Page 173 of Scrimmage

Some of it is about missing him even though the admission knots in my stomach.

“I do.”

“I miss you, too. I just don’t write shitty poetry about it.” He tosses it off of the bed. “I like that you’re thinkin' about me though.”

He pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me. I don’t like the touch. I’d rather him hurt me.

“I always am.” Because there is nothing else to do.

“I’ll let you keep it, but you’re gonna leave it out for me to read whenever I want. Who gave it to you?”

This is a loaded question. I tell him a man, and he kills them and then also targets me, because that means I accepted a gift. If I stole it, that’s on me.

“I dunno. I thought you did. It was layin' out one morning.”

“Hm.”

He’s tired. If he wasn’t, this would be an explosion instead. When he’s like this it’s easier to talk. There’s no one around to hear, and he doesn’t feel the need to make a display of me submitting. We’ll have sex either way, but I can’t be greedy about it.

“It'll be a while before I leave again.”

That’s great news and also bad news. Damien gets restless. In a few days he’ll be angry, and inflicting it upon anyone who is in his path. It’s not always me. Not in that way, anyways.

“I would like that.”

“Yeah?” He has bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days.

I nod.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, baby girl. Sometimes I wish love was limitless.” His eyes pour over the stars, counting them. He readjusts me in his arms and winces.

“Damien,” I whisper.

“Hm?”

“Are you in pain?”

“It’s not a big deal. I wanted to get back to you.”

If Damien dies then I do, too. I doubt they’ll keep me as a toy for very long if he goes. I have to tread carefully. Show concern without making him feel stupid.

“I love you, Damien. I don’t wanna hurt you. Where?”

He sighs and pulls up his shirt. His shoulder has a knife wound. I know what they look like. He’s not strung out on pain pills. When he’s vulnerable, he can be unpredictable. I start to cry. He swipes a tear and sticks it into his mouth.

“Don’t be sad, baby girl. I won’t go without you.”

Is he here to kill us both?

“I wish I could take your pain,” I offer. Will it hurt? Fuck yes, but at least he’ll see me as the victim instead of himself.

“You’re fucking perfect. It’s why I don’t understand when you disappoint me.” He gets up and leaves, returning with his knife. Fuck this is going to hurt.

He leans down and kisses me. He likes to catch my screams and swallow them for himself.

“Goddamn, you’re so beautiful when you cry. Who do you belong to, Ashland?”

“You.”

---