Page 145 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“What are you doing?” he snaps.

“Seeing if you have the evil eye on you, or something,” I say. “You’re not being yourself.”

He snatches his hand out of mine and stands up, shaking it off like my touch is repulsive. “What is this, gaslighting via witchcraft? You gonna ask me if I’m on my period next?”

I flinch. “Damien,” I say slowly. “What are you accusing me of right now?”

“Why? Do you have a guilty conscience?”

“Damien, imply that I’m cheating on you one more fucking time. I dare you,” I snap.

“Your words, not mine.”

Gloam hops on the couch then, curling up against my leg as I picture melding Damien’s lips together or shrinking his balls or making his hands like a Ken doll’s. I’m proud to say I don’t do any of those things; I manage to stop myself.

I do, however, throw the cat.

At him.

Specifically, at his face.

Gloam yowls while Damien yelps. He doesn’t dare duck out of the way, letting the small grey feline collide with his body.

Gloam’s landing is not a graceful one. She grasps onto his shoulders with her claws, her back feet straight, nails presumably hooked into his obnoxiously sculpted abs.

“FUCKING SHIT,” he shouts.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW DAMIEN.”

“You just THREW A CAT AT ME.” He cradles Gloam like a football while she purrs her approval of maximum squish.

“YOU ACCUSED ME OF SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE ELSE.”

“Well? WHY WOULDN’T YOU?”

“Because I fucking LOVE YOU, you imbecile!”

“Yeah? You love a guy who couldn’t do anything but watch while some fucking void monster choked you to death? You love a guy who couldn’t even revive you without the help of a defibrillator personified?” His voice cracks and he looks away from me. I watch his Adam’s apple bob with a tight swallow. Then he sniffs and looks down at the cat in his arms, his long hair obscuring his face. “Listen. I’m not some machismo asshole. But a man is supposed to be able to protect his woman, and when the time came, I couldn’t.” My chest hurts as I watch a single tear follow the straight line of his nose before dropping onto Gloam’s head. She chirps in response. “And now you’re telling me you want me to leave,” he says.

“Damien, I don’t need you to protect me,” I say. “I know I don’t look it, but I’m pretty damn powerful. I was just spent that night.”

“Because of me,” he says. “Because I was fucking around and fucking you into the ground and—”

“Damien, I wanted that. And I still want it,” I insist. “I swear to god, I will give you a talking cock if you don’t chase me down in a forest again and rail me until I cry.”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, more tears fall on Gloam’s little head, and she wriggles out of his grasp to flee his stormy mood and its resulting rainfall. I walk over to him, ducking beneath the cover of his hair to look up at his face. The pinkish whites of his eyes make the blue and green of his irises jewel-like. Beautiful, despite the sorrow.

I brush his tears away with the backs of my hands, then cup his face. He finally meets my eyes.

“I’m such a fucking asshole,” he says through a hitching breath.

“A little bit, today, yeah,” I say. “But you went through something pretty harrowing a few days ago.”

“I just kept thinking ‘I’m watching the love of my life die. She’s going to die and I’m not going to be able to do anything,’” he says. “And even though that was the worst day of my fucking life, when the label told us they were expanding the tour, I thought about being on the road while you’re back here. I thought about what if it happens again? What if you die while I’m gone? That would be even worse than having to watch you die.”

His tears start pouring out, each one I wipe away gets chased by another. He closes his eyes as if he could stem this tide of sadness.

“Damien, I’m not going to die,” I whisper. “I’m obnoxiously safe here. Even Aemon says so. And with everything going on, I’m worried about your safety. What if this thing tries to get to me by hurting you? His efforts are probably concentrated on Del Lune, so go on tour. I’ll be here when you come back.”