Page 25 of Demons & Damnation

“Four months,” he whispered, holding his breath after he spoke.

Kyla felt the blood beginning to boil in her veins. The audacity of him astounded her. How could he come back here for six weeks, ask her to commit to him, and then disappear for four months, no contact? He sat next to her asking her to bare her soul to him anytime she wanted, anytime she needed, making promises he couldn’t keep by saying he’d be at her door whenever she asked, and yet, he wouldn’t even be able to uphold his side of the deal.

Anger simmered in her core. She wrestled with her conscience as to whether to obliterate him with her words, hit out at him and cure the pain prickling through her veins, or whether to, for once, be an adult about it.

She wanted to gloat. She wanted to say, “See? I told you. There’s no point in this. In any of it. We’re just fuck buddies,” but saying that would just be pointing out the obvious. He could already see his loss. Did she really need to dig the knife further in?

Kyla moved her left hand and slid it under her thigh, clenching it into a fist. Taking a deep breath, she said in a shaky voice, “Do I really need to say anything at this point?”

Dylan let out the breath he’d been holding and opened his eyes. After a couple of seconds, he lifted his head from his hand and asked, “It’s not a matter of needing to say anything. What do you want to say?”

A sinister smile curled up the edges of Kyla’s mouth. “Are you sure you want to swat at that wasp’s nest?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You need to get it off your chest so go for it.”

Kyla debated her options. He’d never welcomed her to share her thoughts before. He knew a torrent of abuse sat poised on her tongue, nothing but an attack of poison barbs that once set free, could never be taken back. Was he pulling her into a trap, trying to win the argument in some way?

Or was he genuinely trying to show her that he could, and would, be there for her? That opened up a whole other can of worms that Kyla knew was a bad idea to even contemplate ripping open. Trying to cram those buggers back in the can would not be an easy job once he disappeared again in six weeks time.

“It’s not a trap, Kyla,” Dylan said. “I can take it. Say whatever you want to say. Hell, dealing with you every time I come back makes me realise how easy my job is. Dodging fifty cal bullets and snipers is child’s play compared to you.”

Kyla didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted. “Not funny, Dylan. Is that supposed to be some sort of backhanded compliment?”

He gave her a cheesy grin and chuckled. “You take it however you want to take it. Come on, what do you want to say?”

Fuck it, she thought. After that shitty comment, you can have both barrels, mate. Make you pleased to go back to your sand and blood.

“Alright,” she said. “You want to know what I think? I think you’ve got a damn bloody fucking cheek to come here and demand this of me. Eight years we’ve been fucking and you’ve not once made any attempt to make this anything more. Now you come here, after three months, and ask me to not only commit to you, but to hold you up on some sort of fucking pedestal and pour my heart and soul out to you?” She laughed. “Are you insane? Have you overheated out in that fucking desert? Because, by God, Dylan, I would rather shove hot pins in my eyes than ever give my heart to you. You don’t get to demand this of me. You don’t get to make me feel how I’m currently feeling, and to be quite frank, you have no fucking right to make me question myself and take me back to that place I spent so long crawling my way out of. You, Dylan fucking Mohun, are no better than the damn Devil himself. Not after today. So no, I don’t want to be with you, and thanks but no thanks, I am not going to be talking to you about anything more than where I want your tongue or your dick.” Kyla stopped and took a shaky breath. “Have I made myself clear?”

Only when she stopped did Kyla realise she was trembling from head to foot. It wasn’t anger though, it was adrenaline, the sort that releases through your veins when you’re terrified to your very soul.

Dylan sucked in a deep breath and nodded. Her words had hurt, more than hurt, they’d cut real deep, but he couldn’t yell at her, he couldn’t complain—he’d asked her to spill her thoughts, three times. Instead he just replied, “Yep, more than crystal clear.”

Hot water burned at her eyes, clouding over her vision. “I can’t believe you think you had the right to do this, Dylan. Why?” She jumped to her feet and stormed over to the other side of the room. “Why would you do this to me? I don’t understand. Everything was perfect as it was.” Her tears streamed down her face only heightening her anger even more. She hated feeling so weak and vulnerable. “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Why did you have to do this? Do you hate me? Is that it?”

Dylan stood and strode over to her, his arms out, ready to envelope her in another hug. “I don’t hate you, Kyla, quite the opposite. If hating me heals a little part of you then go ahead and do it, I don’t care. I’m here however you need me to be.”

As he approached her with his arms outstretched, saying these caring, compassionate things, Kyla lost control of her last bit of restraint. She pushed his arms away, letting out a primal scream only a warrior could be proud of.

Dylan let his arms drop to his side and simply stood in front of her, waiting for her to blow her own steam out.

Kyla closed the gap between them, her hands balled into fists, molten tears cascading down her cheeks, her face as red as a hot poker. Without any hesitation, she hammered her fists on his chest, ignoring the vibrations of pain shooting up her arm as she put all of her might into hurting him.

“You’re a bastard, Dylan,” she screamed. “I fucking hate you.”

Dylan said nothing. He merely stood and let her beat his chest, not moving a muscle. Seeing her lose herself like this tore into him like nothing he’d ever felt. He knew her secrets, he knew her past, and he also knew that every day was nothing more than survival for her. Every morning she opened her eyes was a victory that she hadn’t taken her own life. He knew that despite her years of counselling and the endless pills the doctors had shoved down her in order to subdue her, he knew that she was still bottling things up, letting the bad thoughts intrude and fester, allowing her emotions and her life to be ruled by something that had been so out of her control.

She slapped his face, leaving a bright red hand imprint across his left cheek. He blinked twice but said nothing. Seeing his lack of reaction only angered her further and she slapped him again but this time across his right cheek.

“I hate you so much,” she yelled. “I hope you burn in Hell.”

Kyla raised her right hand, ready to slap him across the face again, but seeing his stoic reaction at her threat, after everything up to this point, popped her balloon of rage in an instant. Like water pouring from a shattered mug, her fury fell away into nothing, leaving her stood in front of Dylan as nothing more than a broken shell.

When she hung her head and stared at the floor, sobbing, Dylan stepped forwards and folded her into his body, wrapping his arms around her so tight he could feel every breath she took and let out.

Several minutes passed before she whispered, “Why are you still here?”

Dylan lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Because you need me.”

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