Instead of addressing her comment, I stormed away, heading down into the basement. By the time I hit the tunnel, I was in a sprint, trying to run from the emotions wrestling for dominance. The trap door to the garage nearly peeled away from the hinges when I slammed it open and I climbed into the garage, with my chest heaving.
I let out a roar and picked up the closest thing, a socket wrench, and whipped it across the garage. The clang of metal on concrete just fueled my rage. A crow bar was next, but this time I turned, swinging it like I was hitting a grand slam. When the curved edge struck the side of my Ford 150, the satisfying give of metal reverberated up the shaft and into my arms. I didn’t stop there. Twenty-five hundred years of fury blew and I beat the truck over and over and over, ignoring the shatter of glass and creak of metal until my arms were too tired to swing anymore.
I stumbled back into the wall, letting the crow bar fall to the floor before I sank to the ground. I folded my arms on my knees and rested my head against them before the sobs overtook me. The rips coming from my chest echoed in the garage, sounding more like an animal than a human.
I don’t know how long I sat there sobbing, time just seemed to fold in on itself and it wasn’t until her hand touched the back of my head that I became aware of more than just myself. The soft caress of her fingers through my hair silenced me, but they didn’t stop the tears and I didn’t look up. Shards of glass and metal sprinkled the floor within my vision and I chose to focus on the prisms of light each piece represented through the sheen of my tears.
Her soft coo repeated in time with her fingers and when I raised my head and met her gaze, her bloodshot eyes told me I wasn’t the only one experiencing this profound sadness. In silence, I pulled her into my arms and just held her, looking beyond her at the annihilated vehicle.
When I finally let her go, she turned and looked at my destruction.
“At least it wasn’t the Aston-Martin,” she said, and I felt the smile surface.
“Luckily, it wasn’t the closest vehicle to the opening,” I said, my voice raw from my outburst.
“Feel better now?” Naomi asked and wiped my cheeks.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, before climbing to my feet and helping her up. I didn’t quite know how to answer that question, because, while the fury was gone, a fire still burned in the middle of my chest.
“I’m not going to destroy anything else.” I crossed to the closet and pulled out the broom, taking my time cleaning up the mess I made. Naomi took a seat on one of the stools lining my workbench and her eyes tracked my movement.
“Imagine if I still had my vampire strength?” I said as I scooped up the first of many debris-filled dustpans and dumped it into the garbage bin.
Her quick laugh echoed and I met her gaze.
“No, I can’t imagine,” Naomi said, her eyes still glistening with a sheen of tears. “You ready to talk?”
What was it with women and talking? I stopped mid-sweep and stared at her, weighing my reaction. “There really isn’t anything to discuss,” I said.
Her eyebrows curved and her gaze dropped to the remaining pieces of the car. It was her I-beg-to-differ look and I ignored it, returning to my task of cleaning up the mess I created.
She huffed and jumped off the chair, heading for the exit.
“Naomi,” I said a little too sharply and she spun.
“What?”
“I’m trying,” I started, and leaned my forehead on the broomstick, pushing the flood waters back down into the well of my soul. “I just need to figure out what the hell is going on inside me before I’ll be able to articulate it, okay?”
Her silence brought my gaze from the floor to her face. She gave me a strained smile and nodded before leaving me to finish what I started.
Chapter 5 - Damian
I found Naomi in our bedroom curled up on the bed with a throw blanket covering her. I leaned against the doorjamb, crossing my arms and contemplated whether to interrupt her sleep or not. Her soft snore permeated through the fringe of the blanket and I sighed, stepping out of the room. She needed rest and I had a phone call to make.
My stomach growled and I diverted from the table to the refrigerator, opening it and scanning the contents. Nothing appealed to me and I closed the door, stepping back to the table and my cell phone.
The thought of calling Valerie’s uncle left my chest tight, and I opted for calling the hospital to find out how she was instead.
“Charlotte Hungerford Hospital, how may I help you?”
“I understand my cousin was brought into the emergency room earlier today,” I started. “The last information I was given was that she was in surgery. Can you tell me what her status is now?”
“What is her name?”
“Valerie Denongalis,” I said and waited while the person on the other end of the phone entered the information.
“According to the notes, she was flown by Life Star to Hartford Hospital.”