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“Good for you, Gemma, for getting one fucking side of the story. Now you’ll never get mine.” He leaves with the notebook and his bag.
He leaves my house. He leaves my life.
But he’ll never leave my heart.
Damon’s intertwined with my soul, and the soul never forgets where it belongs or what makes it happy.
I stand for a long while, staring at the door, my stomach in a million knots.
I smell something burning and walk slowly to turn off the stove and throw out the burnt pancake. I place the rest of the batter in the fridge, unable to eat.
My phone vibrates twice on the counter. Gia.
She’ll have to wait. I can’t bear listening to her tell me he did exactly what she told me he’d do.
I knew Damon would leave. I just didn’t think I’d be the one to push him away with my idiocy.
The thought of going to work tomorrow feels like a double-knife stab. On one hand, I’d rather risk seeing the hatred on him than to never see him again. On the other, I know he’ll break me until there’s nothing left.
Soft, shallow breaths escape me as I curl up in a ball in my bedroom upstairs. I refuse to believe that this is it, that I’ll never be in his arms again, never experience more of his hugs. Damonalways made me tremble with joy or madness, but, either way, he made mefeel.
I felt everything in the deepest part of my core.
The possibility that I might never hear his rare laughter crushes me down to the marrow of my bones.
I want Damon in my life. IneedDamon in my life. Damon is both my wants and needs. He gives me everything I ever wanted. Despite the time it took for him to get there, I know he loves me.
But he also looks for any reason to push back, with Palmer being at the front and center of those reasons.
The crying lady inside my head does so for me—she does so because she knows what I refuse to believe this very second. That Damon would’ve left me no matter what.
So now this is it.
He’s gone.
On Monday, tension reigns in the office when he signs a few things for me. His jaw is tighter than my black dress, his eyes careful to avoid mine.
I stare at the depressing painting on his office wall, wondering how we can relate so easily to art, even abstract, when we’re struggling.
I want to ask him how long he’ll ignore me, how long until we can fix what’s broken. But the energy surrounding him stops me in my tracks. As soon as he’s done signing, I grab the pile of documents and leave without a word.
Then I respond to emails, my mind wandering toward my fight with Damon.
He didn’t say we were done. Perhaps it’s a little bump on the road. One we can talk through and move on from.
Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps one betrayal is enough for a man like him.
Marie asks me out for lunch, and again I say no. The thought of eating or being around anyone makes my stomach churn.
I go through the day in auto mode, feeding myself nothing but denial to get through the pain buried in all the creases of my heart.
He ignores me all day.
When I get home, I shower and head to bed early, numbingly readingHarry Potter. My mind refuses to feel the usual satisfaction that accompanies reading.
This time I’m doing it for self-preservation. To survive what’s yet to come.
Eventually I place the book on my night table before stuffing my face in my pillow. My breathing is ragged, and thoughts of Damon consume me to the point of drowning.
