Page 59 of Promise of Destruction
Thirty minutes earlier a moment of tenderness had passed between us, but that moment is gone. her softness, her vulnerability is gone, replaced by rage.
“I hate you!” She screams.
“Soren,” I try. “Your neighbors…”
That makes her laugh, but she chokes on it when it tries to come out as a sob instead.
“Fuck my neighbors! And fuckyou! Get out!”
But I don’t. I can’t.
I see her need, her hatred. She’s too full of things that will corrode her from the inside out… things she needs to let go of. And she needs someone to take her rage out on.
I dodge her fists and act quickly, trapping her against my chest.
She struggles to get free of me, but I hold her tighter.
I don’t squeeze. I just press her into me, quelling her attempts to fight me off until she finally has to accept that I’m not letting go of her until I decide.
That’s when she stops fighting.
All of the fight in her disappears at once, swallowed by grief.
I saw it in her from the first moment I set my eyes on her—it’s part of what drew me to her. But I’d assumed it was grief for the husband she may or may not have killed. Now, I’m not sure how much of that grief is for him and how much of it is for a pain that burns deeper.
I’ve realized in the last few hours how little I know about Soren Palmer… and I’ve realized that I was wrong.
I thought I could destroy her—I’d promised to.
But as she stands in her garage, her fists full of my shirt, her face buried in my chest, her cries—raw and animalistic—I realize I can’t destroy this woman even if I want to.
She’s already destroyed.
thirty-nine
Declan
Shecriesuntilherenergy wanes, and I realize she’s not strong enough to even try to fight me off anymore. That’s when I loosen my grip on her enough to run a hand over her hair and press my lips to the top of her head. I don’t know if the action is supposed to be a comfort to her or me. I don’t even consider it before I’m doing it, and then I realize I’m rocking her against my chest, too. She sways with me, the only thing that’s keeping her upright.
That’s when I remember her feet.
“Come on,” I tell her, lifting her behind the knees so that I can carry her again.
For a moment I think we may be in Hell. Or maybe it’s justmein Hell, living through the purgatory of watching this woman be ruined over and over again, knowing that I can try to help, but I can never change the outcome.
Deja fucking Vu.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, though I don’t know any better. It sure as fuck doesn’t seem okay. I honestly don’t know if she ever will be again. I thought she was just a little bruised from mishandling,but now I have to wonder if she’s actually rotting under the surface.
I get nothing from her this time. She doesn’t fight me, she doesn’t wrap her arms around me, she doesn’t care when I open the door of her room. She doesn’t care anymore… about anything.
I drop her on the bed not for the first time, noting the spots of blood that sank into her sheets from her feet. It wasn’t even two hours ago and yet it feels like years have passed since then.
I’m so fucking tired.
Soren rolls over to the edge, facing away from me while putting as much space as possible between us. I perch on the edge of the bed this time and drop my head in my hands, willing my brain to just shut up for a minute.
How the fuck did we end up here?
