Page 57 of Unapologetic Obsession
My eyes glazed over, wide and unfocused, as if my brain had short-circuited mid-thought. I didn’t know how to respond and was grateful when she returned to her original question.
“Anyways, why do you like him? And byhim, I mean Damon,” she specified as I flushed.
Amelie had asked me this question numerous times in hopes of talking me out of my one-sided romance. She had repeatedly pointed out that I didn’t know anything substantial about Damon, that he wasn’t interested in me. If I gave her my generic answer—I liked him because he was a philanthropist who founded charities for survivors of assault and det up suicide prevention hotlines—she would lecture me again. She would tell me that he might be a nice person, but he was wrong for me, and she would plead for me to move on.
Believe me, I tried, but I didn’t have a choice in loving him.
Feeling brave after a few drinks, I decided on the truth. “When I was young, someone stabbed me a bunch of times outside my home.”
Amelie’s beautiful face turned ghostly white. She lowered her gaze. “I know. Poppy told me when we first moved in together.”
Based on how Amelie accommodated my quirks, I had an inkling Poppy had given her the lowdown. My cousin was protective, even though I was the older one. Amelie went out of her way never to touch me unprovoked and generally respectedthe bubble that made me feel safe. The one time she walked in on me while I was changing, she barely reacted to my scars.
“I’m sorry if it’s weird that she told me.”
I shook my head. “I’m glad you know.”
“I’m sorry they never caught the guy.”
I forced a nonchalant expression. “He left me for dead, and when I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. I had no idea what had happened to me, only that I was in excruciating pain. It felt like I was dying over and over.”
“That’s terrible.”
“The recovery was unbearable, but my parents were only focused on finding out who did it or ‘fixing’ the problem. They said the scars were too ugly and wanted me to undergo plastic surgery, but I couldn’t do it. I was exhausted from the required medical procedures as it was, and when they started talking about cosmetic procedures…”
The dreary memories returned to me, and I quivered. My mother once said,“No one will marry a girl covered in scars. Just get the surgery, sweetheart.”
“I thought about ending it.”
“Rose!” Amelie gasped.
I smiled. “Don’t worry. It was a long time ago. I promise, that’s not me anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed, but not in anger. If I knew Amelie at all, she was mentally peeling back my words, searching for hints about whether I needed to be on suicide watch. She would follow me day and night if she thought I was at risk.
“Stop freaking out,” I insisted. “That’s not me anymore because Damon talked me out of it. I was at the hospital the day his mom overdosed. He had rushed her there, but she didn’t make it.”
“Is that how you met him, at the hospital?”
I shook my head. “I had seen him around at events our parents used to drag us to—weddings, fundraisers, that sort of thing. But he was older and hung out with a different crowd. We had never spoken, and he was just another person to me.”
“Until the day his mom died?” she asked.
I nodded. Growing up, Professor Maxwell was a recluse while Damon made random appearances at events within our social circle. We never interacted. That changed on the worst day of our lives—the day his mother died, and the day I almost killed myself. It was the first time we spoke, and I fell in love with him instantly. That was a decade ago.
I glanced at Amelie apprehensively. “That day, I had a really bad fight with my parents over the plastic surgery. The recovery was worse than what happened to me, and I was in constant pain. When I realized my parents would force me into more of the same, I lost it. I was just a little girl. I didn’t know what I was doing, I only knew that I wanted the pain to stop. I went to the rooftop after visiting hours had ended. I kept thinking, the pain will end the moment I jump.”
“My god, Rose. What happened next?”
“Damon had just lost his mom. He went to the rooftop for a cigarette and saw me. He talked me out of it.”
“How?”
I shrugged. “By listening to me, by making me feel seen. He gave me…hope. He even told me to threaten my parents with emancipation if they didn’t back off on the plastic surgery, and he stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon. He was going through his own stuff after losing his mom. It turned out all I needed was for one person to listen to what I wanted. It gave me the strength to keep going. He saved me.”
That day, Damon didn’t cry over losing his mother. Instead, he wore a solemn look that resembled my physical pain. Thepain of my flesh was written on his face, and it had haunted me since.
We were kids. Neither of us had any business suffering life’s cruelty at such an early age. But there we were, born from tragedy and intertwined by a twisted fate. The difference was that I embraced our connection, whereas he disregarded it. Forever the philanthropist, he thought he was helping yet another troubled kid and never gave me a second thought. Then our families turned into bitter rivals, and he kept his distance from me. The rest was history.
