Misty Blue (22 page)

“Mia, what happened?”

She blinked, startled. She hadn’t seen Damien sitting at the table near the bags. Her eyes flicked over him and she was grateful that he was at least partially dressed in sweats.

“I won’t know what’s wrong unless you tell me.” Damien’s voice was hoarse, the words ripping from his throat with the rawness he was feeling. “Help me out here.”

Mia remained silent, searching her bag for clothes.

“Answer me, Mia.”

“What is it you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what happened. Did I hurt you, baby?” He started to rise from the chair but was stopped by the look of terror in her eyes. “You’re afraid of me?”

She opened her mouth to speak, only the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to tell her husband that it wasn’t him, she was afraid of, but her own emotions.

Damien tried again, this time not allowing the look of fear in Mia’s eyes to stop him. He walked toward her, reached his hand out to pull her close. If he could just hold her, he thought, everything would be fine.

“No, no, no. Please don’t touch me, Damien.”

Mia was trembling so hard that the clothes fell from her arms. “Please, just go back to the chair. I need to get dressed, Damien. Just let me get dressed.” As he bent to pick up the dropped clothing she moved away, nearly snatching them from him as he held them out to her. “Leave me alone, Damien, just leave me alone.”

“How can I just leave you alone, Mia? Something is wrong, I need to know what it is. You’re afraid of me and I have no idea why. Now you’re angry and I don’t know what I did wrong or what you think I did. Please, baby girl, tell me at least why you’re angry.”

She turned and stared at him. He was right, she was angry, but not at him. She wanted to tell him that she was angry at herself, at her mother, that despite all of her years of waiting for the right man, for marriage, blood had won out. Damien deserved so much more than to marry someone who’d been cursed to have Lillian as a mother.

As she stared at him, she thought about all the things that had gone wrong since they’d taken their vows. She should have known what she was. How could she have so easily fallen in love with Damien? After all, she’d been engaged at the time.

Even now she wanted him, wanted his hands on her, wanted him to repeat the things he’d done before she’d leapt from the bed like a lunatic. Mia looked away briefly, before bringing her gaze to rest on Damien. That was what she feared and what she could not tell him. That was the reason she was angry.

Then a quiver began in her toes and continued until it was a full shudder ripping through her at the knowledge of what she was. The pain of knowing was killing her. Mia closed her eyes, attempting to shove it away, to forget. That had been her habit for more years than she cared to remember. That was how she dealt with her pain. She submerged it, afraid of what would happen if she allowed the pain to explode.

“Mia, talk to me,” Damien pleaded. “If you’re angry about something I did, tell me, we can deal with it.”

Anger she could deal with, unwanted memories, she couldn’t. Her first time making love had been marred by ugliness. If she were to share the images she’d seen in her head with Damien he would think she was crazy. “Not now,” she said, “give me some time.” She backed away from Damien, turning only when she felt the bathroom door at her back.

In the bathroom she thought of her patients, of some of the things they confided to her, things that didn’t sound nearly as ridiculous as what she had to tell her husband. And she knew first hand that she thought they were nuts. Mia’s eyes closed as she leaned against the door. Some psychologist she was. She thought her patients were crazy. And then she screamed, loud and long. But it was only in her mind.

* * *

Damien sat where he was, watching Mia as she reentered the bathroom, her arms loaded down with her clothes. He was still sitting there when she came back out fully dressed, avoiding him. He couldn’t let this go on. He had to know what the hell had happened. Maybe this happened with all virgins. He didn’t know. But there was only one virgin he was concerned with and that was his wife. “God,” he moaned. “Help me.”

He walked toward her. “Whatever it is, baby girl, we can talk about it. I must have hurt you. You have to know it wasn’t deliberate. It’s all part of lovemaking. It will get better, Mia, the pain will go away and you’ll…you’ll enjoy it.” He swallowed, but stopped short of making her a promise. He’d made her several promises in the last few months and it was apparent that none of his promises were coming true.

He reached out for her, believing that if he could only put his arms around her it would be okay. He’d take away her pain in his arms.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t touch you?” Damien’s mouth dropped. This was a bit more than his new bride being fearful. More than a virgin’s skittishness. He looked into Mia’s eyes and saw fear mixed with loathing.

“Mia, what did I do?” he whispered hoarsely, wracking his brain for the answer. They’d been married less than twenty-four hours. He was sure that look hadn’t been there when she’d said ‘I do.’ Hell, he was positive it hadn’t been there when he’d begun making love to her. No, just a short time ago her eyes had been filled with love that had rapidly changed to lust as he kissed her. She’d wanted him, loved him. He was certain of it.

“Mia, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” she said softly, and walked away.

If he hadn’t hurt her, then it could only be one thing: His new bride hated his hands on her, hated his lovemaking. Damien cringed inwardly, praying for that not to be so. He was a good lover, he knew that. He’d prided himself on giving pleasure to the women he’d been with. His chest was hurting with the effort it was now taking him to breathe.

“Tell me what to do,” he pleaded. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Mia.”

What was wrong was Mia couldn’t stand the hurt she was hearing in Damien’s voice. “Damien,” her throat closed with the lump lodged there. She couldn’t talk and she didn’t want to continue crying.

“Mia, please—”

“I need to have time to work through this, Damien,” she whispered, wishing he would stop talking and allow her to begin her process but he wouldn’t.

“I know there was some pain, baby. I’m sorry.”

She wanted to tell him that the pain she’d known about, had expected it. What she hadn’t expected was to have her worst nightmare come true.

“Mia, I love you. Just let me hold you.”

If only it were that easy. There was nothing Mia wanted more than to turn to her husband, tell him that she loved him too. But if she did, he would touch her, hold her, and as much as she loved him, as much as she loved his touch, the thought of being like her mother disgusted her to the point of not being able to have him touch her at all. She feared her passion for him. In his arms she would succumb. She knew that.

From the moment Mia met Damien, she’d felt the fervor. Now she knew it was a danger to her. She wished she could tell him all of that, that she was hurting far worse than he could ever imagine. But that wasn’t how she did things.

All her life she’d been brave. She’d kept her pain buried deep inside, sharing it only with her brother, but mostly keeping it to herself. Her brother had told her time after time that she had to be brave, had to be strong, had to not let anyone know they’d hurt her. She’d done that time after time. She’d played her part, never giving in to being scared, never crying when their mother would leave her alone and she couldn’t find Keefe. And she’d kept the pain inside whenever her mother would drop in wanting money instead of them, loving a different man and never them. Mia had become an expert at keeping her feelings hidden. She’d done that time after time.

Yes, Mia was very good at being strong. This pain, too, she would handle alone. She’d learn to deal with it as she had every other pain in her life. But she knew this would require more time. For now she couldn’t allow Damien to touch her. Her hysteria was just below the surface, having it return wasn’t a chance she was ready to take. She needed him gone. She needed to mend on her own.

* * *

For two days the two of them shared a room and little else. Mia refused to talk and Damien was so bewildered by her attitude that he didn’t know what to do, how to change things. He’d decided to wait it out, make small talk, eat with her, sleep in the bed with her, knowing that the moment she thought he was asleep she got up and slept on the overstuffed couch. They were both nearing the breaking point and he knew they couldn’t take much more without one or both of them saying things that they would regret.

“Mia, I’m going to run downstairs for a little bit, maybe play a few slots. Do you mind?”

“No,” she answered, surprising him. It was one of the few answers she’d given. She must be happy at the thought of him leaving her alone. And that saddened him.

“Okay, then I won’t be long.”

* * *

The pain had not subsided but Mia had shoved it into the nether regions of her mind. She hadn’t run screaming from the room and she’d even gotten into the bed with her husband, knowing that if he touched her she could not maintain the calm façade. But if she told him how she felt, it would drive a wedge between them.

Like my actions aren’t already doing
that,
she thought.

She was positive that Damien thought she was crazy. And the longer they went not talking, the harder it was.

She’d cringed at the look of confusion on Damien’s face. She saw the hurt in his eyes and was affected deeply. Sometimes she found herself wanting to ease his pain; other times she wanted to ask him to get a separate room. She did neither. She was brave; she held it all inside.

When the door closed on the room Mia picked up the phone and dialed her brother’s cell. Mia shivered as she waited for him to answer.

Keefe must have known what would happen. She remembered Keefe’s reaction when he’d caught her kissing a boy, how he’d yelled at her, something he rarely did. Her brother had told her he would not allow her to become a slut like their mother. That was the first time Mia had doubted her character. She’d liked the kiss. Since that day Mia had shut herself away from those feelings, until Damien. And though both she and Keefe had tried to keep her from turning into Lillian, it had happened anyway.

“Keefe, you lied,” she began.

“Mia, I don’t understand. Lied about what?”

“You told me it would be fine, that Damien’s and my love would be enough to make it work. But it’s not. You were right to worry that I’d turn out like Mom. I am like her…just like her,” she sobbed, then hung up the phone.

* * *

The call had happened so quickly that Keefe was not prepared. A call from Mia was the last thing he’d expected. She was on her honeymoon. What could have gone wrong? He replayed Mia’s wedding day in his mind. Mia walking away from their mother crying, her coming upon Ashleigh and Damien and changing direction, her asking him to give their mother her things, and the morning after. Keefe remembered the crude remark Damien’s father had made.

Any of those things could have ruined Mia’s honeymoon. He punched in Ashleigh’s number. He was going to narrow down his choices.

“Ashleigh, I need to know what you and Damien were talking about at the wedding.”

“I thought we’d settled that,” Ashleigh answered. “That was days ago. It’s over. Let it rest.”

“Ashleigh, this is important!” Keefe snapped. “I need to know and I need to know now. It has nothing to do with my jealousy. Now tell me.”

When she was done, he groaned. Even he found it hard to envision that his mother had run her hand over Damien’s crotch, cupping him. God, what a mess! Do you think Damien told Mia?” he asked.

“Not unless he’s stupid. I advised him not to. Can you imagine what that would have done to Mia? It would have ruined her honeymoon.”

Exactly what Keefe was thinking. “Thanks, Ashleigh,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Keefe got the number from the operator and called the hotel, not knowing what he would use as an excuse if Damien answered. Lucky for him it was Mia.

“Mia, you scared the hell out of me. Do you want me to fly out and get you?”

“Get me?” Mia asked in a hushed voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Mia, you were crying. Something’s wrong.”

“Just a momentary lapse,” she answered. “But I’m being strong. I’ll handle it, Keefe. Don’t get involved,” she continued. “You can’t help me on this one.” Then she hung up the phone.

And that worried the hell out of Keefe.

Mia and Damien sat on opposite sides of the living room of Mia’s apartment. Correction,
their
apartment, their new home. Damien looked first at his hands, then at his bride.

“We have to talk about this, Mia. We can’t just keep going on like this, pretending nothing is wrong.”

“I know.” she answered.

“Then are you ready to talk?”

“Not now,” she answered. “I need more time.”