AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Therapy.
How many times did I beg him not to stop his sessions after the accident? That we should do joint therapy? Maybe Ishould’ve pushed him further. Maybe then we could’ve fixed what was broken between us.
But thenI wouldn’t have met Damon.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say.
“Take your space, but let’s try. You promised you’d try.”
“It was wrong.Iwas wrong to promise you that.”
“Therapy—think about it. Good night, Gemma.”
I stand outside his room, waiting for him to get in bed before I leave a crack open and let his soft snoring soothe my heart like a lullaby.
I hate you.
His earlier words spoken with such disgust flash through my mind. He saved his best card for last. Therapy. I can’t think about anything. I just want to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.
I wake up in the middle of the night, having curled asleep in front of his door. I check on him again, and when I see that he’s sleeping, I head back to my room.
I love Harvey, but I love Damon more.
It doesn’t make sense; none of this makes sense.
But that’s love. It doesn’t have barriers, nor boundaries, nor borders to cross. Love simply is. In its most subjective form. Love is anything if not irrational.
Raw. Bleeding. Passion. Fire. Fury.
Love doesn’t need measurement tools. It’s felt. And it knows.
The heart always knows. You can’t lie to it.
It knows more than you do.
The interns went through the rest of the boxes while we were away.
Now it’s Monday, and I’m in the boardroom, organizing the documents needed to draft my section of the report for our public sector client.
I’m reading Damon’s notes for this file when I notice him leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowed as he watches me.
“Hey.” One second near him and I’m a breathless mess.
The truth I recently admitted to myself about loving Damon has me on edge. Somehow, as I stare at him, I know he’ll never love me back.
He shuts the door and locks it behind him, then he walks over to where I’m seated as he leans against the table. Physically so close, yet mentally so distant I could cry.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” he asks. Concern greets his eyes, and I hope and hope that I’m wrong and he does care about me.
“I . . . packed my things.”
The confusion he sports is impossible to ignore. I know he didn’t believe I’d go through with it. When he takes my hand, I lift myself from my chair, ending up in front of him.
“Do you need help?”
My back arches when he caresses my neck, my body perpetually in shivers around him. I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“I’ll get a company to help you move.”
