong, but she occupied my every fantasy, and I dreamt hot, wet dreams of her.
And then she’d appeared at the door, looking so innocent, hazel eyes wide in shock, her delicate cheekbones turning red in embarrassment. It had been my undoing. In that instant, I’d made love to her simply by looking into her eyes, all the while fucking the wrong girl. Even now, remembering the look on her face, the parting of those sweet lips as she gasped at what she was catching me doing . . . I imagined them on me, closing around my cock, her small mouth sucking me dry. It made me grow hard. I wrapped my hand around my dick and started jerking off, her gorgeous face in my mind’s eye, imagining her moaning my name, her small, tight, beautiful body under mine, her slim legs wrapped around my waist as I claimed her over and over again. And when I came, it was with a cry of frustration that she would, could, never be mine.
***
Bella
In the dark of my room, it could have been easy to fall back into the terror of what had almost happened that night. For some reason—and I knew I had Damien’s safe, warm embrace to thank for that—I didn’t dwell on those events. Very easily, almost too easily, I was able to tuck that away. Instead, I couldn’t get images of Dame doing Rachel out of my head. Over and over, I replayed that scene in my head, over and over, reliving the odd feeling of seeing him with another girl, over and over, torturing myself with images that both repelled and drew me in, until in my mind, it was no longer Rachel with him, but me. Me in his arms, feeling the full force of his passion. Me grinding against him, moaning his name over and over. And only then did I admit to myself what I’d been trying to deny for months. I’d fallen in love with my best friend.
***
Damien
I awoke in a sweat, night terrors still coursing through me, the beginning of what I knew would be a terrible, unstoppable attack. The panic was rising up from my chest, bringing with it shadows and bile, the poison splattering inside me. I couldn’t breathe. I felt the darkness open its dank, dark mouth under me, and knew there would be no escaping my demons tonight. Voices in my head began to echo, yelling, cursing, screaming.
All my fault. All of it.
And the voices laughed and laughed. Mocking me, dragging me down into the bottomless pit of my dark, of my guilt. I drew my knees up, folding myself tightly under the blankets, trying to drown it all out, knowing that all of it would be in vain. The shadows were everywhere, now. Under me, beside me, above me, their long, thin fingers reaching out, pulling me into their skeletal embrace, pushing down, down on me until my breaths came out short and labored, until my chest compressed to the point of pain, just sort of asphyxiation.
All my fault. All of it. And I nearly lost Bella too. My fault.
Oh, Emily, I’m sorry. So sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry that I let the unthinkable happen to you. So sorry that I let a faceless monster take you. My fault, and I will pay, pay, pay for it.
I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out, only more pain.
Bella
On our first morning back after NYE, I texted Dame to let him know I wouldn’t be able to pick him up because my dad had taken my car. When he’d first seen the interior, he hadn’t said a word, just looked at me with deep disappointment and anger.
“Let me explain,” I’d begun, but he just brushed past me, taking my keys.
“You clearly can’t obey my simple instructions. I told you to stay away from that boy.”
“But you don’t understand. He got hurt helping me.”
“Enough, Mirabella. Enough.”
“Why won’t you ever listen to me? I said he got hurt defending me!” I shouted this time.
My emotional outburst did nothing to thaw his cold edges.
“Lynda will be here shortly to take you to school.” And then, not looking back, he left the house as I heard him call one of his other assistants to send someone from the dealership to pick up my car for detailing.
I texted Damien, but he didn’t respond. I walked to our usual spot, waiting for signs of his Chevy. But he didn’t show. I quickly messaged Lynda to let her know where I was. I sat on the curb, wondering if Dame was ok. Of course he was ok. Probably under the weather. That party a couple of nights ago had been . . . eventful.
And yet, I hadn’t been able to shake the vague feeling that he wasn’t well. Throughout the night, I had felt strange pangs in my heart, as if shards of blackness were spilling out.
I shook my head to try and clear my strange thoughts.
Suddenly, I heard the clean roar of Lynda’s BMW as she came to a stop.
“Thanks, Lynda. I’m sorry you’re stuck babysitting me again!” I said as I threw open the passenger door and settled in.
“No worries, honey. No ride this morning?” She looked behind her as she maneuvered out of the neighborhood.
“No, Dame isn’t answering.”
“Is that typical for him?”
No. No, not at all.
And out of nowhere, the tears began to fall in earnest. “Lynda, I’m so scared for Damien,” I whispered.
She glanced over quickly, before making the call to pull to the side of the road. She parked and spun around to look at me. “Tell me, honey.” She reached out to dry my tears, her beautiful face full of warmth and concern.
“Jon tried to r
ape me. Damien stopped him. And now I’m worried about what they’ll do to him.”
Lynda placed a hand over her mouth, shock in her honey-brown eyes, before reaching out to pull me into her arms.
“Oh, honey. Don’t worry, I’ll help you figure this out. If it comes to it, I’ll make sure he has help.” She pulled back and ran a finger on my cheek, wiping away the tears. “Your father isn’t the founder of the most powerful law firm on the West Coast for nothing, right?”
I shook my head. “He won’t listen. He won’t believe. He never does.”
“I can talk to him,” Lynda ventured.
“No. I’ll figure it out.” I sniffled and ran the back of my hand against my dripping nose. My voice was steady when I said, “But thank you, Lynda.”
“All right. I’ll let it go unless you tell me otherwise. But that said, are you ok, honey? Did he hurt you? Because I couldn’t let that go.”
I shook my head. “Damien stopped him. I’m ok, Lynda. I’ve got this.”
She regarded me with a look I could only call maternal. Lynda had no kids or any family of her own. Her whole life revolved around caring for mine. She said, “I’m not sure how to say this, Mira. But if you need to discuss it with someone to make sure you’re not holding onto it, say the word and I will arrange it.”
I shook my head again. “Let’s just get to school. Thanks so much, Lynda.” I leaned in and gave her a hug.
She dropped me off. I walked into my calc class a few minutes late, but Perini didn’t seem to care. And neither did I. I was starting to worry about Dame, who still hadn’t responded to my texts. He hadn’t looked at all ok when we’d said goodbye that night, had barely responded to one of my texts the next morning. The vague feeling of malaise from Saturday night hit me again. It was starting to dawn on me that he could potentially have inherited a variation of his mom’s illness. Either that or he was still suffering from PTSD, clearly the result of that tragedy as a young child. Or both. I was suddenly furious with myself that I hadn’t seen it before, although all the signs had been there. The dark, faraway look in his eyes sometimes, or the way he’d shake his head and force a smile for me. What kind of friend was I, to have been so self-absorbed that I hadn’t seen him, seen his pain?
The bell rang and I grabbed my bag, certain of what I would do next. Classes be damned. As I rushed through the halls, I encountered curious stares, whispers. It was clear the events of New Year’s Eve had made the rounds. Instead of feeling embarrassed, which was exactly how I would have felt before Dame had walked back into my life, I only felt anger, anger that his name would be further soiled by their snide remarks.
I rushed out front in time to see my Lyft pull up. I directed her to Dame’s house. I stepped out, looking at the forlorn rambler, a sad, sad mud-brown color, so unlike the pristine stone of my father’s mansion. As the driver pulled away, I began to feel apprehensive for the first time. I’d made another rash decision. What if his mom came at me again? What if he didn’t want to see me? I took a deep breath and marched forward.
I knocked, but no one responded. Could it be that no one was home? I took a few steps back, and looked around me before walking around the house. The street in this working class neighborhood was empty. No one would be home.
I turned my sight back to Dame’s house. The window in the back was open. If I remembered correctly, that could be Dame’s room. I ran over.
“Dame!” I called out in a loud whisper. Nothing.
I looked around me for a stepping stone, anything to help me reach the open window. A white plastic lawn chair was set in front of what appeared to be the living room sliding windows. I walked over to grab it, cautiously, heart pounding, waiting for his mom to come barging out. No screaming banshee thus far. I dragged the chair over to the window and stood on it.
“Dame?” I said softly, pulling the blinds aside and poking my head into what I hoped was his room. A dark figure was curled up in a fetal position on the bed, swaddled in blankets, a hoodie pulled up over his head, the quiet punctuated by loud, raspy breathing.
My heart dropped. “Dame?” Nothing, not a movement, just that harsh, desperate breathing. Terror gripped me. Before I could think it through, I grabbed the window sill and hoisted myself up and through, my feet landing softly on a carpeted surface.
“Dame? My love, you’re scaring me.” No response. With the blinds back in place, his room was dark. I walked cautiously toward the huddled form on the bed. Gently, I laid a hand on his shoulder. He jumped up at my touch, his cold, cold hand immediately grabbing mine, before he turned his ashen face to me. It was dark, but I could see the panic seeping from his eyes.
“Oh, Dame!” I bent down to pull him into my arms. Seeing him like this, so devastated, scared me beyond measure. That my Damien, usually a pillar of strength, could look so broken and defeated was a dose of reality I just hadn’t steeled myself for. I was kicking myself mentally for not having paid closer attention. How could I profess to care for him, how could I consider myself his best friend and be so utterly blind to the demons he was hiding inside?
“Baby,” he rasped out. “Please, go. You shouldn’t be here.”
I held him more tightly while he also clutched at me desperately, his actions contradicting his words.
“I can’t, Dame. I can’t just leave you like this.”
He pushed away from me. Turning his head away, his hoodie falling off as his black hair spilled out onto his face in a sea of black. “I can’t let you see me like this. Please.” And he pulled himself in more tightly, shivering.
My Damien was never, ever cold.
I turned toward his window, the wind blowing in. I walked toward it and pulled it shut. I couldn’t do as he asked. I couldn’t just leave him. Instead, I took off my Vans and climbed into his bed. I gathered him in my arms and held him to my heart, gently smoothing his hair back so I could look him in the eyes. His cut was covered in dried blood, smeared across his cheek.
“I won’t leave you, my Damien James.”
“Baby,” he choked out.
“Ever.” And pushed his head against my heart, as my hands gently caressed his back, his hair. I started to hum a soft melody, a strange lullaby likely inspired by those my mother used to sing to me in her foreign tongue, something I was making my own, making up on the spot to soothe him. Anything to try and leash those terrifying demons battling inside of him. I don’t know how long we stayed like this, but his breathing eventually calmed, and he fell asleep against me. Before long, my eyes started to drift shut as well, as sleep overtook me.
***
Damien
The room was dark when I opened my eyes. Disoriented, I looked around me. My alarm clock registered four in the afternoon. The fog that usually accompanied an attack had cleared from my brain, and while I still felt the remnants of the shadows in the pit of my stomach, the back of my throat, against my temples, I knew the worst had passed. I’d survived. And it was thanks to her, my Bella. And she was still by my side.
Instead of the cold that usually greeted me whenever I awoke, I felt warmth against me. Her warmth. I heard the gentle and steady cadence of her breathing and looked down. She was snuggled against me, looking angelic and peaceful as she slept, her hair flowing like a river of ink around us. My heart caught in my throat as the memories came rushing back. The sleepless nights filled with torment, and then the cold January morning sun that brought her to me, a ray of sunlight inside my dark. My breakdown, and her refusal to leave, taking me in her arms instead and soothing away all of the nightmares. I was horrified that she’d seen me in that grotesque state. I’d never wanted her to see me at my weakest, most pathetic. And yet, as she sighed in her sleep and tucked herself even more closely against me, I was secretly grateful for her presence.
Gently, so gently, I brushed my fingers through her hair. She smiled in her sleep and pushed her head up against me. I looked at her face, mesmerized that she even existed at all, this strong, kind-hearted girl who’d
braved my storms to bring me safely back to port. As she sighed softly, I promised myself I would never let this happen again. She deserved the whole world, my Bella. Not this, not me. I had destroyed everything I touched. As a child, the one who’d loved me and that I’d loved most. And now… But no, not this time. This time, I would guard this girl’s precious heart, guard it against me and my demons. Guard it so she could remain whole, intact. Guard it so she could move on without my weight tethering her. Because this should only be a small chapter in her life as she turned toward the bright, unwritten future that stretched like a ribbon before her.
I felt the panic rise up again, but I pushed it back down this time. Not today. Today, I would keep the upper hand.
As I fought my internal battles, she awoke, and her fae-like hazel eyes looked at me through a fringe of dark eyelashes, slightly hazy at first, likely not quite remembering where she was, and why.
But very quickly, her gaze sharpened, and she said softly, “Hello, my Damien James.”
“Hello, baby girl.” I reached out to sweep the long bangs from her face. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “For what?” As if she hadn’t just been my salvation.
I ran a finger down her perfect little nose. “For coming. For staying.” For saving me.
She raised herself up and looked down at me, her beautiful face reflecting compassion and perhaps pity. I couldn’t let her feel pity for me. “Dame, you know I’m here for you, right? I will always be. You can always talk to me. You’re my best friend. I love you. There is nothing you can say, nothing you can do, that could ever change that.”
I looked away, embarrassed by the warmth her words had created near the vicinity of my heart, robbing me of my breath. But this was not her burden to bear. Finally, I turned my eyes back to hers. “Sweet baby girl, thank you for staying. But promise me that you won’t ever do it again.”