Page 53 of Collateral Damage

“My turn. When's your birthday?” I know exactly when her birthday is but I have a sneaking suspicion she won’t tell me.Birthday hater and all that.

“I'm not telling you my birthday. I hate my birthday.”Thought as much. And just for that she is going to wish she had told me.

??

What do you even buy a girl you have held captive in your house for her birthday.I stroll through the supermarket grabbing bits and bobs and my shops have been exceedingly pricey since she came into my life. Rinsing my damn wallet.Typical woman.

I know I shouldn't give a flying fuck about birthdays but as she's hidden it from me, it makes me want to make a big deal out of it all the more.

I grab ingredients for dinner and a tiny cake because I never said I was good at baking. That was my mother’s thing. And I don’t even know why I am thinking about this but I think she would have loved myLittle Innocence. Circumstances aside.

As I make my way towards the checkouts a mannequin catches my eye. It's coming up to spring and this ugly pastel yellow dress is on display. I collar one of the workers, not at allsurprised they look terrified of me, glaring at my scar like they’ve never seen one before.I get it everywhere.

“Excuse me. Do you have anymore of these in stock?” She smiles so wide it looks like it hurts but I can feel her nerves through her eyes.

“Yes we do Sir. What size were you looking for?”Shit. I didn't think about that. She can be no bigger than a small but I'll get both just in case.

“Small and medium?” Her nerves wash off as she catches the flowers in the basket and it's rather ironic. A few flowers and some chocolates completely changes her tune even though there is a serial killer 1ft away from her.

“Certainly! I'll be right back.” I hover for a while, waiting for her to come back and it doesn't take long before she waddles in my direction handing me the dresses.

“Who's the lucky lady?” She eyes up my basket once more and I just cringed so hard. She's the furthest from lucky.

“Er, just a friend.” I suppose we are now. She'd deny it and call us acquaintances but acquaintances don't strip naked in front of me. That definitely earned our status an upgrade.

I remove myself from the equation before she asks more questions and speed walk to the checkout. This shit is already way too‘normal’for my liking. I feel so out of my comfort zone I almost didn't come in at all but the fridge was empty and we needed food.

C H A P T E R 31

ACTS OF KINDNESS

Puppet

Play - ‘Yellow - Coldplay’

Iwake to the smell of bacon wafting under my nose and I'm literally dribbling on my arm.She wasn’t joking. I really do dribble. Oh my god that is so embarrassing. Bacon is definitely what I need to cheer me up. I trundle out from the bedroom realising I didn't even feel her get up, did she even go to bed? Rubbing my eyes, I try to shift the sleepiness and she slowly falls into focus.

“MorningLittle Dreamer.” A large stack of pancakes and a pot of syrup sit on the kitchen counter. She’s gently smiling at me and it’s strangely comforting. I’ve realised she has not been‘working’for weeks now, she’s more interested in her projects. Or maybe to keep me company but I know that’s being too optimistic, although I cannot shake these tiny, dare I say it, intimate moments from my head. And I am still mortified that she’s eleven years older than me. I don’t know whether to feel safe or grossed out. She put her thumb in my mouth, she’s seen my bare skin and caressed it so softly it’s left permanent memories in my pores. I should feel disgusted but I don't. Not to mention the fact she is a woman, aren’t I meant to like boys? Maybe I really am losing it.

A lot has changed between us, I don't really even know what. But since she’s opened up to me I no longer see a beast in the night. I see a wounded one in a cage and it’s somehow made us,closer?I will never admit that to her though. That would mean admitting it to myself and I don't think I am ready for that.

I’ve not forgotten what she’s done to me, and I never will. But I guess the empath inside of me can now see the damaged parts of her that tear at my heart. We have both suffered great loss and she’s been through far worse than I have. But she’s never disregarded my grief, she’s only ever pushed me to fight. To find that strength in myself to move on, just as she did. She didn’t have to hold me that night, or cradle me in her arms. She didn’t have to do a lot of things but she chose to open up to me, even when she had no idea of my intentions.

“You hungry? I made pancakes.” Her focus turns to the plate, edging me to help myself and she definitely isn't acting herself. She's being TOO nice.

“I can see, it smells delicious!” I'm drooling at the sight of it and it feels slightly strange to get my appetite back.

“I also made bacon, I wasn’t sure if you wanted any.” Who in god's green earth doesn't like bacon?!

“Are you kidding? I love bacon! Is this you showing me youroutstanding chef skills?” I taunt as I begin to plate up my own pancakes, taking in the sound of the morning song from beyond the window, finding serenity in this weirdly serene little morning and I'm either tripping or she’s up to something.

“Just- be quiet and eat the damn pancakes. And don’t forget to take your insulin.” She tells me now like it’s second nature, completely oblivious to her own words as she flips the bacon a few times before laying it on my plate.

I feel so rude but I can't stop pining over her architectural facial structure. How her battered skin hoards so much torment. Every pore, crease and scar hold their own story and threemonths ago I would have been terrified. She was most likely expecting me to be, but it doesn't scare me at all. I just want to nurse it back to health with a kiss. I don’t know what that says about me, I've never been one for the villain, but I have always understood the broken. She’s the villain in her own story. A reflection of her own downfall.

I finish up my plate and take my insulin feeling a whole lot better with a full stomach and look at the clock on the wall reading8:20. She finally put batteries in it because I was sick of staring at time that stood still. It’s still so early.

“Hey, I'm going to go for a shower.” She looks over to me, nodding in response but doesn’t move, insinuating I can shower on my own and something inside of me moves. Like the final piece on a chessboard.

---