The Prisoner Project

THIRTY EIGHT

"He was abominable, and the most alluring, tortured soul I'd ever met."

— Becca Fitzpatrick

THIRTY EIGHT

MIRABEL

SHE WOKE UP TO the sound of glass shattering against a hard surface and jolted from the comfort of her leather couch. Nothing would prepare her for what she was about to witness. Mirabel shook as she slowly creeped towards the landing so she could peer into the kitchen. Was she being burgled? Just as she was about to grab the landline and dial 911, she heard sobs.

It was the sob of a man who had lost everything. It was the sob of a man consumed with grief so large that he felt the physical pain through his bones. If Damien was a fictional character, this would be the moment he had realised his fatal flaw. His hubris. Nothing could reverse it.

Mirabel stepped into the kitchen, terrified at the state of him.

But when he looked up, eyes void of anything beautiful, and caught the eyes of the woman he was certain he had loved hard enough to abandon his family, he felt the rage course through his body.

"This is my final letter." He murmured, as his eyes scanned the one thing Mirabel had thought she had control of. His voice shook as he read the contents of the letter to her. "For months, I tried to reach out to you. Now, you are dead to me."

Mirabels eyes scanned the broken ceramic and glass that dotted her pastel kitchen. Her kitchen was destroyed. He had tossed and overthrown anything that wasn't connected to the ground. Her hands flew to her mouth in horror when she realised what he was holding between his fingertips.

Like a deer in headlights, she stood before him as though she were naked and afraid. "Damien,"

He was no longer looking at her. He was looking anywhere but at her. She had become the sole source of his pain. "Did you do this?"

"Damien..."

"Did you hide these from me?" He asked, harsher.

In a desperate attempt to hold on to her lover, she began to unravel. Her voice was desperate and her hands fidgeted against the silk of her dressing gown. "I...I did it to protect us."

"You did it to—" Damien stopped as if the anger bit his tongue. He suddenly stood, shoving the kitchen table to the side. It skewed and screeched against the hardwoood. "Fuck!"

Mirabel winced, taking a cautionary step back. Damien had never been aggressive towards her so she was unsure how to act in this scenario. It was a depraved feeling, knowing that she was the reason he had changed. "Baby. Please, calm down."

Damien flinched. "How can you say that to me, knowing what you've done?"

"I needed to do it." Her voice revealed her fear but her face remained stern. She needed to remind him that she was the most important thing to him. He had reassured her with those words in the past. Now, he seemed to be taking it back.

Like an expert manipulator.

Damien took a menacing step forward. "You had no right." His voice was cold.

"You're with me now, Damien." Mirabel protested his words. "You've left them. They are your past!"

In the second it took him to face her, his face had contorted into anger. He stomped towards her, planting his hands on either side of the door jamb and leaned into her face. "THEY ARE MY FAMILY!" The veins in his neck bulged.