Page 59 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

Chapter twenty-five

Damien

The Next Day

I wake up with heavy lids for the fourth time, but this time they’re not heavy enough to close again.

The darkness before sunrise still seeps in through the tempered glass door and windows, showcasing the softly lit balcony right outside of our bedroom.

The summer humidity is already misting the air, but is counteracted by a cold chill from the AC and ceiling fan brushing across my body.

As I look over at my phone, I notice countless system notifications from the Attic.

One situation after another is being logged every single day for weeks now, and it never seems to end.

Though, for the next few days, we get to ignore every single one of them while we wait for the moles to give us some intel on our targets’ whereabouts.

For three days, we’ll be too far and secluded to care about any of it.

Not far enough that we can’t get back quickly for an emergency, but definitely far enough away to breathe.

I’m hoping that some space from all of this will help us both.

I'm fucking nervous. I've never done anything like this before.

It's not spectacular, but I just wanted to show her that I would always put effort into her.

She clearly shows that she does for me. You know, dealing with the bullshit she does for me while still feeling like total shit throughout the day.

Something is going on with her, and it’s terrifying me.

I'm starting to think the poisoning did more damage than we initially thought, and with the severity of her continued symptoms, there’s more cause for concern with how long she’s been recovering.

Her vomiting is getting worse, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason for it anymore.

Initially after it happened, it’d be a while after she ate, or if we fucked too rough—something had to turn her stomach.

Now, it’s random and seems to be happening more and more.

She’s so tired too, like she can’t get enough sleep, even though she’s sleeping through the night.

I would know if she weren’t, considering how I’ve been waking up almost every hour and immediately feeling for her beside me.

Zeke mentioned she even fell asleep at Cut Me Down last week in one of their shampoo chairs, and that is extremely unusual for her.

I love that my little wolf is starting to find her place in our fucked-up world.

It feels like she knows herself for the first time in her life, and I love that too.

Her confidence is booming, not only in her mind, but in our relationship and everyday life.

She’s killed three people now, and while she doesn’t enjoy it like I do, she understands the necessity of it sometimes, and she quickly came to terms with that.

The Dust Bunny and trafficker were self-defense, but Turk?

That was for her. She needed the remnants of her parents’ bad deeds extinct from this planet to move on, and I fully understand and support her .

I'm starting to think this life is taking a toll on her, though. That's the only explanation I can come up with to explain her troubles, but she seems happy. She is happy. I can see it on her face every day and even in her movements. She carries herself higher, smiling more, and whenever she’s near me, the atmosphere feels happy with her. It’s like mentally, she’s adjusted to our crazy life; the events of the past few weeks no longer seem to faze her, but that's part of what’s so terrifying.

Is she lying to herself? Is her body retaliating for her mind?

Is she so in love with me that she doesn’t see the damage I’m causing her?

There’s something about her lately that I can’t quite put my finger on.

It could just be how in love we are, but we can’t stay away from one another.

The slightest touch makes us come alive, and even looking at her from across the room, I see her practically begging for me.

I'm always searching for her, even if she’s not there, but it’s like I can feel her everywhere, surrounding me on a different plane of existence that only we can feel.

We're the closest we’ve ever been, and yet something is just pulling us closer together.

My love for her will never stop growing, and that’s partially why all of this is really messing with me.

I couldn’t tell something was wrong with Emma, and she was gone so quickly.

In the blink of an eye, my sister was dead, and I won’t let that happen to Ashia.

No matter how much she insists that she’s fine, and that her physical symptoms will get better with time, I know there’s something wrong.

The feeling is deep within my gut, and it’s not often my instincts are wrong.

While I’m certain it isn’t a brain tumor, I just can’t put my finger on it.

Her constant reassurance is normally something I crave, but now I feel that she’s using it as a tactic to placate me.

We worry about each other much in the same way, and I can tell that she’s downplaying her symptoms just to make me feel better about the situation .

I can’t lose her.

Could we really be this happy, and the universe would just rip it out from under us?

Of course it would. There’s no question.

The guilt of putting her in Death’s path is eating at me, slowly devouring any last shred of my self-preservation.

The scrape from the bullet graze is already healed, but it could have been so much worse.

First the Dust goons, then the poisoning, then the bullshit with the MC, all almost getting her killed, and I know I’m losing control.

I feel my ability to keep her safe slipping, and I don’t know how to reign it in.

It’s knocking me down with one hit after another, and I know she feels it.

Every chance she gets, she tells me that she’s fine.

She runs her fingers through my hair, tells me she loves me, that no matter what happens she’ll be right by my side.

I love it, but I hate it all at the same time.

She shouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit.

There should be no ‘buts’ for her. She’s happy but has to worry about me getting hurt every night. She loves to spend time with me but worries something will intervene. She loves our life, but will it cost her sanity? I hate what I'm doing to her…

I love her…

So much so, that it physically pains me…

Have I done this all wrong? Turned her into something that even her friends and family don’t recognize? Did I influence her in the wrong ways and twist her mind to become something she never should’ve been? Is she so accustomed to pain that she’s pushing it all away to appease me?

I made her mine .

She. Is. Mine .

But what has that cost her?

What am I doing to her?

I can feel my sanity slipping away. These thoughts keep creeping their way into my mind and I can’t make them go away. The only time they’re silenced is when my blade is plunged into someone’s heart or my dick is buried inside of her. When I’m home, right where I need to be.

She lays perfectly still next to me, the only movement is the slow rise and fall of her chest, and her heartbeat mimicking mine.

The soft curl of her body against me flows so perfectly—every curve fitting conforming to me like a puzzle that waited years to be completed.

I nuzzle my nose in her hair and allow the certainty of her smell to travel through my sinuses and seep in my chest. Her scent settles much like the sun does when it comes out after a storm and absorbs all of the remnants of the disaster.

There was no initial plan to take her while she’s sleeping, but that overwhelming need that I feel with her is consuming me again, urging me to find peace inside her and bury myself so deeply that the thoughts can’t possibly resurface.

I know she needs her sleep, but we’ll have plenty of time over the next few days to get some much-needed rest. Not just sleep.

Rest . The kind where our minds go quiet and the only worry we’ll have is what breakfast I'll make and bring to her in bed.

She needs that reprieve just as much as I do, and no matter how hard she tries to hide it, I can see right through her.

I move my arm to tease the soft skin along her breasts, and my body instantly reacts, hardening just at slightest touch of her body.

Her skin pebbles with goosebumps, responding to me even in her peaceful state, and her nipples peak in reply.

This everlasting, electric current between us is what always has me pining for her—a physical representation of how our souls intertwine with one another.

Something as simple as a graze of our fingertips, and we both come alive.

My fingers then trail lower, tracing small circles on her stomach, up to her side, and then a little lower to her hip.

They search for a spot that I haven’t caressed yet, but they won’t find one.

Over the past few months, I’ve made sure there isn’t a single inch of her that hasn’t felt my touch, and there will never be a piece of her that goes without it for too long.

There should never be a moment when she can’t smell or feel me around her, even if we’re apart.

The way my fingers trickle down her thigh is intoxicating, affecting me deeply as I feel the delicious skin on the inside of her leg.

Each brush of her surface sends a bolt of energy through my nerves, creating a feeling of ecstasy throughout my body and coercing me to have more like an addiction.

I’m a fiend, and she’s the only vice I’d happily overdose on.

If I die inside of her, I’ll be in heaven long before my heart stops beating.