Page 70 of Endless Love

“It was nothing,” I say.

“I’m on the verge here. If you honestly love me, you will tell me the rest.”

How would I describe tonight? A fucking emotional manipulation going south.

“I don´t want to. Don’t be like this.”

“Sweetheart, it’s all right. Whatever it is.”

I scowl at this. At least Alex changed his tactic, but neither angry nor sweet Alex could manipulate me. I couldn’t say the same about Damien.

“Whatever it is, I promise you I’ll not allow these two to do something stupid. Trust me. But we need to know what hurt you,” says Sophia.

They are all aware I can be stubborn and keep it to myself. But I am exhausted, and I say, “Monica.”

Her name fleeing my mouth sucks the air from the car. Like I guessed, the shock turns everyone silent, but it doesn’t take long.

“Was she there?”

“Yes, Soph.”

“What did she do?”

“Being her usual charming self, threatening me, hating me. Just Monica, I guess.”

“Bria, it’s not something to joke about.”

“Can we just drop it. I can handle her.”

“Yes, obviously. You see her once, and your heart suffers for your bravery.”

“Alex, please.”

“She will never touch you again.”

Damien’s voice sends chills down my spine. He and Alex exchange a determined look, but I can’t decipher what it means. I just wish for my bed and blissful sleep. I raise my knees and rest my head on them. Sophia and Alex get out of the car, both smiling reassuringly—Sophia sincerely and Alex as an apology for his behavior.

At least these two have it in them to get over what happened tonight or are good enough to hide it. I can’t say the same about Damien.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

BRIA

The ride takes fifteen minutes as I stare at the clock on the dashboard. From time to time, I steal a look at him, but he avoids my glances. I hate the silent treatment, it’s the worst. He parks the car and steps out. I want to rebel and stay seated to see what he’d do, but he only opens the door and waits for me at the elevator.

“Damien, please . . .”

“Not now, Bria, I can’t.”

It’s the pain in his voice that halts any further talking attempts.

London’s city lights dimly illuminate the penthouse. It’s eerily quiet inside, like it knows within us a battle wages. Damien’s sunken eyelids reveal he might be tired too, but he won’t be able to sleep either.

We change in silence, and he climbs in bed. It reminds me of all the times we were physically just inches away but miles apart. The hurt wreaks havoc through me, and inside, I’m lost in a battlefield.

We’ve had fights over the years, but none as excruciatingly painful as this. Even if he came to bed for me so I can rest, it’s not a peace offering. He lies on his side of the bed, his hands locked under his neck, eyes pointing toward the ceiling. His wide chest rises and falls in a constant pace, a veil of pain covering him.

I close the door behind me and slump to the floor in the bathroom. When my bottom turns to cold, I scramble up and wash my teary face. Damien isn’t asleep, his breaths too quick and huffy. But I don’t tell him that this hurts me too. That the stress has me fighting doubly hard to calm down, not to allow my heart to beat me in life. If two people can’t fight without the fear one might drop dead, then love would turn eventually into worry and pity, dimming out the passion. Please, weak heart of mine, keep me strong, keep me alive longer. I need more life, years, love. I climb in bed and roll to my side.

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