Broken, p.21
Broken, page 21
It’s taking everything in me not to spiral into a panic attack right now. Damien’s been attacked, and I have no idea how bad. A thousand thoughts are running through my mind, not one of them good, and my heart is threatening to break through my rib cage it’s pounding that hard. Damien has to be okay. I need him to be okay. I almost lost him once, I can’t lose him for real. Not before I…
I let a stray tear fall. I’ve wasted so much time panicking about being touched, about my past and everything else that goes on in my warped mind, and now there’s a chance I’m too late. I may never feel the warmth of Damien’s embrace or the feel of his skin against mine. Damien has given me a reason to live again, dragging me from the darkness until I’m bathing in light, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my own selfish bullshit to show him just how much he means to me. What if…
No! Damien is going to be fine. I’m going to walk into that hospital and find him sitting on a bed alive and in one piece. Now’s as good a time as any to start thinking positive, and I’m praying to a god I don’t believe in that it pays off, just this once.
A lifetime of driving passes. I arrive at the hospital and park my car. I quick realise Paul didn’t clarify Damien’s whereabouts, so I hedge my bets and head for the accident and emergency department. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I spot Paul talking to what looks like a nurse over by the double doors that lead to the ward. I rush to his side just as the nurse takes her leave.
“Paul,” I say. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay,” he says gently. Oh, thank God. I cannot tell you how much I needed to hear that.
“Can we see him?” I ask.
“Not all at once,” Paul explains, and both he and I look to Amy. “I can hang back,” he offers.
“It’s okay,” Amy says. “You two go first.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
Paul leads me through the double doors and down a corridor. I let Paul do the talking, but when a nurse points to a bed in the far corner, the relief that sweeps over me is indescribable.
Damien’s sitting on the edge of the bed as a nurse takes his blood pressure. I hang back for a minute, fighting back the tears forcing their way to the backs of my eyes as I wait for the nurse to leave. Damien’s eye is black, his lip swollen and his cheek red, and there are a few bruises appearing on his bare arm. There’s a bloodstained gauze on the side of his head, but he’s alive and breathing, and that’s all that matters.
The nurse finally leaves, and as I move, Damien spots me. The tears are refusing to be fought and are now flowing steadily down my cheeks; tears of relief, I think. Leaving all my fears and anxieties in the wind along with Paul, I race over to his bed and practically throw myself at him. I almost knock him backwards onto the bed, but he manages to keep his balance as I wrap my arms around his neck. I hear his breath hitch, but his hesitation soon evaporates, and he wraps his arms around me. I instinctively tense, but my tears of relief turn to tears of happiness when all I feel is warmth and comfort, flashback and pain-free. I bury my head into his shoulder, letting myself cry into his bloodstained T-shirt.
“Dani,” he says softly.
Lifting my head, Damien stares into my tearful eyes, a mixture of elation and surprise etched into his battered and bruised face. I kiss him. He kisses me back with a longing mirroring my own – if his swollen lip is hurting, he’s not letting on – until my emotion-fuelled anger kicks in.
“You don’t get to do that,” I say harshly. “You don’t get to scare me like that.”
“Hey,” he says softly. “I’m okay.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Two guys came out of nowhere and attacked me from behind with a bat,” Damien explains. “I put up a fight, but…” His voice trails off.
“They could’ve killed you,” I screech.
“Hey,” he says gently, wiping away my tears. “I’ve got a few cuts and bruises. I’d say I got off lucky.” He has a valid point. Things could have played out much, much worse, but I’m far too emotional to think straight. “Besides, if I knew getting battered would have you throwing your arms around me, I’d have done it sooner.”
I lower my head, my upset replaced with guilt. It shouldn’t have happened like this. A massive milestone in our relationship only happened because, for a split second, I thought I might lose him. Damien has stood by me no matter what drama or revelation I threw at him, wanting me in spite of all that, and I should’ve known from the start letting Damien touch me could never have been anything other than everything I want and need.
“I was joking,” he adds, probably reading the anguish on my face. Using his finger, he lifts my head to look at him.
“I didn’t want it to happen like this.”
“I don’t care how it happened, Dani.” He pulls me in closer and places a chaste kiss on my lips. “Just that it happened.”
Always so rational, and the perfect ointment to my forever-open wound of negativity. I kiss him like there’s no tomorrow and with every ounce of relief and gratitude pouring through me.
“All right,” I hear Paul’s voice behind me. “It’s not a private room.”
I pull away from Damien and grab the curtain, pulling it around and leaving Paul on the opposite side out of view. Damien laughs, but Paul quickly reopens the curtain.
“Very funny,” he mocks, taking a seat on the resident chair that sits by the hospital bed. “I did tell you he was okay.”
“Excuse me for being happy about that,” I say sarcastically, sitting down on the bed next to Damien, his arm wrapping around my waist.
“We’re all happy about that, lass,” Paul says. “Are they keeping you in?”
“Nah,” Damien answers. “My CT’s clear. I’m just waiting on the doctor to sign off on my discharge.”
“Twats.” Paul shakes his head in disgust. “There are some days I wonder what the hell happened to civilisation. The bloody Army is more civilised than the youth of today.”
Whilst I totally agree, I can’t help but smirk. “Youth of today,” I repeat. “You do know how you just sounded, right?”
“Like my dad,” Paul admits. “Except now I get where he’s coming from.”
“It’s not just youths, mate,” Damien pitches in. “Whoever the pricks were, they were fully grown men.”
“That only makes it worse,” Paul grumbles. “Did you get a good look at them?”
“Hoodies and scarves, mate.” Damien is clearly less than impressed. “Not a clue.”
“Have the police been to see you?” I ask.
“I gave a statement at the scene,” Damien explains.
“Were there witnesses?” Paul asks.
“Just the two guys who intervened,” Damien says. “Saving me from a cracked skull.” I shake my head, appalled. “I’m more pissed off the bastards got my phone.”
Beating the crap out of someone for the sake of a phone. We really do live in a seriously twisted society, and people wonder why the idea of stepping out my front door is such an anxiety-inducing experience.
“What about your wallet?” Paul asks.
“Safe and sound in my back pocket.”
“That’s odd,” Paul says. “Why would they leave your wallet?”
“Who knows?” Damien shrugs. “But I fucking dare them to take another shot without a bat.”
I think someone’s pride is damaged.
“Just be grateful you’re in one piece,” I say, shaking my head at him. “I am.”
“Dani’s right, mate,” Paul backs me up. “Two on one with a baseball bat, you’re lucky you got a hit in.” Damien merely grumbles. “But anyway, I’d stick around, but I’m sure Amy’s eager to get in here, and I promised Kayleigh I’d drive over with some more of her stuff.”
“Drive where?” I ask.
“My sister’s place in Salford,” Paul answers, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone. “Kayleigh wanted to get away for a while and school have agreed, given the circumstances, she can study at home for the next couple of weeks whilst the police are still investigating. I’d rather have her at home, but I get she needs the space.”
“It won’t be forever,” I tell him. “And it’s not personal against you, remember that. It’s not you she’s trying to get away from.”
“Yeah, I know,” Paul sighs. “I just wish I could do more to help her.”
“You’re doing everything you can, mate,” Damien encourages. “Now, go on, get yourself away, and tell Kayleigh we say hi.”
Paul rises to his feet and gives Damien a manly handshake, half hug, yet Damien keeps one arm firmly wrapped around me the entire time.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, mate,” Paul says.
“Thanks.”
Paul starts to walk away, but he stops a couple of metres away, turning back with a mischievous smile. “You make sure you take good care of him,” he says directly to me, and there’s just a little too much suggestion in his tone. “Be gentle though.”
“Two words,” I reply.
“Fuck off?” Paul answers for me, and I can’t help but laugh. At least he can take a hint.
Paul disappears out into the corridor, and I lean my head into Damien’s chest, wrapping my arms around his stomach and back, holding on tight. “I should go get Amy.”
“No,” he says, lying down on the bed. He pulls me along with him, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as I nuzzle my head into his chest. “I want you to stay right here.”
“I’m pretty sure visitors ain’t supposed to lie on the beds.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t give a shit,” Damien says bluntly, his hand rhythmically stroking my back.
I lie in Damien’s arms, revelling in his warmth and the tingling sensation coursing through me at the feel of his fingers running the length of my spine. It’s not quite the way I wanted my anxieties to be lifted, but it’ll do, and it’s without a doubt the greatest feeling I have ever felt.
“Do you have any idea how amazing this feels?” he asks.
“What’s that?”
“Holding you.”
“About half as amazing as it feels for me,” I state. “I want to lie here forever.”
Damien chuckles. “Maybe not in the hospital.”
I get that. I’ve spent far too much time in hospitals too, and I had hoped to avoid one for as long as humanly possible.
“I don’t care where I am,” I say soppily. “As long as you’re with me.”
Damien lifts my head, leans in and kisses me with a fiery passion that has my stomach doing backflips.
“This isn’t a dream, right?” he suddenly asks. “I haven’t hit my head so hard I’m hallucinating?”
“It’s real,” I say, laughing. “I promise.”
I lean in and kiss him once more, as though to prove my reality. Our little moment is interrupted by the arrival of Amy, Jess and Raif. “Not all at once” has clearly gone out of the window.
“Oh, my God.” Jess beams, her eyes on me. “You’re…” She looks to Raif and Amy. I’m assuming she’s realising they have no clue as to my issues surrounding touching, and she quickly remembers herself. “Alive,” she says, using Damien as a cover-up, yet looking at me with a proud smile only I understand.
Reluctantly, I force myself to sit up, moving to the edge of the bed. Amy immediately starts fussing over her brother, and Jess takes advantage, luring me away to help her carry the coffees she’s conveniently offered to buy. I inwardly shake my head at her inability to wait for the low-down, and the second we’re out in the corridor, away from prying ears, Jess pounces.
“Start talking,” she orders. “Like right now.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I don’t half get a kick out of winding her up.
“Don’t.” She points a finger at me.
“Turns out,” I say, “my fear of losing Damien, as in losing him, losing him, outweighs everything.”
Jess squeals. “I can’t believe it. I mean, how did it happen? What did you do?”
“I ran and threw my arms around him,” I answer.
“Just like that?” The simplicity is not lost on me either.
I nod. “I guess they ain’t wrong when they say trauma has a way of putting things into perspective.”
Jess squeals again, gaining a few questioning eyes from fellow visitors, and she quickly stops. “I know the circumstances are crap,” she says, and I nod in agreement, “but how great is it something unbelievably amazing came out of something that could have been potentially disastrous?”
“Thank God it wasn’t.”
“But at least now,” she gushes, “you can make the most of that personal trainer body Damien’s got going on.”
I laugh. “Don’t ever change, Jess. Ever.”
“Of course not,” she declares. “Just think how boring life without me would be.”
I can’t argue with that. Jess and I hunt down some coffee and carry them back to the others. I plonk myself back down beside a frustrated-looking Damien, which I’m assuming is Amy’s doing, and he wraps his arm around me. I look up at him and smile. I stare into those sky-blue eyes, my gaze lingering even when Amy steals his focus, and I find myself counting my lucky stars.
Damien’s patience, beauty and understanding are second to none, and there’s no one in this world I’d rather be with right now. Maybe, just maybe, Damien is my chance at happiness. A chance I’m going to grab with both hands and never let go.
Chapter Eighteen
I wake up screaming and covered in sweat. An arm wraps around me, causing my heart to race even faster, if that’s possible, until I realise it’s just Damien. I sigh with relief, turning over and burrowing my entire body into Damien’s warmth as my nightmare sits on replay. With a desperate need to feel safe, I cling to Damien as though letting go would make me crumble into nothing but ashes and dust. Damien holds me tight, running his fingers gently up and down my back.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he says.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he insists. “Just tell me how to make it better.”
“Just hold me,” I say quietly, silently rejoicing in the fact he can, despite my current anxious state.
I cannot even begin to describe how amazing it feels to have Damien’s arms around me right now, about as amazing as it felt to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat last night. It feels like a dream, if I’m honest, like I’m about to wake up at any minute, still the same don’t-touch-me mess I was only yesterday, except it’s not a dream, and after my usual mind-numbing wake-up call, Damien’s touch is all the comfort I need.
Damien insisted on staying at mine last night, mostly to avoid dealing with a freaked-out Amy, but I didn’t take much convincing. A combination of wanting to fall asleep in his arms and a desire to keep an eye on him in case any symptoms of a concussion flared was all the motivation I needed to agree.
“Go back to sleep,” I urge Damien. “You need to rest.”
“I’m getting up for a run anyway,” he tells me, and my head shoots up faster than a speeding bullet.
“Are you kidding?” I ask in disbelief, and Damien irks me further by laughing.
“I’m fine,” he insists. “I need to keep my routine up.”
“One day won’t kill you,” I argue. “The doctor said to take it easy for a day or two.”
“And I will,” he argues back. “I’ll only hit four miles instead of eight.”
“You’re an idiot,” I state. “Don’t come crying to me when you’ve got extra aches and pains. You won’t get any sympathy from me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mocks, offering an Army-style salute to boot. I ignore his poor attempt at humour by lying back down with my back to him. “Is that how you’re gonna play it?”
“Yes.”
“You know you’re cute when you’re pissed, right?” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist and gracing my neck with a few soft kisses.
“You may have mentioned that before,” I state, pretending the feel of his lips on my body isn’t sending my nerves into a tailspin.
“I promise I’ll come back in one piece,” he says. “And when I do, I’m taking you out.”
“I might not want to go out.” I’m not done being arsy just yet, but Damien merely laughs, disappearing off to the bathroom to get sorted for his run.
Within minutes, Damien’s back, fully kitted out in the running gear he evidentially packed in the overnight bag we detoured to collect on the way home from the hospital. He squats in front of me, leaning in for a soft, gentle kiss.
“I’ll be back in a bit.”
Damien leaves. I don’t go back to sleep, opting to help myself to a much-needed coffee before showering and heading back into my bedroom to get dressed. I didn’t even hear Damien return, but when he enters the bedroom, I’m only half-dressed in my jeans and bra, and I instinctively cover my scars with my top.
“You don’t have to hide your scars from me, Dani.”
“Why would you want to see them?” I ask. “I don’t.”
Damien shakes his head, unimpressed by my honesty. Attempting to push my insecurities aside, I don’t stop Damien from taking my top and throwing it on the bed.
“Because they are a part of you,” he says. “Just like mine are me.”
Damien’s talking about the surgery scar that sits at the bottom of his spine, and a small, self-defence training, knife-fight-gone-wrong scar that sits upon his shoulder blade. Apparently, there’s another that lies underneath his tattoo as a result of a bullet that grazed his arm, but the ink does a good job of making it invisible. Considering the time Damien spent in Afghanistan, his battle scars are pretty minimal.
“You don’t have to prove –” Damien puts a finger to my lips to silence me, but I manage to get in a roll of my eyes before he pulls me close and kisses my lips.
