Hold Me by W. Winters
Ella
The morning after what seems like war feels nothing like victory. Even if you’ve won. It’s as if I’m terrified to drop my guard, ready for the next hit. Taking into account everything that’s happened over the last three years up until just yesterday, it’s all felt like fate’s been toying with me, but also like dominoes toppling. One after the other, each one poised to fall, starting on that day I watched James step onto the crosswalk.
And now I wait on edge for the next piece of the game to forsake me.
Pushing my hair still damp from the shower away from my face, I try to tell myself it can get better. It doesn’t have to be like this. A constant spiral downward.
Although sleep didn’t come easy, the anxious ball in the pit of my stomach has left. Even after I took the sleeping pills Aiden had prescribed, it still took another hour or so before I had a dreamless rest.
Damon’s towering figure steals my attention from the steam of the teacup. It billows out as I blow gently across it, both of my hands wrapped around the porcelain vessel.
“Did you sleep well?”
Giving his suit a once-over, I make a mental note that he’s back to business attire. Ever so serious. Damon was the one I was certain would speak up for me. Instead he said himself, he tried to stop Zander.
The cup clinks softly when I set it down on the counter as I answer, “Once I got to sleep, it was a deep sleep.” I can’t look at him, but at least I’ve given him the truth.
My father told me once, when I was much younger, that if I didn’t want to fight, if I didn’t want to feel the blows of incoming war, that I had to stop. I couldn’t keep my hands up, prepared for battle, and expect the other side not to react. It’s one of the hardest things I ever had to learn: to stop fighting. Although Damon told me it’s called decompressing.
Apparently I don’t decompress well.
Damon pulls out the stool beside me and the legs of it groan against the floor.
Gently, I push a tray of danishes his way.
“Kamden?” Damon questions and I nod.
“I’m not sure where he is, I’ve only just come down,” I explain to Damon, “but they were waiting for us.”
I’ve already eaten two of the small cream cheese danishes. Damon opts for a raspberry one, taking a piece off with his left hand, holding the rest of it in his right. Before popping the small morsel into his mouth, he asks, “Did you talk to him?”
I turn on the stool to face him and lean my elbow against the counter. Half of me feels nothing but comradery with Damon, and the other half doesn’t trust him anymore. I’d like to speak, but instead I shake my head and focus back on my tea.
It’s the perfect temperature and has steeped just right.
“Is it all right if I ask if you’re angry with him?”
“Yes,” I answer quickly, the word raw. Then I realize that only answers whether or not it’s all right if he asks me. “I’m very upset.”
“Angry and upset?”
It takes me a minute, staring down at my tea before I answer, “Just upset.”
Damon nods and I glance over to find he hasn’t eaten any more of the small pastry.
I offer him an out. “This can wait, you know? Quiet mornings are one of my favorite things in life.”
Instead of nodding and backing off, Damon asks, nearly blurting it out, “Are you upset with me?” His deep brown eyes sink into mine and I’m forced to stare back at him.
I nod and then whisper, “Yes. Honestly, I am.”
“I am sorry yesterday caused you distress. I’m sorry it all happened the way it did.” His words seem sincere but also professional. As if reading my mind he adds, “I mean it, Ella. When they told me what happened, I was worried about how it would all play out, but mostly worried about you.”
Finally breaking his gaze I murmur, “I appreciate that,” and return to a now empty tea cup.
It’s a bit awkward for a moment, until I pull an open package toward me and inform Damon, “This was waiting for me too.”
I take out a chunk of gray crystal. The dark and light grays mingle with a touch of white.
“What’s that?” Damon questions.
“It’s a rock.” Removing the note from Kelly, I read it to him. “Smoky quartz wards off negative thoughts.”
As Damon rises, making his way around the counter to the sink, I tell him Kelly sent it and that she suggested I bring it to therapy.
The charming grin on his handsome face grows and that small, amiable feeling takes over. Damon has an infectious smile. “You told me about Kelly? Didn’t you?”
As I nod he tells me, drying off his hands, “I like her.”
Smiling, I agree with him. “I’ve got good friends.” The admission comes with a sinking feeling that steals the lightness from me. Damon doesn’t miss it. Before he can say a word, I tell him, “I think I need a minute.”
With a more somber look, although his eyes remain warm, he says, “When you’re ready to talk, let me know.”
* * *
An hourafter breakfast the sun sits perfectly in an array of pale coral hues along the tree line. Pulling a blue chenille throw across my lap, I do nothing to stop the breeze from blowing across my bare shoulders.
My satin sleep shirt boasts the same cobalt blue.
It’s quiet in the late morning, although I know it won’t be for long.
“You brought tissues?” Damon questions, taking the seat across from me on the patio. The outdoor fireplace is to his right but it’s not nearly chilly enough to turn it on. Maybe later tonight.
“They’re still here from last night,” I comment. The square box of tissues and journal sit side by side. Both were used equally last night. Silas gave me space, he’s good for that. Quietly watching, checking on whether I could use tea or anything to offer comfort. He’s kind and silent. Damon is kind as well … but never silent.
“I think last night might be a good place to start.”
“Last night it is then,” I respond and let out a sigh, repositioning myself on the chaise lounge to better face him. I’m caught off guard by his next question.
“Do you think there’s any chance that you’re displacing your feelings?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Your husband with Zander.”
“How is that relevant to last night?”
“It’s relevant to all of it, Ella.”
“So that’s what we’re doing today?” I say with mock humor. “We’re sparring?”
“We’re discussing my one concern.” Damon remains professional, giving me a moment to consider my answer.
I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to go anywhere near that question. Am I displacing my feelings toward James, my deceased husband, onto Zander? That’s a heavy question to begin a session with. “It feels like fencing,” I mutter, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.
“Is that what you’d like to talk about?” Damon raises his brow. “Fencing, or maybe we can talk about croquet?”
“Croquet?”
Damon shrugs and says, “It seems like an equally relevant sport.”
His comment is rewarded with a short and relatively quiet bubble of laughter I can’t control, and I readjust in my seat.
“I know we’ve talked about this before, but it’s okay to sit with your emotions. Right?”
I nod in response, pulling my knees into my chest and making myself a puddle of blue fabric, none of which can protect me.
“Why do you want to come between us?” I question him.
“I don’t,” he answers without hesitation and he’s adamant. With both his hands on his knees, he leans forward in the seat across from me, shaking his head slightly while maintaining eye contact. “He’s my friend and …” he pauses, glancing away and trapping his bottom lip between his teeth before seemingly deciding what to say next.
With a deep breath in, he continues, “I have no issues with you engaging in sexual activity.” I’ve never felt such a guard rise between the two of us. Him considering my relationships and whether they’re a concern for him creates an unnatural tension that Damon doesn’t seem to notice. The only person who should be concerned about who I’m fucking is me. With my fingers tangling together in my lap, I gather my composure. I know his concern is only for my mental health. I know it, yet I struggle with him being involved at all with that part of my life. Zander is mine. It is irrelevant what anyone thinks of us and our relationship. He wants me and I want him. That is all that matters.
Damon’s voice, no longer droning, comes back into focus when he says, “I noticed an immediate change for the better when you two began your relationship. I spoke to Zander at length last night. He’s updated me on any essential information.”
My heart skitters knowing Damon spoke to him, but I haven’t. My cell phone sits on the coffee table and I hesitate before picking it up only to find that I still have no messages. To date, the only person to text me or call me on this ancient brick with no camera or apps has been Kam.
“Please know I only asked what was required professionally.”
“Hmm?”
“When I spoke to Zander,” he clarifies and I absently nod, not liking the knots that sit in my stomach. “There is no judgment from me.”
“It certainly feels like there’s judgment,” I comment, staring back at his umber gaze.
There’s a moment, a tick of time between us before Damon tells me, “My only concern was how quickly things changed.”
If only he knew how I slowly unraveled since the moment I first saw Zander. How I felt myself come undone for him before he ever touched me. I question confiding in him, so instead I remain silent.
“How do you feel right now?” he asks.
“Angry.” My response is immediate and my throat tightens with it.
“Angry … What size, would you say? A little irritated anger?”
“Enraged,” I answer, staring down at my hands.
“You don’t seem enraged,” Damon responds carefully, like he’s testing me.
A well of emotions dries out my throat even further. “Sad … scared.”
Damon nods as I answer. “And why’s that? What triggered those emotions?”
I put myself in this position. I’m in this place because of what I’ve done. Tears leak from my eyes and as I wipe them away, refusing to be overwhelmed by them, the back door opens.
Kam pauses when my eyes meet his. His black T-shirt and worn black jeans initiate a smart-ass side of me, as well as a piece still bitter from Kam’s betrayal. “Feeling down today?”
I don’t miss Damon’s ever-watchful gaze as I pull myself together and then stare up at Kam, who glances between Damon and myself.
“Are you?” Kam turns my question back at me. “Am I interrupting?” Kam asks Damon and I’m quick to answer, “No.”
I can’t look either of them in the eye.
“Just one minute if you don’t mind,” Damon says, then looks between the two of us and Kam nods, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks to the edge of the paved patio. With a deep inhale I let go of everything, every wave that threatened to drown me just a moment ago.
“A little homework?” Damon’s voice is gentle and low, far too soft for Kam to hear.
“Homework?” I offer him a smirk but then nod, closing my eyes and preparing for whatever it is that Damon wants.
“When you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable or like you’re losing control, like what happened just now,” he says without judgment, yet my eyes whip up to his, “I want you to ask yourself, what emotion is it? Take control of those emotions that make you uncomfortable. Because you long for that, don’t you? Control over those emotions?”
I can only nod. I don’t want them to control me. In this moment I know he understands. Damon understands. The moment he leans back in his seat, it’s like a spell has broken and Kam’s footsteps can be heard nearing us.
“Are you all right?” Kam’s question comes from a place of concern and I shrug.
“A wreck like always,” I tell him.
“You’re never a wreck.” Kam consoles me, taking the chair next to Damon and when Damon begins to stand, Kam asks him to stay.
“I came out to speak to you, really. With Ella’s consent.”
My brow knits and matches Damon’s confusion for a moment. “I want to make it clear that whatever it is Ella wants, whether The Firm stays, whether Zander continues to see her …” Kam’s gaze moves to me as he continues, “It’s her choice and I will back her up.”
Damon’s posture remains relaxed although his brow cocks and his head tilts. “Whatever she says?” he asks without amusement. I imagine the threat of extortion is riding through him and I feel bad for the man.
“Kam, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I was wrong and I’m going to make it up to you.”
Damon’s uncomfortableness is more than noticeable in his deep exhale.
Kam continues, “Whatever Ella decides to say, I saw and heard it as well.”
“You realize that’s not only a crime, it also could be detrimental to her healing.”
Kamden doesn’t flinch until Damon’s concern about my health is spoken.
The defensive tone comes with Kam shifting in his seat. “This is her life. Her decision.”
Damon’s careful with his response, his posture casual although I’m more than aware he’s a master of controlling his body language and speech. “We both want what’s best for Ella, and I imagine we won’t have any issues moving forward.”
“That all depends on—”
“Am I a bit fucked up?” I say, interrupting the men. “Yes.” It takes a lot for me to utter the next words. “Watching your husband die only feet from you could do that to someone.” Tears leak and I wipe them away. “Seeing the video of it repeatedly every time I turned to social media, having to talk about it constantly, having to beg people to stop … it got to be a little much, I’ll admit.” The words come out a whisper. Even now, as I sit here, I see it all over again.
The red light, his smile as he waved, leaving me to the paparazzi. He had the most charming smile. The stifling heat of that summer day weighs down on me and it comes with an anxiousness I can’t stop. The sound of the truck, the tires locking up, I hear it all, the screams from onlookers and then my scream. I feel the hands that held me back, those fingers digging into my skin now.
My voice is hoarse as I look each of them in the eye and say, “Am I a threat? To anyone? To myself? I don’t know but I don’t want to be, and I’m trying.”
Both of them part their lips to say something, to coddle me, to praise me … To admonish me, maybe. I have no idea, nor do I give a fuck.
“Is Zander bad for me? No. He’s not. So stop threatening to take him away. We’re adults. We know what we’re doing. Stay the fuck out of it.”
