Outside your window (18+)

Chapter thirty seven

(Three weeks later)

"I need you to sign this." Henry mumbles quietly, sliding over a bright, white piece of paper onto my desk, sparing a nervous glance to the scary big man standing in the corner of my office, very obviously staring daggers at him. "Please." He quickly adds, his brows furrowing as he averts his eyes to the floor. I watch him awkwardly shift, clearing his throat and straightening his posture to seem less intimidated, but I think he knows we don't really buy it. Not once since I have come back to work has he looked me in my eyes, and I don't know if it's because of the fact that a scary and very unfriendly-looking guy has been following me around wherever I go, scaring away everyone within a ten mile radius. Or if it's maybe because Damien might've said something to him that day of the fire, the day he nearly took his life for putting his hands on me. Such a hypocritical drama queen.

Either way, I don't know if it's something I appreciate or not. It's not fear that I want to see in him, I just want maybe an apology and for him to stop acting like a dick.

I narrow my eyes, reading the contents of the paper before writing my signature in messy and elegant lines on the bottom of it, sliding it back to him before I can ponder over how I could've done it better. Before I can say anything, he's already snatching the paper back and turning to leave, slamming the door shut after him as much as he can without it being alarming enough to count as disrespectful. Still, I sense the big guy next to me stiffening, glancing at me with a raised brow.

"Leave it," I say, waving a dismissive hand his way before leaning back in my chair, staring up at the crème colored ceiling. The leather softly groans beneath me and I ignore it, already used to the noice. "Have you heard from him yet?"

"Not since his last text." Iván says, and my throat works to swallow. His last text was almost over two weeks ago, and he hasn't reached out to either of us since, including not answering our texts or calls. I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried, even if just a little. Iván comforts himself by saying Damien has disappeared for way longer periods of times in the past, and that it's nothing to worry about yet, but I'm not sure if I believe him.

I thought being back home would made me feel safer somehow, made me feel more at ease and more comfortable. I figured it would be less stressful than my stay at Damien's house, at least. I knew things wouldn't just magically go back to normal, but still, I had hope and patience. I was willing to give it time. But the three weeks I've spent there with Iván at the apartment has made me realize that it's not what home feels like anymore. It used to be like a shelter for me, a place that was mine that I'd gotten on my own. It's supposed to be my home, but it doesn't feel like it anymore. That warm touch it used to have seems to have disappeared during my time with Damien, and I don't even know why.

Every night I dream about being back in his bed with him, back in my safe cocoon made out of his arms and warm body around mine, and when I wake up I'm always greeted by an empty bed and cold sheets that don't smell like mint and citrus, and a warm musk only he has. I never knew disappointment smelled like newly washed sheets and fresh hints of jasmine. And I never knew hope smelled like him.

It's not like I miss him, per se. It's more like I've gotten used to him always being there, no matter how much I pushed him away. And now he's just gone. It's weird not having him around, not having his constant touches and whispers of playful teasing against my ear. Did he tell me he loved me or was that all a dream?

"You should be out there looking for him." My fingers drum against the hardwood dest as I speak, the gnarly wood hard and smooth beneath my fingers, but not enough of a distraction. Nothing is.

"My orders were not to leave your side." Iván frowns next to me, probably since we've had this discussion a few times before.

"Then take me with you." He sighs and shakes his head at my words, muttering something in Russian I can't understand. I frown, too, slumping further into my seat, the leather cold against the back of my neck. "Is there even anybody looking for him?" I turn to look at him this time, my eyes searching his for any hint of confirmation, anything that would make me believe Damien is fine. Something in my chest sinks when I find nothing.