Page 112 of Hell Hath No Fury

Basically, everyone has taken a turn setting me straight.

Except for Darius.

And I know that’s because I’ve hurt Darius in more ways than I can count. Time and time again, I prove that we always strike out at the ones that love us most. And for the most part, he just takes it. With barely a flinch, he absorbs the brunt of whatever I’m saying or doing, consistently allowing me to use him as a punching bag.

He doesn’t get angry, sulk, chastise me, or insist I apologize. And then, later on when things have settled, he comes back to me with the same smile, reminding me that he loves me and that will never change.

And that just pisses me off even more.

Because I hate this version of Darius almost as much as I hate this version of me.

Sometimes it’s like I poke at him just to see if I can push him over the edge, make him fight back, make him put me in my place, and tell me to shut my fucking mouth.

But I know he won’t.

And that’s because I hurt him so deeply that he may never heal fully.

And it’s because of this great hurt that he no longer trusts me.

Not long after we all went back to our normal lives, I initiated sex with him. It was only after a lengthy discussion that he felt comfortable going along with it. And that was with the distinct reminder that at the first glimmer of discomfort. I would use my safe word.

But of course, I didn’t.

It was only his overwhelming emotions that had him missing the initial cues that something was off. He missed that first subtle shift when I started to look inward, where that darknessstarted to seep in, forcing me down into that pool of nothing where I live so comfortably.

What he didn’t miss was when I said the wrong name.

Maybe that was my mind’s way of setting me free—an unintentional safe word thrown out due to my inability to use the official one. Because the mention of Dmitri in such an intimate setting jacked the brakes instantaneously, and then, when he stepped back and turned all the lights on, he knew, the deep betrayal on his face permanently etched into my memories.

That was the one and only time Darius has ever walked out on me.

I’m uncertain if he would have if we had been off on our own. When I heard the click of the door, I was torn between relief and despair. Part of me wanted to call out for him, to race after him and bring him back.

But I didn’t. I just continued lying there, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing.

And then, maybe minutes or hours later, my mother showed up.

I can smile at the memory now. Because lord knows Lilith has not one fucking problem telling me when I’m being a heartless bitch.

It’s not that she lacks empathy for my situation; that would be the farthest thing from the truth. She shows her loving support by stripping away my excuses and forcing me to be accountable for my actions. Most of the time, I fucking hate it, but once I wipe away the fog of shame, I can acknowledge that there’s some good in her directness.

Even Darius, who lit out of that bedroom without a backward glance, managed to push back his hurt and fury long enough to call in reinforcements to ensure I was truly okay.

Lilith didn’t come in on the offensive. She did her due diligence to bring me back down to the same plane of realityin which she lives. And then, once I was centered, she let me fucking have it.

And I apologized to Darius. I’ve apologized repeatedly, and he says he accepts my apology; however, we haven’t reached a point where he trusts me enough to take that step again.

Not having a sex life of any kind feels unnatural to me, but truly, it’s the lack of intimacy that hurts the most. Those deeply primal sexual acts may bring us impossibly close to each other, but in reality, it’s the aftermath that has our souls mingling. Soft touches and deep conversations that raise it above relationships that are purely fucking.

Sure, we still have the odd soft touch and deep conversation, but I miss the yearning—that dark desire to possess and be possessed.

Which brings me to this moment.

Darius has spent the morning in his office. I’m sure it’s probably equal parts working and avoiding me. When I enter without knocking, he looks up, startled, and when I walk across the room without saying anything, his eyebrows raise.

I set the small bottle that I’m gripping in my hand on his desk with a thwack. He glances at it briefly and then glances back at me as I grab onto the arm of his chair. He pushes the chair out as I spin him toward me, and then I step between his legs, my hands moving to his cheeks, forcing him to meet my gaze. “I need you to do something for me.”

The worried look on his face makes me smile, and when he says nothing, I add, “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

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