My Peace Beyond His Regret

My voice was calm, almost unnervingly so. It was a stark contrast to the Cecil he was used to-the one who would have been crying, pleading, or screaming by now. The one who would have clung to him, desperate for any shred of reassurance. But that Cecil was gone. She was packed away in one of those boxes, a relic of a past I was determined to leave behind.

"You said it yourself, Damien," I continued, taking a step closer, forcing eye contact. My gaze was steady, unwavering. "If you walked out that door, we were over. Remember that conversation? Just last week."

A flicker of something-guilt, perhaps, or merely annoyance-crossed Damien' s face. His eyes darted away for a split second before snapping back to mine, a defensive glint taking over.

"You said it was a 'stupid trip.' You said I was being 'dramatic,' " I reminded him, my voice still even, though each word was a hammer blow. "You said I was 'controlling' and that you needed 'space' from my 'clinginess.' " I quoted his exact words, the phrases burned into my memory. "Do you remember saying those things, Damien?"

"Enough, Cecil!" Damien roared, slamming the designer handbag Branden was holding onto the counter. The expensive leather bag slid across the polished surface with a harsh scrape, coming to rest precariously close to the edge.

Branden flinched, startled by the sudden outburst. He' d taken a step back when I' d first spoken, subtly creating distance, but now he recoiled further, a slight tremor in his hand.

"See what I mean, Damien?" Branden interjected, his voice high-pitched and indignant, directed at me. "She' s trying to manipulate you! Always playing the victim. She knows you were just blowing off steam with your best friend, but she has to make it about her." He turned back to Damien, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "She' s just mad because she knows you told me how much she drives you crazy sometimes."

I watched them, the familiar dance of victim and accomplice. Damien' s face was a mixture of confusion and anger, but he didn' t correct Branden. He never did. He just absorbed the convenient narrative.

My stomach churned. It felt like a sick, twisted replay of every argument we' d ever had. The way Branden always inserted himself, always twisted my words, always validated Damien' s worst instincts. It was a toxic loop, and I was so, so tired of being caught in it.

Damien, seemingly emboldened by Branden' s words, took a step forward. He reached for my hand, his fingers trying to intertwine with mine. "Baby, come on. You know I didn' t mean it like that. Branden just gets me riled up sometimes. He doesn' t understand our relationship." His eyes, usually so confident, were now pleading, almost desperate. "I bought you the bag because I really did miss you. I want to make things right. Let' s just talk, okay? We can forget about all this. You can move your boxes back."

He tried to lift my hand, as if to place the imaginary engagement ring he' d mentioned earlier. Branden, meanwhile, was giving me a triumphant, knowing smirk. "He' s even talking about marriage, Cecil. He always talks about marriage when he' s trying to smooth things over. It' s what you want, right?"

Marriage. The word hung in the air, heavy and brittle, like old glass ready to shatter.

I remembered the last time Damien had offered marriage as a peace treaty. It was after I found him, not with another woman, but with Branden, in a dimly lit bar, laughing as Branden mimicked my anxiety attacks.

"She' s such a headache, man," Damien had slurred, his words thick with alcohol and disdain. "Always worried about something. Always needing me to reassure her. Can' t she just be happy?"

I had demanded an explanation, a line drawn in the sand. "Damien, your best friend makes fun of me. He constantly undermines us. How can you let him?"

He' d rolled his eyes. "Don' t be so sensitive, Cecil. It' s just locker room talk. Branden' s my brother. You need to lighten up."

He' d called me "controlling" for asking him not to share intimate details of our life with Branden. He' d called me "selfish" for wanting him to prioritize our relationship. He' d called me "crazy" for feeling hurt when he' d ignored my calls for days, only to post pictures of himself partying with Branden.

I remembered the cold, dismissive tone in his voice when I' d finally reached him, hysterical and worried. "Cecil, why are you always so dramatic? I' m fine. Just having some fun. You need to stop being so clingy."

I had begged him then. "Damien, please. I need you. I' m scared."

"You' re fine," he' d scoffed. "Just take a chill pill. I' ll be back when I' m back. Don' t wait up."

That night, I' d given him the ultimatum. "Damien, if you walk out that door right now, if you prioritize Branden and that trip over us, then we' re really over. This is it. No coming back."

His face had been unreadable then, a strange mix of irritation and something else, something I couldn' t quite decipher. But he hesitated. Just for a moment.