Page 87 of Watch Me Burn
The silence fills every corner of the barn. Damien’s face goes blank—neutral in a way that’s worse than if he’d gotten angry.
“Seeing someone else.” He repeats slowly.
“Yes.”
“While we’ve been…” He gestures between us, and the muscle in his jaw ticks. “While we’ve been whatever this is?”
“Yes.”
I force myself to meet his eyes, but he looks away, staring at something beyond my shoulder. When he looks back, there’s a storm brewing in those blue-gray depths.
“How long?”
“A few months. It’s… It’s complicated.” I hate how inadequate the word sounds. “It started before you and I began this.”
“But it continued.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
He’s quiet, and I watch him process this information. There’s a look in his eyes I can’t quite identify, but it resembles resignation, as if some part of him expected this.
“Is it serious?”
The question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you in love with him?”
I open my mouth to deny it. The words stick in my throat. My hesitation answers for me.
“I see.” There’s no anger in his voice, just a deep sadness that wraps around my throat and squeezes.
I pick up my mug again. “I don’t understand it myself.”
“What don’t you understand?”
The question is gentle and curious rather than accusatory.
“What we have is different from anything I’ve ever experienced. He’s different.”
“Different how?”
I struggle to find words for something I can’t comprehend myself. “He makes me feel claimed. Like I belong to him completely.” I blush at the admission. “I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds honest. Tell me more about him.”
The request surprises me. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying to understand. Help me understand what I’m competing with.”
The vulnerability threading through his request pulls at a tender place buried inside me, and it compels me to be honest. “It’s not a conventional relationship. He comes to me only at night.”
His face shifts, an emotion crossing his features too fast for me to catch. I look down at my hands wrapped around the warm mug.
“I know how it sounds. Like some kind of fantasy. But it’s real. He’s real.”
“I believe you. What does he give you that I can’t?”
My gaze lifts. His face holds no judgment, only questions he wants answered. He's asking me to bare something private, something I've never put into words.
