The Prisoner Project

THIRTY EIGHT

Mirabel met his glare with wet eyes.

He looked into her eyes, replacing her horror with waves of regret. "They are my family." He whispered again, his anger melting into misery.

It wasn't often that the smart-mouthed Mirabel was at a loss for words, but the universe seemed to have shifted on its axis because she was speechless. He had confirmed her biggest fear. Softly, terrified that she would break if his response wasn't what she wanted, she asked. "Then what am I?"

And in the moment the words left her lips, he stumbled back because he didn't know. That was the thing. Damien didn't know what Mirabel was. "I..."

He couldn't come up with anything. All he could think of was the fact that he couldn't take anything back. He had become, and had always been, the sole reason for everyone's pain. The letter had revealed to him in jarring detail that every single person in his life was hurting, and he was the abscess that caused the ache.

The letter had wrecked him completely.

Mirabel watched in fear how Damien struggled to reply her question. She watched his desolation distort his features. She noticed how he stood lopsided, more pressure on one foot than the other. His physical pain challenged her emotional one.

After moments of silence, "How could you be so selfish?" — was all the cowardly Damien could muster.

Mirabel whispered, heart in hands. "I wasn't selfish...I thought of you."

"And baby, look what that caused." He gestured to the letter. "Have you even read it? Do you know what you've done?"

What I've done? Mirabel thought, incredulously. As always, Damien was shifting the blame onto her in an attempt to reduce the colossal amount of guilt that sat on his shoulders. She pushed him away hard and he stumbled back in shock. "What I've done? Are you insane?"

"Maybe I fucking am! You drive me fucking crazy," His voice was loud enough to bounce off the walls of the room, and the walls of her heart. She could instantly tell that it wasn't anger lacing through each word, it was sadness.

"Jesus Christ, Damien." Mirabel felt defeated. "You're really fucking breaking me."

He watched her for seconds, trying to make a quick-fire decision that he hoped would cause the least pain. Then, he shook his head, snatched the letter off the table and grabbed his jacket from the hook on the door.

It was only when he had slipped one socked foot into his boot that Mirabel realised that her worst fears were truly manifesting before her eyes. It was all happening too fast.

She rushed towards the door and stood before it. "Wha—What are you doing?"

"I need to go to them. They need me."

"No." Her back was pressed hard against the door. He stood before her, his patience growing thinner with every breath he took. "I can't let you leave. I need you, Damien."

"Move."

"Think about what you're doing, Damien."

"Move out of the way, Mirabel."

"You don't want to lose me."

"I don't want to hurt you. Get out of the way."

"You're going to regret this."

The silence after her words came crashing down like an avalanche. Her eyes didn't leave his, even though they were looking at her with anything but love. She remained adamant to hold on to raft that protected her from the harsh waves of the lonely sea. At first, the turmoil in his eyes made her feel a flare of hope. He seemed to be considering her words. She could practically see gears in his head turn and twist.