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Holy fuck—what would I have done?
I love Damon a little more for the fact that he doesn’t tell me it isn’t my fault. I suspect with the amount of guilt he still feels over everything that happened with Palmer, he knows those words wouldn’t soothe me either way.
Because shame courses through my veins, reminding me of ocean-blue eyes.
If Harvey knew or even Henrik, I’d lose them both forever.
But telling anyone could punish Damon, since he fled the scene of a hit-and-run and covered up the accident with Palmer’s parents.
“She was sick at the time; I could feel her slipping through my fingers. I didn’t knowwhyuntil I read her journals,” he says, his mouth right next to my ear, his arms keeping a strong grip around me.
“Her parents hated the idea of getting her help, of medicating her. But still, I knew, and I let her drive even though we fought the whole way about it. And I can never take that back.”
I stare at his Adam’s apple as he swallows, his eyes locked on the wall ahead, unmoving.
“Leaving you two behind and covering it up was wrong, but I would’ve done anything to protect her at the time.”
I ignore him, knowing deep down that if the tables were reversed, I might’ve done the same thing for Harvey or Damon or Gia.
I want to ask how she died, how she committed suicide, but I can’t. A part of me is too focused on the blinding truth that finally spilled to care about anything else.
“I’m so sorry, Red. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry she almost killed you. I’m sorry about Harvey. I ruined your relationship with him.”
I shake my head, then settle it in the crook of his neck. He didn’t crush my relationship. Perhaps indirectly he did—if Palmer hadn’t hit Harv, then he’d be walking, and none of this would’ve happened.
But then Damon wouldn’t be in my life, and I can’t for the life of me even think of wanting a life where he’s not in it. No matter how awful and selfish that makes me.
I don’t want to leave.
God, I don’t want to leave him. Us.
But I have to. He lied.
I wish I would’ve listened to Damon. Why did I have to go and chase his truths?
“I don’t feel so good,” I whisper against his chest. “I feel sick again.”
“Again?” Damon eyes me curiously, his thumb on my neckline. When I nod, he lifts me into his arms, treating me like a delicate feather all the way to our bedroom.
“I left my stuff in my dad’s car.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he reassures me, removing my clothes and draping his own T-shirt over my body.
Despite our fight, the gesture itself makes me feel so loved.
“I’m so sorry, Gemma,” Damon says when I land in bed. I wish I could seal his apology with a kiss, but then I remember the despair seeping through my black veins, and instead I pull the covers over myself.
As he leans down, he presses his lips to my forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
Only of you.
The bright sun is peeking through the curtains when I wake up on Tuesday morning. My hand is searching for Damon, but the space next to me is empty.
I shake my head after grabbing my phone and realize I slept in and missed another day of work. I have loads of vacation left, so that’s not the issue. I simply don’t want Damon thinking I’m slacking off now because we live together.
I call him, wondering why I didn’t hear my alarm this morning.
“Gemma.”
