Shouldn’t Have Gone

by Mara Lynne

  Ray’s reflection pops in the glass case that held a rare leather-bound seventeenth century book. Dilapidated as it looks, it took Angel half a year to restore it and investigate its history. She found out that the book was nearly destroyed in a fire during a civil war in France and found its way in an English war ship a few days later. Not even the front cover was saved by Angel’s efforts. It was too burnt that its writings are almost unreadable. She wanted to know more about it, baffled by how it found its way here.

  It couldn’t just be pure coincidence, could it?

  “That’s all for tonight, I guess,” Ray speaks up. “No one will ever try to steal all these books, Angel. You don’t have to keep an eye on them the entire night.”

  She heaves a sigh. “You go ahead, Ray. I’ll stay for a little while.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” Her gaze drifts to Ray’s reflection.

  “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ray says, turning on his heels to leave.

  She stares at herself in the glass. She’s got loads of stuff in her head that needs to be answered, and she knows the torment will end tonight.

  Hopefully.

  “I knew I wasn’t wrong,” she finally speaks up after a long silence.

  Slowly, a silhouette appears on the same glass she’s looking into for the longest time.

  “When I sent that invitation, I kind of knew who I’d be sending it,” she adds. “It’s just that I was not certain if you’d come or not.”

  It’s not a woman, and she knew that. She just wanted to make herself believe he was a she to avoid disappointment.

  “You knew all along.” He steps out of the darkness and closer to her, allowing his image to be seen.

  Standing tall, he carried his broad shoulders with pride, emphasizing his sharp features. Damien Etheridge is as attractive as he was a few years ago. His gray, brooding eyes are as conversing and as telling as ever.

  “I couldn’t think of anyone else,” she says with a light smile on her lips as she is reminded of his humungous library where he stores all his precious books. “I wanted to return all of them.” Slowly, she turns on her heels to face him. “But I had doubts.”

  “Doubts?”

  “It’s not just your style, Damien.”

  A smile cracks on his face. “Not my style? What is my style, then, Angel?”

  Angel tilts her head sideways as though she is thinking of the best answer.

  “Now that you’ve asked, I think this is very much your style,” she tells him.

  “I thought they’d be well taken care in your hands,” he says. “Books are meant to be seen and read, not locked up somewhere else. They don’t belong to my library. They belong to where you take them.”

  “So, you’re not here to take them back then?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be the bad guy again.” His eyes meet hers after a long deafening silence.

  Angel, feeling a sudden growing discomfort, chooses to turn her back from him and faces the view of the city outside. The city lights look tiny from above, but they flicker intensely as the rain starts to pour.

  She hears his footsteps nearing, and by the time he stands next to her—almost an arm’s length away—she knew she was not ready for this. She thought she was. She thought it was going to be easy. It has been five years, and it seems that memories of the past have withered, but she was wrong.

  “How have you been, Angel?” he starts, side glancing Angel who’s now fidgeting her fingers and looking as though she regrets being with him.

  “Same old, I guess,” she says. “I think you are not in the best position to ask how I’m doing. You know everything already, Damien. You have me watched for five years.”

  “I was just doing my duties.”

  “You just never change,” she said, mixing her words with a little laughter.

  “What do you mean by that?” Damien’s curiosity is piqued, slightly amused by her reply. If there’s one thing he thinks was inevitable for him for the last five years, it was change. So how can Angel not see it?

  “You do things behind people’s back, secretly and as quietly as possible. But that’s not news to me anymore…” She trailed off, wishing she did not say the last sentence. “I’ve known you enough to know what you were doing.”

  “Did I somehow offend you? Scare you?”

  “No.” She shakes her head as she remembers the times she saw strange men following her everywhere. She hated it at first, but then she just got used to it. She got so used to it lately that she doesn’t really mind being followed by strangers and even Damien. Not anymore.

  “I guess it was one way for me not to totally lose my head,” he says with a stifled laugh. God knows what he’s been through, and if anything happens to Angel, surely, he will beat the shit out of himself.

  “Why didn’t you approach me, Damien?”

  Quite startled, Damien answers with his eyes on the floor, “I didn’t have the courage, Angel. I was not myself for a long time,” he says instead. What he really wants to say is, I feel lost. I was unsure. I didn’t know how I’d come to you.

  “And yet you made yourself known to Cate.” Her voice broke, almost vanishing.

  “You knew?”

  “I found the same necklace on her school uniform. That necklace which I thought came from Dad.” She turns to face him this time. “He told me everything, Damien.”

  “It was yours,” he says. “I thought Cate would want it.”

  “She likes it very much.”

  “Yeah, she told me herself.”

  Angel notices a sparkle in Damien’s eyes. Her little girl has developed quite a liking to Damien that she started calling him Uncle Shakespeare in her cute little voice. When she first heard of that name from her on her sleep, Angel had the inkling of who it was. It was only until she found the necklace that she knew she was right.

  “Cate likes Richard III among others.”

  “Yes, she told me. She calls him the hunchback king.” Damien lets out a constrained laugh as he remembers the day he introduced the play Richard III to Cate. She did not like him and his cruelty to the princes in the tower.

  Angel falls into silence as she watches Damien’s face change expression with every word he utters about her daughter.

  “She’s family to me,” he adds. “I hope what I did won’t make you stop me.”

  A faint smile forms on her lips. “When did you ever stop?” she blurts out. Then a second after, she realizes she had made a horrible mistake. She stumbles for words, finding the appropriate words she should say. Had she been more careful, Damien wouldn’t be staring at her questionably as though she owes him something important.

  “What I meant is…” Her cheeks are all flushed, as her eyes avoid Damien’s seeking ones.

  “Angel…” Taking small steps towards her, he locks his gaze on hers. “I should have done this a long time ago. I was a coward, I know.” His hands tries to reach for her, but Angel takes a step back, not ready for any of this.

  “Is it too late, Angel?” Too late to make things right? he wanted to add.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she tells him with a shaking voice, still backing away. “None of us wished for it to happen. Things happen for a reason.”

  She halts when her back hits a glass box that covers one of the book on display.

  “I took away Hunter’s life.” It’s a pain to even say Hunter’s name especially when said in front of her. “I’ve made you miserable. You don’t deserve this. You deserve nothing less but to be with the man you love. I couldn’t do anything, and it disturbs me to be so useless to you.” His voice starts fading, and tears start to form in the corner of his eyes without his knowledge. “And while I live…” He balls his fist against his chest. “While I live because of him—”

  “Damien?” A voice from far away calls, accompanied by the sounds of footsteps getting nearer.

  Angel’s gaze darts towards the turn corner
that leads to the hallway. Her forehead creases. “Who’s that? Someone’s calling you,” she says as her eyes move around the hall, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from,

  Turning on his back from Angel, he brushes his hair back, heaving a long, deep sigh.

  “Damien!” A figure of a woman in a long silk dress appears in the turn corner. Her eyes light up, and a smile forms on her lips. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says.

  Angel’s legs freeze as she watches every second unfold.

  “Susan…” Damien’s mouth finally opens after a brief moment of silence.

  Susan, brown-haired and fair, turns to look at Angel, whose face now looks as though she’s seen a ghost.

  “Ms. Mohr?” She offers her hand. “I’m so glad I’ve finally met you. Damien talks so much about you all the time.” Her smile reaches the ends of her ears.

  “I’m a curator myself, and I appreciate what you’re doing. I’ve helped Damien a lot with choosing the books for you. I hope I’ve met your expectations,” she continues.

  ***

  Angel walks into Cate’s room on her tiptoes. Bright shades of pink were all over the room, from Cate’s LED lamp shade on the night stand, where her angel necklace lays, to her pillow, to her animated book of Shakespeare’s King Richard. It’s ten minutes after midnight, and everyone is dozing off in their beds, except for Sarah who couldn’t sleep because of jet lag and is enjoying her cup of milked jasmine tea. George went straight to sleep after tucking Cate to bed.

  She brushes away the strands of hair that cover Cate’s forehead and plants a kiss on it.

  “It was not so hard to put her to bed,” Sarah says softly, popping her head around the door. “Do you know anything about this Uncle Shakespeare? She keeps mentioning it in her sleep.”

  Angel stands up from her knees and pulls the covers up to Cate’s chin. She gives her another kiss on the cheek and walks towards the door, closing it behind her.

  “Or she could just be dreaming,” Sarah adds, trudging down the stairs.

  “Are you not going to bed, Mom?” Angel asks.

  “I’ll be up there after I finish my tea.”

  “Good night, Mom.”

  “Good night, sweetie. And congratulations for tonight.”

  Angel goes straight to her room while Sarah allows the tea to get into her head, waiting for sleep to come. She’s switching on the radio to listen to some of her favorite old songs when the doorbell chimes.

  A visitor at this hour? But then again, it could be Ray. And so she gets up to her feet and answers the door.

  “Hello, Sarah.”

  “D-Damien?”

  “Er…” he reluctantly begins, scanning the inside of the house over Sarah’s shoulders.

  Speechless, Sarah follows Damien’s eyes. She thought he’s lost his way, but then she remembers a greater reason he’s appeared at her doorsteps in the middle of the night.

  “How can I help you?” she asks although it’s not really necessary anymore as she knows what brought him here.

  “I need to see Angel,” he answers. His voice turns resolute, making his intentions known. “I need to speak to her.”

  “Now?” A little taken aback, Sarah didn’t quite understand why Damien suddenly wants to see her daughter. He didn’t do anything in the past five years, so why now? “It’s a bit late, Damien. She could be asleep now.”

  “Please, Sarah, I really need to speak with her.”

  His plea convinces Sarah, so she lets him in and shows him where to sit. “I’ll see if she’s still awake,” she tells him and goes upstairs to her room.

  Angel’s door is not locked, so Sarah enters, seeing her coming out of the bathroom in her sleeping robe.

  “Are you okay, Mom? You’re catching your breath,” she says as she reaches for the hair dryer from her dressing table. She flips her hair to one side and starts blow drying one section of her hair.

  “Angel, you need to go downstairs now.”

  “Why?”

  “Damien’s come to see you. Why is he here?”

  “Damien?” She drops the dryer back on the dressing table and walks past Sarah, tightening the belt of her robe around her waist.

  “Five years! Imagine the shock I got when he appeared on our doorstep! He’s still alive then. I thought Mary Etheridge buried him somewhere in her mansion. Why? What does he want from you?”

  Pacing around her room, Angel remembers how she escaped Damien and Susan’s company. It was not a pleasant evening with the two of them. It was torture!

  Damien held his tongue the whole time Susan told stories about them. She even invited Angel for a cup of coffee! What does she think of her? A masochist who enjoys inflicting pain to herself? No! Of course she wouldn’t come. She’s been in a lot of pain, and she wouldn’t want another one, and definitely not from the same man who’s never failed to make her feel this way.

  Oh, God! How she wants to laugh at herself!

  Just when she thought she could finally have a good start with Damien, it all turned out to be just another fairy tale, not at all different from the one they had before. She should have known better.

  “Angel, answer me. What’s Damien doing here?” Sarah asks, visibly concerned.

  “Please tell Damien I won’t see him,” she says as the memory of Susan plays in her mind.

  “Right… But why won’t you see him?”

  “I just don’t want to. End of discussion.”

  Sarah does not ask further. The discomfort she sees written all over Angel’s face and, perhaps, a shadow of anger and regret is enough.

  Chapter 44 – Not A Regret

  As soon as Sarah’s gone downstairs, Angel shuts the door and switches all the lights off. Only the light from the lamp post outside her balcony keeps her room out of complete darkness. She wants the silence and the dark to engulf her tonight for she detests herself. A gentle wind blows through the curtains in her room. The night is deep, but the moon is as awake as Angel despite being dimmed by the fog. She hurries to her bed and pulls the covers up so she could muffle her sobs.

  She only hopes she could cry herself to sleep and forget the horror she’s been through today.

  Damn, Angel! her mind screams.

  She was so ready to open her heart again for him. Her feelings for him were never really gone. They were just there, sleeping and waiting, unchanging through the years.

  Yes, she was hurt. She despised Damien at one time for living, for taking Hunter’s life, but that was it. It was just part of grieving over the loss of Hunter. She never stopped loving him—and even Hunter knew it.

  She waited long for him, and when he finally came back, things just weren’t right.

  Why does Damien have to be with somebody else?

  Why does he have to love another woman when he had told her he loves her still?

  All of a sudden, breaking and crashing sounds are heard from just outside the balcony and captures her attention, making her heart jump. She quickly climbs off the bed and reaches for her robe that hung at the foot of her bed. The commotion outside sounds like cats running along the stone wall and onto her balcony, pushing away the flower pots that bars their way.

  When she’s reached the balcony, the cold breeze touches her bare legs. Her night dress only ends in the middle of her thighs, and Angel has to cross her arms over her chest to keep warm as her hair tousled in the wind.

  But she hears no cat purrs or dog barks.

  “Oh, God!” She gasps in terror. “Damien!”

  The man is barely holding onto the rails of the balcony with one arm as veins bulge out of his skin. His other arm is trying to reach for the rail.

  Just as she had guessed, her pots lay broken down below.

  Damien lets out a massive grunt to pull his entire weight up, and one leg touches the balcony floor, finally finding support.

  Utterly astonished, Angel’s stares with her mouth open. Her heart beats louder and louder as she watches Damien make h
is way up the balcony with his raw strength and power. The muscles in his arms and chest bulge, showing all their glory through his shirt.

  “Are you crazy?” she said in a hushed voice.

  Damien lets out another strong grunt and climbs over the rail, falling weakly to the floor, exhausted.

  Angel rushes to him. “Are you mad?” she says as she pulls him up into a sitting position, resting his back against the rails. Her eyes go straight to the scarlet stain glistening at his lower right abdomen, growing larger each time he moves.

  “Damien, what have you done to yourself?” she hears her own voice cracking.

  “This is nothing,” he replies, reaching for the wound with his hand, trying to keep it out of Angel’s sight. “We need to talk.”

  “You are crazy. You didn’t have to do this.”

  Damien must have hurt himself while trying to climb over the stone wall. Aside from flower pots, there are a couple of glass lamps perched up there. When she looks at the wall, she sees one unlit lamp broken.

  “You just hurt yourself!”

  Oh, how she wanted to yell at him for being such a jerk!

  Damien Etheridge has never changed at all! He’s still impulsive to the point of hurting himself just to get what he wants.

  Her blood boils when Damien starts showing amusement from her distress. The side of his mouth curves, and his head shakes.

  “What’s there to laugh about?” Obviously pissed, Angel scorns Damien’s attempt to disregard his injury. “This is not a joke, Damien. You’re not a child anymore,” she says, helping him stand on his feet. She shows him the way into her room where it is much warmer.

  “I’m not hurt,” he insists, sitting on the side of the bed.

  “You never learn,” she mutters to herself as she turns on his heels to fetch the first-aid kit. But before she could walk away, she feels a firm grip around her wrist, and in seconds, her body is being hauled towards the bed. Her back sinks into the mattress, and she bounces up and down until Damien props his sturdy arms on her sides. It seems that Damien wasn’t really hurt or tired after at all.