He Missed the Funeral... For Her - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

"Let's get a divorce. I've already filed the paperwork—it'll be at the house tomorrow. Make sure you come back and sign it."
I didn't wait for their reactions. Didn't give Damon a chance to speak. Just turned and walked out.
I shot off a quick text to my department head, requesting leave, then bolted from the hospital.
Damon chased after me. Of course he did—he was faster, stronger. He caught up before I could even reach the curb, yanking me into his arms.
"Ashy, you—"
"Get lost, Damon!" I spun around and slapped him—hard.
He tried to speak again, so I stomped on his foot.
"Ah—shit!" He recoiled, grip loosening just enough for me to wrench free.
I didn't look back. Just threw myself into a cab and watched his figure shrink in the rearview mirror.
Home. Straight upstairs. Suitcase open, clothes shoved inside. If I was ending this, I wasn't staying under the same roof. I'd go back to Dad's place.
I was halfway out the door when Damon burst in, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples. Panicked.
Too late for that.
He grabbed me, tossed me onto the couch. My suitcase hit the floor with a thud.
Before I could scream, his mouth was on mine—rough, desperate, punishing.
"Get off me, you bastard!" I shoved at his chest. "You're disgusting!"
"I'm sorry, baby—please, don't do this." His voice cracked. Rare for him to beg.
But Damon—I'm the one breaking here.
I pushed him away, disgust twisting my stomach. Grabbed my suitcase.
"You're really leaving?" His voice followed me out.
I didn't stop. Didn't hesitate.
Just walked.