And I also happen to notice that Damien is gone.
Chapter Five
~Before~
I’ve officially been married for three whole months.
And my marriage to Elijah has been blissful and perfect up to this point.
My life is no longer dark and depressing. It’s bright and sunny and beautiful.
I used to think that I’d have a gray cloud of misery following me around forever, but I was wrong.
So very, very wrong.
I like to think of myself and Elijah as a couple of teenagers in love.
We’re giddy.
Always laughing.
Always sneaking off to random places to steal kisses from each other or make love. We have date nights, breakfast together every morning, and when he’s not working, we have supper together on those nights.
To me, this is a beautiful thing.
To me, to find love again in general is a beautiful thing.
I wasn’t sure that I’d ever find love again. Years of destruction, heartbreak, and pain can do that to a person. Years of being told that you’ll never be good enough for anything can have profound effects on any person, in my opinion.
I’ve been cut down, destroyed, and demolished.
Someone once told me that the human mind is like a temple.
A sound structure.
Compiled by bricks, cement, and straw.
Built by sweating slaves after hours and hours of back-breaking labor.
But I disagree…
I disagree because even the most sound and well-built structures can crumble.
I’ve had days where I felt like my mind was crumbling in the palms of my hands and I was frantic, with fear and desperate with trembling fingers to put the pieces back together.
I felt like that until my husband saved me.
I want to cherish the way I feel about Elijah forever.
I’m watching him now as he plays the violin. We’re in the library. I’m sitting on the edge of his desk, wearing my pale pink satin night dress. He’s three feet away from me in the middle of Mozart’s Requiem. I’ve always admired the passion in him when he plays any instrument. The way his eyes are just barely closed. The crease in his brow. The way he takes his bottom lip between his teeth. And the way he moves with the music he’s making. It’s almost like he’s one with the haunting melody, two metal chain links fused together.
When he finishes the song, he mock bows to me and I smile exuberantly, applauding. “Well done, Mr. Watson,” I say with a slight nod.
He stands up straight and grins. “Thank you, Mrs. Watson.”
After he puts the violin away he saunters over to me, spreading my legs with a thrust of his hips.
With gentle hands and soft fingertips he tucks my hair behind my ears as a pink flush spreads across my cheeks. “I love the way you look without make-up,” he tells me in a hushed tone. “Have I ever told you that?”