Free Restore Me by J. L. Mac

as he empties himself into
me.
    We both work to catch our breath and Damon
withdraws from me, still fully erect. He quickly begins untying the
strap around my ankles. The bed shifts as he moves around me to
free my arms. There’s obviously no cuddling planned. I sit back on
my feet then splay my fingers and roll my shoulders. Damon unknots
the blindfold and pulls it from my face. I blink rapidly to clear
away the haze. Despite knowing better, hope creeps into the front
of my thoughts as my vision clears and I see Damon in front of me.
For a fraction of a moment I have hope that when I see him, there
will be life in his eyes and emotion written on his face.
    Of course, life’s a bitch and all I see in front
of me is the same cold, stoic Zombie Damon that woke up in the
hospital over a week ago.
    I guess I thought giving myself to him would do
the trick. How fucking naïve am I? I just got fucked half to death
and that’s all it was. For the first time in my promiscuous adult
life I feel cheap and used.
    I lift my hand to caress his cheek but he turns
and walks towards the bathroom. The door shuts and I hear the click
of the lock.
    I feel hideous.
    I feel dirty.
    I have the urge to shower and wash it all
away.
    I think I know exactly how Dog felt.
    ***

 
     
    By the time Damon is
out of the shower, I’ve already rummaged through my clothes to find
something clean to wear. I step out of the closet in my loose
cotton shorts and ancient, paper-thin t-shirt and come face to face
with Damon’s chiseled chest. He has a towel around his waist and
even though he’s dried off, a couple droplets of water linger in
the dip of his bruised sternum. I glance up at him hopefully. His
eyes are just as cold as ever. I lift my hand to touch his chest
but he catches me by the wrist.
    “Don’t.”
    “Stop it!” I cry, jerking my arm free from his
grasp.
    Despite the fact that he could easily hold onto
me, he lets go. He won’t look me in the eyes, but I lift my hand to
his chest again and he stays still as a statue while the pads of my
fingers trace the bruising.
    “Does it still hurt?” I ask softly as my fingers
inspect the damage that has marred his chest.
    “I’ve had worse,” he mumbles, pushing my hand
away and shouldering past me to go into the closet.
    I know he’s hurting but fuck! I don’t
know how much of this punishment I can take. He’s talking to me, at
least. He needs to know that I won’t leave him again. I’ll never
desert him like that again, but this treatment is hard to stomach.
I turn on my heels and march into the damn closet after him. I
stand by the door and wait for him to turn around.
    “Do you hate me? Do you want me gone? Is this my
punishment? Huh?!” My lip quivers and tears threaten. My heart
pounds. Adrenaline courses through my veins. I’m so damn frustrated
with him, with everything about him, with everything that has
happened. I feel cheap, disposable, and used.
    His eyes are no longer warm, his touch isn’t
affectionate, and his voice is filled with cold indifference. It
claws at my resolve. He’s just not my Damon. Zombie Damon is a
creepy, belligerent shell of my Damon. I can fight for him with
everything I have to give, but even I have a breaking point.
    “Hate you?” he questions with quizzically raised
brow. “No, Josephine. I don’t hate you. If I did, I’d give you a
generous amount of money and send you away.”
    Bastard. His comment is a low blow and he
knows it. He knows his money has never been my motivation for being
with him. If he wants to punish me, if this treatment is my penance
for abandoning him when he needed me most, then I’ll take it for as
long as I can. I just hope my breaking point is far off. The fact
is, this is a battle of wills between us and I don’t intend on
losing
    “I don’t want your fucking money, Damon! I
didn’t back then, I don’t now, and I damn sure won’t want it in the
future!” I hiss.
    He prowls closer to me and I stand my