Page 54 of Saviour
And I make a decision that this right here, this man, is the moment I will live the rest of my life for.
Another month passes. Another month of making love with Dax. Another month with no sign of King and Puck. Another month of me betraying Dax. I know I haven’t done much to stop Dax from finding King. I mean, how could I have stopped him? But knowing I’ve been going behind his back the past five months, knowing why I’m even here in the first place, is eating at me. Every day Dax tells me he loves me. When we wake up, when we’re eating breakfast, at the gym, before sleep. Multiple times a day like a secret he just can’t keep hidden.
Me? I haven’t repeated it back since the first time I said it.
And I know that makes me an awful human when I have this incredible man declaring his love for me day in and day out, but I can’t bring myself to say it.
He’s been so fucking perfect with me. He ran out to get a morning after pill after the first night and then he talked to me about my options, then set me up on birth control so he could keep going in bare. I couldn’t ask for a more respectful and incredible man.
But the doubt creeps in and slowly thaws at my skin like an irritating itch every time I go to open my mouth.
You don’t love him. You’re in a deal with his uncle.
You don’t love him. You tried to stop him from finding his cousin.
You can’t love him. You’re a fake. Your entire existence here is because you’re a fraud.
Distract Dax, well, that worked, didn’t it? I’ve distracted him so much that when I leave, it’ll break his heart.
And mine.
I slip out of bed when Dax finally rolls over and detaches himself from my body. I’ve learnt where to stand so the floorboards don't squeak and how to open and shut the door carefully without creating any noise. For weeks I’ve been sneaking out to go to the gym and sweat it out.
My head has been silent for so long when things started to go well with Dax. Now it’s a constant headache, loud and ear-splitting, my thoughts turning me crazy.
Left, right, hook, hook, up, up. All day, every day.
I chant it like a mantra in my head to keep me coping.
I feel like I’m suffocating in my own secrets and I can’t do it any longer.
I get to the gym and stuff my hands into the boxing gloves I always use and without wasting any time, I hit and kick at the punching bag until my arms are tired. And then I keep going until I can’t lift them anymore.
I collapse in front of the mirror wall, watching the sweat drip down my forehead, my plaits sticking to my neck. The more I look, the more my reflection curses me. It shakes her head, spits at me, swears at me and my behaviour. Like a demon trying to break free, trying to get away from this person I’ve become.
I scream at her, the girl in the mirror. I shout and hit and finally, I yank on my braids, pulling the elastic bands out and throwing it across the room. With rough fingers, I rip apart the three strands of hair in each plait, messily undoing my hair. When I finish with one, I do the same to the other until my plaits are gone and I scrunch up the hair on my scalp, pull at the roots, and I don’t stop screaming until I end up curled on the floor in a ball, the tears falling fast but silently.
I take big gulps of air, trying to catch my breath until I’m breathing normally again and my tears have dried up on my face. I hold my head in my hands, making myself as small as possible, refusing to look at that girl in the mirror.
I must’ve fallen asleep because when the door slams open, my eyes fly open along with it and the daylight streaming through the windows confuses me.
“Rori,” Dax half shouts, rushing over to me, and I try not to flinch because this man has done nothing to deserve that. “Rori, fuck, what’s wrong, what happened?”
He helps me sit up and I finally look at myself in the mirror with a blank expression as I take in my appearance.
My face is red and blotchy, eyes swollen with dried tears on my cheeks. My hair is an absolute mess, the worst it’s been in my entire life and already I’m cringing from the untidiness, my hands twitching to put it back into plaits. Silver strands of hair stick out in different directions and splay all over my shoulders and breasts. My arms still hurt from the workout last night, and maybe even the excessive hitting and pulling I was doing to myself.
Dax kneels down in front of me, a hand stroking my cheek, wiping away a couple of fresh stray tears.
“Rori, what happened?” he asks again softly.
I look into his eyes, full of concern and sorrow, but even behind all of that I can see the love shining through his brown irises. And it makes my stomach churn.
“Nothing really,” I reply softly, my voice small as it escapes my sore throat from screaming. I clear my throat, wincing a little at the scratch, and then give Dax a piss-poor attempt at a smile.
“Rori,” he says again. “Birdie.” And my heart cracks.
I can’t do this anymore. Not this way, and if Maxwell is the consequence, then it’s a decision I have to make, but I can’t do this behind his back anymore.
