“You can talk to me about it, you know,” I told her. “Your discomforts. Any issues you’re dealing with.”
She tilted her head a little to meet my stare. “You’re that good at reading me, huh?”
“I have a gift.”
Stella shrugged and waved it off. “I’m just too emotional. So, whenever sad thoughts come up, I push them way, way down. It’s super healthy,” she joked.
I didn’t laugh.
“Do you ever allow yourself to be sad? And I mean for an extended period. After you lost Kevin, you were cracking jokes. Or after the stuff with Jeff, you pushed off really facing your feelings and went into holiday mode. So, do you let yourself sit in your sadness?”
“Gosh, no. That sounds awful. I know staying sad doesn’t do much, so I am for happiness.”
“That’s not healthy.”
She laughed. “Depression isn’t either. I’d choose happiness over sadness any day.”
“But it’s just a fake happiness. Besides, I think there can be beauty in sadness. You have to allow yourself to feel it for a while. You have to allow yourself to feel all emotions whenever they come up. Otherwise, they all get messed up.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I used to push not only sadness down deep, but happiness, too. I was numb to all feelings until I hit my breaking point. It’s like a dam, though. You’re building a dam to keep your emotions in. Trust me, each time you surpass your emotions, the dam cracks a little. Then over time, it completely crashes.”
She nervously bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready to feel it all yet.”
“That’s fine. Just be aware that the dam can break, then it’s overwhelming.”
“Did yours ever break?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I was sixteen years old. I tried to end my life.”
Her eyes widened, and she sat up in shock. “Oh my goodness, Damian…”
“It’s okay,” I soothed her, seeing the tears hit her eyes. “I’m still here. I got past it. But, when those emotions hit, I felt so overwhelmed that they almost ended me. I don’t want that for you. Feel your feelings, Stella…even the hard ones.”
She lay back down, and I pulled her into me. She snuggled in close as her head rested against my chest. “Damian?”
“Yes?”
“I’m so glad you’re still here.”
One evening when I was working late at my actual office, finishing up a few contracts for deals I’d closed, I was surprised to see a person knocking on my door.
“Damian, correct?” Catherine asked, standing in my doorway. She had her designer sunglasses on, along with her designer shoes. Her lips were pursed out in a pout as she slipped off her glasses.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, baffled. She was the last person I thought I’d see standing in my office. “How did you find out where I worked?”
“People are pretty easy to track down if a person is determined.” She walked into the room, uninvited, and took a seat across from my desk. “I think it’s beyond time that we hold a conversation with one another. By the will, we are supposed to have a night together.”
“I am aware and will contact you when I am ready.”
It was hard for me to look at her because all I could think about was the stories Stella told me about Catherine. How she was one of the reasons Stella ended up with so much anxiety. With self-esteem struggles. With doubt of her worth.
If hate was a person, it was Catherine Michaels. And Rosalina. And Denise, too. If Kevin was good at one thing, it was picking awful wives.
“Well, I have an event coming up that I think you should attend. I’ve overseen a huge charity event that happens at the end of the month. Each year, we donate a large sum. It’s the best of the best.”
“Okay?”
“You should come. It’s for a good cause. It’s for a foster charity program to help kids in dangerous environments. Surely, that tugs at your heartstrings.”
Screw her—it did.
I knew how rough it could be growing up in the system. It was why I was so passionate about giving back to a few programs back in New York.
“I grew up in the foster system, too, you know,” she told me.
That tugged at me, too, but I didn’t show it. “Are we done here? I have work to finish.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “This is the gala event. At least come and see what we do before tossing the idea under the bus.”
I took the card from her and didn’t reply.
She stood from her chair, seemingly pleased. “Do me one favor?” Catherine asked although it sounded more as if she were about to give me an order.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t bring Stella. There’s a certain level of prestige that comes with attending the gala, and Stella does not fit the standard.”
“Noted.”
She left my office with the same smug look she entered it with, feeling as if she had accomplished something. After work, I headed to Stella’s art studio. I knew she was in there working on a project when I heard old-school R&B blasting through the space.
The windows were open, allowing the breeze to move in and out of the space, and I knocked on the front door a few times without any answer.
I peeked through the window and understood why she couldn’t hear the knocking. She was busy dancing around in front of the canvas to Toni Braxton’s music. She wore her white overalls, and they were covered in paint. Her feet were bare, except for the splashes of color from the masterpiece she was creating. The left strap of her overalls hung low against her shoulder as she sang out loud, acting out each lyric in the most dramatic way. Her hips rocked back and forth, and man, did I watch them move. I watched her move the same way she watched the waves at night—utterly enamored.
When she turned and looked over her shoulder, she screamed when she saw me watching her. I stood straight, feeling like a creep, but before I could reply, she sighed and laughed. She hurried over to the music and shut it off. Within a few seconds, she was standing at the door, smiling my way.
“You scared me!” she remarked, brushing her thumb against her nose, not knowing she spread a bit of yellow paint across her face.
“Sorry, I knocked, but the music…”
“I get a bit lost in it.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
She brushed her thumb against her cheek. More paint. “What’s up?”
For a moment, I lost my thoughts. I was too focused on her features. The way she made me lose my thoughts was wild to me.
Focus, Damian.
“Oh, uh, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Apparently, there’s a massive charity gala that Catherine hosts each year.”
“Ah, yes. The luxurious winter gala. It’s a staple.” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that your event for her?”
“I think it might be.”
“It’s a pretty big deal. They auction items off and whatnot.”
“I hate her,” I mentioned.
“Why?”
“Because of the stories you’ve told me. Because of how she’s treated you.”
“Oh… you don’t have to hate her because of me, Damian.”
“Yes,” I disagreed. “I do. But regardless, she invited me to the gala, and it’s a good way to get her out of the way with the will.”
Stella smiled. “It’s quite the event.”
“So I hear.” I shifted in my shoes. “She told me not to invite you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. So…do you want to go with me?”
A small frown fell against her lips. I hated that I was the one to put it there. “Is that why you’re asking me? Because she doesn’t want me there?”
“Partly.” I couldn’t lie. A part of it was to get back at Catherine for trying to tell me what to do. “But mostly, it’s because I hate mos
t people. Especially people like Catherine, and I figured there would be many people like her at the event.”
She laughed. “This is very true.”
“I hate those types of crowds, and I don’t do well in those circles. I would appreciate having one person who I actually liked.”
“Then count me in as your plus-one.”
Without thought, I wet my thumb with my tongue and wiped at the paint sitting against her nose.
“Paint,” I muttered, showing her my yellow thumb.
“Oh. Thanks. I’m sure there’s paint on many parts of me right now. Even the parts that are unseen.”
Oh, Stella. Don’t put that idea in my head. Because I’d love to wipe your body clean of paint. Especially the unseen parts.
Not now.
She’s working, Damian.
“I’ll let you get back to work, but I just wanted to stop in to…” See you. Be near you. Stare into those eyes. “Ask you to come. But also, when you come home, make sure to let me join you in the shower to help you wash off the paint.”
She kissed me, and I loved it.
“Is there a dress code for the gala this year?” she asked.
“You pick the dress, and I’ll match myself to you.”
She bit her bottom lip nervously. “It worries me because Catherine is such a beauty queen, and she always had negative thoughts about my clothing and looks.”
“Who cares? You’re not a kid anymore. Screw her opinion. You’re perfect the way you are.”
“Easier said than done when I have a library of memories that told me differently.”
28
Stella
Fifteen Years Old
* * *
“You cannot honestly be thinking about wearing that,” Catherine remarked as she walked into my bedroom to see the dress I’d picked to go the school dance in. It was yellow, Mama’s favorite color, of course, and it sat right above my knees.
I looked in the mirror and then over to Catherine. Kevin had been gone for the past week on a work meeting, so the house was filled with only Catherine and her negative thoughts about me.
Even though Rosalina and Denise were long gone, their negative thoughts still ran through my head more than I’d wished they would.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, knowing I should’ve never engaged but feeling a level of insecurity that I wasn’t sure what to do with. I thought I looked good. Pretty, even. Though, Catherine made sure to tell me otherwise.
“You look chubby in it. And your kneecaps are odd. Plus, it’s too short. Girls like you shouldn’t wear dresses that short. It’s not very lady-like of you. Also, you wouldn’t be able to walk in those heels if you tried for months without looking like a turkey in heels.”
My stomach began twisting up in knots as her words settled into my mind. Those words meant one thing to me and one thing only: you’re not good enough.
She walked over to me and placed her hand beneath my chin. She raised my head and frowned in disappointment. “And your face is covered in acne. Have you been keeping up with the skincare routine I created for you?”
“It’s over twenty steps each night,” I said, annoyed. “And some of the stuff burns when it sits on my skin.”
“Beauty is pain, Stella.” She eyed me up and down. “But it’s clear you haven’t experienced that much pain.”
I felt like crying as she looked my way. Did she realize it? How much her words hurt me?
“Why don’t you like me, Catherine?” I blurted out, feeling my emotions begin to overpower me. My body shook as I sat in front of her, staring into her eyes that looked nothing like mine. Tears fell down my cheeks as I parted my mouth. My words were shaky and unstable. “What did I ever do to you? Why am I never good enough for you?”
Catherine’s eyes flashed with emotions. I didn’t even know she’d been able to feel. She blinked them away. “Oh, sweetheart.” She cupped my face and placed her lips against my forehead. “I like you so much that I am brave enough to point out your flaws. That’s love, you know? Having someone who is willing to tell you the truth.”
She gave me ocean kisses, but they felt like a drought.
“Chin up,” she said, wiping away my tears. “And let me do your makeup for you. We’ll also pick out a better dress.”
She got me ready, changing every single angle about me, and applying what felt like a million layers of makeup. She put me in a black dress because she told me I shouldn’t want to stand out, too much. An oversized black potato sack of a dress that didn’t showcase my body at all. Then she stood me in front of the mirror and smiled at the creation she’d made.
“See? Isn’t that better?” she asked.
I frowned. “I look nothing like myself.”
“I know.” She tapped my nose and grinned ear to ear. “Exactly.”
29
Stella
Present Day
* * *
“Wow,” I breathed out, seeing Damian walk out of his bedroom looking as if he was voted as the Sexiest Man Alive for People magazine. He wore a white button-down shirt with a blue suede blazer over it. It was fitted perfectly to his toned figure, and he accessorized it with a gold watch and a leather bracelet, and two brown rings. His beard was trimmed perfectly, and his dark brown hair fell effortlessly into style on his head.
He looked remarkable.
“Wow,” he replied, looking my way.
I wore a blue suede dress, too, but it didn’t do for me the same thing it did for Damian. His eyes popped so much that he was almost hard to look at due to him being so striking.
“Stella, you look so beautiful,” he told me.
A wave of uncertainty found me as I tugged on my dress. “It’s too tight maybe?”
“Trust me,” he sighed in admiration as he walked over and placed his hands on my hips. “It’s not.”
“It’s a bit too showy. I don’t want to stand out too much. I should change.” I started to pull away from Damian, but he held me in place.
“Stella,” he whispered, pulling me closer to him. His lips fell against the nape of my neck, and his hot breaths melted against my skin as he gently kissed me. “Ignore the voices.”
“The voices?”
“The ones in your head that are lying to you. They aren’t your own. Don’t let them win.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The more time I spent with Damian, the more I began to realize that throughout my life, my thoughts were not my own. They were a collection of thoughts from the people who once surrounded me.
I wished I was around better people growing up. Maybe it would’ve made it easier for me to think better thoughts.
I released a weighted breath as Damian kissed my neck once more. “More than enough.”
More than enough.
We headed to the gala, and even though I felt out of place around everyone else at the event, I felt right at home with Damian’s arm wrapped around mine. I was starting to believe that whenever he was around, my life was that much better. It was hard to imagine that just mere months ago, we were strangers. Now, I couldn’t imagine a world where Damian Blackstone didn’t exist.
He made sure to keep me close to him that night and was pretty good at calming my troubled nerves about me not fitting in with the body standard that surrounded us. When some women would hit on him right in front of me, Damian’s arm would always wrap around my waist, and he’d pull me in closer to him.
At one point, he leaned in and whispered the word, “Mine,” against my ear.
I leaned into him and gently sucked on his earlobe before whispering back, “Mine.”
We were two misfits that were surrounded by a world in which we didn’t belong. Yet still, we felt comfortable because we had one another. That was a new kind of comfort to me, and it felt effortless.
“Can you get me a water?” I asked Damian. “I’m feeling a little off.”
“Of course,” Damian said, kissing my forehead. “Be right back.”
<
br /> I nodded as I sat at a table. As he went to get me a water without question, I couldn’t help but think how Jeff would’ve called me lazy for not going to get it myself. Damian did it without any negative thoughts attached to it. I didn’t know that men like him truly existed outside of romantic comedies. He was gentle with my sometimes-frantic heart and still told me I was more than enough.
As he walked away, I grimaced the moment I saw Catherine approaching me. She looked breathtaking, which wasn’t a surprise. Her grimace against her face, though, made me feel as if I were that same little girl who only wanted her approval.
“Stella,” she coldly stated. “I thought I told Damian not to bring you.”
“He’s not really one to follow the rules,” I said, pushing out a smile. I stood from my chair, feeling a bit light-headed, but shook it off the best I could. “You look amazing, Catherine.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I do. And you look…” She eyed me up and down and pursed her lips together. “You look like something, I suppose.”
I felt the anxiety building as her undercutting comments tried to make hooks within me. They were so bad for my nerves that I felt like I was going to vomit.
Wait.
No.
I was vomiting.
Oh my gosh.
I threw up on Catherine’s designer shoes.
The whole room stared at me in disbelief.
Before I could even consider an apology, another wave of nausea hit me, forcing me to dash to the restroom and fall into a stall. Before I knew it, I was throwing up violently. I felt two hands wrap around my dangling hair and pull it out of the way of the toilet as I purged the contents of my stomach.
When I recovered from vomiting, I sat back on my heels.
“Are you okay?” Damian asked.
I went to reply but began throwing up again.
“Food poisoning, maybe?” he wondered, but my thoughts were veered in a different direction as I tried to do the math in my head. When was the last time I was on my period? It couldn’t have been that long ago, could it? Then again, it was always irregular.
Western Waves Page 22
