Page 57 of De Luca: The Saint

He reaches his hand up, hovering over my arm, but stops midair, “May I?”

I nod, “Please.”

There is nothing I want more than to feel his fingers touching my skin, not sexually, but I need his touch.

His fingers reach down and gently stroke my neck, causing my eyes to close as I lose myself in his simple touch.

“Kitty Kat,” he groans as if he’s in so much pain, “I’m so sorry.”

Leaning into him, I press my face to his neck, inhaling the smell of his body wash and him, “Damian, you saved me from so much worse. We both know that so stop apologizing. I’m sorry it happened that way, but you are not a rapist. Don’t let them win. Stop punishing yourself. It’s over, let's move on.”

I press soft kisses along his skin.

He doesn’t stop me but freezes, so I pull back with a pained expression, he says, “Kat, I can’t.”

“Don’t push me away.”

He shakes his head, “I can’t. It hurts too much. I can’t touch you, I can’t be touched by you, it’s not the same. Please, Kitty Kat, I need you to leave.”

Pulling back from him, I nod, “I understand. Thank you for not using the gun.”

I climb off his lap, pick up the weapon, and empty it, shoving the bullets into my pocket.

“I’m sorry too, for the things I said. I didn’t understand but I do now. I ruined things two years ago and now you’ve seen me in ways that you can’t unsee. I’ll go, please choose to live, if not for yourself, for your brothers. They don’t deserve more loss. Goodbye Damian.”

Pain binds us due to our shared experience but ultimately rips us apart. He doesn’t look at me the way he used to. My lips on him makes his skin crawl. Everybody goes on about needing closure after a breakup. I’ve got it, so I should be able to move on, but it sucks. It doesn’t feel right. I walk to the door knowing once again I’m leaving my bleeding heart with him. Taking a deep breath, I try to convince myself that I lived through it two years ago and I’ll live through it now. So why does my chest hurt like this? Why does it feel as if any minute I’ll stop breathing? I’m not sure how to go through this again. Will I even survive it?

When it comes to Damian and me, the loss never ends. For a moment, it seems like we might get through it, only to feel the loss again. Sometimes, love is not enough.

I came here to save him, not to rescue my own heart. I turn to him, taking him in one final time, hoping the image will burn into my brain.

His final words come out gravely, drenched in grief, “Goodbye, Kitty Kat.”

I walk at a snail's pace down his stairs, to the elevator, hoping he’s going to stop me from leaving, and declare his undying love for me. Tell me we can make it through this, make it through anything.

When I reach the elevator, I realize I’m a stupid girl, he’s not coming for me. I press the button as I take one last glance around his apartment and try to memorize the scent I’ll never smell again. This is heartbreak. It’s painful. Messy. And as all-consuming as his love was. This is the end. He could’ve been my happy ending but instead it’s a fucking tragedy. I step inside the elevator as I close the most agonizing chapter of my life.

Part Three

Chapter Forty

Kat

Three Months Later…

I’m shopping for my big date tonight with my newfound besties, Willow, Mia, and Giada.

Matthew and I are going for dinner at some swanky place. That’s not my word, it’s Giada’s. According to my brief Google search, it means stylishly luxurious or expensive.

I assumed as much, but you can never be too sure. I spent the last few months pining away over Damian, but it’s time to move on. What happened is devastating, but maybe we aren’t meant to be. If we were I believe we would’ve been able to get through it. Although, maybe when the pain is too much it’s impossible. I’m not exactly living my best fucking life, but I’m trying.

All my phone calls and text messages went ignored. Eventually I accepted that he’s gone from my life permanently. A girl can only spend so many nights crying for her lost love before she comes to grips with the truth. Therapy helped as did my girls. I genuinely hope Damian is okay. I don’t ask about him anymore because he’s Giada’s brother-in-law and Mia as well as Willow’s friend. It seemed unfair to put them in the middle of things. My therapist on more than one occasion explained to me that he was likely dealing with a heavy amount of guilt. Like grief, there’s no definite time frame for when a person heals from it, if they ever do. Of course, I don’t think he has anything to feel guilty for but I have no right to tell him what he’s entitled to feel. Damian took on this King of Consent role after his mother and sister were so brutally violated. I think it was his way of making amends for something he was not responsible for. Now I understand why they called him a saint. When it comes to a woman’s right to say no, there is no man that takes it more seriously. I will probably always love him but it’s time to move on.

Willow keeps telling me everything happens for a reason, which is funny considering what she’s been through. When I asked her what the reason was for her enduring a life of trauma, she smiled brightly, ‘It brought me to Max.’ Every story doesn’t end the same unfortunately. My trauma brought me an empty and lonely existence. I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. That’s what I tell myself daily. Hopefully one day I’ll believe it.

Matthew and I met on a lifestyle app. It’s a site that connects submissives with Doms. I know, right? I’m surprised at myself, but I really enjoyed my time with Damian in that role. Like Damian, he’s not interested in a twenty-four-seven power exchange, which relieves me because I don’t think I’d like that. When Mia found out about my date she called me with concern, and we discussed safety. I promised her we’d meet in a public place and that I wouldn’t go back to his house tonight.

All four of us are in different spots in the store, scouring for something appropriate. Willow holds up a skimpy black dress, waggling her eyebrows, she says, “How about this?”

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