Page 11

Chapter 11

Holly

I practically sprinted back home, my heart pounding like a war drum. The neighborhood stretched before me, the flickering lights overhead only amplifying the chaos in my chest. I pressed my lips together, feeling the remnants of Damien’s kiss linger—swollen and warm against my skin.

Each step felt heavier, laden with a mix of adrenaline and something else that twisted in my stomach. Fear clawed at me, but it was worse than that. I could still feel him—the weight of his body against mine, the roughness of his hands holding me captive. Everything I had once sworn I hated about Damien ignited something deep within me, something primal that fought against the voice screaming for me to run.

His dominance enveloped me like a dark cloud, and as much as I wanted to deny it, I craved that control. I couldn’t shake off the electric thrill coursing through my veins when he pushed me against the wall. My breath quickened at the memory of his smirk, that knowing glint in his eyes when he realized just how easily he unsettled me.

I reached the door to my room and fumbled with the knob, hands shaking so hard it took two tries to get inside. The moment I stepped into my room, I locked the door behind me as if it could keep out all those memories and feelings rushing back. But they crept in anyway—every detail of his touch burned into my mind.

I sank onto the edge of my bed and buried my face in my hands. “What am I doing?” My voice cracked under the weight of confusion.

I hated myself for wanting him again, for responding to him when everything screamed for me to stay away. This was why I had left in the first place—the chaos, the pain wrapped in seductive whispers—but here I was, drawn back into his orbit as if no time had passed at all.

My heart raced, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory of Damien’s lips away.

But he was already inside my head.

I hated him for it. Hated myself more.

The kiss lingered like smoke in a closed room, curling around my thoughts and suffocating any rationality. “It was a mistake,” I muttered under my breath. “A lapse. A moment of weakness.” I repeated the words like a mantra, hoping to drown out the way his touch ignited something deep within me.

It meant nothing.

But even as I told myself that, every muscle in my body betrayed me, recalling how it felt when he pressed me against the wall—how his hands claimed my wrists like they had every right to hold me captive. It didn’t feel like nothing; it felt like ownership. Like possession.

He was claiming me all over again.

I threw myself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling while frustration simmered in my chest. How had he managed to do this? How had he wormed his way back into my life with just one kiss? The air thickened with his presence, filling the space like a shadow I couldn’t escape.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, trying to block out thoughts of him—of his smirk and those stormy blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. “This isn’t happening,” I whispered to myself, but it didn’t change anything.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the nightstand, contemplating whether or not to text him back. My fingers hovered over the screen before I tossed it aside in frustration. No way was I letting him have that power over me again.

But as much as I wanted to deny it, a small part of me craved that power—his ability to turn everything upside down with just a glance or a touch.

I let out a frustrated groan and buried my face in the pillow. If only I could forget that feeling—the pull of him—the danger—and focus on anything else instead.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his kiss still pressing against my lips. Part of me craved it. That rush of adrenaline when he closed in on me, the way my heart raced at the danger he represented. I hated that part of myself—the part that yearned for his attention, for his intensity.

That’s what terrified me. I remembered all too well how easily he could draw me in, how quickly I could forget everything else. Damien Sinclaire was a storm, and I was just a leaf caught in his path. When he loved you, he owned you. And once you were owned, breaking free felt impossible.

I thought about all those times I had tried to escape him—how I had convinced myself that going to Lakeshore last semester, what should have been my entire college career, meant leaving Damien behind for good. But then my father got this job, and I was back in his web again.

Images flashed through my mind—arguments that spiraled into chaos, the way he always pushed until I broke. The anger, the passion—it had always felt like a double-edged sword, and I had paid dearly every time it cut too deep.

And then there was Logan—innocent Logan—who stood no chance against Damien's fury. The thought made my stomach twist into knots. Logan’s hands were a testament to the violence Damien could unleash when provoked. And yet here I was, thinking about the very thing that put him in danger.

I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, stifling a frustrated scream. “Why can’t this just be simple?”

I should have been relieved to be away from Damien’s influence all those years ago, but it felt like a lie now—a facade I'd built to convince myself that freedom existed beyond him. Yet every moment spent away only reinforced how much he held power over me.

And now? Now he’d managed to reel me back in with one kiss.

I couldn’t shake off the truth: I wanted him again—but wanting him meant inviting chaos back into my life. It meant opening myself up to heartbreak and pain that I thought I'd escaped.

My heart pounded as thoughts raced through my mind: What would happen if I didn’t resist? If I let myself be pulled back into his world? Would it destroy me again?

I checked my phone again, like it held some kind of spell over me. I stared at the screen, willing it to light up, hoping for a message that would shatter this heavy silence.

Nothing.

No calls from Damien. No texts.

I should have felt relieved, maybe even a little victorious. After everything that had happened, the chaos he dragged into my life, the last thing I needed was another one of his games. Buts I lay there staring at the blank screen, disappointment gnawed at me like a hungry animal.

“Why?” I muttered under my breath. I should have been grateful for the quiet, but instead, anger surged through me—a hot wave of disgust at my own weakness. How could I still want him to reach out? To care? It sickened me to think that a part of me craved his attention after all he had put me through.

Then, just when I thought the universe might actually be on my side, my phone buzzed with a new message.

My heart raced as I grabbed it again.

Didn’t feel like a mistake to me.

The words slammed into me like a punch to the gut. My stomach dropped and my pulse spiked as heat flooded my cheeks. It was as if every rational thought evaporated in an instant; all that remained was the raw energy of his voice echoing in my mind.

I threw the phone onto my bed like it burned me. The shockwaves of his message rippled through me—anger mixed with an undeniable thrill that I couldn’t shake off. It was just a text, but it felt monumental—his claim resonating in ways that left me reeling.

I wanted to scream, to tear at something until I felt grounded again, but instead, I sank back onto my bed, feeling both alive and utterly trapped by him once more.

I needed to regain control, to pull myself back from the edge where Damien’s kiss had pushed me. I reached for my phone again, fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts. Logan’s name glared back at me like a beacon of safety—everything I was supposed to want.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the call button. The phone rang, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he’d pick up. Maybe I could talk to him, distract myself from all the chaos that threatened to swallow me whole.

But then came the familiar sound—the dreaded voicemail tone.

Hey, it’s Logan. Leave a message.

The beep echoed in the silence of my room, and panic surged through me. I hesitated, swallowed hard, and finally blurted out his name.

“Logan, it’s Holly. Please call me back.” My voice cracked at the end, betraying the turmoil swirling inside me. “I just wanted to check on you.”

I hung up and dropped my phone onto the bed with a heavy thud. The emptiness in my chest expanded until it felt like a gaping wound. He wasn’t going to answer; he probably couldn’t even use his hands right now. Damien had made sure of that.

My stomach churned at the thought. Damien hurt him because of me—because I smiled at Logan and tried to pretend everything was fine when deep down, nothing ever was. My skin prickled with shame, and bile rose in my throat as realization crashed over me: here I was, kissing the man who had put Logan in the hospital.

Desire twisted uncomfortably with guilt inside me like a sick joke that wouldn’t stop playing on repeat. How could I have let it happen? How could I crave Damien so fiercely after what he’d done? It felt wrong on every level.

I lay back against my pillows, feeling the walls close in around me as if they were closing ranks on all the decisions I'd made since coming back to Crestwood. The world outside blurred into nothingness; all that remained was this crushing weight in my chest.

With every passing second that ticked by without Logan’s reply, anxiety gripped tighter around my heart like a vice—tightening until it became hard to breathe.

What kind of person was I?

I pushed myself off the bed and trudged downstairs, my stomach rumbling. I glanced around when I reached the bottom step. He was still gone, probably buried in meetings or preparing for the upcoming year. The Team USA tryouts, the alumni game, the scrimmage with Canada—his calendar was always packed. I understood that he had a lot on his plate, but it didn’t ease my anger about how much control Damien seemed to have over my life.

As I rummaged through the fridge, grabbing ingredients to whip up something simple for dinner, I tried to remind myself why I had left Damien behind. The violence lingered in my thoughts—his unpredictable temper and possessiveness that had spiraled out of control.

Not that he ever hurt me physically.

Well… not the kind of hurt meant to inspire fear.

There was a strange pleasure that came with Damien did to me, fingers wrapped around my throat, hips bruised, pelvis sore…

I stopped. I couldn't think of things like that.

Those memories tangled together with good ones that crept in like unwelcome shadows. I could still feel the warmth of his arms around me during high school, how he’d stand by me like a shield against anyone who dared to cross my path. He protected me fiercely then, treating me like I was his whole world.

I shook my head as if trying to dislodge those thoughts. The way he looked at me—it was all-consuming. Those stormy blue eyes had once burned into me with an intensity that made everything else fade away. In those moments, I was everything to him; it felt like nothing else mattered but our connection.

But now? Now that feeling felt like a trap—a noose tightening around my heart.

I took a deep breath as I chopped vegetables, trying to focus on the rhythm of the knife against the cutting board rather than the turmoil inside me. But even as I did, memories flooded back.

In those moments when he was gentle and attentive, I had believed in that kind of love completely. It was intoxicating and safe yet terrifying all at once.

But now? All I could see were echoes of danger lurking behind every fond memory.

Chopping vegetables felt like a futile attempt to distract myself from the storm brewing inside. Each slice echoed with my rising anxiety, a rhythm that barely masked the chaos in my mind. I forced my focus onto the task, but thoughts of Damien kept creeping back, taunting me with every chop.

That’s what made him so dangerous. He lingered in the shadows of my thoughts, an insistent reminder of everything I tried to escape. My heart twisted as I thought about his smirk, that glint in his eyes that promised both exhilaration and destruction. Part of me still wanted to be his world—the center of his universe—no matter how twisted it felt.

I stopped mid-slice, breath hitching as tears threatened to spill over. This was more than just fear; it was a deeper betrayal to myself. I felt weak for even considering how good it had felt to be desired by him again. I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat.

It was all so complicated—his destructive love had once wrapped around me like a warm blanket, but now it felt like a noose tightening with every memory I recalled. The way he had looked at me earlier—the mix of possessiveness and longing—was enough to send my heart racing even now. The thought sickened me, yet another part craved that connection again.

The knife slipped from my grip and clattered against the counter as sobs escaped me unbidden. It wasn’t just fear that broke through; it was shame and confusion swirling together until they choked me from the inside out. I pressed my palms against my cheeks, feeling the heat of shame rush through me.

I knew the truth—I was already losing ground in this battle against him. Each moment spent wrestling with memories pulled me further into his orbit, erasing the hard-fought distance I'd established since leaving high school behind. Damien was relentless; he always had been.

And somewhere deep within, a dark part of me relished being pulled back in, like moth to flame—a wicked thrill igniting as if he could somehow burn away all my insecurities and fears. My stomach twisted at the realization that I might welcome that fire once again.

With trembling hands, I turned back to finish dinner but found it hard to breathe under the weight of what lay ahead.