by Tempest Phan
I looked at him, devastated by his words. I’d never meant to hurt him. Never. To know that he was feeling this horrifying self-disgust, all because of me . . .
“Lukas, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
I was now just a few inches away from him.
I reached out and gently ran my fingers down his cheek.
He laughed, an awful, hollow sound, pulling his face away, denying my touch. “I sat here and poured my heart out to you, and you know what? You still haven’t bloody said it.”
I looked at him, confusion likely evident on my face. “Lukas, I don’t understand. What do you mean? What do you want?”
“You can’t say it, can you now.”
I frowned, still not understanding.
“You’ve never said that you loved me. Never once in our two years together. Not once.”
I started to say something, but he held a finger to my lips. “Don’t. Don’t say a word. Respect me enough not to lie to me, love.”
I moved, but he held a hand up, silencing me, “You want to know what I want?” He laughed, a dark, terrible sound. “Here’s what I want then. I desperately want for my touch to feel as shatteringly good for you as it does for me. And I stand here thinking that perhaps it doesn’t because you were always dreaming of him while fucking me. Did you dream of him while fucking me? Never mind. I don’t want to hear your answer. I’ve seen you with him.” His voice turned a shade darker, “I know.” He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. When he looked at me, I saw the devastation festering in their turbulent depths. He shook his head and stood up, towering over me.
“Even now, you’re thinking of him, wishing it were him, not me. I’ve always seen it in your eyes. You’ll continue breaking my heart. And I’ll continue letting you. I knew the moment I met you that I wouldn’t come out of this unscathed.”
And he turned away, staring out the windowed walls overlooking the city.
“Lukas. I’m not asking you to forget. Please, forgive me. But if you can’t, then it’s no use.”
I stepped behind him, placing a hand on his back. I could feel the tension in his muscles.
Still, he refused to look at me. “I’ve forgiven you, love. But it is no use. I can see that you’re not over him. I’ll make my peace with it. For however long you decide to stay. But I’m not a fool. Or perhaps I am the greatest fool. You’re only here because he won’t have you, whether you admit it to yourself or not.”
As he spoke, I recognized the truth in his words. I had buried my love for Damien, but it would always be there, a ghost of all of my yesterdays. Always.
“I know this doesn’t fix it, Lukas, but I wasn’t with Damien these last two years. We had one night. Just one.”
He glanced down at me and his eyes shattered, but I could not tell whether it was from relief or anger.
My heart clenched again. I cared deeply for this man. An emotion unlike the soul-affirming but complicated tempest Damien and I shared. What I felt for Damien, I couldn’t put into words. It was a part of me, always present. Damien held half—no, was half of my soul. And when we were apart, it felt as if my soul had been torn in two, a devastating maelstrom of emotions and absence. How could I ever let him go?
But what I felt for Lukas? That I could understand. It was simple, and it was pleasant. I’d fought everything else. Damien’s rejections. My father’s expectations. Maybe I was tired of fighting the wrong things. Maybe simple and pleasant would be enough.
“Lukas, you’re right . . . I can’t lie to you. You deserve better than that. But I care. I care deeply, and maybe I can make this right.”
He didn’t respond. Minutes slid by coated in silence. He did not turn back to look at me. He stood there, looking out the window, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his back rigid.
And then, he finally whispered, “Fuck my life.”
I didn’t know what to think, what else to say. I took it as my cue that it was over. I sighed softly and turned to leave when he suddenly spun around again.
Our eyes met, and my heart ached at the anguish I saw in his steel eyes. But he smirked in that cocky way of his, and said simply, “Right, then.”
***
Bella
Lukas and I were three months into our reconciliation, settled into an easy rhythm in his little bungalow by the sea. He forgave me my trespass when I’d first abandoned him. Of course he did. That’s who he was. He only brought it up once, when he softly asked, “When we met, you said I was your second. Was he the third to ever touch you?” His voice told me he already knew the answer, knew that Dame—my first—had been the other man all along, that there had been no one else. That unknowingly—or perhaps, somehow, he might have always known?—he’d been competing against my best friend.
And then, in a broken whisper, so soft, so fragile that I thought I’d imagined it, “The worst was when you screamed out his name.”
He never brought it up again after that. I wished he had. The guilt ate at me. How he could forgive me so easily when I certainly didn’t deserve such faith, when I still felt like I was cheating him out of his own happily ever after. Because how could I be the great love of his life, when he wasn’t mine?
I broached the subject of the Davenport, Stone, & Ellis merger again, wanting to clear my conscience. He simply cut me off. “Frankly, I don’t give a bloody fuck about the merger, or your motivation, love.”
There was no absolution. I carried the guilt with me, as Damien still haunted me, still held a piece of me, no matter how much I tried to forget.
I tried. I tried every single day to push Damien from my mind, even if he remained the first image in my mind’s eye when I awoke, the last when I fell asleep. He was forever woven through my heart with titanium thread.
And I know it must have been my mind playing tricks on me, but there were days I could actually feel him next to me. Days when I felt his pain, raw and sharp and black as night. I felt it to my core and knew that he must be hurting, alone, in his dark somewhere. Those days were the hardest because I wasn’t there. Wasn’t wanted there. And so I kept it all in and tried to live as best I could.
“Good morning, love,” Lukas said as he kissed me.
I opened my eyes and saw him hovering above me, fully dressed in a T-shirt and designer jeans.
“Wakey wakey, darling,” he said again, a sparkle in his grey eyes.
“Hello Lukas,” I whispered to him, my voice still dripping with sleep.
“While I’d much rather get back under the covers and greet you properly . . . if you know what I mean,” he wiggled his eyebrows, making me laugh, “let’s get you out of that bed. We have a plane to catch.”
I looked at him quizzically, not quite understanding.
“Come on, lazy bum. Up, up,” he said as he reached out to take me into his arms, his fingers lingering on my waist, my hips.
Once we finally left the house, he remained completely elusive about our destination, simply acknowledging that we were flying out. However, instead of heading to the departure gates, the chauffeur drove us right onto the tarmac, next to a Boeing 737. The door opened and I stepped out.
“What is this?” I asked Lukas.
“Our plane. Did you think I would fly you public?”
I laughed. “This is insane! Even my father doesn’t fly private! Did you charter this?”
He shrugged.
“You mean you own this plane?”
He smirked at me. “My mother did. And therefore, I do now.”
I gasped. “I hadn’t realized . . .”
“It isn’t something I’m proud of. The fact that my aristocratic family is indecently, obscenely, repulsively wealthy, and has been so for centuries, without doing a damn thing to earn it.”
I reached out and gently touched his face. “That’s not true, Lukas. You’ve earned every single thing you have.”
He did not respond, his mouth slashing into a thin line. We boarded the plane and were greeted by the ca
ptain, his lieutenant, and a flight attendant, all inclining their heads in a greeting as I walked by.
The plane was lushly carpeted with wooden paneling throughout. A plush cream sofa and armchairs a shade lighter than the carpeting occupied the center of the cabin. Lukas took my hand and led me to the back of the plane where I now noticed a door. He slid it open. In front of me was a bedroom, furnished with a large bed that looked ready to swallow me whole. I glanced at Lukas. He simply raised an eyebrow at me. I laughed and threw myself down, bouncing back up slightly. I stretched out on the bed, arms flung wide to each side.
“Aren’t you exhausted after last night?”
“No idea what you’re talking about, love,” he responded, as he took off his blazer and pulled his tee over his head before coming down on the bed, framing my head with his arms, his body against mine. “None at all.”
I laughed. “Aren’t you ever satisfied?”
“Satisfied of shagging? Hmmm?” he murmured against my skin, his lips dripping whispers of kisses along my jawline. “Or rather, of fucking you, yeah? No. I cannot get enough of you, love. I can never get enough. I want to fuck him out of you.” His voice was dark, matching the hunger in his eyes, while his hands dipped into my waistband.
“Lukas . . .” was my only response as he peeled my jeans off me and threw them to the ground. But it was not him, never him, that my treacherous mind, my treacherous heart, saw. The blond hair and grey eyes always gave way to black and blue, like our battered hearts.
Lukas shut his eyes, swearing under his breath.
While he’d been touching me, I’d imagined Damien, and fucking his memories out of my heart was a near impossibility.
And he knew. Lukas knew.
***
Flying a private plane had many advantages, not the least of which was the absurd level of comfort. And just like that, nine hours literally and figuratively flew by, and the captain’s voice rang out, alerting us that landing was imminent.
I leaned against the window and saw nothing but azure water lapping over golden sand. When we began our descent and rolled to a stop, I saw the welcome sign on the side of the small airport.
“Bermuda?” I laughed as I looked at Lukas.
He nuzzled my ear. “Glad you like the surprise, love.”
He grabbed my hand and helped me into the waiting limo. We drove off. Palm trees were swaying gently in the breeze, and I could see the ocean for miles around. The skies were of the clearest blue I’d ever seen. They reminded me of Damien’s eyes, and that’s the memory I took with me, later, as I laid down to rest, only to fall into a deep sleep.
When I finally awoke from my nap, I looked up to find Lukas sitting in the armchair directly across from me, by the open terrace. He was looking at me, his eyes somber but otherwise unreadable.
“Hi, sweetie,” I called out gently.
“Hello,” he replied, just as softly.
“How long was I out?”
“A couple of hours.” He smiled, but his face seemed strained.
“You’ve been sitting there the whole time?”
He shrugged. “More or less.” He ran a hand through his hair, turning to glance out the open windows. He seemed distant, guarded.
“You ok, Lukas?” I asked as I peeled the blanket off me and jumped lightly off the bed.
He smiled his little lopsided grin, his eyes still inscrutable, before stretching languorously. His shirt hiked up to show the hard planes of his stomach. I stared, not realizing I was.
“Like what you see, love?” he said, his crooked smile widening, taking me suddenly back to our first meeting, all those years ago.
“Yes.” A small smile tugged at my own lips.
“Get dressed. Let’s go.”
I looked up at him, surprised. Knowing his insatiable appetites, I’d expected a different kind of meal, followed by room service, but didn’t say a word.
After I’d thrown on a white, chiffony coverup over a plain black bikini, Lukas linked his fingers with mine, and we walked out to our private beach. Illuminated strands of lights decorated the palm trees by the table on our patio. In the sand were dozens of tea light candles in the shape of a heart.
My heart began to beat furiously in my chest as realization slowly dawned on me.
This was why he’d appeared so off.
Lukas, still holding my hand, walked closer to the candles, before dropping down on one knee. I could see the candles, the fairy lights reflected in his eyes, the play of flame and shadows across the sculpted planes of his gorgeous face, his shirt. With his free hand, he took out a small, square box from his pants pocket.
Slowly, as if in a dream, he said softly, “Bella, from the first moment I saw you, I lost my heart. And I’m bloody certain I will never get it back because it has always belonged to you.” Still on bended knee, he let go of my trembling hand, and opened up the box. In its velvet folds was a ring, its sizeable princess cut diamond reflecting all of the lights around us.
“I love you and cannot imagine my life without you, sweetheart. I want to dance with you, and only you, for all my years to come . . . Miss Mirabella Mei Grace Davenport, will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”
I looked at Lukas, at this man I cared so deeply about, but couldn’t force my heart to love. I looked into his stormy greys, surrounded by the gorgeous illuminations and the soft roar of the ocean.
And all I could think of were a string of fairy lights at a quiet lake, white balloons tied to a tree, a silly silver trinket with I love you reflected in a hundred languages. And a soft, dark voice of shadows and whispers telling me he’d always love me.
For You.
My heart began to rend again in my chest.
Lukas looked at me, his grey eyes breaking beneath the surface. “Love?” he said softly in a voice that knew, knew that my whole heart couldn’t possibly be all in, or in at all.
This was the path, the destination my father had meant for me all along, and yet…
“Lukas, are you sure? What if I’m stealing your happily ever after? What if I’m keeping you from—”
“Bella,” he interrupted, his voice a steel whisper as tears began pooling in my eyes, “Bella love. It’s ok, I can love enough for the both of us . . .”
My heart shattered in my chest, and I felt the tiny shards floating through my veins. I stared into his eyes and knew. I smiled through my tears and threw my arms around his neck.
Davenport, Stone, & Ellis, sealed and delivered.
“Yes, Lukas,” I murmured against his ear, feeling the tension roll off his strong frame. He wrapped me in his arms and stood up, kissing me for the whole world to see, as my heart stood still. I was his. He was mine. And so it was.
Goodbye, my Damien James.
Damien
After I’d reached out, Saint arrived in Seattle within a matter of hours. With his help, I checked into a world-renown rehab facility. My Tell-Tale Heart agreed to postpone the tour, with Crash commenting in his smartass way, “I guess we’ve really made it. All of this tour cancelation shit, that’s the pinnacle of fame, ain’t it, now? I suppose we need to trash our hotel rooms next?”
Our management and label weren’t thrilled, but like Crash said, we could do whatever the fuck we wanted these days. And the boys, instead of getting rightfully pissy at me, didn’t even fly home to L.A. Instead, they’d stuck it out in this goddamn forsaken, rainy city with me, not at all trashing their rooms. Because they weren’t those kinds of assholes.
They stuck around while I spent the next three months detoxing from the last few years of alcohol- and drug-fueled binges. But more profoundly, detoxing from a lifetime of hidden, untreated pain that I’d nurtured and given room to grow and suffocate me like poisonous vines, multiplying unchecked.
I forced myself to go to therapy, knew that this would be my reality for life, if I truly intended on being well. In therapy, I was forced to face myself. Forced to face my demons. Every. Single. Fucking. On
e. Of. Them.
And they were massive. And they were ugly.
Three months of rehab and here I was now, sitting in front of my baby sister’s grave, a grave I had never, ever visited since we’d put her broken body in the cold, hard ground that dark fall day when we were seven.
“Emily,” I said softly.
Nothing.
I laughed bitterly. Of course, nothing. Was I expecting she’d show up?
“Emily, baby girl. I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know what to say, where to start.” I looked at the marker on the ground, ran trembling fingers over the name etched in the stone, darkened by the elements and the passing years. “Em, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop it. I ran after him when he took you. But I wasn’t fast or strong enough. And I’m sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me.”
And I released all the guilt that had painted my life black, forgiving myself because she was no longer here to do so. But I knew, I knew now that this would be what she would do, too, were she here.
She’d forgive.
She’d tell me that, in fact, there was nothing to forgive.
How could there be?
We were seven.
She wasn’t mine to look after.
I sat there. The day slowly turned to dusk. A light, cleansing rain began to fall from the skies. My heart still felt heavy, but, somehow, my soul almost no longer did. A path to some sliver of absolution had opened.
