Or die trying.
Chapter Six
~Before~
When you have nothing else to live for, finding any kind of relief is impossible. The thought of it existing at all is simply a nagging voice in the back of your mind.
There are times where I question myself.
There are times where I seek out the new Adelaide, the Adelaide I've become since Damien died and ask myself will it ever go away?
Will what go away?
The pain.
The heartbreak.
The never-ending misery.
The part of me that wants to live in the past, and relive that devastating day over and over again inside my head. Part of me thinks if I relived that day, I could change it somehow.
Maybe.
It's possible right?
Isn't it?
Then there is another part of me that tries to convince myself that it never really happened.
That it's some sort of delusion.
A fucked up version of a fairy-tale.
A dispersed thought bubble popped by a pin.
Standing in front of the lone barred window in my room, I grip the bars and place my head against the metal with a sigh. I am a lonely, heartbroken girl in a room with white padded walls, a barred window, and silent thoughts.
“Come here.” Soft words spoken from a deep voice waft toward me, and climb up my collar bone before they throb in my ears. Through the reflection of the window, I see Damien. He's sitting on my cot, his back flat against one of the four
white padded walls. His left leg is propped up, and he rests his left elbow on top of it. He wears a teasing smirk on his perfect, chiseled symmetrical face, and the sight of it makes me bite my lip, blush, and look down. “What are you doing?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
A loud husky laugh leaves his throat and swells in the confined space. I contemplate asking him to laugh again because I love the familiarity in it. The way it makes my heart pump even harder. And the way it makes me shiver in an indescribably good way. “You know what I mean.” He pats the empty spot on the cot next to him. “I said come here.”
Obediently, I make my way over to my cot and sit down next to him. A loose wire of spring penetrates through the cotton covering of the mattress and pokes me in the butt. I purse my lips for a moment and push aside the tiny twinge of pain. I decide to ignore it. These moments with Damien are too rare and too precious for me to be focused on anything but him.
I don't know why I don't see him as often as I'd like to. Or why he only appears to me at the strangest times. Usually it's in the morning or right before bed. I know I shouldn't be complaining about it. I should be content with the fact that he comes to see me at all.
We sit on the cot, shoulder to shoulder, but I keep my gaze lowered. I'm staring at his muscular forearms, the bronzed color of his skin, and the way his veins are like tree roots defined on his flesh. His weight shifts next to me and the cot dips down when he reaches over me and tucks my black waves behind my right ear. “Are you tired, my love?” he questions.
I am all out of answers so I simply nod.
I lie down first and Damien follows my lead. He drapes an arm over my waist and nuzzles his nose into my hair. I can feel the pull of his breath as he inhales deeply, and the familiar scent of his soap combined with his bodily scent creeps up my nostrils. “I love you,” he breathes into my hair and his hot breath trails down the nape of my neck, seeping into my skin.
“I love you too.”
His hand slips beneath my hospital gown and I exhale when his fingers shimmy below the band of my underwear. He's like a lion who has spent days of searching the barren African plains without a zebra or gazelle in sight.