“You’re delusional to think such a thing. Most of this world is shaped by evil. You’re ignorant to think differently.”
Stella instantly showed her hurt by my comment on her turned-down lips. Maybe it was my words, but I felt it was more so my delivery of the words. I came off cold more often than not, but I never felt bad about it. If people thought I was cold, it made it easier for them to want to stay away.
Correction: I used to never feel bad about it. Something about Stella’s emotional reactions made me almost feel… guilt. No. Not almost. I felt like a dick. She wore her feelings right on her face. I kept mine buried deep within my soul. She and I were so opposite in so many ways.
“What’s the reason that you’re so grumpy all the time?” she asked.
“There has to be a reason?”
“There’s always a reason.”
My mouth parted to respond, but I didn’t want to share the thoughts filling my head. I knew my reasons for being the way I was, but I had no desire to share those details with my wife.
My temporary wife—a woman I’d only be tied to for a few more months.
“I need to get back to work,” I said, the chill of my words almost making me cringe. I couldn’t help it, though. She had my mind going to dark places, and the last thing I wanted was for her to see me when the clouds darkened over my head.
“Who hurt you, Damian?” she whispered, her words soaked in concern.
“The world,” I replied without a second of thought.
I wished I would’ve thought that one out more because that seemed to be enough to break Stella’s delicate heart. I winced a bit from her look of worry. She stared at me as if I were an abandoned puppy, and she just wanted to take me in and cover me with comfort.
“Don’t do that,” I warned.
“Do what?”
“Care.”
“Can’t help it.” She gently rubbed her hand up and down her arm and shrugged. “It’s kind of what I do.”
“Well, go do it elsewhere. I’m—”
“Busy,” she cut in. “Yes. You’ve made that clear.”
I looked away from Stella because I couldn’t stand staring into her brown eyes. They almost always made me want to apologize for being the way I was.
She stood there for a moment, waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Truthfully, she made me uneasy. Something about her felt familiar even though I never allowed familiarity to be a part of my life. She smoothed her hands against her bare forearms and nodded once. “Okay, well, okay. Maybe we should talk and—”
I grimaced, feeling a knot in my stomach. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“For how I am?” It came out as a question even though it was meant to be a statement. I shook my head and brushed my thumb against my nose. “I’m sorry for making things uncomfortable. I, uh, I’m not used to living with people. I’m not used to biting my tongue. I’m not used to… this,” I said, gesturing around. “Interactions with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“A good person.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t come across many good people in your life, Damian.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not. But I understand. This whole situation is odd, so I get it.”
“It’s not just this situation,” I confessed. “I don’t do well.”
“With what?”
“Other humans.”
“Oh,” she said in understanding. “Well, people can be a bit overrated.”
“You love people.”
She laughed and shrugged. “For better or worse.”
The corner of my mouth twitched a little as I tried to pull my thoughts together. “I’ll do better, as I said with the vows. I’ll try to be better at not being the asshole that I am. I’m sorry I’m an asshole. I’m working on it. Just, please… Be patient with me.”
A softness found her brown eyes as she tilted her head to stare my way. Her mouth parted, and I traced the curves of her full, heart-shaped lips with my mind. It was amazingly easy for a human to set their stare on her and become fixated on her perfection. Stella looked like a piece of art that would be highlighted in the Louvre Museum.
Breathtaking.
Even when I was a dick toward her, a part of me noticed her remarkable existence. She didn’t know it, but sometimes it was hard simply being around her beauty.
“You’re not an asshole, Damian,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a kindness I wasn’t certain I deserved. “You just have asshole tendencies.”
I chuckled a little.
Her eyes lit up.
I stopped my laughter.
Her eyes dimmed.
“I wished that stayed longer,” she mentioned, speaking of my laughter.
I didn’t have enough nerve to tell her that I wished it had, too.
“I’ll let you get back to work, but please, Damian, truly,” she said as she walked away, “get a weekly massage. You’ll sleep better.”
“What makes you think I don’t sleep well?”
She smiled once, a very knowing smile, and then went on her way.
After she left the space, the room felt darker.
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps darkness did have a way of following me around.
11
Damian
* * *
I started my morning with a workout in the gym on the property. Lifting heavy shit and dropping it was one of my favorite pastimes. Some people went to therapy—others went to the gym. I was the latter.
After my workout, I usually showered and then went to prepare breakfast, but on my last set of deadlifts, the doorbell rang, making me grumble with annoyance. I headed to the foyer and opened the door to find an older woman standing there with huge photo albums in her hands. I knew her, well, I didn’t know her, but I’d seen her at the funeral and when she did the wedding ceremony. She lived in the guesthouse on the property.
She had a head full of gray hair and wore a flowy hippie-type dress with white platform sandals. Even with the inches on the shoes, she only stood about five-foot-six. She was a tiny woman, but her energy felt larger than most.
“Hi there.” She smiled. “Even though I married you to Stella, we haven’t officially met and held a conversation. I wanted to give you time to settle in. I’m Maple, Stella’s grandmother—by heart, not blood.”
“She’s not here,” I commented.
“I know, it’s Saturday. She’s in town taking an art class. Can I come in?” Maple asked. Kind of asked, I should say. Come to think of it, it wasn’t a question at all as she pushed her way through the door. “Did you just finish your workout?” she asked, making herself extremely comfortable in said house.
“I wasn’t quite done yet,” I lied.
“Does lying come easy to you?” she asked, moving toward the dining room. She set her basket down on the table as I followed her. She turned my way and placed her hands against her hips. “Or does it make you feel a bit dirty?”