“That was…” I breathed out, a bit in a daze. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
“How many days a week do you lift weights?”
“Six.”
“And how often do you stretch?” My silence was deafening. “Damian!” she scolded.
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It’s a massive deal!” she hollered. Was this it? Was this her level of angry? Or… no. It was concern. Dammit, Stella, what did you look like when you were pissed? Why did I care?
She continued, and I was a bit locked in on her concerned expression. “You’re wreaking havoc on your body. You need to add stretching to your workout routine.”
“But—”
“No buts. That’s an order. Also, you should get a massage weekly. You’re very tense, and your body would thank you for it.”
“I don’t have time for a weekly massage.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. I’m a busy man.”
She smiled. “Your body is crying out for help. If you keep ignoring the calls, it will break down to the point where all you have is time because you’re too broken to move.” She grabbed a piece of paper and pen from my desk and scribbled down the information. “This is the name of my massage studio. Call in, and we’ll set you up with one of the best employees.”
“Why do you even care what happens to me?” I asked deadpan.
She gave me a puzzled stare. “Because you’re a human. Therefore, you deserve people to care about your well-being?”
“Do you know most people don’t think like you?”
Her shoulders rose high and then dropped. “Just because people don’t think like me doesn’t make their thoughts right. We need more people who care about others in the world.”
“Yes, but that’s a make-believe world.”
“What can I say? I love good fiction. Besides, I think there are more good people in this world than bad.”
“You’re delusional to think such a thing. Most of this world is shaped by evil. You’re ignorant to think differently.”
Stella instantly showed her hurt by my comment on her turned-down lips. Maybe it was my words, but I felt it was more so my delivery of the words. I came off cold more often than not, but I never felt bad about it. If people thought I was cold, it made it easier for them to want to stay away.
Correction: I used to never feel bad about it. Something about Stella’s emotional reactions made me almost feel… guilt. No. Not almost. I felt like a dick. She wore her feelings right on her face. I kept mine buried deep within my soul. She and I were so opposite in so many ways.
“What’s the reason that you’re so grumpy all the time?” she asked.
“There has to be a reason?”
“There’s always a reason.”
My mouth parted to respond, but I didn’t want to share the thoughts filling my head. I knew my reasons for being the way I was, but I had no desire to share those details with my wife.
My temporary wife—a woman I’d only be tied to for a few more months.
“I need to get back to work,” I said, the chill of my words almost making me cringe. I couldn’t help it, though. She had my mind going to dark places, and the last thing I wanted was for her to see me when the clouds darkened over my head.
“Who hurt you, Damian?” she whispered, her words soaked in concern.
“The world,” I replied without a second of thought.
I wished I would’ve thought that one out more because that seemed to be enough to break Stella’s delicate heart. I winced a bit from her look of worry. She stared at me as if I were an abandoned puppy, and she just wanted to take me in and cover me with comfort.
“Don’t do that,” I warned.
“Do what?”
“Care.”
“Can’t help it.” She gently rubbed her hand up and down her arm and shrugged. “It’s kind of what I do.”
“Well, go do it elsewhere. I’m—”
“Busy,” she cut in. “Yes. You’ve made that clear.”
I looked away from Stella because I couldn’t stand staring into her brown eyes. They almost always made me want to apologize for being the way I was.
She stood there for a moment, waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Truthfully, she made me uneasy. Something about her felt familiar even though I never allowed familiarity to be a part of my life. She smoothed her hands against her bare forearms and nodded once. “Okay, well, okay. Maybe we should talk and—”
I grimaced, feeling a knot in my stomach. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“For how I am?” It came out as a question even though it was meant to be a statement. I shook my head and brushed my thumb against my nose. “I’m sorry for making things uncomfortable. I, uh, I’m not used to living with people. I’m not used to biting my tongue. I’m not used to… this,” I said, gesturing around. “Interactions with someone like you.”