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Yet I feel so lonely. So much so I could die from the invisibility.
I’m stuck all alone. I’m sucked dry of all remnants of happiness.
Ineedhim.
After I gather my wits and wander back to the cottage, it pours outside all day.
I’m sitting in the rocking chair, cocooned in a warm blanket, staring at the wall for hours. My breathing can be heard through the silence this sanctuary brings me.
I worry whether I should move out of Damon’s place or not. I’m tired of switching places back and forth and piling my problems onto my family.
My thoughts hurt from what I must do, what I know Damon and I need.
I don’t want to leave him. I really don’t.
By Sunday, I have a routine set up. I walk about five miles a day. I read some more. I spend an endless amount of time outside. The fresh air is slowly healing the great depression I’ve been in for the past few years. Nature refuses to fully fix my broken heart though. It seems only time will be able to mend its pieces.
I decide to stay an extra day.
By Monday, I feel restored. I’m ready to hear Damon out and ready to confront him without spewing angry words.
I clean up the cottage and answer Layla’s text before packing my things and stuffing them in the trunk of the car. Before I leave, I listen to Damon’s recent voice mail from another call I declined.
“Gemma, comehome.”
I close my eyes. The sound of his voice is a powerful threat to my decision-making. It’s gripping and potent, filtering sweet promises into my ear.
Sweet nothings with an expiration date.
I keep my luggage in the car trunk.
I head to the kitchen at Damon’s after removing my coat.
I’m ready for war when I spot Damon.
“Gemma, are you kidding me?” He walks toward me, and from the weary look on his face, he hasn’t been sleeping. “Where thehellhave you been?”
“I was at my sister’s cottage.”
He scoffs. “And you couldn’t have answered your phone or texted me that, so I don’t lose my fucking mind?”
“I had to leave. I needed space.”
“If I wereanyone else, any other boss, wouldn’t you have let them know as soon as you left?”
I gulp, refusing to let him guilt-trip me. “But you’re not, andyoudon’t get to be mad at me.” I take the purple journal that’s on the counter where I left it and brandish it. “Explain.”
His hands immediately cover his face before he drops them. “Explain why you went through my things again?”
“Don’t you DARE!” I don’t recognize the scream that leaves my mouth. My hands are a quivering mess. I feel so physically sick, and mentally—mentally, this is the last straw.
Screw my time in nature. Clearly, I’m still angry because I feel fuckingbetrayed.
“Damon, please, please,pleasetell me it isn’t true.” I take a step closer to him, and he recoils, his jaw on lockdown.
“I fucked up ... and it’s on me. I know that.”
“So it’struethen?” My voice trembles. “Palmer hit Harvey that night.”
