I had self-doubt. I had self-doubt, all right, even if she never believed it. I doubted I’d ever be good enough for her. My selfishness would always mirror her selflessness. We both knew loss and pain and loneliness.
We were two peas in a pod.
Except one was rotten.
And it wasn’t her.
I was the master of lies and manipulation. She was the master of kindness and truth. I breathed in deceit and exhaled hatred. She inhaled love and sighed out laughter.
If it weren’t for me, she’d be laughing now.
She’d given in to her hurt. For me. For someone who didn’t deserve her kindness.
She was afraid of caring about me.
I was afraid of her.
Terrified.
More than anything else in this world, I was afraid of falling for the woman in my arms.
Because I knew. I knew, deep down, that she deserved more. More than the person who’d lied and tricked his way into her life, even if I would eventually leave with honesty.
The biggest problem with that was that I was even more afraid of leaving her and going back to life before Dahlia.
To life without her eyes or her laughter or her smile. Without her wit or her sarcasm or her smartass comments.
Loving her terrified me.
Never being able to try, scared me even more than that.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her hair, stroking it. “I’m so sorry.”
Over and over.
I said it again and again. The guilt drowned me. The anger stabbed at me. But I could block that out.
For now.
For right now, because she was more important. I would face it, though. I would be her kind of brave and tell her everything. I owed her that, even if I never uttered any of the words again.
I would tell her about the destruction of my family. Of the lies. The hurting. The secrets. The deception. The fixing. The happiness.
I would tell her about the final breakdown that shattered it—and me—forever.
And then, maybe, I would be strong enough to leave her so she could be happy.
I pressed my lips to her forehead in a kiss that screamed to me I’d never be able to. Even squeezing my fucking eyes shut didn’t beat that thought from my brain.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I whispered.
She was finally silent, the only tears remaining completely noiseless.
“Why?” she rasped, her voice cracked and broken and hoarse. She tilted her head back and looked up at me. “You didn’t do it.”
“I know.” I cupped her cheek and brushed my thumb beneath her eye. “But right now, all I want to do is suck the pain right out of you, and I can’t do that.”
“That’s okay. It’s mine.”
“It shouldn’t have to be.”
“I know,” she whispered, tucking her face back into my neck.
I shut my eyes and rested my cheek against her head. “I’m sorry I made you relive it.”
A moment passed before she said, “I’ve never done it before. Not like that.”
Guilt. It hit me hard once again
“Maybe I should put you to bed and then go.”
“No!” She scrambled on me, twisting and turning, her knee narrowly missing ramming into my cock.
Not that I didn’t deserve it.
Dahlia grasped my face, laying her hands on my cheeks, and looked into my eyes. Her skin was red and puffy, blotchy right down to her neck. She focused her swollen eyes on me and shook her head with such vehemence, it was shocking.
“I didn’t tell you to make you go. I told you so you’d understand. So you’d get it, Damien.” Her soft, earnest voice twisted my heart. “I don’t…Please don’t…” She took a deep breath. “Stay. Please stay.”
I gently took her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “You want me to stay?”
She nodded.
“Then, I’ll stay.” I kissed her hand again, then scooted forward on the sofa. She wrapped her arms and legs around my neck and waist when I stood, lifting her up. The TV was already blinking to go off, and I paused for her to turn off the light.
I wouldn’t sleep, but she was exhausted. A part of me wanted to lie next to her in bed and watch her sleep. Watch her at peace.
Did it hit her when she slept, like it did to me? Or was she spared it?
I hoped she was spared it. I hoped like fucking hell she didn’t endure the subconscious terrors and reminders that I did in the middle of some nights.
I carried her into her room and gently set her on the bed. When I tried to let go, she tightened her grip on me, bringing her lips to mine. It was little more than a comfort, something to hold onto, but that didn’t mean I would pull away. I wouldn’t give her more, but I’d give her this. I’d give her a thousand soft kisses if it made her happy for even a split second.