For The Pain You Caused

Chapter One The Man I Buried I knew Damian Cole was in the room before I saw him. Some people leave memories behind. Damian left scars. The hotel ballroom was crowded enough to swallow a person whole. Waiters moved between tables carrying wine, cameras flashed every few seconds, and somewhere near the stage, a saxophonist was playing something soft enough to sound expensive. I stood near the entrance with one hand wrapped around my clutch, pretending I wasn't looking for anyone. I had spent the last three years learning how to pretend. Pretend I was fine. Pretend I didn't remember. Pretend certain songs didn't make my chest tighten. Pretend the smell of his cologne wasn't enough to drag me backward through years of carefully buried memories. Tonight, I almost believed myself. Then I smelled it. That familiar, dark scent. Cedarwood. Something warm underneath it. Something I had once associated with home. My fingers tightened around the clutch. No. I turned slowly. And there he was. Damian Cole. Black tuxedo. White shirt. No tie. His hair was shorter than I remembered, his jaw sharper, his shoulders broader. He looked older. Not old. Just harder. Like life had taken a knife to the softer parts of him and he had decided to keep the scars hidden beneath expensive clothes. For a moment, our eyes met. Everything around me disappeared. The music. The conversations. The laughter. Gone. There was only him. And me. And the ghost of everything we had once been. His expression changed first. Not dramatically. Damian had never been a dramatic man. His eyes simply widened. Barely. But I noticed. I had always noticed everything about him. That was the problem. You're here. His voice hit me harder than it should have. Three words. Three years. And suddenly I was twenty-one again, standing outside his apartment in the rain, holding a bag he'd forgotten at my place and wondering why the man who once promised he couldn't live without me had stopped answering my calls. I blinked. Apparently. His mouth tightened. You look different. I almost laughed. People always said that when they didn't know what else to say. People change. I can see that. Good. Silence. His eyes moved over my face. I hated that he still knew how to look at me. Not like a stranger. Not even like an old lover. Like someone searching for a piece of himself. I looked away first. I didn't know you'd be here. I didn't know you'd be here either. Then I suppose we're both disappointed. His jaw clenched. There. That tiny reaction. The old Damian. The one who hated losing control. “Amara.” I looked back at him. He hadn't said my name like that in years. Softly. Almost carefully. I hated how much it still sounded like home. Don't. His brows drew together. Don't what? Say my name like that. Like what? Like you have the right to. His face went still. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then someone behind him called his name. Damian! He turned. A group of men near the stage were waving at him. Businessmen. Investors. People who knew him now. People who knew the version of Damian Cole who wore tailored suits and owned companies and appeared in newspapers. They didn't know the man who once borrowed money from me to put fuel in his car. They didn't know the man who used to sleep on my tiny sofa because his apartment didn't have electricity. They didn't know how he used to laugh when he was broke. They didn't know how he used to hold my face in both hands and tell me. One day, Amara. I'll give you everything. I looked at him. He looked back. “Go,” I said. He didn't move. I said go. Are you okay? The question almost offended me. I smiled. It was a small, cold smile. Why wouldn't I be? His eyes lowered briefly. Then returned to mine. Because I'm here. I didn't have an answer for that. So I gave him the only one I had. You're not important enough to ruin my evening. Something flickered across his face. Pain. Real pain. For the first time that night, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Then I remembered the last time I'd cried because of him. And whatever softness had appeared inside me disappeared. Damian stepped closer. I stepped back. His eyes followed the movement. You're afraid of me? No. Then why did you move? Because I don't like people standing too close. You never used to. No. I held his gaze. I used to make a lot of mistakes. He swallowed. You think loving me was a mistake? I stared at him. The question was so absurd that I almost smiled. No. His shoulders relaxed slightly. Then I finished. Trusting you was. The relief vanished from his face. Good. I picked up my clutch. I have to go. Amara. I kept walking. Amara, wait. I didn't. He followed me. I heard his footsteps behind me as I crossed the ballroom. I hated that he still knew how to make me walk faster. Please. That word stopped me. Please. Damian Cole didn't say please. Not to anyone. I turned. He was standing a few feet away. For the first time since I'd seen him, he looked less like the powerful man everyone knew and more like the boy I remembered. The boy who had once loved me. Or at least, I had believed he did. What? I asked. He looked at me for a long moment. I didn't know you were coming. You said that already. I mean it. Okay. I would have prepared myself. I almost laughed. For me? Yes. I shook my head. Damian, I'm not something you need to prepare for. His eyes darkened. You have no idea what you are to me. I stared at him. No. My voice was quiet. But I know exactly what you made me. His face changed. I walked away. This time, he didn't follow. --- Outside, the Lagos night was warm and noisy. Cars crawled through the street. Horns blared in the distance. The city continued living as though my past hadn't just walked into a ballroom wearing a black tuxedo. I stood beside my car and took a slow breath. Once. Twice. Three times. My hands were shaking. I hated that. I hated him for making my body remember what my mind had worked so hard to forget. I opened the car door. Amara. I froze. Not again. I closed my eyes. Then turned. Damian stood beneath the hotel lights. He hadn't come closer. He simply stood there. Watching me. What do you want? He shoved his hands into his pockets. I want to talk. We have nothing to talk about. We do. No, we don't. I disagree. I laughed bitterly. Of course you do. He looked down for a moment. Then said quietly, I've thought about you every day. My smile disappeared. There were some sentences that shouldn't be spoken after three years. They were too dangerous. Too late. You shouldn't have. I couldn't help it. You could. He looked at me. I tried. I shook my head. Don't. Why? Because I don't want to hear it. You deserve to. No. My voice cracked. Just slightly. But he heard it. His expression softened. I hated him for that too. You don't get to tell me what I deserve anymore. He went silent. I opened the car door again. Then he said the one thing I wasn't prepared for. “I never stopped loving you." My hand froze on the door. For three seconds, I said nothing. Then I looked at him. There were tears in my eyes. I refused to let them fall. You should have thought about that, I whispered, before you broke me. I got into the car. Closed the door. And drove away. I didn't look in the mirror. I didn't need to. I already knew he was still standing there. And I already knew something I didn't want to admit. Seeing Damian Cole again hadn't hurt because I loved him. It hurt because some part of me had spent three years trying to kill the girl who did. And tonight she had opened her eyes.