Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 14: The Chessboard

DAMON

I do not enjoy surprises. I pride myself on anticipating reactions. Moves. Like a chessboard. Think three steps ahead. I knew Emery wouldn't be pleased that I shut down Lux. I knew that my request for a private dance would be ignored. But I didn't know that the emotion dancing across her pale face would stab me in the chest with such guilt. I thought she'd be angry. I don't mind making her angry. Anger vibrates on a similar frequency as the emotion I'll eventually conjure within her. But she's not angry.

Her beautiful green eyes gloss over with a sea of sadness, the glistening effect making them shine bright like a halo on an angel. But there's nothing ethereal about the way she stands before me, lifeless and weak. Like a ghost who has no one to haunt. Like a phantom with no purpose. Like a spirit with no soul. Her green eyes briefly turn a familiar shade of blue, and my heart races with agonizing regret as she runs off the stage.

"Emery!" I bolt out of my seat, cursing myself for such a foolish move. I refuse to have her look at me like that. I've seen that look before. I've suffered the consequences of that look. Not again. Never again. "Emery, wait! Stop!"

"Such a bastard," she mumbles, voice trembling with emotion. She scoops up her bags off the floor, dashing to the back exit.

"Emery, please, stop." The last time I sounded this desperate, I learned that begging was useless. She swings open the door and I chase after her, like some sick fuck who isn't capable of learning from the past. Like some masochist who enjoys reliving devastating history. "Emery!"

"What?!" She spins around, teeth gritted as tears spill down her cheek. Like a helpless ocean. Like the sea when the moon conspires with the sky to betray its tides, and the earth then suffers. I'm the moon. And my thoughtless actions are the sky. "You—"

Suddenly, she gasps, holding her hand to her chest as her knees buckle and she drops to the ground. I lurch toward, trepidation seizing my organs, panic spreading through my veins.

"Emery!" I kneel down beside her as her short breaths create clouds of concern in the frosty night air. With a gentle hand on her back, I ask, afraid to hear the answer, "Are you okay?"

With both arms crossed across her chest, her head hung low, she breathes out, like a prayer, "My bag. I need my bag." Unable to allow myself to be out of her reach, I stretch across the parking lot, looping the handle of her purse around my finger and tugging it toward me. "Blue," she whispers, breaths ragged and weak. "Blue ones."

I frown, opening her purse. A jumbled rainbow of prescription bottles fills up half her bag. My mind races with questions. I force myself to ignore them. Fumbling around, I find a bottle with a blue sticker on it, refusing to read the name of the medication as I twist open the cap and pull out a pill.

"Do you need water—"

Emery pops the pills into her mouth, swallowing it as if it were air. Her stiff shoulders gradually loosen as I carefully watch her start to relax, her breathing returning to normal, her terrified eyes opening. Her hand remains on her chest as lifts her head up, her glossy gaze meeting mine.

"Thank you—" She reins in a shameful cringe but I see it. "You can leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, afraid to move, to touch her, like she'll break upon impact. "Are you okay?"

"You've seen the contents of my bag, Damon," she says listlessly, swallowing as she shakes her head. "Does that look okay to you?" Hesitantly, she attempts to stand up. My arm is around her waist before she can protest. She doesn't. She allows me to help her to her feet. And I'm grateful. "I'm fine now. You can let go."