I shift with restless hands, palms pressed against my thighs. Anxiety floods me, a million thoughts colliding in my skull. Where are we going? What’s he *planning*? What will he make me do? I steal a glance at Damon. His focus is fixed on the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other on the clutch. I tap out a quick text to Mom, claiming I’ll be late, inventing a flimsy excuse. A sigh escapes me as I watch buildings and trees blur past the window. Soon, the colors smear into an indistinguishable black and white mesh. Damon’s voice snaps me back to reality.
“So, what do you have in mind as payment?”
My chest constricts. “You’re…you’re not implying sexual payment, are you?”
For a fraction of a second, his eyes widen, his breath catches. Then, just as quickly, he’s composed. The shift is unsettlingly smooth.
“What? No,” he laughs, the sound loud and jarring. “I mean literally pay! How about you buy me dinner?”
I exhale, releasing the tension I’d been holding. “Oh, okay.”
Damon glances at me from the corner of his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. He returns his gaze to the road.
“So, where do you want to eat, princess?” I ask, forcing a sweet tone.
“Hmm, I’m feeling Chick-fil-A.”
Thank God. Something familiar, something safe.
We pull up to the drive-thru. I order a small container of bites. Damon, however, orders nearly the entire menu.
“Damn, are you really that hungry?”
“No,” he says, his smile malevolent. “I just want you to have to buy all of it.”
“I hate you.”
“Touché.”
They call our order. We grab four trays overflowing with food and find a table. We eat in silence, an oppressive weight between us. What *is* there to say, anyway? After he finishes his third item, Damon leans back.
“I’m done.”
“You still have two trays full of food!”
“I never said I was going to eat all of it, love.”
My blood is boiling now. I open my mouth to unleash a torrent of frustration, but Damon rises, trays in hand, and strides away. I watch him casually approach another table—a mother with four children. He speaks to the woman, then places the trays on their table. The woman’s expression shifts from shock to gratitude as she mouths ‘thank you.’
I sit, stunned. Did Damon Black really just…perform an act of kindness? He walks back to our table, and I study him, searching for a trace of deception.
“C’mon, let’s go,” he snaps.
Oh, the blighter is back.
We arrive at school. He parks beside my car.
I look at him, “I guess we’re even now?”
He smirks, “Hell no, I’ve only just started.”
“What?! Well, I’m ending it. You can’t keep messing with me like this! You’re an ass, aggravating, and frankly, just plain awful,” I yell.
I swing open his door, ready to flee. I’m halfway out before he yanks me back, his left arm tightening around my wrist. I stumble, my head hitting the driver’s seat. Before I can react, Damon’s hand fists into my hair, holding me down with his other arm.
“What are you–?”
His lips press against my neck. I stop breathing, chills rippling through me. He lets them rest there for a moment, then slowly kisses my skin. I feel his lips pull at my flesh as he draws back. After what feels like an eternity, Damon moves his mouth to my ear, dragging his lips lightly against it.
“Don’t test me, Scarlett,” he growls, his voice rough against my skin.
He releases me, and I scramble out of the car. My keys are still on the ground, so I snatch them up. My shaking fingers fumble with the unlock button. Once I’m finally inside, I look back at Damon. His smirk is clear as day. He’s enjoying my reaction, the bastard. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I force my face into a mask of calm indifference. I start the car and drive towards the exit.
Once home, I collapse onto the plush couch and replay the events of the last hour. I stare up at my white ceiling, then at the black screen of our TV. I try to organize my thoughts, but they swirl like smoke. My mom comes downstairs; she must have heard me enter.
“Hey honey, how was the library? Did you finish that paper?”
Right. My excuse.
“Yep! I got it all done.”
“That’s good, you hungry?” she asks.
I sit up and look at her. She’s wearing girly pajamas, her dark hair falling over her shoulders as she searches for a mug. She smiles at me, her hazel eyes twinkling. We look alike, except for one thing: my eyes. I inherited my father’s eyes, and I regret every single thing about that.
“No, Mom. I’m fine.”
I get up to leave, but she stops me.
“What is this?” She points to my neck.
I glance in the mirror. A small hickey marks where Damon kissed me. Shit.
“Oh…that? Yeah, when I got to the library, a mosquito bit me. I kept pinching it to relieve the itch, but I guess I did it so much it left a bruise.”
“A mosquito, huh? You know it looks like–”
“Wow, I’m so tired from writing that paper, I think I’m going to go to bed. Night!” I blurt out, rushing off.
I scramble upstairs before she can say anything else. If she looked at my neck any longer, she’d figure it out. I can’t believe he did this. I quickly undress and walk into my bathroom, aggressively washing my neck in a futile attempt to erase the evidence. It stubbornly remains. I dress and do the minimal homework I have. My pale purple and cream room darkens as the sun sets. Colors bounce off my mirrors, transforming my room into a stained glass window. I crawl into bed and slowly drift into a deep sleep.