Still ill at ease, I follow him, though with every additional step we take I grow more flustered and yes, sad. Daniel halts at the bedroom’s doorjamb, sends me an inscrutable look and gestures for me to go in first as he flicks on the lights. I look around and I am overcome with emotions, a variety of contradicting emotions.
“What do you think, baby?” Daniel’s low voice snaps me out of my state of utter dismay. “It’s…diff… different,” I stutter and shift my gaze from him to the room and back.
“It is,” he responds, and his assertive tone makes my mind work more smoothly. As I start to catalog the vision in front of me, the odd texts from him that didn’t make any sense over the past few days start to clarify. Everything in the room has been changed, from the natural color palette, to the rug, to the bed—all changed to the fabric and shades I absentmindedly chose. Fortunately, I think it turned out well.
“Now it’s just ours,” he says, and my heart swells.
“There's more,” he adds, and takes my hand, guiding me farther in. He stops at the edge of the dark wood, king size bed and turns me around to face the opposite wall. As I take in what appears in front of me, my breath catches and my heart starts to pound. It takes me a couple of moments to regain the ability to speak. In the middle of a freshly painted carmine wall, hung in a silver antique style frame, there is a vast charcoal sketch of … me. The sketch is a reproduction of the Polaroid picture Iris, Daniel’s mom, took of me when we visited her in Baja—the moment she captured me staring at Daniel in a way that unmistakably expressed my pure love for him. I swallow hard and turn to face him. Words are trapped in my throat, failing to come out. His eyes run warily over my face, assessing me. He grimaces as I take a deep breath, then crouches just enough for his stare to be level with mine, and watches me from a close distance, waiting.
A weak, gratified, overwhelmed, “You did all this for me?” leaves my lips. He nods silently, and the muscle just above his jaw slowly works under his skin. My eyes glass over and melt into his. “I love it all. I love you,” I say.
“It’s the least I could do, Hales.” He slides his palm up over my cheek to cup it, and the tips of his fingers thread in my hair. I lean into it and look at him silently. “I love you and I'll do everything I can to make you feel just how much I do.”
My lips stretch up in a naughty, suggestive way at the double entendre leering from the end of his sentence.
“Hey,” he scolds me playfully. “That was the first time ever since I met you that I didn’t have sex in mind.” He shakes his head and a bloom of a smile forms on his scarred lip.
I am utterly dazed.
These exact feelings, which make me want to run as far as I can with all my strength and not look back are those same ones that will never let me leave, and make me love him wildly.
“Now seriously, baby: blank page?”
“Blank page,” I repeat into his parted lips. We dissolve into each other’s eyes, another unspoken communication between us that says, 'I am completely yours'. From that moment onward we are utterly engaged in each other as we slide together into our new bed and adeptly christen it.
Chapter 20: Behind Deep Scars
With the afterglow still leisurely swirling through me, my head comfortably snuggled on Daniel’s warm skin, staring at some indistinct point on the ceiling I say, lacking any filter, “You mentioned before that you're all in, D.” I pause for a moment to collect my thoughts before resuming. Do I really want to do this now?
“What is it, Hales?” he asks in a mellow voice as I pause.
“I don’t think that…I'm... all in…” I say hesitantly, inwardly taking a deep breath. Here goes…
Daniel turns to lie sideways, now facing me, and I readjust, mirroring him. I rest my cheek on my hands. This conversation would be much easier if his eyes weren’t on mine. His stare hardens in harmony with the tightening of his jaw.
“It’s just that since I met you and fell for you I’m in this constant state of suspended anxiety, and frankly, it's exhausting.” I sigh. The planes of Daniel's face set while his eyes encourage me to go on. “I constantly feel like something's about to happen and completely wreck me… again. It's hard to put my guard down and look past everything. As much as I want to…” With a downcast stare I add, in a small voice, “D, I'm not sure we’ll survive another one.” It’s not a threat but a sad admission. A shadow of pain hovers fleetingly over his face, but he lets me continue, his eyes attentively on mine.
“There's no question of how I feel about you, but it's because of that. I just don’t feel fully secure about us.” I unconsciously hold in a breath as I let out my deepest fears of losing him or getting deeply hurt again. I'm trying to make a coherent point, but somehow in my head my words are muddled, like they're flowing through a maze without ever really reaching the end. His stare narrows and intensifies, a line forming between his brows that shows his concern about what I'm telling him.
It’s not like I ever believed in happily ever after; hell, if there was a demonstration I'd be the first to pick up a sign and protest this cliché. On the other hand, I never imagined that a relationship could come with this much heartache.
“What will make this go away? What can I do, Hales?” He studies me closely, honesty and affection in his hazel eyes.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you could possibly do or say to have me look past everything we’ve been through so far. I want to let it go, but it's not something I can simply do.”
We exchange meaningful, gloomy glances. Fog descends over my thoughts when I realize that there’s nothing that I can think of that will let me allow myself to trust us completely. I’ve tried many times, and yet I still feel the same way. In our short history there have been too many painful, trust cracking potholes to proceed untroubled and carefree.
I might be physically here, actually living with him, but the switch in my head refuses to flip, the switch that will let me feel at home, call his place home.
Forgive and forget, Hales.
Living together again seems to be the best temporary solution. I'm trying desperately to convince myself that it's far more than just temporary, but I'm failing miserably, because a larger part of me doesn’t believe this will last long. A part of me that is doubtful and scarred, a part that keeps turning over any stone we lay, constantly looking for an ominous sign. I scan Daniel’s disturbed face, digging my teeth into my cheek.
Where are those blissful, complication-free times when I thought love was an overrated, expertly fabricated ruse for hopeless romantics? Those were the easy times, D, before you got under my skin and sentenced my heart to a life of imprisonment.
“Maybe if you understood what I'm all about, what made me who I am, it might ease your mind?” I can sense the wheels turning in his brain, looking for a way to get through to me. It seems he can feel my frustrated gloom better than I can. “Cause I want you, Hales, like I never wanted anything before. All of you.”
He traces my lips with his thumb. I lean into his hand as he gently cups my cheek, his eyes penetrating to the very core of me.
“I want to be that for you. I really do want us to work,” I reply, but my wavering voice doesn’t exactly match the sternness of my words; instead it reveals my doubt.
We lie facing each other, heads resting on our hands, subtle tension keeping us at length, physically and emotionally.
“You remember asking me about my scar?” He clears his throat, taking a deep breath. Something warm and dreadful twists my insides at the expression on his handsome face.
“The one you wouldn’t talk about, you mean?” My voice is small and tender, both eager and anxious in anticipation of what's to come.
“That same one,” he says, his expression strained and brooding. I push out air that was caged inside me, waiting. He threads his fingers through his golden locks and clenches his jaw.
And he starts.
“When I found out that Iris was sick I was just a kid. My only conc
erns at the time, like any other normal 7-year-old, were having fun and making trouble.”
My lips pull up gently.
“It all changed when I found out by accident that she could be dying. I think I matured overnight. I saw it as my goal to protect her—I thought that if we, Mike and I, took care of her, she'd get through it.” He swallows, pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, people divorce, people separate, nothing really lasts forever even though you wish it did. But when you leave, you should do it sensibly, with respect for the person you shared your life with.” He exhales. “On the day he left us, I didn’t understand what was going on at first.
When I heard Iris begging him not to leave, I couldn’t believe it. I tried to talk to him and tell him that we needed to take care of her, but all he did was to ask me not to interfere. I can still clearly remember pieces of their conversation. She tried to reason with him that I might end up an orphan and that we both needed him.” Daniel pauses for a long moment. He seems to be debating something inwardly. “I don’t think I'll ever be able to forget the tone of her pleading, Hales. She was weak and broken.”
Aching deeply for him, I put my hand on his cheek and move it slowly to rest on his waist under his loose shirt. I scoot closer, entwining our legs.
“The coward’s answer was that he couldn’t stay, neither for Iris’s sake nor for mine. He said something about how he needed to get away from the two of us. About him being too young, that he couldn’t handle the burden.” Daniel chews on his cheek then snorts. “He even said something about me turning into a man soon and that I would be able to manage on my own,” he says in a cold voice. “I was terrified that it would be just the two of us, that him leaving would make her sicker. That I wouldn’t be enough to help her.
I was afraid that it would kill her. I was scared.”
I try to stop the tears that pool at the corner of my eyes.
“You know, Hales, how some moments or situations in life just change you? How it takes just one crucial thing to leave a deep mark, to screw you up. Those moments that will eventually define the kind of person you’ll grow up to be?”
I nod.
“That was one of those moments for me.” His tone mutates into frost bitten ire. “Hearing him actually say that he was leaving, and that he didn’t care about her or me, left me helpless and frightened. I closed up.
I still don't understand how someone can just wake up one day and decide to desert his dying wife.”
“And son,” I add. He rubs his hand over his face and heaves.
“When he said he couldn’t stay, not for her and not even for me, when I saw my mother shattered and fearful, I felt pure rage.”
For the longest time I just watch his jaw sawing under his skin. When he continues, I keep quiet and don’t interfere, letting him set the pace.
“I remember the anger taking over every part of me. I was so full of rage the only way to get rid of it was to lash out. I was just a kid, but I'd always been big and strong for my age.” For a long moment he focuses on something I can't see, lost in his own thoughts. “This memory is still so vivid in my head,” he says. “I recall grabbing a chair and running toward him with all my strength. I slammed him down on the floor.”
I can’t help the chill slowly crawling up my spine as the scene forms before my eyes. Goosebumps cover my skin.
“It took him a good few seconds before he snapped out of his shock. I took the opportunity to pummel him with all the power and anger I had until he pushed me forcefully off him. That push sent me crashing into the furniture, and a sharp corner cut deep into my eyebrow.”
My reaction to this is to tighten my grip on his waist. He covers my hand with his own, as though trying to soothe me.
It should be the other way around.
“I was deeply in pain. My head was throbbing and my face was covered with blood, but mostly the pain was from being so easily…rejected, unwanted.”
I saw on my fingernail with my teeth, tense, gloomy and feeling disgusted.
“But I hate him deeply because of how he treated Iris when she came to see what was going on. She was panicking, shaking, finding us in that chaos. And when she tried to talk some sense into him, asking him to help me, to take me to the hospital, he shoved her away. I was helpless, lying on the floor, unable to help her. That was the exact moment in which any respect or good feeling I’ve ever had for him turned into loathing.” His features harden. “Like I said, this was a life-changing occasion for me, Hales. I turned violent. The fact that I didn’t have a stable home for next few years just intensified it, made me angrier, bitter and introverted. My temper was my guide for the longest time. It was my solution for everything, it helped me keep everyone away. I was an angry kid that grew up to be a problematic and violent teen, and eventually an adult with a very short fuse. Hales, I used to lash out at people for no reason at all. There was a point in my life where I used to fight people in special clubs just for the sake of releasing anger. It was never about anything but getting hurt and hurting other people. Releasing violence.”
He searches my eyes for my reaction. I blink and my eyes water and turn soft. I slide the hand that's on his waist farther back and pull myself over to him, closing the gap between us. I hold his troubled face in both hands and kiss him with everything I have.
Here it is, Hales, a rare glance at Daniel’s inner core. Rough, violent, powerful, emotional, kind, and … hurt.
When I pull back a little, he continues.
“My second turning point was a good one. The day I signed the ownership papers for my company. That day I made an oath to myself that I would do everything I could to change myself for the better. I decided to quit the fighting, which was a very hard thing to do—I even went to therapy for a while.”
I kiss his lips again, assuring him that I understand and that I'm proud of what he did.
Abruptly his serious expression becomes bothered but amused, and he lets out a short snicker and shakes his head.
“It took me a few years and a hell of a lot of money to be able to say it out loud: I am angry.
Well, I know I’m still impulsive and high tempered, but Hales, I try. Especially after meeting you.”
“Daniel, you're everything I want. I wouldn’t want you any other way.” And I love you, especially now, after what you’ve just shared with me.
“And you know something, baby? There was another significant changing point for me. This one changed what I was, well … what I wanted. What I thought I wanted further down the line.”
I swallow and blink, waiting for him to go on.
“You know, it was in one of those meaningless conversations that we had. I don’t even remember what the fuck we were talking about, but I do remember that in the middle of that conversation I felt like I wanted it to go on forever, so that you'd never have to go away.” He scoots over to press his lips briefly to mine, but at this point I want more. I need more.
“So baby, this is me, all of me. I know nothing can even begin to come close to what we’ve been through so far and I know it's hard to overlook.” He brings his hands to my face and holds it between them.
Here are all of his imperfections and insecurities, out in the open, and all I can think of is how they make me feel more connected to him, intensifying my already strong feelings toward him.
“You need to let your fears go and your guard down. I promise you I will do everything I can to make this work.”
And for the first time I feel confident about him, us. I nod, too overtaken by emotions to respond verbally.
“Are you okay?” he asks, changing the subject, letting me process everything he just shared with me, not pushing for an immediate response, which I couldn’t be more thankful for.
I nod. “I’m more than okay, I’m grateful.” When my voice goes silent, his forehead creases. “For you to trust me, to care as much as you do, and share all of this with me.” He gifts me with a boyish side smile.
&nbs
p; “I do care that much,” he says. I reach for him and nestle in his waiting embrace. He nuzzles my hair and I close my eyes, dissolving into him.
“Why do you call your mom by her first name?” I say to his chest. He thinks for a second.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s because she's so much more than just a mom…” I lift my head to look at him. “She is, she’s always been, my… everything.” I melt inside and radiate it to him with a loving smile. “My everything before you came along.” And his smile back at me makes my heart flutter.
“It was just the two of us. We were so close. And as I grew up, she turned into my best friend.”
I kiss his lips, deeply and eagerly. I need to connect with him—I need him. He is so much more, my so much more.
I rest my head on my pillow and run my eyes across his face. He smiles back at me. “Did your dad ever reach out to you later in life?” I ask.
“Did he…” A scornful resentment hovers above the words. “He did, Hales. Right after I rang the bell on Nasdaq, he did.” I inhale deeply, and when I’m about to comment, he adds, “I didn't back then, and still don't want anything to do with him.” I nod, caressing his face with my gaze.
“So now that we're done with tonight’s special: 60 Minutes Stark Fuckedupness, what do you want to do for the rest of the weekend?”
“Close the door and leave the world outside?”
“Couldn’t think of a better option, baby.”
Chapter 21: Open Matter
That night was a turning point for me. For us. Having Daniel open up like that, learning about his physical and emotional scars, it changes things. In the weeks to follow we leave the world outside and become almost inseparable. Day-to-day, in order to function, we become co-dependent, seeking out each other’s company in a way we never have before.
We consciously don’t see other people. Social requirements are kept to a minimum. The house becomes our haven. Like two smitten teenagers, we can’t get enough of each other. Even the simplest of tasks are done together, from cooking to working at home to taking showers. And sex, holy mother of god, the scorching sex. I think that if I weren't on the pill we could have easily populated a small country by now. Between us we joke about the fact that we’ve become disgustingly, cornily cheesy, even borderline nauseating. And though these are not the best of times, they're far from being the worst of times, they are absolutely our times.
Inner Core: (Stark, #2) Page 14