Destroy Me

by Laura Bailey

  “Go get some food and rest Brenton. Ask one of the others to come out will you? Thanks.”

  Brenton gave him a slap on the shoulder and made his way back into the house.

  Damien stayed outside whilst Brenton’s replacement came. Then he took a walk around the grounds.

  When he finished, he went back inside the house. He needed to check on Tara.

  She was upstairs on the bed, sitting fully dressed, her knees tucked up in front of her.

  “Tara you walked in at the wrong moment. Everything’s ok. I’m going to spend the night downstairs with the men. I want you to get some sleep. I apologise that I frightened you. I would never harm you. Please understand that.”

  He turned from her and walked out of the bedroom. The look on his face was heartbreaking. She didn’t understand what had happened. She jumped off the bed. Going out of the bedroom, she called out to him.

  “Damien, wait, please! Come back for a minute.”

  He carried on walking, didn’t turn back around.

  “Damien.”

  He didn’t stop.

  In a quieter voice, but loud enough for him to hear, she said, “I will talk downstairs with you, in front of everyone, if you don’t come back.”

  She knew she was pushing it, playing dangerously with fire.

  He turned around and came back towards her.

  “Get in the bedroom.” His face was tight. He followed her in. “Let’s get one thing clear. I don’t answer to you Tara.”

  “I’m sorry, I just wanted to help.”

  He was pacing the floor.

  “Do not presume to know me Tara.”

  “I don’t know you at all!” she threw at him.

  “Tara, there are some things it’s better not to know. Sometimes we carry things with us that we don’t want to have, but that are now a part of us.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’ve lived very different lives.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some of us don’t deserve what others have.” He turned and left the room, leaving his statement hanging ambiguously in the air. He seemed at that moment the saddest person she had ever met.

  He spent the remainder of the night patrolling with the men and getting a couple of hours sleep on the couch. He didn’t return back upstairs.

  When Tara awoke, after long hours of sleeplessness, she dressed quickly and went downstairs.

  Todd was in the kitchen. He looked like a giant standing beside her.

  “Tara, good morning. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

  “Thank you. Where’s Damien please?”

  “He left an hour or so ago. Said he’d be back later.”

  “Oh, ok.”

  Her heart sank. She had wanted to see him, to see how he was feeling, to talk to him, to ask him to explain his pain.

  She made herself a cup of tea, offering to make Todd a coffee but he said he was good and left the kitchen.

  She sat drinking her tea in solitude. There was a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She went into Damien’s study, not knowing what to do with herself, and picked a book up.

  She ventured out to get cups of tea occasionally, but the day passed slowly, with no sign of Damien. She felt intimidated by the presence of all the men in the house, and couldn’t engage in conversation with them when they were carrying out professional duties, protecting her.

  She couldn’t focus on the book, and though she turned the pages she could not have recalled much about it had she been asked.

  The day turned into twilight, and then night, as it got later and later. Damien didn’t return and as she looked at the antique grandfather clock in the corner as it struck two am, she took herself upstairs and fell asleep in Damien’s bed, his scent on the sheets as she drifted off.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She woke surprisingly late the next morning and looked around the room, slightly disorientated and wondering where Damien was.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Yes, come in.”

  She pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

  It was Brenton.

  “Tara, hope you slept well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she lied.

  “Damien has asked me to take you to him, when you’re ready; no rush.”

  Her heart leapt.

  “Oh, ok, I’ll just have a quick shower. I won’t be long and I’ll be down.”

  She wondered where Damien was, where she was meeting him, and she realised that if she could leave the house then it must have been done; that Chambers must have been dealt with. In her concern for Damien’s state of mind, Chambers had been less of a consideration as she waited all day yesterday for Damien to come back so she could be reassured that he was ok.

  She showered and dressed quickly, going downstairs to find Brenton.

  He was standing in the day room.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  “Yes. Where is Damien?”

  “About forty minutes away. Let’s go.” He smiled at her reassuringly.

  He escorted her outside to a big black van, one that had been outside since the men had arrived.

  “Has everyone gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s been done?”

  “The job has been done Tara, so we don’t need to mention it again, ok?”

  She knew what he meant, understood his implication perfectly. He wasn’t threatening her but she understood the seriousness of what had been done and the necessity to keep quiet.

  “Of course,” she said, looking directly at Brenton to let him know she would comply.

  When they got in he tuned into a rock station on the radio and they drove without further conversation. All of Damien’s men were a bit like him; self-contained, quiet.

  They drove mostly on the freeway, heading away from the direction of D.C. Her mind wandered to thoughts of Damien; that he had really done it, that he had killed Chambers. She hadn’t really doubted that he would, but now the reality of it was starting to hit her; the enormity of it, and she felt a little shaky. The strange thing was, she hadn’t worried for Damien’s safety; she had believed in his certitude, his insurmountable courage, his unstoppable ability for force; she had been more occupied by his pain.

  She suddenly realised they were driving down the turn-off for the airport departures drop off. She had seen signs for the airport but hadn’t really been paying attention. Was Damien here? Was he taking her somewhere? Were they going away for a couple of days, to get away from it all?

  Brenton pulled into the car park, and climbed out. She followed, excited at the unexpected prospect of going away with Damien.

  From the back of the van, Brenton pulled out her suit case.

  “You’ve packed my things!” She had to keep herself from jumping up and down in excitement.

  “Yes. Come on.”

  He led her into the departures lounge and told her to sit on one of the benches, saying he would go and do the check in on one of the automatic machines in the terminal, to save her the need to go to the desk.

  She scanned the area for Damien but couldn’t see him yet. Her stomach had butterflies, just at the thought of seeing him walking towards her. Brenton returned with her ticket and boarding pass, holding on to them.

  “Ok, let’s go over to the security area, there’s not much time left until boarding.”

  They walked across the terminal, Tara scanning for Damien amongst the crowds.

  At the security entrance, Brenton turned to her.

  “Why don’t you go through and meet him at the Gate?”

  “I don’t know where I’m going!”

  He handed her the ticket, his face serious.

  “It’s probably for the best to go on Tara.”

  “Is Damien already at the Gate? Why didn’t he meet me here?”

  Something wasn’t right.

  Brenton’s expression was severe.

  Time stood still
for Tara. Why wasn’t Damien here? What was going on? She looked down at the ticket. Washington to London. One way. She felt like she was going to be sick.

  “Look Tara. Damien’s got you a flight back to London ok? He’s arranged an apartment for you there.”

  “So we’re going to London?” her voice holding the most desperate of hope.

  “You are going to London. The info’s all here.”

  He handed Tara a small folder.

  She couldn’t move her arm to take it, she was frozen in shock.

  Brenton pulled her hand up to take hold of it.

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  Fury coursed through her. “You mean he’s not coming?”

  “He said to get you on the flight, to give you the folder. He put a note in it for you. He just wants you safe Tara.”

  Brenton felt like a heel. He wished Damien hadn’t asked him to do this; he felt terrible for her.

  “A fucking note?” She ripped open the folder; the note fell to the floor. A piece of beautiful ivory fine grade paper lay at her feet. She bent down to pick it up, crouching, tears rolling down her cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to read it. She was humiliated, hurt, and embarrassed. She wanted to stay on the floor and sob. She held the note in her hands, staring at the floor, refusing to look at it.

  Brenton pulled her up gently. “Don’t make a scene Tara. It’s for the best.”

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  Brenton hated himself, and he was angry with Damien.

  She took hold of her case, pulling it by the wheels into the security check point. She went inside. She didn’t look back at Brenton.

  Later, at the departure gate, she read the note.

  “You will be safe there. This is for the best.”

  She burst into tears; she didn’t care if people heard her. Her heart had been taken from her and ripped in two. Barely sentient of anything around her, an airline hostess touched her arm gently, asking her if she could board the plane now, being one of the last left in the lounge.

  Like an automaton, she walked robotically toward the tunnel and entered it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Landing in the early morning at London Heathrow Airport, dismal rain greeted the disembarking passengers. Typical English weather. Tara made her way through the quiet terminal, pulling the small case Damien had packed for her. She had cried sufficiently throughout the flight, glad for the darkness in the interior of the plane that had enabled her to hide her upset from the other travellers around her. Fortunately the flight had not been at all packed and she had lain down across the seats and watched a recent cinema release. Though it was a mediocre thriller, she had felt the pain of the tortured lead character, resonating with him in the darker moments of his struggle. It only made her sadder, her heightened state of sensitivity overwhelming her.

  Damien had torn her flimsy world apart. He had ripped her open and pulled out her insides, failing to put them back together again. She was destroyed; and she yet she refused to admit her defeat. He had killed someone for her. Hadn’t that been enough to bond them irreparably? Did he think she could just go back to her London life now and forget him? He misjudged her badly. And yet, it had been the perfect excuse to break the ties with her and rid her from his life.

  Clearing customs quickly at this hour of the day she walked toward the underground, looking again at the address Damien had written out for her, of the apartment he had leased for her.

  He would know where she lived, and yet his note made it clear that he had no plans to visit.

  “You will be safe there. It is for the best.”

  Why did he write that? He had kept her safe. Had risked his own life to protect her, without hesitation. It didn’t need to end this way.

  She saw again the details of a bank account, opened in her name, with a balance of $100,000. She should have been happy that he had provided for her, that he had set her up so that she could quite easily go for a couple of years at least without worrying financially, without even needing to work if she chose. Whilst it did take the struggle out of her future situation and ease her circumstances considerably, it had given her the sickening feeling of having been treated like a whore, admittedly an expensive one, or some mistress that he had tired of and wanted rid of with minimal fuss. That was not who she was; she could not keep his money. Whilst he was virtually a billionaire, she had never been after him for his money. She had fallen in love with Damien and his dark desires. He had opened her up to a new world of forbidden pleasure and their tumultuous encounters had taken her to the extremes of sexual abandonment with his dominant demands of her. How could he throw it away as though it were nothing?

  And now she was back in London, with few friends, and no family; completely alone. She took the elevator down to the underground. Though she had Damien’s money, she was unused to spending frivolously and the thought of getting a taxi all the way into the centre of London felt an extravagance.

  The address of the flat he had chosen for her was in a part of London that ordinarily she would have never been able to afford to rent. It was also in close proximity to the company she had worked for before leaving to be with her fiancé in Washington three months ago. It was just a short walk from the flat to the office. He must have known she might want to go back to her old job, and had made the commute to work extremely easy for her. Bitterly, she thought how easy he had made it for her to slot back into her old life, as though they had never met.

  She had received confirmation from Jacob, her old boss, that he would welcome her back to work whenever she was ready. At the time, before all the trouble with Marc Chambers, she had been desperate to return, to get away from Damien and his arrogant coldness toward her. That was before she had glimpsed a vulnerability in him she could never have imagined existed, and discovered that he lived a life of hidden pain.

  Buying a ticket at the machine, she made her way to the platform. Early workers were standing around waiting for the train. When it arrived she found a seat; the carriage quiet at this time of day.

  After about forty minutes and a change of trains, she reached street level at St James’s station, and began to walk to her address.

  Entering the street she looked up at the grand buildings, and felt only a deep sense of loneliness.

  At number 21 she stopped and made her way up the outside steps, opening up the front door and greeting the concierge, then taking the elevator to the top floor and finding apartment F.

  Opening her apartment door Tara felt miserable. It was beautiful; immaculately, expensively decorated and furnished. A large lounge, and a bedroom with a double bed. She looked at the bed bitterly, images taunting her of the last time she had spent with Damien in his bed, falling asleep together after the most passionate, unrelenting sex; meeting their deepest, ever-growing desires for each other; her fingers spread across his chest as his muscles tensed, a sheen of sweat covering him as he made love to her, never taking his stormy green eyes off her.

  And then she had not seen him again.

  She kicked her case across the floor of the lounge.

  “Fuck you Damien. You bloody bastard.”

  Was this her future? In a flat paid for by some cold hearted billionaire on the other side of the Atlantic.

  She went into the lounge and fired up her laptop to see if she had Wi-Fi.

  It took a while, during which she resisted the impulse to throw it across the room.

  Her temper was far worse than his.

  She still thought in terms of him and her, when in reality ‘they’ didn’t exist.

  She pushed the computer from her lap onto the couch, grabbed the apartment keys and ran downstairs to the street. She needed a drink.

  She looked for the nearest convenience store and bought a bottle of whisky. Carrying it back along the street she wanted to rip off the top of the bottle and drink it as she walked.

  She was turning into a mess. She stopped herself, retaining her last semblanc
e of decorum; her dignity, she felt, had disappeared when Brenton had handed her the ticket at the airport and smashed her dreams into pieces.

  Back upstairs she drank straight from the bottle as she connected to her emails.

  Jacob had sent her another email, telling her to come in on Monday. There was nothing from Damien.

  She grabbed her phone, to see if there were any messages from him; they could have been delayed in coming through where she had switched it off on the plane, but there was nothing.

  She began to type an email.

  ‘Whilst I appreciate your consideration in setting me up in this apartment, I am not a whore, nor a mistress to be paid off: and given that you no longer require my sexual services, it would seem only right that I return your money to you forthwith. If you could therefore let me know the details of your bank account, I will return the sum to you.’

  I don’t want your bloody money I want you, was what she really wanted to write.

  The drink was doing her no good at all. She lay down on the couch, closing her eyes. She hadn’t slept on the overnight flight and she was exhausted, but she couldn’t bear to go into the bedroom.

  Some time later she woke from a dream, Damien’s mouth on hers, his chest towering over her, broad and muscular as he pounded into her, his arms holding her possessively as he fucked her.

  Her skin felt hot as she remembered his scent, the memories of him so visceral. She thought of the things he had done to her, his dominant controlled confidence with her, pushing her to the limits of physical pleasure, pushing her to do things she had never done.

  Chapter Ninteen

  Damien had returned to his house, thankful that Brenton had taken her to the airport. He couldn’t have done it himself.

  The quiet of the house suited him with his team of men gone. He could return to solitude now.

  He needed sleep after the exertions of the night before; the disposing of Marc Chambers. He would check in at the office later.

  Going into his bedroom he smelt her scent immediately. She had slept in his bed the night before and they had spent the day in it making love. They’d had sex all day, but it had become far more than that, and that’s when he’d had to send her away.