Page 143 of The Compass Series

DAMIAN

I woke to the smell of food. The smell of chocolate chips filled the space, and my stomach growled from the mere smell of the baked goods.

Rolling out of bed, I glanced at my phone.

That was the latest I’d slept in in a long time, but to be fair, Stella and I didn’t get home from the emergency room until around six in the morning.

I pulled myself out of bed and paused the moment I heard singing outside my door.

There was a knot in my chest as the sounds emerged. “Wake up, grumpy face, time for your morning happy taste.”

It turned out the knot in my chest wasn’t a knot. It was my heart. My heart was skipping. My heart was skipping because of her. Stella singing outside of my door with a voice that reminded me of a heaven that I hadn’t even known I’d believed in made my heart skip.

Beat, beat, skip, skip.

All because of her.

I stood, walked over to my door, and opened it. There she stood with a lopsided smile plastered across her face as she balanced her body on crutches and held a tray of food in front of her, with a black rose sitting in a small vase.

“Jesus, Stella, what are you doing?” I griped, taking the jam-packed tray from her hold. “You shouldn’t be carrying all of this. How’s your ankle?” I asked, concerned that she was doing too much on her injury.

She pulled up her sweatpants and showed me her ankle, which luckily was down in size. Still swollen, but worlds of improvement.

“It hurts, but I’m okay,” she said quickly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you drunk still?”

Her head shook. “No.”

That muscle in my chest?

Beat, beat, skip, skip.

“You didn’t have to cook for me.”

“I owe you a lot more than a plate of food. This isn’t even just for last night. It’s for every day that led to today. Every moment you chose to be honest with me. Even when it hurt.”

The left side of my mouth twitched a little. “Can I tell you some corny shit?”

“I love corny shit.”

I couldn’t believe I was about to say what I was about to say, but I couldn’t help it. I cleared my throat, feeling ridiculous. “You do something to me that I didn’t know I was able to do anymore.”

“Like what?”

“You make me care again.”

She smiled, and man, that smile…

I felt a tug in my chest that I hadn’t even known I could feel, so I shifted the conversation to something less foreign to me. “Did you take your meds?”

“I did.” She blushed a bit and shrugged. “Thank you for caring.”

“Thank you for making me.”

She nervously balanced on the crutches and looked down at the wooden floor. “Anyway, I wanted to bring you breakfast. I whipped up some pancakes with apple pieces and chocolate chips.”

“That’s my?—”

“Favorite,” she said, nodding. “I noticed you make them every weekend. I doubt they are as good as yours, but I tried.” She blushed slightly as she raised her head, and we locked eyes.

“I owe you the biggest apology for how I acted last night. I normally don’t drink,” she softly spoke, embarrassed and ashamed of herself.

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I’m more concerned about you being okay.”

She smiled the most broken grin I’d ever witnessed in my life. “I’m okay,” she lied. She turned to walk away, and I called after her.

I gestured toward the tray of food as she followed my stare. “There’s enough for two.”

Her full lips parted, and she narrowed her eyes. “You want me to stay?”

“Please. I mean, if you want.”

Please stay.

I gestured toward the tray once more. “As I said, there’s enough for two.”

Her saddened eyes glistened a little with light as she took in a sharp breath.

Then she hobbled past me, entering the room. She took a seat on the left side of the bed, and I sat on the right, placing the food between us.

We ate in silence for a while before she cleared her throat and said, “I need to talk to Jeff today. He’s been calling me nonstop, but I haven’t answered. I’m sure Kelsey told him that I knew what was going on.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

“Don’t be. I was an idiot. There were so many red flags that I chose to ignore.”

“No. You were taught at a young age that red flags weren’t red. It’s not your fault for not seeing them. Speaking of… why were your stepmothers such monsters to you?”

“I don’t really know. Growing up, I looked up to them.

After losing my mom, I think I secretly hoped I would grow close to them.

Not for them to replace my mom or anything, but because I just would’ve loved to have another woman in my life to confide in.

It wasn’t that at all, though. They put up with me because of Kevin, that’s all. ”

“They sound awful. I can state for a fact that Rosalina is, but I’m sure I’ll think the same of the other two.”

“Yes. But still, I feel bad for them.”

I laughed. “You can’t feel bad for the villains.”

“Of course, you can. That’s what makes us different from them.”

“It doesn’t change who they are.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She narrowed her eyes as she poked at the pancakes. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to tell the difference between what’s a trauma response for me or not.”

“You can do it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re you, and you can do anything.” That seemed like a line from a corny rom-com movie, but she could. “You just need to find the right people to help you. If needed, I’ll be your person. You can come to me when you feel overwhelmed or confused about anything.”

Her face reddened as if she were embarrassed by what I’d offered. “No, Damian. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“I want to.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.” She laughed, baffled by my compliment. I arched an eyebrow. “Why is that funny?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. You don’t like me.”

“Yes, Stella, I do.”

“What is it that you like about me?” she asked.

“Even if I answered that—which I easily could—you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because how could you believe what I like about you when you don’t even know how to like yourself.”

“I like myself,” she claimed. “At least, certain parts.”

“Okay, great.” I slid my hand into the pockets of my slacks and leaned against the wall. “Then you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you like about yourself.”

Her lips parted, and then she froze. I could almost see her mind working in overdrive, trying to quickly grab something—anything—to offer me.

But nothing came. She shut her lips, and her eyes watered over.

All I wanted to do, all I ever wanted to do lately, was give her comfort.

That was eating at my soul because all I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and let her know she was going to be okay.

“When did I stop loving myself?” she whispered. Her voice cracked, which, in turn, made my cold heart crack, too.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe when the world lied to you and said you were unworthy of being loved.”

“You’ll really help me find myself?”

“If you’d like my help. I won’t overstep my welcome if you want this to be a solo thing.”

“No, I, well, I’d like…” She swallowed hard and smiled. I wanted more of that. I wanted more of her smiles. “I’d like your help with this.”

“Then my help is all yours.”

She smiled more.

I thought about kissing her.

I didn’t, of course, but the thought lived there.

Her phone rang, and I saw Jeff’s name pop up. I didn’t know why that made a ting of jealousy hit me.

“Ugh. I should get ready to go talk to Jeff.” She stood from the bed and wiped her hands clean on a napkin. “Thank you, Damian.”

“Always, Stella.”

I said always, and the messed-up thing was I think I meant it, too.

Her hand almost touched mine as she placed the napkin down on the tray.

It didn’t, of course, but I wished it would’ve.

As she started to hop away on her crutches, I began to speak, making her pause in place.

“I like the way you notice things. How observant you are when no one’s looking.

How you smile at the clouds and every yellow flower you walk by.

How you whistle in the shower, how you speak out loud to yourself.

How you love people. Your artwork. Your talent.

Your eyes. That’s superficial, and screw the superficial, but I love your eyes.

I like the way you hum to the radio and listen when others are talking.

I like how you move. I like how your body curves.

And I like your heart. How it still beats even after everything life has done to it,” I said.

Her back was still to me as I watched her body slightly trembling from nerves due to my words.

I didn’t mean to make her emotional, but I needed her to know that so many things about her were worthy of love.

I cleared my throat. “Just in case you needed a list of things to like about yourself.”

She turned my way rheumy-eyed. “Damian?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re my husband.”

I didn’t say it, but I was a lucky bastard to have such a beautiful woman as my wife.

While Stella went to meet up with Jeff, I had an evening planned with Denise. I wasn’t looking forward to the outing that she had planned for us, especially after hearing the horror stories of the women and how they treated Stella.

I was going into the situation with hatred already sitting in my chest.

She chose an overpriced restaurant and showed up in a gown as if she were going to the Oscars. Everything about her posture showed the fact that she thought she was better than everyone surrounding her.

You could tell a lot about a person by how they treated strangers. Even more based on how they treated waitstaff—people who were there to help.

Denise was a menace to society.

“I asked for the butter to be softened, and this is rock solid,” Denise scolded the poor server who couldn’t have been over nineteen years old.

The girl, Josie, was almost shaking from Denise’s tone. “I’m so sorry about that, ma’am, let me run that back to get you?—"

“I truly cannot believe how incompetent some humans are to this day. It was an easy request, and still, you managed to screw it up,” Denise scolded.

Josie apologized again, I told her not to worry about it, and she hurried away.

“It blows your mind, doesn’t it?” Denise said, pursing her lips together in disapproval. “How the mediocre are so good at making the simplest mistakes.”

“You’re a fucking demon,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Please don’t be my mother.

“You know who the server reminds me of?” Denise asked after the overly apologetic server brought her a plate with the softened butter. She hurried away quickly, too.

“Who’s that?”

“Stella,” she breathed out. “That woman couldn’t have a backbone if she paid for it. Plus, she messed up on the easiest of tasks and—hey! Where are you going?!” Denise remarked as I stood from the table.

Far, far away from here.