Falling for her?
2193 Words
CHAPTER 9
The moment her head fell to the side, Damon froze.
Not like he is surprised.
Just like someone whose soul dropped straight into the floor.
“Maree—”
He caught her before her body slumped completely, her skin burning with fever beneath his hands. Her eyelashes fluttered once… then nothing. No response. No movement. No sound.
Just stillness.
A stillness that terrified him more than any bullet ever had.
He pressed two fingers to her neck—her pulse was there, weak and thready, but there. He exhaled sharply, a breath that didn’t do anything to loosen the tightness crushing his chest.
This wasn’t sleep.
This was collapse.
“Damon?” Elena’s voice called softly from outside the door, but he ignored her. He scooped Maree into his arms without hesitation, her weight frighteningly light, and carried her out of the emergency unit.
“Prepare my room,” he ordered through clenched teeth.
Elena blinked in shock. “Your—”
“My room. Now.”
He didn’t raise his voice, but it carried the type of command nobody argued with.
Within minutes, the doctors cleared out his space, machines were wheeled in, fresh linens laid out, and the room transformed into a temporary care ward. Damon placed Maree on his bed gently—too gently for a man raised on violence.
Her chest rose unevenly.
Her hand twitched once.
Then she went completely still again.
The doctor checked her vitals.
“She’s in a stress-induced coma,” he said quietly. “Her body shut itself down. She needs time.”
Time.
The one thing Damon hated giving.
But he nodded.
He dismissed everyone else.
And he sat.
Just sat.
Watching her breathe like each shallow inhale was the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground.
Sometimes he reached out to adjust her blanket. Sometimes he brushed her hair away from her face when it stuck to her forehead. Sometimes he clenched his fists so tight his palms bled, trying to silence the thoughts echoing in his head.
Thoughts he didn’t want.
Thoughts he couldn’t stop.
Three days passed like that.
Three days of silence, torment, and thoughts he would never admit aloud.
Three days where he left her side only when forced—one of those moments leading him into an operation he should have canceled. His focus fractured. A man took a bullet for him. Another died in the crossfire. Damon barely made it out alive.
And the whole time—every time blood spattered, every time someone screamed, every time he pulled the trigger—
He saw her face.
Breathing shallowly in his bed.
Half-dead because of his father.
Half-alive because of him.
When he finally returned to the mansion, injured and exhausted, he didn’t even go to his own wound. He headed straight for his room, ignoring the blood soaking through his shirt.
But halfway down the hall, the doctor stepped out.
“Damon,” he said with a calm smile. “She’s awake.”
Everything in Damon’s body stopped.
Then ignited.
He didn’t even hear the rest of the doctor’s words. He pushed past him and entered the room—and the moment Maree lifted her head slightly, blinking softly at him, something inside him cracked.
She was alive.
Awake.
Breathing.
He crossed the room in two steps and pulled her into his arms before he could stop himself.
She stiffened at first, confused, overwhelmed—but then her gaze dropped. Blood. His blood.
Her breath hitched.
“Y-you’re hurt,” she whispered.
Her hands trembled as she gently pushed him back enough to stand. Slowly, unsteadily, she walked to a drawer and took out bandages, cotton, antiseptic.
She returned to him silently.
And with soft, shaking fingers… she began to clean his wound.
Maree worked slowly, carefully, as though touching him wrong would make him disappear.
Damon didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
He just watched her—watched the concentration in her tired eyes, the way her brows pulled together every time she saw a fresh bruise, the way her breath trembled each time the cloth came away red.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” he murmured.
“You shouldn’t be bleeding,” she whispered back.
Their eyes met for a moment.
Hers were softer than he expected. His were softer than he wanted.
Maree swallowed, dipped the cotton again, and wiped another streak of blood from his ribs. Damon hissed quietly at the sting, and she froze.
“Sorry,” she breathed.
He shook his head. “Just finish it.”
But her hands were shaking so badly, the cotton slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She startled, bending quickly to pick it up—but Damon caught her wrist.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Slow down.”
Her chest rose too fast. Too uneven. She stared at him, wide-eyed and panicked—because she remembered the pain, the whips, the dark room, the man who beat her, the cold words about her blood.
And Damon remembered too.
He saw her flinch and he pulled his hand back instantly.
Not because he wanted distance.
Because he knew she needed it.
Maree inhaled shakily and stood upright again. She picked fresh cotton and continued treating him, but her eyes kept drifting to the bandages wrapped around her own wrists… reminders of the same hands that tied her.
Every second felt like a question.
Why did he care?
Why did he hold her?
Why did he save her?
Damon watched those questions flicker across her face. He could almost hear her thoughts.
He didn’t answer them.
He couldn’t.
Not yet.
When she finished cleaning the wound, she pressed a bandage to it gently. Damon caught her hand again—not forcefully, not coldly… just enough to make her look at him.
“You scared me,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “I… scared you?”
“Yes.”
His voice didn’t shake, but something inside it cracked—something raw, something real.
“I thought I lost you.”
Her breath paused.
Her fingers stilled against his skin.
He had never admitted vulnerability around her. Never allowed softness. Never allowed weakness.
This wasn’t softness.
This was truth breaking through the armor.
Maree opened her mouth slightly, but her throat closed again. Nothing came out. She didn’t know how to respond.
She didn’t even know if she should.
After everything.
After the chains.
After the pain.
After the betrayal.
Her knees weakened suddenly, her exhaustion catching up all at once. Damon noticed instantly. Without thinking, he slipped an arm around her back, supporting her weight.
“You need to rest,” he said.
“No… I’m fine, I—”
He raised one brow.
She sighed. “…Okay. Maybe not.”
He guided her to the bed—his bed—and she sat slowly, watching him as if he might disappear the moment she blinked.
But he didn’t disappear.
He knelt in front of her instead.
His eyes searched her face—checking her temperature, her breathing, the trembling in her hands. He reached up slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she wanted.
She didn’t.
His fingers brushed the corner of her eye where a faint bruise still lingered.
“You shouldn’t have gone through that,” he murmured.
“And I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
Her lips parted, surprised at the confession.
Damon looked away, jaw ticking. “If I had acted sooner… if I had broken the rules—”
“You would have died,” she cut in softly.
He stilled.
Her voice shook as she continued, “They killed a man for taking a bullet meant for you. What do you think they would’ve done if you stood up for me?”
Damon clenched his jaw hard, pain flashing through his eyes.
“That’s not your concern.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But it’s true.”
Silence stretched between them again—heavy, fragile, complicated.
Maree’s gaze drifted over him. The blood-soaked shirt. The stitched wound. The exhaustion in his face. The shadows under his eyes.
“You didn’t sleep,” she whispered.
“No.”
“You didn’t leave.”
“No.”
Her voice softened. “Why?”
He lifted his head slowly.
And the honesty in his voice came like a blade, cutting right through the space between them.
“Because I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you woke up.”
Her breath caught.
Her heart missed a beat.
Because she didn’t expect that. Because she didn’t know what to do with it. Because she didn’t know if she wanted to believe it.
But she felt it.
Deep.
Confusing.
Warm.
Damon stood slowly and sat beside her, finally letting his back rest against the headboard. He exhaled a long, tired breath. Maree leaned slightly toward him—just a little, enough for her shoulder to brush his arm.
He didn’t move away.
They sat like that for a moment—quiet, heavy with things not yet said.
Finally, Maree whispered, “I didn’t… think I would wake up.”
Damon turned his head to her.
“Neither did I.”
She looked down at her bandaged wrists. “I didn’t think… anyone would come.”
“I did,” he said firmly.
Her eyes lifted.
“And I will again.”
Her lip trembled—not from fear, not from pain.
From something she couldn’t understand yet.
- Writer
