by Tempest Phan
Because for me, being near her felt like coming home, always.
She was in the center of the dance floor, in Jonathan’s arms, unbearably close to him as they moved slowly. Like her, he had a crown on his head. Unlike her, it made him look absurd.
I watched as his left hand dropped to her ass. I felt what had started to become a familiar pang of jealousy, a tightening in my chest. She turned her head slightly and her eyes caught mine across the floor. My heart clenched. She smiled a sad smile at me, then leaned her head even closer to Jon’s chest. I kept staring. I knew it was inappropriate, the way I stared and stared at her. I couldn’t help myself. Everything, everyone else seemed to fade away. It was only her and me, just the two of us staring at each other across a crowded dance floor. My heart felt so heavy with how much I cared for her. When had it changed? And would she ever relinquish her strange hold on my heart?
She turned her head away, resting her other cheek on him. Rachel walked toward me. She was wearing a tight red dress, showing off her amazing curves. A tiara, smaller than Bella’s, sat on top of her loose curls.
“Come, sexy. Let’s dance,” she said to me while grabbing my arm. I followed her onto the dance floor. I held her close as we swayed there, my eyes still searching for Bella’s. I could see her in the distance, but she did not look my way again.
Good.
***
Bella
As I danced in Jon’s arms, all I could hear were Damien’s words.
Of course I do. Of course you are. The most beautiful girl I’ll ever meet.
He thought me beautiful. Not just some exotic oddity, nor the overprivileged daughter of a wealthy, powerful man. No, not either of those. Simply, the most beautiful girl he would ever meet. I lost my breath each time I thought about his words.
And the moment he walked in, I knew he was there. I glanced up to see him staring at me. He looked austere and glorious in his dark suit, his black hair slicked back, and my heart just skipped a beat at how beautiful he was, a man among boys, his height and presence making him stand out. Through the crowded dance floor, I could see his face, his narrowed eyes (was I imagining that his smidgen of liner was darker?), his set lips, piercings all in place, as his eyes searched mine. I smiled at him and turned away. I couldn’t breathe.
The song ended and I stepped back from Jon.
“You look nice, Mira.” And then he looked up, as I felt a gentle hand on my bare shoulder.
“May I, Mirabella Mei Grace? The next dance?” Damien. My skin was burning where he was touching me.
“Hey, hang on, dude. We were just about to go get something to drink.” Jon looked pissed.
“Perfect. Why don’t you do that. Bella?” Damien did not even look at him as he responded, his eyes burning into mine instead. His hand slid softly down my arm, fingernails painted their usual matte black, a featherlight caress, before coming to rest on the side of my waist.
“Ok, Dame.” I turned and smiled at Jon. “Just one dance, Jon. Just the one and then I’m all yours for the rest of the evening.” I felt Damien’s hand tense. Jon looked at us. And then he nodded and walked toward the refreshment table.
The music started up again, I Can Wait Forever by Simple Plan, another ballad, another slow dance.
How apropos.
“You look beautiful, my Damien James,” I whispered.
He smiled and repeated my Damien James under his breath before gently pulling me closer to him, his arms around my waist now.
Close, so close. Close enough for me to rest my head against his chest, for me to hear the beating of his heart. We danced slowly, and I breathed him in deeply. Damien and his intoxicating scent of sandalwood and smoke. I looked up only to find him looking at me, his eyes dark. The weight of his stare pulled me down, and I was drowning, drowning. I looked away, trying to steady my out-of-control heart. I found it hard to breathe. I was vaguely nauseous, my stomach feeling like it had been flipped and hung upside down. I rested my cheek against his heart, breathing him in deeply, feeling at once unsettled and at home in his arms, all divides between us erased as he held me tightly in his embrace.
I felt his own heart beating furiously against my ear, a thunder equaling my own in its speed and agitation. Perhaps he was not immune to whatever this was either. But what was this, exactly? I knew he cared about me. Deeply. But that was it. That’s all it could ever be, right?
At least that’s what he’d whispered to me, as we sat in his car, the rain beating down around us. He’d left no room for ambiguity.
I could almost cry.
The song came to a close.
And, with great difficulty, I peeled myself off him, smiling what I hoped was a steady smile that did not give away the tumult in my head, in my heart.
“Thank you, Bella.” He gently tucked my bangs behind my ears, making me tremble. He ignored Jon who’d walked up and had taken my hand, already leading me away. I stopped in my tracks, still smiling at Dame as Jon’s hold on my hand tightened.
“Mira, come on,” Jon said, a touch of annoyance tinging his voice, making it grate against my ears. “Come on. We’re going to miss our dinner reservations.”
“Ok, ok,” I responded, not looking at him. “I gotta go, Dame. You’re good for the rest of the evening?”
He winked at me. “Have a lovely dinner.” He turned away and strode off the dance floor, the straight line of his broad, powerful shoulders exuding confidence as the sea of couples parted and stared at him while he made his way out. I watched as a gorgeous brunette stepped up to his side. She smiled up at him as he then took her hand and led her toward the doors.
I only go for brunettes.
My heart sank. Yes, he would be good for the evening.
“Mira.” Jon wasn’t trying to hide his annoyance anymore. I turned back to him and forced a smile.
“I’m ready, let’s go.” And started to walk ahead.
Jon drove us to Bouchette for an incredibly elegant—and expensive—five-course meal. I couldn’t quite keep track of the conversation, just listened to him drone on about college, football, college football, and on and on and on.
“Mira? Are you listening?” he snapped, dipping into the fancy chocolate soufflé he’d ordered for dessert.
I pushed my crème brûlée away—I’d barely touched any of the courses that evening—and rubbed my temple.
“I’m sorry, Jon.”
“Are you ok?” he asked, the note of irritation giving way to concern.
This was my way out. “I’m not feeling well, actually. I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Would you like for me to take you home?”
I looked at him, at his anxious puppy eyes, and didn’t even feel sorry. “Yes, thank you.”
Damien
My Damien James, she’d called me. Like I was hers. Like she’d claimed me. The very idea felt both oddly comforting and terrifying as fuck. It gave me goosebumps, made me feel like someone was pummeling my heart until it exploded into nasty goo inside my chest.
Control yourself.
I stepped out of the shower I’d taken to wash that girl off me.
My phone beeped. It was Bella.
ME:
Hey baby girl . . . You were breathtaking tonight, by the way.
Control, my ass. I shouldn’t have texted her that, but to hell with it.
She sent me a heart emoji, asking me if I was home now, and if I wanted to hang out. Her father wasn’t home, and Jon had dropped her off not too long ago.
ME:
I’ll be there in fifteen. xx.
I got dressed and sped to her house. I’d wanted her company too. I always felt lonely, almost depressed, after sex. Was fucking random girls worth the gaping emptiness that came rushing in afterwards? I didn’t want to examine my feelings too closely.
I pulled into her driveway and ran to her door. It opened, revealing Bella dressed in a pink Hello Kitty shorts set. She had her hair up in a fluffy white towel, turban
-style, and not a hint of makeup on her. She was gorgeous and my heart dropped to my stomach, once again that night.
She smiled that broad, happy smile of hers, and threw her arms around my waist to hug me.
“So glad to see you, Dame,” she laughed. “Come. Are you hungry?”
I was. I hadn’t eaten all night. And I was usually ravenous after fucking. “A bit.”
“Great! I have Chinese on the way.” As she said that, a car pulled up, and a girl ran up, takeout bags in hand. “Well, there you go.” She laughed.
The delivery girl greeted us as I took the bags from her, and she handed me the bill.
“Hang on,” Bella said as she turned away. “I’ll be right back with your payment.”
“No worries.” I took out my wallet and handed the girl a couple of twenties.
She thanked me, smiled, and then walked away.
I stepped inside as Bella closed the doors behind me, then she took the bags from my hand. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“Just let me get this, at least once. You’re always paying for everything. Starting to feel a little useless here.”
She just smiled and nodded. Yes, a couple of twenties was nothing to her, but to me, it’d mean that I’d probably have to work a few extra hours bussing tables this week. But who gave a shit. I was tired of not being able to take care of her.
I followed her into the family room, vaguely seeing her diadem thrown on top of a liquor cabinet. I picked it up, as she set the food down on the coffee table. “Make yourself comfortable. Pop or water?” she called out as she walked over to a fancy fridge that blended perfectly with the dark oak furniture in the room.
“Water,” I responded, placing the diadem on the table, as she threw a bottle for me to catch. I watched her skip lightly back and plop down next to me on the large cream-colored deep-seated sectional. She smelled delicious, like the blossoms from the soap or shampoo she used. I watched, fascinated, while she dragged the towel off her head, her semi-dry dark hair falling in long, inky coils around her face. She ran her fingers through it before pulling it back into a messy bun.
She then turned back to me and smiled. “Bon appétit.” She handed me one of the containers, her fingers pausing by the crown before picking it up and gently placing it on my head. She giggled.
“Bon appétit, chérie.” I peered inside the container. “Chicken?”
“I was hoping you’d come, so I ordered, just in case.” She shrugged.
I leaned over and fluffed her loose bun, making the crown on my head tip precariously. “Thanks, baby girl.”
She smiled, and then added, a naughty lilt to her voice, “Although you should try not eating meat. Better for you and for those poor animals.”
“Yes, but not today,” I responded. “So, how was dinner? Not filling, was it now?”
She snorted. “I could barely eat. You look good in a crown, by the way.”
“Why thank you.” I winked at her. “The food was that bad, huh?”
“Not at all. I’m sure it was fine. But for some reason, I wasn’t enjoying the whole experience. This is better. Eating bad Chinese with good company on my couch,” she said.
I laughed. “Don’t diss the food. It’s pretty good! And yes, the company is absolutely fucking great.”
Her phone rang. She sighed. “I should get this.”
After a quick exchange where Jon was apparently making sure she was still alive and well, and would she be up to seeing him tomorrow? she hung up, sighed, and turned to me. “Why do people always call? That’s why texts were invented, so you don’t actually have to talk to people!”
I laughed. The antisocial loner in me totally got it, too.
Bella
“We’ve been together for five months now,” Jon said, gently stroking my hair as I rested my head against his shoulder. We were at his house, a gorgeous, modern monstrosity designed by his locally famous architect father, and styled by his bubbly Stepford-wife mom. Both had gone to Orcas Island for the weekend, so we had the place to ourselves.
A week had passed since homecoming, and things felt worse than ever.
“Shhhh. Trying to watch,” I said, attempting to keep the irritation from my voice. Truth be told, I had no interest in the movie we were watching, but that seemed to be the safest thing to concentrate on, versus talking with Jon about our relationship. In fact, things had never felt right with him. Comfortable, sure, and like the thing to do if we followed the basic high school social hierarchy of star football player and cheerleader being an item. But I don’t think I’d ever had a crush on him. He was an incredibly good-looking guy, in a typical, clean-cut, all-American boy sort of way. And up until the start of the school year, he’d been nothing but a sweetheart, kind and caring, and never rushing me to do things I’d never felt like doing with him.
But clean-cut boys next door were apparently not my thing. That much was now evident.
He sighed, but he didn’t respond. A few moments passed by, and I felt his hand on my hair again, felt it softly trail down my neck, to my shoulder and arm, making my stomach recoil.
I shifted, moving slightly away from him.
“What’s going on, Mira?” he finally said, an edge to his voice.
“I’m trying to watch the movie!”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
I turned to face him, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He turned off the TV and looked at me. “We’ve been together five months. In those five months, you barely let me touch you. And now, you even cringe when I try to kiss you.”
“I’m not cringing. I’m trying to watch a fucking movie. And it’s four months, not five.”
“Four, five. Big fucking difference. My point is that I’d have expected to have gotten to at least second base with you by now.”
“Jesus Christ. Is that what this is about? Locker room talk? I’m leaving now.” I stood up and made a move toward the door.
“Has he made it to second base with you?” He leveled me with a cold stare before adding, “Or maybe he even scored a run?”
I stopped in my tracks and spun around.
“Fuck you, Jon. We’re over,” I said to him in a low, hard voice.
He jumped to his feet, “Fuck me? Fuck me? But you won’t you fucking little tease!” Rage twisted his face. Who was this? I hardly recognized my mild-mannered, gentle boyfriend.
He grabbed my arm roughly, trying to pull me to him, “The whole fucking school is laughing at me! Do you know how that feels, you bitch? You’ve completely emasculated me! And for what? What? So you can fuck a fucking loser?”
I gasped, enraged at how he dared speak of Dame. I pulled back and pushed him with two hands. Loser?
“Don’t you dare call him a loser again, asshole. In fact, you’re not fit to even utter his name,” I hissed.
Something snapped in him, and he punched me. I fell backwards, clutching my throbbing jaw and cheek. The horrible realization of what he’d just done dawned on him, and he stepped toward me, his hand out to help me up, “I’m so sorry, Mira. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so very sorry.”
I pushed his hand away, got to my feet, and stalked out.
***
Damien
The words were spilling onto the white pages in front of me, a river of want and heartache that had been swirling inside me since that second I’d held her in my arms as we’d swayed together. I shouldn’t have asked her to dance. Shouldn’t have held her against me, close, so damn close that I’d felt each soft curve of her perfect body molded to mine, as if she’d been made just for me. But of course, she hadn’t been. And so those words they tore themselves from me, as I imagined in my feverish want what it would be like to not only feel her softness against me, but to plunge inside her, to be the first ever to do so, and to make her mine. Only mine.
The curves of your hips
The one on your lips
A mouth made for si
n
The sweetness within
I dip down and taste
Lower, without haste
Low, low, low I trek
Kissing down your neck
Low, lower and rest
My lips on your breasts
Low, between your thighs
The sound of your sighs
As my lips yours meet
Sweet, so very sweet
There, beneath my tongue
You buckle along,
And cry out for me.
Only.
I threw my pen down and laughed at myself. Fucking A. Fucking A! Writing perverted poetry about someone I should only look at platonically.
My phone beeped. Bella. I frowned as I read her message, knowing she was spending the evening with her boyfriend. I responded immediately.
ME:
OMW, sweetie . . .
As I neared Jon’s gated neighborhood, I saw her sitting on the sidewalk, just outside of the gates, crouched in the dark. I pulled to a stop. Something was off with her posture.
She pulled open the passenger-side door and sat next to me.
“Baby doll?” I said, as she avoided my eyes.
“Let’s just go, Damien,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Where to?”
“My house.”
I threw one last glance at her but didn’t push it before driving off. She didn’t say a word during our entire drive. Once we’d arrived at her house, I pulled into her driveway and parked the car, before turning back to her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I said, trying to not push her, but wanting to make sure she was ok. She turned toward me and that’s when I saw a large welt across her right jaw and cheek.
Silent rage coursed through me. It took me a minute to get it under control. I finally said softly, “Did that bastard do this to you?”
