The morning after is like a dream. Or maybe more like a nightmare I can't seem to wake up from. I'm lying in my bed, my body still thrumming with the echo of Damon's touch, his kiss, the way he took control of everything and made it feel... inevitable.
I roll over, the empty side of the bed mocking me, a cold reminder of what happened. What I let happen.
I've never been the type to lose myself like this. I've always been in control—of my body, my mind, my emotions. But Damon... Damon has a way of stripping everything away, leaving me raw and exposed.
I sit up slowly, running a hand through my messy hair, and I stare at the phone on the nightstand. I haven't checked it yet, but I know the message will be there. The one that will change everything.
Are you still avoiding me? It will probably say. Or something just as loaded, something that will make my chest tighten and my pulse spike.
I grab the phone, unlock it, and stare at the screen. There's nothing. No message. No calls. Nothing.
A part of me wants to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe he's giving me space. Maybe I'm not just a plaything to him after all. But then, another part of me, the one that I've been fighting so hard to ignore, wonders if that's what I want.
Maybe I do want him to want me.
The thought makes me sick, but it's true. Even as I sit here, replaying everything in my head, I can't stop the way my heart races at the thought of Damon. I can't stop the way my body reacts to the idea of him.
But that's the problem, isn't it? He's dangerous. He's a force that pulls me in, whether I want it or not.
I stand up, pacing across the room, my thoughts spinning in circles. I need to get a grip on this. I can't let myself get lost in him, not again.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a loose sweater, anything to feel like myself again. I grab my keys, and my purse, and step outside, hoping that the fresh air will clear my head.
But no matter how hard I try to shake the thoughts of Damon, they cling to me like a shadow.
I head to the café down the street, my usual place of refuge. It's quiet, peaceful—everything I need to try to think without him in my head. I find a seat by the window and pull out my phone again, hoping that this time, I'll see a message from someone else.
Instead, there's just one text. The one I knew would be there.
We need to talk.
I feel my stomach churn at the words. It's not an invitation. It's a demand. Like he's waiting for me to fall in line.
I type a response quickly before I can second-guess myself.
I'm not ready.
I hit send, immediately regretting it. What am I doing? Pushing him away is the worst thing I can do, I know that. But it's the only defense I have left. If I let him in too much, I'll lose myself completely. I'll lose everything.
The phone buzzes in my hand, and my breath catches in my throat when I see his name.
I'm not giving up on you, Ella. Not now. Not ever.
The message hit me harder than I expected. I stare at it for what feels like an eternity. It's not just a declaration. It's a warning.
He's not going to stop.
I close my eyes, trying to fight the way my heart races at his words. I tell myself I'm being irrational. That I'm being stupid. But then, another part of me wonders if maybe this is what I want, too.
I put the phone down, hoping that the decision to ignore him would somehow make him go away. But I know it won't. Not with the way he's determined to break through my defenses.
I sip my coffee, trying to focus on anything other than the way my skin tingles, remembering how his hands felt on me. I push the thought away, but it lingers. It lingers like everything else between us.
The bell above the door rings, signaling someone's entry, and I look up—instantly regretting it.
Damon.
He's standing in the doorway, his eyes immediately locking onto mine. There's no smile, no casual greeting. He just stares, his gaze intense, the same determination in his posture as ever.
I don't know why he's here, but I can't bring myself to look away. He takes a slow step forward, then another, like the whole world falls away until it's just him and me.
"I told you I wouldn't give up on you," he says, his voice low, steady, but filled with something else. Something I can't name, but it makes my pulse skip.
"What are you doing here, Damon?" I manage to ask, even though I can feel the panic rising in my chest.
"I'm here to make you understand," he says simply. "I'm here to show you what we have."
I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. "This is insane. You can't just keep showing up. I told you I'm not ready."
"I don't care if you're ready," Damon replies, his eyes unwavering. "You will be. Soon enough."
I don't know whether to be terrified or intrigued. Either way, I feel trapped.
"Damon—" I start, but he cuts me off, taking the seat across from me.
"I won't let you push me away anymore, Ella," he says, his voice calm but resolute. "You're mine. And no matter how much you fight it, you'll never be free of me. You'll never be free of this."
I want to argue. I want to tell him he's wrong. But something inside me—the part that's afraid of him and yet craves him—keeps me silent.
"You can fight it all you want," Damon continues, his voice barely above a whisper, "but the truth is, you want me just as much as I want you. And I'm not letting go."