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Everything was sore—everything—but all those aches and pains were just reminders of all the places Damien had kissed.
Or touched.
Or …
I smiled and burrowed deeper into the sheets, reliving my favorite moments from the night before.
Then, I added my heart to the list of body parts that were sore. It felt as if it might burst.
A ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, warming my face through one of the small attic windows. Rolling over, I reached for Damien, craving the solid grounding of his body, the intoxicating safety of his arms.
But all I found was a lumpy mattress, covered with a perfectly smooth patchwork quilt.
Sitting up, I squinted into the late morning light and found that Damien’s side of the bed looked untouched. The clothes Kate had laid out for him were gone, along with his gun, his scent, his warmth. It was as if it had all been a dream, and I was suddenly thrust back into the nightmare of my reality.
Running over to the window facing the harbor, I glanced at the water below and had to clutch the windowsill to stay upright.
They were gone.
Damien and the Pride of Howth were both gone.
Our fight from the night before rang in my ears as I slid to the floor and stared at the bed.
“Every second that I stay here, that your da’s boat sits in that harbor, is another second closer to them capturing you again! I can’t let that happen, Clo. I can’t—”
“You’re leaving me here?”
“It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
I wanted to feel shocked, to feel hurt and betrayed, but the only one who’d betrayed me was me. I knew that boys left as soon as they got what they wanted. I knew that having feelings for someone only meant they could hurt me more.
I knew that I wasn’t really lovable.
I’d done this to myself.
Damien had told me exactly what his plan was, and I’d ignored it.
With my elbows on my knees, I dropped my head into my hands and stared at the wooden floor between my scratched, bruised legs as a black hole of numbness chewed its way through my body like a cancer.
I had nothing.
I had no one.
I was nothing.
I was no one.
I didn’t feel the boards beneath my feet as I walked back over to the bed. Didn’t feel my bruises ache as I put on the yellow sundress Kate had left out for me. And I didn’t feel the scrapes and puncture wounds on my feet as I shoved them into a pair of dirty white runners.
I went through my morning routine mechanically, as if I were driving someone else’s body. Brushing someone else’s teeth. Washing someone else’s face. I straightened up the bathroom and shoved Damien’s wet trousers into the bin, but I couldn’t bear to leave his blazer. I might not have been able to feel the satin lining slide over my bare arms, but I could smell it—a heartbreaking mixture of sea and blood and him. A sharp pang of loss stabbed me in the heart, but the black hole swallowed that too.
Looking around, I realized that there was nothing left to do. No more distractions, no more tasks to be done. The urge to leave was overwhelming. To lock my feelings in that attic and run as far away from them as I could get.
I was so focused on getting out of there that I didn’t process the smells and sounds coming from the floor below until I was already halfway down the first flight of stairs.
The scent of blueberry muffins.
The unintelligible murmuring of a television newscaster.
