by Layla Hagen
This sobers me up. Just how easy? Does he know I think of his lips more often than I should? That each time he flirts, my heart does a somersault?
"So, what do you have to confess?" His eyes bore into mine as if expecting some profound secret.
"Well, my absolute favorite series are Harry Potter and Lord of The Rings."
"I've never read them."
"What? Oh, that's a big minus point."
"You're giving me points? What for?"
"I...um..."
"What do I get plus points for? Being good-looking? Irresistible?" He eyes me intensely, inching closer to me. "I might not get points for my reading, but I can do other things very well." His raspy voice sends tendrils of heat low in my stomach. After a few seconds, he must decide he’s tormented me enough because he pulls back. I breathe in deeply. "And you were judging my reading tastes?" We laugh together, stretching on the roof. It's such a liberating experience.
"I want to study English Literature," I explain. "These series are sort of pariahs for serious literature readers." At least they were for my interviewer at Oxford.
"You're incredibly sweet, my Dani."
My Dani. The words ripple through me. I know he probably didn't mean it in any significant way, but at the moment, it just gives me delicious chills.
"What is your favorite serious literature read?"
"A Midsummer Night's Dream," I say.
His face falls. "It was my mom's favorite, too. I used to read it to her very often."
"You read to her? That's nice."
"Yeah. She had trouble reading, so I did it for her. Reading was her way of escaping her reality, forgetting how incapacitated she was."
"Isn't that why we all love books, because they help you escape into a different world?" For brief moments, that magical feeling of being utterly buried in the pages of a book washes over me, then Damon's words snap me to reality.
"You have everything, Dani. What could you possibly want different?" His voice has a tinge to it that makes my stomach tighten. It’s not accusing, but incredulous. I instantly feel guilty.
"You'll laugh at me."
"No, I won't," Damon assures me, his eyes wandering curiously over my face.
"I just wish I had a warmer family. All those things you did with your mom—reading, cooking—I never did that with my parents. When I was very young, my live-in babysitter used to read me bedtime stories. My parents always had...other things to do. I know it's not such a big deal. I mean, not compared to the problems you had to—”
I stop when Damon puts his hand over mine. "Sorry, I didn't mean to come off as judgmental."
"When I have my family, it'll be very different," I say with conviction.
"I'm sure it will."
Staring at our interlinked hands, I voice a deep fear. "But what if I won't know how to be different? I mean, aren't we supposed to learn from our parents how to be parents?"
"You will be exactly who you want to be, Dani. You are a very warm person. That's not the kind of thing you learn from others. Otherwise, I'm doomed to be a crappy father." Damon says the last words with a grin, but beneath it I detect unease. His fingers tic on the rooftop, and then we finally get on with our Trig exercises.
***
On Wednesday, we go into an hour-long debate about movies. He's a fan of old-school movies, but I vehemently defend the latest blockbusters. That night is the first time he calls me. We end our talk at four o'clock in the morning. On Thursday, we both show up at school with dark circles under our eyes. I nearly fall asleep in Trig, which makes Mr. Smith angry. He's used to my average performance in Trig, and never seemed upset by it—probably because I'm a stellar student at the other subjects. At lunch, between Trig exercises, Damon and I talk about music. Maybe it's his mom’s influence, but his tastes smack of the eighties. Despite my best efforts, he refuses to tell me how he got his bruises. It's a whiff colder than the past few days, so we stay huddled together on the roof. He asks me if I can help him out in Biology, and I agree with the added request that he also let me introduce him to modern music.
"Pffft," he exclaims. "Only if you let me do something in exchange."
"What?"
"You've never been kissed before. How about we remedy that?" The proximity of his lips wipes away any thought. At the moment, the only thing I can concentrate on is how his teeth tug at his lower lip. "Dani?"
"I...um..." My voice trails as I try to make sense of what he just said, but his lips are distracting me. Is he joking? What kind of response is appropriate for this?
"You just tell me when you're ready."
His tone is so casual; he might have just asked me if I want a bite of his steak. I am ruined for the day.
***
On Thursday night, we spend hours on the phone again, so I’m a zombie in class on Friday. To top that, Mr. Smith catches me texting Damon instead of solving an exercise. I end up with detention—for the first time in my school career. Damon visits the principal’s office again.
I buy lunch for both of us and go on the roof, waiting for Damon. He shows up ten minutes later, sporting a somber look and a hellish mood. He kicks a small twig that fell out of the oak towering over the roof. Every muscle in his body contorts with anger.
"I can't wait to be eighteen and get out of fucking California."
"Damon—”
"They know." He turns to me abruptly. "The teachers. I thought the principal would have the fucking decency to keep it to himself, but he told them. They know about Mom."
"That's not so bad," I say, thinking that now they'll understand why he acts out.
"They pity me, Dani. I don't want their pity."
"Oh."
He sits in front of me, his legs crossed, his shoulders hunched. He's buzzing with tension; I'm waiting for him to snap at any moment.
"Sorry about your detention."
"Oh, it was about time," I say cheerfully. "Hazel is very proud of me. She just texted me."
"Your parents?"
I snort. "Don't worry. Unless I drop out of school or something, they'll never take an interest in what I’m doing. They never do."
"James?"
That makes me pause. James does take an active interest in what I do. Yes, he occasionally mocks me for being such a good kid, but I know he doesn't mean it.
"I don't think they'll call him or anything. They never have before."
"They never had a reason before," he points out.
After we finish eating, he lies on his back, putting his head in my lap like it's the most natural thing to do. Instantly, warmth pools low in my abdomen and the spot between my thighs like someone lit up every single cell. I stay still like a statue, hoping my body's reaction to him is noticeable only to me.
"Dani, I want to ask you something and you to answer honestly."
"Okay."
"Why are you putting up with me?"
"I know what pain does to people," I say quietly. I've seen it in my brother. Pain and loss are hard to bear. I was too young to help my brother, but I can help Damon. "It can lead you to do self-destructive things."
He lifts himself up until he is at the same level with me, and so close I can count his eyelashes. "What if I’m already on that self-destructive path?"
"Maybe I can pull you back." I watch the almost-healed lip, and the still-black eye. He is on that path; I know it. "Would you let me?"
"You might be the only one I would, but I don't think I should. I might end up pulling you with me instead."
"I'll take my chances."
"You shouldn't. In fact, you should stay away from me."
"You've said this before."
"I'll keep repeating it. Maybe you'll eventually listen. To tell you a little secret, I hope you won't."
He runs his finger up my forearm once, setting my skin ablaze. He leans in a tad too close, so I inhale the smell of his skin and aftershave and lose my trail of thoughts.
"You're so beautiful when you blush," he says in a hoarse
voice.
A slight shudder runs through me. No one's called me beautiful before.
"I'm tempted to do this again and again just to see the flush on your cheeks. And your neck." He looks at my neck with a dangerous glint in his eyes that undoes me. He could ask anything of me right now. Anything. I would give it to him. "Look at you," he murmurs, as if just for himself. His gaze wanders further down from my neck, and though he doesn't touch me at all, my skin burns. "Of course, you could just admit that you put up with me because I'm ridiculously good-looking, and I would stop teasing you."
I shove him away playfully. It's in moments like this that I don't know if he's flirting, or playing, or doing something else entirely. "Get over yourself, Damon."
Secretly, I fear I'm the one who won't be able to get over him.
Chapter Ten: Damon
On Monday, I show up at school with more bruises. Every single teacher assures me that if I need support, I can always come to them. They tell me they understand. Like hell. I tell all of them as much, occasionally adding a full-on swear, so they know I mean it.
Thursday, the principal asks me what I think of shrinks. I tell him it's my honest opinion that every teacher in this school, himself included, could use a visit to one. The old man loses it. He all but throws me out of his office, which gives me a brief sense of satisfaction, then guilt, because I promised Dani to behave.
Today, as I prepare to leave for school, I’m determined to keep my promise. Something about disappointing her makes me uneasy.
I'm almost at the front door when George says from behind, "I've spoken with Principal Charleston this week already."
"Oh, what a tragedy."
"I didn't bring you here to cause me trouble."
"What did you expect? An obedient and respectful son? Then you're more delusional than I thought. You ignored me and Mom for the past seventeen years."
"Look, boy, if I hadn't brought you here¸ you would be in a group home right now."
"I'd prefer that."
"Then walk out. Go on. Ignore your mother's last wish."
"You're a jerk." Mom's last wish was that my father should take me in. I should give him some credit for having shown up at all and taken responsibility for me. But then I remember how my mom had to work day and night in the most miserable jobs, which led to her having a stroke at the age of thirty. Thirty. My beautiful, kind mother was defeated so young. She was unable to move on her own, or read or write. Sometimes, she mixed up days, and sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, she would forget what we were talking about.
Near the end, she frequently forgot who I was, too.
The doctors said such powerful strokes sometimes lead to premature dementia. But my mother was young; I was sure that couldn't possibly apply to her. I kept hoping she would get better. The opposite happened. She became a shadow of herself, her condition deteriorating with every passing day. We couldn't afford to care properly for her, so her deterioration was even quicker. He never helped. No, credit is the last thing he deserves.
"Where are you disappearing every weekend, returning like that?" He points at my bruises. When I don't answer, he continues, "If you get into trouble, don't expect me to get you out of it."
"I don't. I've spent seventeen years getting myself out of trouble. I'm proficient at it."
"At the moment, you are only getting yourself into trouble. Principal Charleston also told me you spend a lot of time with the Cohen girl."
"That's right. I do."
"I told you to stay away from her."
"I never agreed."
"You will agree. My deal with her father is too important to let you fuck it up."
"Is that all you care about?"
"What exactly do you pretend? To piss me off?"
"My spending time with her has nothing to do with you."
"So, what, you have a crush on her? Look at yourself; for her own good, leave her alone. You'll just fuck up her life."
"Oh, yeah, like you fucked up Mom's life?"
"Exactly like that."
I curse loudly on my way out.
I curse all the way to school. Part of me is afraid I will fuck up her life. Sweet, innocent Dani... Whose presence is an inexplicable cure to my anger; a breath of air when I feel like I'm drowning. Her laughter makes me feel something I never thought possible after the funeral: relief. The ground has been shaking beneath my feet since Mom died, and I only regained balance when I met Dani. She makes me face my pain and fight it instead of masking it with anger. This girl can undo me with just a look from behind her large, round eyes. She bites her lip so innocently, not knowing what it does to me. Seeing her blush makes me hard. Thank fuck she can't tell, but I've seen how she looks at me.
I'm already treading on a fine line, and if I keep this close to her, I will snap and kiss her. In fact, I’ll do much more than kiss her. Damn it. I wasn't a catch before, and I sure as hell am not now when I've turned into the literal dark version of myself. I have no future and no aspirations except to break out of this prison and never come back. There is nothing I can bring Dani except trouble. I've dealt with that my whole life. I know how to live with it. She's grown up in a glass ball, and I won't be the one to break it.
Of course, for that I'd have to stay away, and I can't.
Chapter Eleven: Dani
Damon avoids meeting my eye the entire morning. I corner him after Biology, once everyone has left the laboratory, and it's just the two of us left.
"You should avoid me today," he says when he sees me approaching.
"Friends don't avoid each other in bad times. Something happened today to make you extra moody?"
"I had a fight with George," he offers as an explanation. "We do a good job of avoiding each other usually.” He watches me intently, and I see his resolve to avoid me today weaken with every passing second. “Let's grab lunch," he says eventually.
"After dissecting a frog?" I say skeptically. "No lunch for me today."
He grins. In a fraction of a second, he's behind me, slinging his arms around my waist. He pulls me so close to him I can feel the rippled muscles of his stomach against my back. My knees take on the consistency of rubber.
"I can skip lunch. Let's do something else," he says in my ear.
"Like what?" I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. When none comes, I begin to panic. Then he lowers his hands, lacing his fingers with mine.
"This feels good," he says, burying his head in my neck. "Do you want to be friends, Dani?"
"Aren't we already? Don't you want to be friends?"
"I do want to, but you shouldn't be friends with someone like me. I'm no good for you. You've known me for a few weeks, and you've already done something you've never done: got detention."
"There is a first time for everything," I say.
"What are you doing to me?" he asks in a whisper.
"What do you mean?" I ask, puzzled, checking whether I've stepped on him. "I'm not doing anything."
"You have no idea," he says, raising our interlaced hands to my waist and squeezing me tighter to him. "I can't stand being here right now."
"Then let's go."
"You want to skip school?" There is a mix of humor and sadness in his voice.
"We might be able to return before lunch is over. If not, Trig is right after lunch. I'll be glad to skip it."
"Where do you want to go?"
"I know what you need to let off steam."
I lead him to the stone pathway across from the main building. We walk about ten minutes before we come to a halt in front of a one-story hall where the Olympic basin is.
"We are skipping school on school premises?" he raises an eyebrow. "Why is no one around?"
"Because access to the basin is restricted to those training for swimming competitions."
"So, we'll be trespassing?"
"I have the key," I say.
"How come?"
"My detention is to prepare this place for the girls to be abl
e to start their training next week. We'll only be half-trespassing."
"Is there no one inside?"
"Nope, trust me." When he doesn't look convinced, I add, "You know, for someone who shows up bruised every Monday, I thought you'd be more adventurous."
"I just don't want you to get into more trouble, that's all."
"I won't."
I unlock the door with sure hands. Inside, we pass the supplies room, and then we arrive at the pool. It was filled with water yesterday.
"You should swim. Swimming always helps me let off steam," I say.
His hands in his pockets, his lip curls into a smile, as if he's laughing at a private joke.
"Do they have bathing suits in the supplies room?"
"Oh." I slap my forehead. "No. There are towels and thirty-five different types of equipment for training. But no bathing suits. Well, this is a fail. We might as well go get some lunch then."
"No way. I'll swim, but under one condition. You swim with me, too, and we'll be skinny-dipping."
I pad back, my throat suddenly dry. "What?"
"You heard me." A smile plays on his lips as he throws his jacket on the floor and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
"I've ne-never done this before," I stammer, looking away.
"Weren't you just saying earlier there’s a first time for everything? I won't look when you undress. The water will cover you in the basin."
I raise an eyebrow. "The water is transparent."
"Lucky me." He takes off his shirt, and in a fraction of a second, heat pools low in my abdomen. I also register a tattoo running all along his right arm. I bite my lip, turning away, afraid he might tell how much I'm burning for him. Oh, God, if I react like this just by seeing him without a shirt...Just hearing him undo his belt and unzip his jeans makes the heat spread inside me. When a soft thump resounds, I’m almost swaying. Did he just drop his boxers?
"You can look, you know," Damon says. "I give you permission."
Despite myself, I do peek at him just as he's entering the water. His back and butt greet me. I gulp. He must work out a lot. Every muscle looks sculpted. I wonder how it would feel to touch them. Abruptly, he swirls around, and I'm rooted to my spot. I take one glance down at his shaft and hyperventilate.
