Love & Exorcisms | 18+ | COMPLETE |

- Chapter 56 -

It was not easy to put aside those feelings. When I crawled into bed with Damian that night, I could still hardly speak. How could possibly come to terms with such guilt? How could I comfort myself after I'd caused so much pain? And how could I set aside my fear of that pistol, the one that had once stared me down, and could very well do so again?

Trust is a fragile thing, when it's never been exercised. Who had I trusted before Damian, honestly and truly? I could not name one person to whom I had given so much knowledge of myself, and whom I had allowed to have such control over me - willingly, at least. So it was with fragility that I cried in his arms and let him kiss, hold, and assure me. It was with shaken acceptance. I wanted, with all my heart, to believe I was safe.

But such assurances could not be forced. They needed time.

I fretted over the invitations I had begun to write for the Thanksgiving feast. I had wanted so badly to celebrate with my friends from the Doll House, to have them see a lavish meal in this beautiful home that I was beginning to slowly, tentatively, regard as my own. But knowing what I did now, and the danger I posed to those around me, how could I justify having friends? Acquaintances? Even leaving the house?

Damian found me crying over the desk in his office where he'd been helping me write the invitations, late in the evening when he'd come home from work. I'd been on the verge of throwing them out, the one bearing Mary-Anne's name crumpled and damp with tears in my hand.

"No, no, what's all this?" His voice was gentle as he knelt beside me, brushing aside my loose hair and gently taking the crumpled paper from me. I'd been so distraught that Alex had left me alone, clearly uncomfortable with my tears. I let Damian take me to the couch, where once upon a time we had sat and discussed an arrangement of payment for pleasure. Now he held me tight, and let me cry, waiting for me to explain with the patience of a saint.

"I can't invite them," I said at last. "I shouldn't do the dinner. I'm only a danger to them."

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly.

"Y-yes, I do, of course I do -"

"I trust you as well," he said seriously. "I trust you to tell me when you feel something wrong. I trust myself to recognize if there is danger and react to it. Your friends are not in danger, Samara. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Please don't give up something you wanted so dearly out of fear. That's exactly what they want. They'll seek to isolate you, take away all the things in which you find strength and happiness. Don't let them do it, my dear. You'll be fine. You'll be safe. Now. Let me help you rewrite that."

When Thanksgiving Day came, my stomach was in knots. The girls had sent word that they were going to come, Mary Jeffries be damned. Alex would be there, and Octavio - even the driver, Jacobi, had agreed to eat with us. Rachel and I woke early to begin preparations. When I began to crawl from the bed, Damian stirred - for once not awake before me - and drew me close again.

"How do you feel?" he whispered groggily, planting half-awake kisses on my face.

"Nervous," I said. The kisses went on. "But a little better now."

"Good. Don't be frightened. I'm excited for today." He smiled sleepily. "I haven't had a proper Thanksgiving in a long time."

His excitement made my heart flutter, and I got out of bed with lighter steps. Rachel and I stoked the oven fires and covered the kitchen with our work. For the first time in months I tied on an apron and took up a cleaver - not my own, this time, though my hand did shake for a moment as I took the handle. We tended the turkey, roasted the vegetables, and prepared the pies. Before long I was covered in flour and her arms were sticky with sugar, but we were smiling, and the butterflies in my stomach had flown away.