Muse [18+] • REVISING

27 | Counterfeit

D A M I E N

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While he could spend hours, days even, listing off the many things he admired about the girl sleeping silently, wrapped up in his bedsheets, there would always be some kind of obstacle that kept Damien from ever etching those sentiments in stone.

Physical obstacle—no, not physical. A simple, sweet kiss from her had the power to end humanity's chaos. The thing keeping him from alleviating the tension that lingered inside of him every time he lied next to her was purely mental.

For someone whose peers saw him as a control freak, standing at the helm of every conversation he took part in, fear seemed like a distant emotion for a man like Damien to feel. And if ever he did, he endured the complexities of his life in private.

Yet, every kiss, every touch, every word exchanged with the young girl, only heightened the timid feeling, making it nearly impossible for him to keep his emotions from externally showing up.

Vera was quick to notice, Damien could see this. Her worry radiated off of her every time the two were in each other's presence. He'd also noticed how she watched him, whether as he carelessly ripped open a new pack of cigarettes or a fresh bottle of scotch. He assumed she kept a mental checklist of his 2am habits, waiting to bring it up when things seemed too overwhelming.

But while he had opened up to her about his maternal problems, Damien continued to keep her in the dark about the added issues that invaded his life.

Leaning in closer, making sure not to wake her, he listened to her soft snores and steady heartbeat, watching her chest rise and fall. Silently claiming that he would never let this moment go whilst knowing well off that he'd be the reason they'd ultimately fail.

Earlier in the night, when he had expressed to her that he could write about her forever, he began to see only flaws in the words he spoke. Thinking back to the book filled with letters written by idyllic couples, he realized how much more Vera deserved than a mostly fabricated letter.

"You deserve someone to create you in a way that is reality and truth," he whispered. "More than a painting only displayed for a night."

Words reminiscent of his now damaged painting once featured in her exhibit.

Staring at the ceiling, girl nuzzled in chest, he remembered back to the first night he had caught her, around midnight, asleep on the leather couch of his living room. He laughed at the empty blue mug sitting on the coffee table, the one with the chip on the rim that they had fought over for the millionth time, only a few hours prior. How the girl finally won custody by arguing mercilessly about her love for the oddly-shaped handle.

He remembered when he pulled a blanket over her body and watched her curl up against the soft material, how something had changed inside of him. The unadulterated act of her resting, mustering up feelings of an unfamiliar tone he didn't know how to describe. Only to realize what it was tonight, when his best friend told him so.

A notion that he was falling in love.

But at the time, as Damien did, he brushed off the foreign sentiment for no one ever gave him a candid definition of the feeling. One of the many, many reasons why he would run from one relationship to the next. Why he had told Vera the first night he brought her home that he couldn't promise her anything. No one taught him how to love so how was he to know what it felt like or how to give it? It was like a never-ending chase for something you don't even know why you're chasing.