The word hung heavy in the air, a single truth echoing in the aftermath of Isobel's sudden disappearance – love. It wasn't a concept I'd entertained in a long time, not since the heartbreak that had left me shattered. Love, in my experience, was a weakness, a vulnerability that could be exploited and ultimately destroyed. So I'd built walls, brick by emotional brick, around the shattered pieces of my heart, shutting myself off from the world in a desperate attempt to shield myself from further pain.
But Damon. Somehow, he'd managed to breach those walls. With his infuriating arrogance, his playful teasing, and his moments of unexpected tenderness, he'd chipped away at the defenses I'd so painstakingly constructed. Now, he saw me. All of me – the broken pieces, the sharp edges, the vulnerability I'd hidden so deeply.
And that scared me. More than I cared to admit.
The truth was, I knew I loved him. It wasn't a question, not anymore. The way my heart hammered in my chest whenever he was near, the way his touch sent shivers down my spine – these were undeniable. But did he love me? The burning question echoed in the silence of the car as Damon drove me home. He hadn't spoken a word since Isobel's revelation, his face an unreadable mask.
The car pulled to a stop in front of my house, the engine idling softly. He still hadn't looked at me.
"So…" I started hesitantly, the silence thick and suffocating.
"So what?" His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. It felt like a punch to the gut.
I almost gave up right then and there. Just walked away, retreated back into the safety of my self-imposed isolation. But something deep within me rebelled. So much had changed in the past two days, in the whirlwind of emotions and revelations that had brought us closer. I wouldn't let him shut me out now. I couldn't let him shut me out now.
"So Isobel…" I began, needing to break the tension, needing him to acknowledge me.
"Isobel's a pain in the neck," he finished my sentence, his voice laced with a bitterness I didn't understand.
"…said something," I continued, determined to push the conversation forward.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "She spouted a lot of nonsense." He was still avoiding my gaze, and the frustration simmered within me.
We sat there in silence, the air growing heavy with unspoken words and tangled emotions. He stared out the windshield, his expression unreadable. I focused on my hands in my lap, my heart a frantic drum in my chest.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I spoke. "Okay," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to get out of the car now." Taking a shaky breath, I steeled myself. "I'm not going to cry. I won't cry for anyone ever again. You taught me that, Damon. You taught me to be strong again. And for that, I want to thank you. Thank you for making me strong. Thank you for picking up the pieces when no one else would."
A flicker of emotion crossed his face, a flicker that tugged at my heartstrings. "Bella…" he began, his voice thick with something I couldn't decipher.
But I wouldn't let him speak. Wouldn't let him backtrack, wouldn't let him build a new wall between us.
"Have a good night, Damon," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. Then again, maybe not." For the first time since we'd pulled up, I met his gaze. His eyes were a storm of emotions – pain, confusion, a yearning that mirrored my own. But they were also pleading, begging me to stay.
But I couldn't. Not yet. Not until I knew where I stood, not until I understood what he felt. With a final, lingering look, I opened the car door and stepped out. My legs felt shaky, but I held my head high, refusing to let him see my vulnerability. I wouldn't crumble, not in front of him.
I walked away without looking back, the weight of his unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. And for the first time in a long time, the sting of unshed tears pricked at my eyes. But they wouldn't fall. Not tonight. Tonight, I would be strong. For him, and for myself.