Page 16 of Fragile Twisted Vows
“Is she kicking you out?” I ask, my head tilted at her as I eye her shaking body that’s clad in that cheap, disgusting outfit.
“Not entirely. She’s moving in two weeks. Got engaged. I don’t have enough time or money to get my own place. I’ve been busy paying off my student loans and hospital bills.” She sniffles, wiping her tears away.
“So…you’re homeless,” I say, and her head snaps up in my direction, anger fuming in her bright eyes.
“Jesus, Damien. Do I need to spell it out for you?” she growls, and I narrow my eyes at her, shooting her an evil glare so that she backs down.
Which she does. She snaps her mouth shut and submits quickly.
Good girl.
“Sounds to me like this is the perfect time for your own engagement then, huh?” I ask, a smirk lifting the corner of my mouth as she glares at me.
I walk towards her then, keeping some distance in case she decides to pull the sick card and throw up all over the rest of my suit.
“Sounds to me like you need a warm bed. A place you don’t have to pay for. So you can go to school. So you can build your life again. Without your family or friends’ involvement,” I say, trying to bargain with her, but she doesn’t take the bait.
“It’s not that simple. I know you won’t make it that simple,” she breathes, and I shake my head at her and click my tongue.
“Ah, but you don’t. You barely know me Lucille. You were just a girl when you met me. You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of,” I say, my words sounding more like a threat as I speak.
I’m a heartless bastard and she knows it, but she doesn’t cower.
“Like beating a man black and blue in a college campus alleyway?” she whispers and when she mentions that night again, my anger rises.
Something inside of me tries to surface, but I shove it right back down.
“We’re not talking about that night,” I bite, and she shakes her head at me with a scoff.
“But why? Why do you refuse to address or acknowledge it-”
“Enough!” I shout, that darkness swirling in me like a tornado.
She quiets instantly.
I sigh and look at the ceiling, trying to shove the memories down.
Her lying there in the alleyway, her clothes torn as her numb eyes stared at the night sky. That sick, drunken frat boy zipping his pants up before I grabbed him and slammed him against the dumpster. Megan screaming for me to stop instead of rushing to her sister’s side.
Megan walking away when I wouldn’t stop beating him.
Lucille was all alone on the ground while I beat a man to death and her family left her alone. Nobody helped her. Nobody cared. I was the one that drove her to the hospital. And then, I left her too. I never once checked on her while she was there.
I don’t have time to think about this now.
I can’t.
“How do you think this could actually work, Damien? If they’ve been worried about your…activity, then why do you think I could stall them?” she asks, shattering those memories so I can grab them and shove them into that place I refuse to visit.
I look at her, her eyes so filled with defeat and uncertainty.
Has anyone shown this girl compassion? Has anyone cut her some slack or held her when she needed it?
No.
Which makes her more like me than I care to admit.
Which is why I am not the one to give her those things.
