Smiling at her invitation, I accept her offer, and agree, “Okay then. But I’m warning you now, I’ve been known to incinerate food beyond consumption.” I laugh at the memory of the first time Declan tried teaching me to make champagne chicken and I charred the meal. But that laughter is tainted. It’s bittersweet. My time with Declan back in Chicago held some of the best moments in my life, even though I was just an illusion of a better version of me.
“If I could teach my daughter how to cook, I can surely teach you,” she tells me as we stand.
Picking up my bags, I look over and tease, “But is her cooking any good?”
“She always made the best meals.”
“Made?” I question her use of the past tense.
“She left this world many years ago.”
“How did she die?” I question, knowing all too well the annoyance of the overused I’m sorry people give who clearly haven’t suffered a death filled with I’m sorry’s.
“It was a senseless act of violence, but that’s part of life, dear,” she says, attempting to downsize the ache, but her loss is seen in the gloss of the unshed tears of her eyes. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” she says and then walks out of the room.
Death is imminent—I know this all too well—but no matter how much we lose, no matter how numb we become, we always feel the pinprick of the vacancy. The parts of our soul that our loved ones take with them when they leave this world are forever left unfilled. They’re empty wounds that are always exposed and unable to heal.
As I make my way up to my room, I settle my things in and decide to keep myself busy to block out the thoughts that keep filtering in. Memories of this morning’s defilement. The vision of Declan when I looked at him, his villainous eyes, blackened in rage, keeps finding its way into my head. He was a riled beast, taking what he wanted, forcing his power on me.
Shaking the visions away, I quickly rush out of the room to find Isla for the much needed diversion. We spend the rest of the day in the kitchen, and I find myself enjoying my time with her. We cook, share a bottle of wine, and enjoy each other’s company, and I’m thankful for the distraction she’s able to provide me.
But it’s when I excuse myself for the evening and am lying in bed that it all immediately comes rushing back. Declan tying me up, spitting on my ass, smothering my face into the mattress, the pain of his intrusions, the sounds of his wild grunting. I shift in bed, heart pounding, and I feel the burn from his assault, and then it’s Carl I see in the darkened room. I can smell the stench of his cigarettes.
Lurching off the bed, I dash to the toilet and vomit. My stomach convulses in heaves as the acidic bile stings my throat, and when I gag, it fills my nose and burns like a bitch. My eyes prick hard with tears, and another bout of puke forces its way out of my gut as my body constricts and hurls over the toilet.
When there’s nothing left for my body to expel, I tire and scoot my back against the wall. I wipe the sheen of sweat from my forehead and take in slow breaths. My hands are jittery and my body is broken in a spell of cold sweats. Even if I wanted to shut myself down, I don’t think I’d be able to. I don’t think I’m strong enough to battle the skeletons I’ve spent my whole life hiding from. The skeletons that Declan awoke when he forced himself on me earlier today. Only one other person has made me feel that decrepit and filthy, and I burned him to his death. Never did I think Declan would haunt me the same way Carl used to.
WARMTH STIRS ME awake, and as I begin to move, I feel a weight on top of me. Opening my eyes, my body jumps when I see Declan holding himself above me.
“Shh, baby, it’s only me,” he whispers.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes pinch shut, and he lets go of a pained breath, saying, “I can’t do it. I can’t stay away from you.”
His words settle my heart, and I don’t question him because I need him. Reaching up, I run my hand along his stubbled jaw, and when he drops his head, my body warms in peace as his lips press softly into mine. I can’t control the moan that comes out of me, and I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, holding him close.
To have his taste back in my mouth soothes. The world lifts from my shoulders, and finally, I can breathe—really breathe. I don’t ever want this to end. I need this—need him.
As our bodies begin to move and writhe together, he reaches back and pulls his shirt off. Lowering himself on top of me, he threads his fingers through my hair, saying, “Forgive me for what I did to you earlier. Please forgive me and let me fix it. Let me attempt to take it away.”
I place my hand over his bare chest, and I can feel his heart crashing inside of him. I want to calm that heart just as much as he wants to erase what happened in his room, so I nod my head. That’s all it takes for him to start slowly undressing me. Slipping my clothes off, along with his, he covers us up under the sheets as our naked bodies rediscover one another.