Guts Over Fear

Chptr 1

She took the keys out of the ignition, cutting out the car, and jumped out. The butler, Albert, tried to take her bag from the boot, but she had it slung over her left shoulder before he could even blink. She made her way up the steps and through the front door. Upon entering the lobby she heard murmurs from people in the dinning room.

Albert walked up behind her and cleared his throat gently, "You can go in. Although it will be a surprise that you are here." The kind voice of the elderly man that raised her voiced out.

"Yeah, well," she sighed in exasperation and boredom, "the divorce is going through the courts this week and my presence is mandatory." she waved off.

Albert was in shock. The happy, cheerful child he took in as his own was gone and standing in her place was a cold and uncaring young woman. Gone was her waist- length hair and friendly, kind eyes. They were now blank and void of any emotion. He also noticed how, although being right- handed, she was using her left side more, her left hand supporting her right rib- cage.

But instead of voicing this- deciding she would tell him when she wanted to- he nodded and led her into the room full of guests holding champagne and engaging in meaningless small talk. He cleared his throat and announced her arrival. Upon doing so, two things happened. Her mother- Mrs. Patricia Chambers- wailed like a new born smacked on the foot and Damon King's head snapped to where Dalia was standing, so quickly it looked almost painful.

Dalia however couldn't have cared any less.

"My room?" She asked, "Is it still there? Or did he turn it into his mistress' quarters?" She asked aloud, pointing at her father, Mr. Brandon Chambers.

Murmurs began to fill the room and she watched as her father's face twisted in rage, "Hey, it's not like it wasn't public knowledge anyway." And that being said and enough chaos being made that she knew she wouldn't be disturbed for the length of her stay due to PR meetings, she made her way to her childhood bedroom, flung her bag on her bed and was about to start changing when her door flew open.

"A divorce? Really Dalia? A God- forsaken divorce. You leave without a single trace and the only thing that tells me you're alive are divorce papers that you send me? How did you think that I'd just let you leave like that?" Damon's eyes burned with anger but she merely shrugged.

"I didn't ask your permission to leave." The burning in her arm intensifying as she used it, the bullet wound re-opening and the blood soaking through her shirt. Not once did she wince. That's what they had the most fun with. Getting her to wince and cry like a little bitch. "I made a choice and I stuck to it. Now leave," She replied monotonously, "I need to change, I'll see you in court."

Damon knew in that moment that he'd fucked up all those years ago. More than he could ever imagine. He loved that woman. He hadn't shown it when it counted, but deep down he knew he had. And now he was losing her, he was losing the vows they took, the love that she gave him and the love he felt for her in return. All to a shitty piece of paper signed by a guy who went to college a few years longer than average.

He knew he had lost her when he came home and her belongings were gone. He knew he fucked up when she left no note, when she didn't want to be found. And he especially knew he had fucked up when the divorce papers came through the letter box six months after her departure. However, he knew she was alive, he knew she was safe and that eased the constant stream of nightmares of her laying face down in a ditch.

Little did he know how close Dalia actually came to death in those three years previous. The smell of gun powder still filled her nose, as did the sound of gun fire in her ears, the screaming, her crying, the cursing, all still in her head as if she was back there. The image of her friends laying face- down and bleeding on the dirty ground running through her mind. The pain in her ribs intensified as she gripped harder, her knuckles turning white as she tried to overcome this panic attack.

From the other side of the door Damon could hear her harsh, laboured breathing. He thought it had come from facing him, the man that made her this cold person, after so long but the hard thud on the floor soon told him otherwise. He ran through the door and saw her unconscious on the floor, blood starting to pool around her. Gently he lifted her shirt and saw a small, bleeding hole just under her third rib.

A bullet hole?