Page 45 of Damaged

“Stop it, okay. Just stop it,” Dalton ordered. His voice was noticeably quieter, but I could still feel the rage simmering inside of him. “You don’t know shit about me,” he added.

“I know you’re kind, thoughtful, generous… protective,” I answered. It physically pained me to watch an array of expressions pass over his features. The shame was the worst. I nearly got up to make my escape just so I wouldn’t have to see it, much less know that I was the one causing it, but for some reason I didn’t want to give too much thought to, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just walk out that door. Not after everything I’d seen.

“I know you hurt,” I continued, my voice automatically softening as I thought about all the times I’d seen Dalton consumed with pain. “Not just on the outside.”

Dalton didn’t deny it. His eyes kept moving to different parts of the room, but they never stayed on me. “So what else did my computer say about me?” he finally asked. The rage was burning out but there was no missing the disappointment in his expression and his voice. I didn’t know if that emotion was directed at me or at himself, though.

I pulled in a deep breath as my own anger began to fade and all of the other emotions started to hit me.

“Not enough,” I admitted. “It didn’t have the answer I wanted most.”

“Yeah, and what was that?” Dalton asked tiredly. I suspected the pills and alcohol were kicking in. “What happened to make Dalton a worthless, pathetic piece of shit?” He laughed harshly. “Don’t bother trying to open that treasure chest, Silver. I don’t need your pity.”

“I don’t pity you, Dalton. Far from it. I’m scared for you. I’m so fucking scared,” I admitted. Tears stung the backs of my eyes. I wiped at them before they could fall. There’d been dozens of horror stories about people like Dalton. People who were so lost within themselves that the only thing they cared about was whatever thing kept them from feeling. Mothers chose drugs over their children, once gentle fathers became physically violent after drinking too much. Innocent strangers had been killed by those who’d decided they could drive home despite the fact that they could barely stand or walk a straight line.

“What was the question?” Dalton asked. He was much quieter now. If I hadn’t seen for myself how much alcohol and pills he needed to take just to function, I wouldn’t have realized he had a problem.

“What?” I asked in confusion.

“The one my computer couldn’t answer—the one you wanted to know most.”

As badly as I wanted to know all the things that had driven the man to where he was now, I selfishly needed to know something else. It had been the question I’d been clinging to for two weeks now.

“Why me?” I asked. “Why did you ask me to stay when you could’ve just as easily let me get out of that car the day you took me to the bus station?” Now I was the one staring at my lap.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” Dalton murmured.

His response hurt more than I’d expected. He didn’t want my pity, but no doubt that was the reason he’d done all this. The request to stay in his car that day, the excess money he’d paid me to clean up his house, the things he’d bought that I hadn’t realized had been specifically for me. The man had bought all sorts of cookies and chips that he himself never ate. He’d purchased things I hadn’t even known I’d needed. Shampoo, something called shower gel that it had taken me forever to realize was to wash my body in the shower, not to wash the shower itself. I still didn’t know what some of the things he’d gotten me were for. It was only a few days ago that I’d looked up what deodorant was.

The internal pain began to consume me, so I did what I’d done from the moment a handful of strange men had killed my tormentor before herding me onto a plane without being given an explanation… or a choice.

I fled.

Or tried to.

I managed to stand and take a few steps toward the door before Dalton’s hand shot out. His fingers closed around my wrist, but his grip was gentle. I wanted to cry because even after all I’d said and done, he was still worried about hurting me.

When Dalton stood, I had this fleeting moment of joy because I thought he was going to pull me against his body and close those strong arms around me.

Instead, he took a few steps around the table and grabbed the chair I’d been sitting in. He moved it so it was sitting next to his chair rather than across the table from it. He didn’t release me, but he also didn’t urge me to sit.

He was giving me a choice.

A choice that I knew would leave me trying to pick up the broken pieces of myself no matter which decision I made.

I wouldn’t get the answer as to why I instinctively knew whenever he was nearby, why my chest always hurt when he wasn’t, and why I even cared. I’d spent every night watching Dalton drink himself to sleep on the couch, his endless supply of pills always nearby. I’d had so many opportunities to walk out the door and get lost in the darkened forest long before he woke. Hell, I could have even taken his car if I’d known how to drive, not that I would have.

The truth was I felt alone and vulnerable when he disappeared into the darkness the pills and alcohol offered. Fortunately, he wasn’t like the people I’d read about. He never lifted a hand toward me or said anything unkind. When he was lost in a drunken stupor, it was like I wasn’t even there. During the day it was the exact opposite. I could feel his eyes on me all the time and sensed the same need coursing through him that ate away at me every minute of every hour. I should have been glad that our arrangement hadn’t included anything even remotely close to sex.

I wasn’t.

Since I’d only had the one experience with the true pleasure that came from being with someone who’d given me the right to say no, I’d tried to experience that same thing when I was alone in my bed at night. Try as I might, I’d never been able to get my dick to respond like it had when Dalton had put his hands on me. I didn’t know what was worse… having that one moment to hold on to for the rest of my life or reliving the memory night after night only to be left with the painful realization that I couldn’t bring myself even a small amount of that same pleasure.

Despite all the warning bells in my head, I sat down in the chair. I immediately missed his touch when he removed his hand from my wrist.

An awkward silence hung over us as we both sat at the small kitchen table. I wasn’t sure who was supposed to talk first, but since I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t expose my true feelings, I kept my mouth shut.

“I don’t remember much about when I was a little kid,” Dalton began. “I found out when I was older that I’d been left on the doorstep of a church when I was about two or so. There was no note explaining who I was or where I’d come from. I assume the authorities tried to find my parents, but they never did. Like you, I don’t know when my real birthday is or how old I actually am. I don’t remember what my real name was. No one ever told me if I’d known at that age what my first name was. People began calling me Dalton, so I just figured that was my name.”

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