Page 20

Chapter 20

Damien

I woke up to warmth. It enveloped me like a heavy blanket, disorienting at first. I never slept this deeply. Never felt this… calm.

But then it all rushed back—like a wave crashing over me, bringing memories I’d fought to suppress. The rain pouring down, the way Holly’s body fit against mine, how she didn’t push me away when I kissed her. After everything, she let me stay.

I shifted slightly, eyes peeling open to take in my surroundings. The light was soft and hazy, casting shadows across her room. And there she was—still asleep, tangled in sheets that clung to her form like a lover’s embrace. Her hair fell in wild waves around her face, and I couldn’t help but smile at how messy it looked.

But what caught my breath was the sight of her skin—marked with my hands, my lips. Evidence of what we had shared last night; reminders of the chaos we’d embraced together. Something inside me clenched tight at the realization that I had left my mark on her.

I reached out tentatively, fingers brushing against her arm, wanting to feel the warmth of her skin beneath my touch again. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake; just turned her head into the pillow with a soft sigh. My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I took in every detail of her peacefulness—the gentle rise and fall of her breathing—and it felt surreal.

For once, I felt like I could breathe too.

I pushed aside the nagging thoughts of what would come next—the inevitable fallout from our reckless fucking (it was so much more than that)—and focused instead on this moment. The world outside could wait. Right now, all that mattered was Holly and the way she made me feel like maybe there was something more than chaos waiting for me on the other side.

I settled back against the pillows, letting myself sink deeper into this unexpected peace while hoping it wouldn’t shatter when reality came crashing back in.

I lay there, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all my questions. The weight of last night pressed down on me like a storm cloud ready to burst.

I felt Holly shift beside me, her soft breath warming the air between us. She was so close, and yet, it felt like I was balancing on a razor’s edge. I couldn’t shake the fear that if I moved wrong, even slightly, everything would unravel.

Because this was too much. It was too fucking much.

I’d spent years pushing people away, building walls higher than I thought anyone could scale. And here she was—her presence like a soft light piercing through the darkness I’d wrapped around myself for so long.

But despite how vulnerable it made me feel, I didn’t want to leave. For the first time in years, the thought of walking away from someone didn’t fill me with relief; it filled me with dread. I wanted to stay here, in this moment, tangled up in sheets and memories that blurred lines between anger and desire.

What had happened last night? The way she surrendered to me felt both intoxicating and terrifying. My mind raced with every kiss we shared, every gasp that escaped her lips as I claimed her again—marked her as mine in a way no one else could ever take from me.

And yet… this wasn’t just some casual fling anymore. She wasn’t just another girl; she was Holly—the one who’d gotten under my skin years ago and never really left. The girl who saw past my chaos and still chose to dive into the fire with me.

But now? Now we had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Each breath she took sent ripples through my chest, tightening my grip on reality as I fought against the instinct to bolt—to protect myself from what this could mean.

Instead of running, I simply stayed there beside her—feeling everything crash over me like waves against jagged rocks—and for once? It felt strangely right.

Holly stirred beside me, blinking sleepily as the morning light filtered through the curtains.

“You’re still here,” she said, her voice a soft murmur that hung in the air like a lingering dream.

I smirked, my voice raspy from sleep. “You say that like you expected me to disappear.”

She stretched, arms reaching above her head, and I couldn’t help but notice how her bare skin brushed against mine. It was lazy. Comfortable. Dangerous. A reminder of everything we had crossed into—every line blurred and every rule broken.

Her fingers trailed absently over my chest, tracing the old scars that mapped my body like stories etched in ink. They weren’t questions; they were observations—an exploration of the history she hadn’t fully known until now.

The sensation sent shivers down my spine, igniting a fire deep within me I struggled to contain. I wanted to push her away, to remind myself of the disarray waiting just outside this bubble we had created. But I didn’t move; instead, I let her touch linger, drawing out moments I had thought were long gone.

I could feel the tension in the air thickening with each gentle stroke of her fingers, and something inside me cracked open just a little more.

She bit her lip and continued tracing those scars as if mapping out every piece of who I was—a chaotic puzzle even I didn’t fully understand. It felt too intimate; too close. Yet it grounded me in ways nothing else ever had before.

Her touch was an anchor and a reminder all at once: this was Holly—my wild card—and I wasn’t ready for what came next.

I felt her gaze linger, the weight of it heavy and warm against my skin. Holly tilted her head, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “I’ve never seen you sleep so soundly.”

Her voice, soft and melodic, sliced through the haze of morning like a whisper from the past. I exhaled slowly, turning my attention back to the ceiling, trying to find comfort in its stillness. Because I hadn’t slept soundly in years—not since the last time I fell asleep with her.

But she didn’t need to know that.

Instead, I focused on the texture of the sheets beneath me, how they cradled my body and tangled around us like a cocoon. It felt different with her here—this unexpected calm that settled deep in my chest and made something inside me unravel. A part of me wanted to cling to this moment, wanted to forget about everything waiting outside this room—the rage that always simmered just beneath the surface.

I caught a glimpse of her expression as she continued to watch me. There was curiosity mixed with concern—maybe even affection—but I couldn’t let that in. Not now. Not when I felt so exposed.

“Don’t get used to it,” I replied, forcing a smirk onto my lips, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping into my veins. “I’m not exactly known for my sleeping habits.”

She frowned slightly, and it made me want to reach out and brush her hair back from her face, trace the contours of her jawline with my fingers. But I didn’t move; instead, I stayed perfectly still as if any sudden movement might shatter this fragile moment.

“Still,” she pressed gently. “You looked peaceful.”

Peaceful? That was a foreign concept for me—an illusion crafted by years of hiding behind walls thick enough to block out any hint of softness. I had spent too long cultivating shit as a shield against everything I couldn’t face—everything that haunted me at night.

“Maybe it’s just the rain,” I deflected, focusing on how droplets pattered softly against the windowpane rather than what lay beneath our words.

But deep down, part of me recognized it wasn’t just the rain. It was Holly—the way she made me feel alive in ways I'd thought impossible again. And damn it if that realization didn’t scare me more than anything else ever could.

Holly shifted beside me, her hand slipping lower, brushing against my hip in a way that sent shivers down my spine. It felt innocent at first, just the gentle exploration of muscle under her fingers, but then it happened—her touch ghosted over my upper thigh.

Everything in me froze.

I inhaled sharply, a rush of heat igniting in places I didn’t want to acknowledge. I wanted to pull away, to create distance between us and shield myself from whatever this was becoming. But she was already too close—too aware. Her fingers paused, lingering on the scars that marred my skin.

“Damien?” she asked softly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

I tried to shift away, to divert her attention, but it was too late. She had seen them—the faint but unmistakable patterns etched into my skin. Scars from years of trying to take control of the chaos inside me. Each one told a story I wasn’t ready to share.

Her gaze locked onto mine, and I could see the mix of concern and confusion swirling in those hazel depths. It was a look that made me want to bolt but also made me want to draw her closer—to let her see all of me, even the parts I kept hidden beneath layers of bravado.

“What happened?” she pressed gently.

I felt the weight of her question hanging in the air between us like a thick fog. How could I explain? How could I put into words the pain that led to these marks?

“Nothing,” I muttered, deflecting with practiced ease.

But Holly wasn’t convinced. She leaned closer, determination etched across her features as if she believed she could peel back every layer I had built around myself.

“Damien…” she urged softly, almost pleadingly.

Her fingers trembled as they traced over one scar—a ghost of pain now turned into something raw and exposed under her touch. And damn it if that didn’t twist something inside me.

I fought against it. Fought against letting her in—against allowing anyone past the walls I had built so carefully around my heart—but there was something about Holly that pulled at every instinct within me. The truth threatened to unravel right there in the dim light of morning as we both hovered on the edge of something unspoken and dangerously real.

“Did someone—?” Holly’s voice was soft. Too soft. She stopped, swallowed hard, and tried again. “Did you do this?”

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut. My breath locked in my chest, and I felt my entire body stiffen at the accusation. I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve covered them. Should’ve never let her see this.

The words were already forming in her throat—the concern, the pity, the questions that would dig into my skin like a blade. I could see it in her eyes, that mix of fear and compassion. It was everything I’d wanted to avoid. Everything I didn’t want to face.

I hated the thought of her looking at me like that—like I was broken or damaged goods. The scars weren’t just reminders of my past; they were a part of who I had become, and if she started to pity me? It would tear down every wall I’d built around myself.

“Damien…” she whispered, searching for an answer in my silence.

I turned my head slightly, forcing myself not to look directly at her as if that might shield me from what came next—the inevitable fallout of my reckless life spilling into hers. My mind raced through all the moments where I had felt powerful, invincible, but here I stood feeling vulnerable under her gaze.

“What happened?” she pressed gently.

It was like she wanted me to confess something deep and dark, to tell her about the demons that simmered beneath the surface.

But how could I explain?

How could I put into words the pain that led to these marks?

If she knew…

She would never look at me the same way. She would never want me. She would see me for what I was: a monster.

I clenched my jaw against the urge to retreat further into myself, but there was no escaping now. Holly had pulled back layers I thought were buried forever with each touch of her fingers on my skin.

I sat up abruptly, grabbing my jeans from the floor and slipping them on with shaking hands. The cool fabric felt like a barrier against the heat of her gaze, but it didn’t help. I could still feel Holly’s eyes on me, searching, digging for answers I wasn’t ready to give.

“Damien,” she said softly, reaching for me.

I jerked away, my heart racing as panic surged through me.

“Don’t.” My voice came out sharp, defensive—more of a warning than an explanation.

She blinked, startled. “I wasn’t?—”

Her words faded into the silence between us, leaving behind a tension thick enough to cut through. I hated that I’d let her in this close. Hated that I had opened myself up just enough for her to see beneath the surface—into the chaos that roiled inside me like a storm ready to erupt.

I could feel my stomach knotting tighter as she sat there, vulnerability spilling from her every glance. The last thing I wanted was for her to pick me apart—to dissect the scars and wounds I had hidden for so long behind layers of arrogance and anger.

“Just… stop,” I muttered, fighting against the instinct to let her reach out again.

But she didn’t pull back; she leaned in instead, and it took everything in me not to surrender to the warmth of her presence. Each second stretched painfully as my mind raced with thoughts of how fragile this moment felt—how easily it could slip away if I let my guard down.

“I can’t do this,” I said finally, feeling the weight of those words settle between us like an anchor. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but nothing came out. Just confusion and hurt written across her features. That look twisted something deep inside me—a raw ache that made me want to protect her even as I pulled away.

I couldn’t stand being exposed like this—not when every part of me screamed at the thought of losing control again.

Holly moved cautiously, kneeling on the bed. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the weight of her gaze pressing down like a suffocating blanket. “Talk to me.”

I let out a laugh, but it came out hollow and bitter. “Talk to you? About what, Holly?”

My voice was colder than I intended, each word cutting through the air between us like glass.

“How fucked up I am? Is that what you want?”

She flinched at my tone, but she didn’t back down. That fierce determination flickered in her eyes, and it only fueled my anger.

“That’s not what I?—”

I shook my head sharply, yanking on my jacket as if it could shield me from the chaos swirling inside. “I shouldn’t have stayed.”

As I backed away from her, I could feel the space closing in around us. It was like I had become an exposed nerve—raw and aching—and she was reaching for me again. But I couldn’t let her touch me; I felt like if she did, I'd break into a thousand pieces right there.

Her voice softened, almost pleading as she reached for me again. “You don’t have to do this, Damien.”

But I already was.

The moment she saw those scars—evidence of my past—it became too real. Too close. Every moment of vulnerability threatened to spill over, exposing the ugly truth behind my facade. What if she looked at me differently? What if she realized just how damaged I really was?

So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I ran.

Each step back felt heavy as if the very ground beneath me were pulling me deeper into a pit of despair. My heart raced—not from fear—but from a desperate need to escape this confrontation that felt too big for both of us.

“Damien!” Holly called after me, her voice cracking slightly as it echoed through the room.

But there was no turning back now; there never had been. Each step away brought relief mingled with regret—a vicious cycle that twisted in my gut and made me question everything about what we had just shared.

I left her there—still kneeling on the bed, confusion etched across her face—as if our world had shattered into a million fragments and left nothing but silence in its wake.

I stormed outside, the cold morning air slamming into me like a slap across the face. The chill bit through my skin, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel something—anything other than the emotion that churned inside me.

My hands shook as I shoved them into my pockets, my breath coming out in uneven gasps. Each inhale felt sharp, like ice carving through my lungs. But I didn’t stop moving; I couldn’t. If I did, I might start thinking again—about her, about us—and that was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

My mind spiraled in a storm of thoughts. I should’ve covered them. The scars were a reminder of everything I had tried to bury, and now Holly had seen them. She knew too much, and it terrified me. I should’ve never let her in. Letting her see the broken parts of me was a mistake—a crack in the armor I had spent years building around myself.

I should’ve never fucking stayed. Every second spent with her felt like walking a tightrope above an abyss, one misstep away from falling into darkness. And yet she hadn’t run from me; she hadn’t flinched when those scars caught her eye.

Holly should hate me for what I’d done—for the way I let anger control my actions and led to chaos that touched everyone around me. For being too much and too broken to handle anything resembling normalcy or peace.

But she didn’t.

That was what twisted in my gut like a knife; she stood there wanting to understand, wanting to know why those scars existed as if they held answers instead of pain. It made no sense—her unwavering presence only served as another reminder of how deeply flawed I was and how desperately unworthy of love I felt.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets as if trying to bury them further away from reality, from the storm brewing inside me. She should have turned away after seeing all of it, but instead, she kept coming closer.

And that was terrifying because it meant she saw something in me worth holding onto when all I wanted was for her to run screaming in the opposite direction.