Page 59 of Surviving the Merge
“You look better. Is everything okay with you and your husband?”
The abrupt change of topic threw me for a second. “I wouldn’t know. He’s gone radio silent on me, which is not like him,” I confessed, tucking the loose tendril of hair that escaped my knot, behind my ear.
“Can you blame him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the guy’s an asshole, but I can see why he may have been a little upset,” he said, harshly.
“Yeah, he can be an asshole, but he’s my asshole,” I said, not liking his tone. My behavior had been inexcusable. I owned that. But I wasn’t going to stand there and allow him to bash Damon for reacting to our kiss how any normal person would.
“Too bad you didn’t remember that sooner, huh?” He didn't miss a beat.
Ouch. “Touché,” I whispered. He was still in the doorway with Pluto at his feet, tail flapping back and forth. I took a step closer, “Look, Max?”
“See you Saturday.” Turning on his heels and offering a sharp whistle to Pluto, he made his way to his side of the shrubs.
No longer in the frame of mind to dance after Max left, I settled for brooding on the couch. I had my first shot of vodka and hoped to have the bottle emptied before the night was out. My decision to drink came on the heels of discovering I had five text messages from Blake. I sat there flipping the phone in my hand before finally giving in to curiosity.
Are you ok? Don’t be upset with Damon. He did what he felt was right.
Damon allowing Blake access to tend to me while I lay knocked unconscious didn’t qualify as “right” in my book.
I understand why you did what you did. He won’t admit it, but so does Damon.
I huffed. Blake obviously didn’t know Damon at all.
Have you made much progress on the book? I can’t put it down.
Julie says you haven’t returned any of her calls. She’s worried about you.
I’m worried about you. I miss you. I love you. Find your way back to me.
Anxiety stole the last of my strength, leaving me sick with worry. Blake was hurting more than I imagined, and suddenly, it wasn’t okay anymore. A wall had been erected between us, and I wasn’t sure where to begin tearing it down. What did one do when you loved someone so much but hated what they did to you in equal measure? Who did I turn to when Blake was the one I always turned to?
Going into my call log, I dialed the only other person I had, hoping that she meant it when she’d said I was stuck with her, because I wanted to be. The phone barely rang before the call connected. In place of a greeting, I got, “It took you long enough, I haven’t heard from you in two days!” Taking her tone down a notch, she asked, “Are you okay?”
Hit with a wave of crushing emotion, I closed my eyes and said on a shaky breath, “No.”
“Let me carry some of it for you,” Sam whispered.
The care those words contained became my undoing, and over the next several hours, I split my burden with her. And she carried it, like I hoped she would.
* * *
The feelof arms encasing my waist startled me from sleep.Affectionatelyencasing me. My heart stuttered within my chest, and my lungs seized. Twisting away, I scrambled to the other end of the bed, holding my palms up to ward off further attempts at intimacy as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Who are you?”
“Damon,” he said brusquely.
“Then... then why are you touching me like that?”
“Like what?” he asked, before understanding set in. He snagged my waist and dragged me back to the center of the bed. Roughly maneuvering me around until my back crushed against his bare chest.
We were silent, laying there in the dark listening to one another breathe. Starved for attention and reassurance, it felt good to be held. He eventually began to tug at my nipples, and the sweet ache had me pushing my ass into his groin.Yes, this is what I need.
Damon stopped. “Not tonight.”
I whimpered before I could stop myself. “Why not?” I asked in frustration. My body had been conditioned to require sex, often. Even more so when my emotions were unstable. It served as an anchor, a distraction, a way to feel alive. A reminder that I was loved. At the root of it, the truth lay exposed—I’m an addict.Damon made me that way. After years and years of this, one would think I’d feel sated, glutted even. But with every sunrise, my body would forget about the day—ordaysbefore. I woke up with such hunger, an aching need to be fed, and Damon always welcomed my starvation.
“Because you’re not ready yet. Not after the other night.”
Flashbacks of the mess we both made of me assaulted my mind. “I’m fine, Damon.”
