I watch them again and again. This video. The one from the bar. Every other video in the set. They span a seven-year period with nearly half of them from the first two years. Then only a video a year, some with two. The bar scene is the last one. Not all of them feature her ex, but he’s there in some capacity for most of them. The night turns to a deep black, black as my soul must be from watching this and confirming my suspicions. The autumn fire of dawn catches in slow increments as I watch and watch and watch.
Once it’s over, I click back to the cameras, flicking through the videos of nothing. Not a damn thing has changed, yet it feels like everything has.
“Hey.”
Damon’s voice scares the living shit out of me, but I control it. I control the startle reflex and the wild hum of my pulse and nod at his silhouette from across the room in the morning light. Rubbing my hands over my face, I play it off as exhaustion. I close the laptop gently as if I’ve been doing the kind of research that involves files and records and interviews. “Hey.” If I were a better man, I’d feel any sort of shame, but at the moment, I don’t.
“She still sleeping?” he asks.
“I haven’t heard any movement.”
He nods. “You’re good to go.”
I don’t wait a second to get the hell out of that room. I want to stay too badly to wait. More than anything, I want to take the steps up to Ella’s bedroom two at a time and show her I understand, at least a little more. I understand the part of her who could use attention that I could give her. At least for a little while. Not forever, because nobody wants a fucked-up prick like me forever. But I could satisfy a part of her that shares reciprocal needs and give us both a much-needed distraction.