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A tragicomic aspect of Lana’s situation, one that burns and rankles even now, is that her feelings for Damon Gant had not simply been admiration
She hadn’t wanted anything to happen, of course. Not really. There was too much between them–their ages, their positions, her duty to her sister.
Even knowing all that, she still felt flustered around him, still sought out his praise, still cherished every kind word from him. She has always had a weakness for turning towards those who see value in her.
And they had been a good team. Something in them had clicked, and they’d worked well together. She’d jumped at the chance to learn everything she could from him, knowing that it would be invaluable when she became a prosecutor. He had seemed to appreciate a young, hungry partner who would indulge his more out there ideas. They’d been incredibly effective and together, with no criminal being able to escape their grasp.
Except one. Almost.
Her feelings turned rotten, sick, wrong when she'd begged on her knees for him to help save her sister. When he'd tilted her chin up and asked her to sign her life away.
She’d become chief prosecutor, and instead of it being a triumph, a part of her wondered if this was his plan the whole time.
He doesn't ask her to do things often enough that she can get used to it. He doesn't corrupt every part of her job with his lies.
For every twenty cases she brings home solved with honor and justice, there will be one she can't think of without wanting to throw up.
The worst part is, he doesn't see what he's doing as wrong. Of course he doesn't. Lana's experience with criminals has taught her that most don't.
But there's something so grim about how he's the same cheery, eccentric man as always, just utterly convinced that anything is justified in the pursuit of a conviction.
He still invites her to go swimming with him; she always declines now.
Her distance from him bothers him, she knows. Everytime she declines an outing, refuses lunch he picked up for her, keeps their conversations brief, there's a catch to his voice, an annoyed look in his eyes, a bite to his words.
It makes her think of how at the start of all this, she'd thought him touching her was an inevitability.
It happened over and over again in her cases. Young women under the thumbs of older men, pushed to do terrible things, abused sexually as well as otherwise.
Her dread of it was almost worse because of the fact that she would have welcomed it once, would have liked him to make the first move, would have liked to have him kiss her, pushing past her reservations. She's never been able to make the first move when it comes to romance.
Every time he slaps her on the back, every time he flicks her on the nose, every time he does the simple physical touch he's always done, there's a frantic fear in her chest that tells her this time he's going to break.
He never does, of course. Just keeps looking at her with that tight, buried anger and clenched jaw.
She knows he wants her to come back to him, to be the legendary duo they were once. To be a proper team again.
In the quiet moments of the night, Lana admits to herself that this would all be easier if he would stop wanting her to be willing.
He could force her to do anything, but he won't, except in what matters most.