Master of Death (Hollow #2)

CHAPTER 19

The next morning, Damon drops a package on my desk after one of his meetings. I eye it, realizing it’s the paid master’s program that our firm offers its students.

“In case you’re interested.” He winks at me and heads back inside his office.

A giddiness takes over me. It’s silly, but Damon can be such a grouch that whenever he smiles, laughs, or winks at me, it makes me the happiest girl in the world.

We had a great start to our day. What started off as me getting ready for work ended with him fucking me over the dresser when he came in the room and saw me in my undergarments.

You couldn’t tell this morning that he’d spent the night soaking in nightmares.

His nightmares remind me of my dream. The same recurring one I used to have after the accident and ever since Damon came into my life.

At first, I attributed it to stress.

Stress from work, and stress from leaving Harvey at home while I worked.

But now a warning floats inside my stomach, its voice whispering things all the way to my ears.

I break my thoughts to open the package, willing to look into it. I’ve put off doing my master’s for so long. I had this crippling anxiety every time I had to leave Harv, even though I finished my bachelor’s despite our predicament. I couldn’t imagine doing my master’s and working full-time while Harvey was always alone.

I hated leaving him, because he lived a lonely life already.

But now I can apply for the program for next fall, should I wish. And I’m glad that Damon didn’t force the issue, since this is something I have to think of on my own.

I put the folder in my drawer.

I’m sending off an email when Damon leaves for another meeting. Once I’m done, I head to his office to place a package on his desk. I go to put it atop a pile of documents but end up hitting half of the pile instead as it scatters all over his desk.

That’s when I see it—the purple journal.

Why would he leave it here? Is he testing me?

It’s calling for me. I’m holding it in my hands, every cell in my body working together into coaxing my brain to transmit the message to open the diary and read it. Between my dreams and these journals, something keeps nagging at me. I can’t shake it off.

I know it’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

But I don’t care. I need to know how Palmer died. If Damon has nothing to hide, why is he being so secretive about her death? Why did Sutton warn me about him? What if there’s more to the story? More to get to the bottom to?

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.

Yet I don’t control my impulses as I flip over the journal to the end and read one line:

They also don’t know that I know ... that I almost killed a man. They covered it up, they covered for me—my parents. And they dragged Damon into their criminal, immoral decision, forcing him to keep quiet.

She didn’t.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

What. Did. He. Do?

I close the journal, pacing his office.

If Damon learns I read this diary, he’ll leave me and never look back. He might also fire me. He’ll never trust me again. Can I live with that?

No. The answer is no. I don’t ever want to have to live without Damon.

He’s the love of my life. I love him—so much.

But I’m torn apart by my loyalty to him and my loyalty to myself. Because I need to know.

I need to know what he covered up for Palmer that was criminal.

I need to know what happened, and why he’s incapable of moving on from his past.

I need to know why Sutton thinks Damon’s responsible for the death of her sister.

I’m so sorry, Damon, baby. Please forgive me for this double betrayal.

I grab the purple diary and head to my desk to read. I’m feeling bold reading it here, knowing Damon will be gone to his meeting all day.

Gregory says he can’t trust me anymore. I told him everything that happened about my dad pressuring me to be with Damon and bribing me with a studio of my own. He gets it, but it doesn’t lessen the betrayal. Damon noticed I lost a substantial amount of weight. He’s been watching me, ensuring I finish my meals even though I can barely stomach them. Thoughts of a future without Gregory fill me with utter dread and despair. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know which parent to please, which man to choose, though if my heart could be my love compass, I would choose Gregory, over and over.

I’m pregnant with Gregory’s baby. I know because Damon and I always wear condoms and he pulls out.

For some reason, knowing Damon’s comfortable enough to have sex with me without a condom sparks triumph inside of me. I keep reading:

Besides, he’s barely touched me lately. He works all the time. I can feel him slowly retreating further and further away, and a part of me is grateful for it. I was happy with the news. I want to be with Gregory—my father be damned.

Gregory wasn’t happy. He insists he can’t trust me until I leave Damon for good. He said that I ruined us by leaving him for my career in the first place. He doesn’t buy my father’s bribery. He doesn’t believe that the baby is his.

HE brOKE UP WITH ME! He left me. Gregory. Left. Me.

Damon’s worried about me. He wants me to seek professional help for my depression. I texted Gregory how far along I am in my pregnancy, hoping it would change his mind, hoping he could see a future. I would leave Damon for him. He just has to trust me.

Gregory told me to stop contacting him. That he met someone he likes—a woman who would strengthen his political career. I wonder if he’s messing with me, because we both know our family ties merged into one would be very powerful. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, that he’s playing me, since it hurts him to see me with Damon.

He wasn’t lying. Gregory’s really ENGAGED. No one can SAVE ME. Not even Damon in his attempts to feed me, to soothe me, to take care of me. Who knew he could have such a tender side to him? A part of me hates him, for he’s the reason why Gregory’s now with HER. She’s prettier, richer, and even younger than me. I can’t stop staring at their pictures online. It’s killing me.

Damon eyes my dark paintings with an air of anxiety I never thought I’d see on him. Gone are the lovely sunsets and sunrises. Gone is the peaceful art that once matched my peaceful heart. Seriously, I burned all of my innocent, pretty paintings and Damon is disappointed in me for it. Now I’m bleeding, I’m dying, and I can’t breathe. It hurts to live. If I can’t have Gregory, I don’t want to live.

Damon has had enough. He all but forced me into seeing my doctor. He prescribed me antidepressants, and by the way Damon’s staring at them, he’s wary of this plan. I always had an addictive personality. But at this point, what do I have to lose?

I sleep with Damon in case Gregory doesn’t snap out of it. I need a contingency plan if Gregory never speaks to me again. I might need Damon to think it’s his baby.

God, she sounded so innocent at first, so innocent.

What happened to her?

I pause my reading, needing a second to regroup, then I keep going after ensuring no one is around.

Gregory comes to see me today. He makes love to me and whispers sweet nothings in my ear. I love this man with all my heart. I love him, and I want to be with him! My love for him weaves through the numbness of my meds, until he tells me he’s getting married in a month’s time! And here I was thinking our night spent together meant a reunion for us—not GOODBYE. I know we’re doomed when my mom sees Gregory sneak out and tells me to make sure Damon doesn’t find out about my infidelity. I know we’re done and through because if my mother wanted me with Gregory, she would do anything to break up his own wedding. Dad must have convinced her. I hate Gregory for doing this to me. He played me, and I was too naive to notice.

I went to Damon’s office tonight to tell him about the baby, yet something stopped me from telling him. He asks if everything’s okay and what’s been going on lately. He genuinely cares for me. I know he does. But I love another man. I carry the child of another man, and that’s a secret I’m not sure I’m ready to bear forever. Damon pushes me for answers. He’s sick and tired of being with a ghost, and I don’t blame him. I’m mediocre—the happy girl I once was completely gone. She’ll never return. She doesn’t belong inside of me anymore. Even if she came back, we’d be strangers. He suspects I’ve been taking too many pills, which I have. Damon faults himself—that’s what he does. He promises me that we will get through this together. I let him believe his own lies. I can’t believe Gregory doesn’t want me, but I don’t blame him because I wouldn’t want myself either.

I lost the baby and nobody knows I miscarried except my mom. Damon wishes for things to go back to the way they used to be. He’s a fool for even thinking that it’s a possibility. I lost the baby and with it I lost the only thing that tied me to Gregory.

Forgive me—it’s been a while. My mind and my feelings have gone to war. I’m a KILLER—a murderer. First, I lost my baby, then I almost killed a man. Damon and I were fighting that evening. I picked him up from work, too rattled to think straight. He stepped in the passenger seat while I drove us away, having no idea where my mind was at. It was pouring rain, and he was raising his voice since he didn’t want me driving. Then it hit me—to crash into the middle of the dark forest, positive my body wouldn’t survive it. I couldn’t even think of Damon at that moment. A part of me thought he hated me for destroying us. I should’ve died that night. I wasn’t supposed to crash into a motorcycle. Damon screamed my name before the act, desperate to salvage the accident, cursing himself for letting me drive, begging me not to do this as I tightly gripped the steering wheel, eager to end my life.

Damon didn’t matter.

The young man’s life didn’t matter.

I wanted to DIE ... please just let me DIE.

Holy fuck! I reread her entry until spots appear in my vision. My hands start trembling, my subconscious refusing to add the last piece of the puzzle.

My mind must be playing tricks on me.

Still, I keep going. The phone rings, and I let it go to voice mail.

They think I can’t hear them talk but I can. Damon’s convinced I need help, and despite the message it’ll send to the wealthy community, I can tell my parents are thinking it through. I spend my days in bed while Dad’s friend and private doctor examined and monitored me after the accident. They also don’t know that I know ... that I almost killed a man. They covered it up, they covered for me—my parents. And they dragged Damon into their criminal, immoral decision, forcing him to keep quiet. According to their hushed tones, the young man will be fine, since his bike barely damaged our car. Dad says the only thing that had to be replaced was the back door. Thank God—it could’ve hit Damon. The rider wasn’t going fast due to weather conditions, they presume, but he did fly off his bike. All Damon and I had to endure was the spinning of the car and a bruise or two. We didn’t even make it to the forest. So, I’m not sure why I need to see a doctor—mostly due to shock. The biker ruined my plans. There was talk of another biker, a woman, but my eyelids felt droopy by then and I fell asleep, sad that I failed.

Oh, Damon. No, no, no.

You son of a bitch! Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me I’m reading fiction.

I read every word, make sense of every vowel, taking it all in. I swallow the truth, the whole, entire truth, letting it fester inside my brain, forcing myself to believe it because it’s here in plain sight.

No, no, no.

It could’ve been on any road, on any other night, but the coincidences seem too numerous to ignore.

A few months passed. I couldn’t write because my family considers my pen to be an object of risk. Risk that I’ll try and kill myself again. I rest a lot lately, popping pills and throwing my bleeding demons onto a canvas once I feel up for it. Damon’s fighting my parents tooth and nail over therapy. Despite their reluctance, they don’t leave me alone for a minute. My parents are there, or my sister, or Damon, or the help. Someone’s always there. Damon comes and visits me twice, sometimes three times, a day, but I can’t stomach talking to him much less looking at him. I should be grateful for Damon. He rescued me. In swerving us away from the forest, he managed to save us. He protected me after the incident. He’s like my angel with dark wings. But he doesn’t understand that I don’t need saving.

Angel. Angel. Angel.

No—he’s my angel. He was my angel.

The dreams. Oh God—the dreams: brown hair, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of raw chocolate.

Could it be him?

No, it’s not. It can’t be.

I must be losing my mind.

The canvas—the paintings? Are they all hers? The murky paintings that follow Damon around like a wounded soul?

I’m even hungrier for answers now. At this point, it’ll wreck me not to have them.

Today’s the day Gregory’s getting married. And while he’s planning to spend the rest of his life with his bride, I’m planning my funeral. I have nothing left to give to this world, and if the pills I took don’t drill that notion in my brain, the mixture of alcohol and fentanyl sure does. Beforehand I write a note to my parents, one for my sister, and one for Damon. I already sent Gregory an email, which counts as my final love letter to him. I don’t shy away from the truth they’ll seek through every line. I love them, but it’s not enough because I HATE myself. I hate who I’ve become. I hate what I’ve lost. And I don’t want to get it back. The fire burning my arms, my throat, is coaxing me to slice my neck and wrists. I’m more nervous of failing than I am of dying. More nervous that the sharp knife won’t do the job this time. So goodbye, sweet diary, thank you for listening to me when no one else did. Thank you for allowing me to pour my heart out to you. I’m sorry my own words couldn’t save me. I’m sorry Damon tried so hard, for so long, and yet in the end he couldn’t. In the end, we can’t save what doesn’t want to be saved. Farewell. This time I won’t fail.

Oh, my fucking God.

I shut the journal after reading the last page.

Despite what I think I know, what I know I found out, I still pity Damon. He tried so hard, and yet nothing he could’ve done would’ve saved her; the same way I couldn’t save Harvey from his depression. Turns out, only Claire could.

My hands are shaking when I see Henrik calling me on my cell.

“Hey, is everything okay?” I say. He knows I’m at work, and it’s not like him to bother me during working hours.

“Gemma, I fucked up ... I let it slip that you moved in with your boyfriend.”

My heart halts. “Is he okay?” My mouth feels devoid of saliva when I think I hear Hen crying.

“No ... fuck, he’s not. He almost took a bunch of pills. I found him in the kitchen just in time.”

“No.” The word slips from my mouth in a whisper.

Why, Harvey?

“A-are you home?” I ask.

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do. My dad’s on his way over, and I called you. Claire is pretty shaken up too.”

I tell him I’m on my way before we hang up, and I grab my stuff at a record pace. My heart is reeling from one betrayal to another.

Though Harvey never betrayed me, I betrayed him. I might’ve slept with the man responsible for his injuries.

I don’t give a shit that Palmer was driving. Damon protected her. He was old enough to know the moral consequences of a hit-and-run.

I put the journal in my purse. I don’t bother emailing Damon that I’m leaving work. I take an Uber since Joey drove us this morning.

I can’t believe Harv tried to kill himself.

Last time wasn’t just a hoax. He wasn’t simply drunk; he’s hurting.

I breathe deeply, but my breaths feel stuck—pained and trapped.

My mind is blank. I can’t picture Harvey taking pills, seeking to end his life.

They say you can’t blame yourself. That there’s nothing you could’ve done. That people make their own choices.

Stupid, useless words from people who have never known the melancholy accompanied by guilt once it spreads through your veins like a venom you never sought.

I can’t do it. I can’t think of Damon right now.

All I can focus on is knowing that Harvey’s alive and well.

My hand is clutching my phone with a slight tremble, while my awareness dives headfirst into the abyss.

Finally, the Uber driver drops me off at the front of Harvey’s place, and as soon as I close the door behind me, he speeds away like a teenager experiencing his first car.

Henrik meets me at the entrance, a cup of coffee in hand, embracing me in a tight hug. I swallow when I pull back and see that he’s been crying.

“I shouldn’t have told him.” He shakes his head, and I place my hand over his arm.

“He would’ve found out eventually.”

“Yeah, well.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I’m glad I found him in time. I don’t know if he would’ve done it, but just the thought that he might’ve gone through with it ... anyway, Dad’s talking to him right now.”

I place my purse on the kitchen counter as Hen tells me Claire’s in his room. I find her sitting on Henrik’s bed, no doubt needing the space, as she faces the backyard.

I cross the room and settle on the bed a few feet from her.

She clears her throat. “You were right. I should’ve looked over him better.”

“Claire.” I sigh. “You’ve been watching him better than anyone since—”

“Because it’s my job.”

“And because you love him.”

Her small laugh echoes through the room. “He’s so happy around me.” She turns to face me. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts to hear,” she adds when I wince. “I thought you were exaggerating when you said to watch him with drugs. I already know how easy it is for some to get addicted to pain meds, but he seemed to be doing well. Who knows? Maybe he got really good at hiding his depression.”

“Sure, possibly.”

She pushes the onset of tears away from her cheeks. “I don’t think he’s an addict. I’m with him every day. I’d know. But I strongly believe he needs therapy. He accepted that job, and he was so happy, I can’t begin to understand why the thought of you moving in with your man would set him off like this.”

The guilt resurfaces like a black hole that’s impossible to escape.

“The news was probably the nail in the coffin. Too many changes all at once. We ended things, I moved out, Henrik moved in, your relationship changed, he was going back to work, and he might be pressuring himself to fully walk again.”

She nods. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s good that you support therapy. He has so much pain and anger that he needs to let go of before he can give himself to you.” I replay my own words in my mind, wondering if they apply to Damon as well.

She dries her tears, and we stay silent, staring out the window. “I know we all made mistakes. I’m just—sorry if I hurt you in the process of falling for him. I hope you’re happy, Gemma, because you deserve it. And one day Harvey will see it too.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you last time and telling you to leave. It wasn’t right.” Nor fair. I thought about it, and if Harvey would’ve come to my dad’s and kicked Damon out, it wouldn’t have sat well with me at all.

“Well, now would be a good time for a threesome.” Henrik’s voice breaks our little moment.

Claire scoffs while leaving his room, and I smile, shaking my head as Hen throws himself on the bed.

“She doesn’t like me very much. Tell her the feeling’s mutual.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” As soon as the words come out, a rush of nausea hits me, and I hurry to the washroom, vomiting my entire breakfast. I flush the contents before washing my hands.

When I step out of the bathroom, I grab a piece of gum from my purse. Harvey’s dad, Ian, tells me Harv wants to see me. I can feel the nerves tingling throughout my body as I knock on the door and twist the doorknob.

Harvey’s facing the window, staring out at the front yard of the house, his blinds pulled up, sunshine brightening his room.

“Harv.” I gulp, holding in all the love, all my fears.

“I wasn’t going to do it. I thought about it for a split second, and I knew deep down I wasn’t going to do it, so don’t worry.”

I sit on his bed, wrapping my arms around my knees, staring at the side of his face. Despite the morning’s events, he looks healthier, happier, lighter in spirit, and tanner. I guess he spends more time outside with Hen and Claire.

Which makes me so happy.

“What made you think about it?” I whisper, waiting for his response like you wait for a rainbow after the rain.

“I don’t know. The first few days after you left were hell. It got better, but when Hen told me the news, it felt like we were really over—even though I already knew it. The pain came back and fuck does it hurt.”

I grab his hand, listening to him talk.

“You’re right. I do love Claire. I’m sorry I kept lying.”

“Harv, don’t. We both messed up. Listen, I can only hope that with time we forgive each other.”

“My dad’s forcing me to get therapy.” He chuckles. “Fuck it, maybe I do need it. I’m still angry at you.” His blue eyes plead with me for forgiveness, but I know his stubborn mind won’t allow such a thing.

I disregard his remark about his anger, choosing to focus on the positive instead.

“Therapy will help, and if you decide to go with Claire sometimes, it might benefit both of you.”

“Thanks for being here.”

I squeeze his warm hand, planting a kiss over it. “Of course, I’m always here for you. But, Harv, there’ll come a day where you won’t need me anymore. You’ll be free of your past and of us , and you’ll look back with a smile on your face.”

I let go of his hand when a knock sounds at the door. Claire peeks her head in, and I stand and hug him tightly.

“Always remember how loved you are.” I let go of him and smile at Claire.

A freeing sensation filters through me, pushing away the guilt. Maybe it’s knowing Harvey will finally get the help he needs. Maybe it’s talking it out with Claire.

All I know is that by the time I reach the kitchen island facing Henrik and his dad, all I can feel is the love and good memories Harv and I shared.

“It’s good to see you, Gemma. Helen will be here soon,” he says, speaking of his wife.

I nod, staring at Henrik, wondering if this is my cue to leave. It’s a tricky line, because I want to be there for Harv without overstepping on his relationship with Claire.

“He told me he agreed to therapy.” I shouldn’t be surprised. He all but offered to go together the night before I moved out, but I figured that was his last attempt at an olive branch. His accepting that it might do him some good is the best of news.

It means he’s ready to move forward.

“Yes, well, we should’ve pushed him a long time ago,” Ian says, scratching the top of his head. “He agreed to individual therapy and group meetings with other SCI patients twice a month. Maybe if he sees that he’s not alone in this, it’ll clear his head.”

“That’s a huge step for him. Who will watch over him?”

“Helen, Henrik, and I will step up. I’ll sleep here if I must. We have a meeting with his family doctor tomorrow.”

“Good . . . that’s a relief.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Ian asks before sipping his coffee. “I heard you threw up.”

“I’m fine. Probably just stress.”

Henrik offers me a ride. Then he tells me not to worry too much and that they will watch Harvey until he’s on his feet again.

I say goodbye to Harv one last time. A part of me wants to stay with them, yet the other part knows that I made my decision, and I must live with it.

I’m not his girlfriend anymore, and if the man has any chance of moving on from our relationship, he needs to develop the other relationships in his life.

While I wait for Henrik, Harvey’s mom steps out of her car. We quietly hug, and I see the tears brimming in her blue eyes when I pull back.

“He’s going to be okay,” I tell Helen, and for once I believe it myself.

“I hope so.” She dabs a tissue in the corner of her eyes. “I can’t say I understand your decision to leave him, because, well, frankly I don’t, but I don’t fault you for it either. We can never forget the time you spent trying to make him smile.”

I had a feeling Helen wouldn’t be as happy having me here as Ian.

I don’t blame her. I broke her son’s heart.

And it’s almost laughable that it took me years to try to make Harvey smile while Claire managed to do so as soon as she started working with him.

Helen hugs Henrik before he tells her he’ll be back.

How did this happen? How can Harvey’s family feel like strangers already?

It’s as if this isn’t my life. As the days go by, I keep missing the key players that used to be in it.

“Gem, it’s not your fault.” Hen breaks the silence, squeezing my hand, once we’re in his car.

I swallow because he has no idea that I’ve been sleeping with the monster that caused all of this. Palmer clearly shouldn’t have been driving that night. Damon knew she was unstable—he knew! And now Harvey will pay the price for the rest of his life.

“It is. Trust me, it is,” I whisper, clearing my throat. “Do you mind driving me to my dad’s place instead?”

I’m glad when he nods. I’m reminded why I love spending time with him—it’s so easy, and if he suspects there’s trouble in paradise, he doesn’t comment on it.

“If we’re going to play the blame game, then I’m pret-ty sure I’d win, considering you told me to keep an eye on him, you know?”

“He’ll be okay. He has to be.” A part of me is grateful for Claire for pushing him to get the help he needs. “Thanks for driving me, Hen. I could’ve taken an Uber, seriously.”

“Nonsense, I had to clear my head.”

As silence blooms, I wonder if I misread the signs from the journal burning a hole through my purse right now. It could’ve been anyone else but Harv and me. Yet, as my mind whispers these words, I already know they’re woven in lies.

He lied to me since the beginning.

He knew and he said nothing .

Henrik and I hug when he drops me off. “Keep me posted, please.”

“Always.” Hen winks, and I shut the car door behind me, making my way inside my dad’s house.

“Hen texted me the news about Harvey! Oh, my God, Gemma, is he okay? Are you?”

I used the restroom at my dad’s to brush my teeth before calling my sister.

“He says he’s fine and that he wasn’t going to go through with it, but still, you never know.”

“Seriously, wow!”

“Yeah. When I saw him, he looked happier, like he wanted to get better. He finally agreed to therapy.”

“That’s good. Baby steps. I still can’t believe it though. I mean—it’s Harvey. He’s the last person you’d think would try and commit suicide.”

“None of us will ever understand what he went through.”

“True.”

We talk about Athena for a while before I ask her if I can stay at her cottage for a few days. I’ve had this urge to run away ever since I finished the journal earlier today. Harvey’s news amplified that decision. And I can’t think of a better spot than Gia’s cottage.

“Of course. James and his dad opened it up for spring recently.”

I have the keys—Gia’s way of making sure I always felt welcomed there.

“But wait. Is this about Harvey, or did Damon do something?”

“It’s neither, really.” I’d never tell her what I found out about Damon. That’s a secret I’ll be taking to my grave—as if I don’t have enough guilt feeding off me already. “I just need space and some clarity. I need nature. I need me time.”

“Then go ahead. When were you thinking of heading there?”

“Right now, actually.”

“Okay. Text me when you get there.”

“I will,” I tell her, glad she doesn’t pester me with further questions.

We hang up, and I use my dad’s car to drive to Damon’s. Once I’m there, I grab my luggage from a spare room and start packing.

Damon’s going to be mad I didn’t email him to tell him I left. God, as if more time off work is what I need right now. But his feelings are the last thing I should be considering. He sure didn’t care about mine when he kept the accident a secret.

At what point was he thinking of telling me—if he even was at all?

How could he ever think I would easily let this go? They ruined Harvey’s life.

For so long, he stopped smiling. Does he know what that does to someone? Although Damon doesn’t know much about smiling anyway.

I’m angry, so furious inside I can feel it. The filters in my brain are unveiling all the wicked thoughts I usually contain. A few seeds of doubt resurface, telling me I could be jumping to conclusions, but my instincts are strong on this one. Damon knew something and covered it up.

He lied to me.

So, I leave the purple journal on the kitchen counter, knowing he’ll find it when he gets home, and he’ll understand why I left.

A hollowness opens inside me as I drive to the cottage. My phone keeps vibrating against the cup holder, and I know it must be Damon calling.

The drive there is peaceful. It’s about an hour away, and there isn’t much traffic on my way there. I even stop by a local grocery store to stock up on food and other items.

When I arrive, it’s just me in the wooden, medium-size cottage. I use the thermostat to warm the room before putting the food away, then store my clothes in the drawers and closet.

It’s eerily quiet.

I unpack the fantasy books I brought with me, including Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix , and grab a science magazine to take to the living room. I flip through it but nothing registers.

All I can think of is that Damon is linked to Harvey’s injuries, and is somewhat responsible for the pain he’s been going through and still is.

I want to hate him for what they did to Harvey, but I can’t. The love I feel for Damon refuses to sip on hate or revenge.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. And that sure doesn’t mean I’m not questioning everything—everything about us.

I’m still nauseated, so I nibble on a few crackers. Then I text Gia to assure her of my safety before falling asleep on the couch.