Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak Read Free Book Online

my fucking heart?’ My own grief was so palpable, so consuming, that I never truly stopped to think about his. Even now I can’t… For four years I’ve blamed him for taking our son, and whatever love I had for him even in the second marriage has diminished to the point where I don’t know if it even exists.
    The warmth is uncomfortable. I untangle myself from his body, relived to see he’s not entirely undressed, and get up from the bed, free of his constraint. The patio doors and windows are still open and there’s a nice breeze blowing through them again. I observe my own state of undress - bra and underwear - and wonder how we got into the bed. Nick must have picked me up and carried me to it. I know nothing else happened beyond his holding me. I feel reasonably assured of it. For the first time since seeing him I don’t feel violated, and it’s a brief comfort.
    I gather up the discarded belongings from the floor, the bags of drugstore purchases and my purse, and bring them into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. I don’t bother to organize the toiletries in the spacious bathroom, instead grabbing just what I need for a shower. Despite my own warmth I take a hot shower, washing the previous day off of me until I feel something like myself again.
    Clean and wrapped in a towel, I retrieve my phone and hit the home button, unlocking it with my thumb. No missed calls, no text messages. Just the regular email and app update notifications. I’m surprised to not see anything from my parents. I wonder if Nick got a hold of them. Maybe last night after I’d fallen asleep? Did they stop worrying about me when he chased after me? They should know better. They really should.
    I’ve always trusted my parents and in the past few years since moving in with them they’ve treated me like an adult, supported me when my emotional state was at best fragile, and gave me the autonomy I needed to come back into myself. I don’t remember them ever mentioning Nick’s name. Especially not at first, when everything was still raw and the pain was practically tangible. And maybe later on they avoided his name because I did. Still, I feel betrayed by them. They know how I feel, how the pain has dissolved my heart time and time again, and they let him in anyway. I don’t care if they thought it was in my best interest; they should have known better.
    After applying moisturizer and a touch of makeup I slide on the clean cotton underwear and fasten my bra. I slide the worn jeans on one leg at a time. By the time my hands reach for the blouse I know something is wrong. I hold it up in front of me and see the extent of the damage. Fabric ripped at the seam, buttons hanging out with just a bit of thread fastening them to the blouse. It’s unwearable. And I didn’t have time to grab anything else. Shit .
    Outside in the bedroom I spy Nick still asleep on the bed. He always did sleep like the dead. By the front door is his discarded duffel bag and I take a moment to consider going through it. Damnit . I need a shirt. How ironic that I don’t have enough clothing to go out shopping for the clothing I need.
    Fuck it.
    Clad in just the jeans and my bra, wet hair bound in a messy chignon at the crown of my head, I make my way across the room and unzip the bag. I spy white cotton and pull out a fitted white tee identical to the one he was wearing yesterday. It’s clean and I haul it over my head and slide the soft expensive fabric down my torso.
    I smell like him. The scent hugs me, both familiar and personal, and for a moment I forget that I can’t stand to look at him, that just the thought of him makes my heart contract into cold darkness.
    I try not to dwell on it. Nick could wake any moment and the small bit of adrenaline in me is urging me to run again. He’ll have to leave eventually. Right? I hear him stirring in the bed and when I look up I’m relieved to see he’s still sound asleep. Still, I feel the need to