Misfits

5.0

Damons POV

What the fuck was I thinking?

I asked her to be my girlfriend yesterday, I didn't even think about it, it just spilled out of my mouth.

Okay, no it didn't spill out of my mouth. Nothing ever spills out of my mouth, I say words and I mean them. It's the one thing I got from my father.

I mean every single word I say, because I think about it before I speak. I hurt people with my words and fucking enjoy it.

The difference between me and my father? I only hurt those who deserve it.

Fucking Ellie.

I run my hand over my face, my other hand clenching around the steering wheel of my truck.

Ellie and her brown eyes and her brown hair. Her cute glasses that frame her face in the most perfect way, the way she blushes so damn hard it makes something weird happen in my chest.

Do I regret asking her to be my girlfriend? No.

I don't like people, but I like her. And I can't even say 'for some reason' because I know all the reasons. I've known her not even two weeks and she's woven herself all around me.

She's so damn cute.

Jesus Christ I can't stand myself right now.

But I saw what they were doing to her and my first instinct was to protect her. Make sure nothing like that happens to her again. Make sure she smiles more and shit. Her laugh.

Fucking hell.

This has been my mind for the last week and a half.

I don't know how to be a boyfriend. I've never been one before, never was interested in being one. I screw around a lot. Not because I felt a need to, just cause I wanted to. I never felt the need to try and be good for anyone.

But last night I spent two hours on my computer researching how to be a good boyfriend. I'm pathetic but I also refuse to be less than she deserves. For a person who's been through a lot, she deserves more in return.

Maybe I can give it to her.

At least I can try.

I don't have much of an example to follow so I'm going off of pure instinct.

Maybe that's not such a good thing either.

But at least I didn't fuck up with her family. I don't think I did anyway.

I pull up to the gate to my house, rolling my eyes at the security that stands there.

I press my fist into the horn and I don't let up until he opens the damn thing. The horn goes for thirty seconds.

I speed through the gates, almost knocking them off their hinges. We don't need the damn thing, he just likes everyone to think that we do.

Our house is so big that my footsteps echo seconds after I take each step across the tiled floor. I hate it. I hate being here.

My teeth clench when I notice an empty glass on the small table that sits by the staircase. I walk over and grab it, turning it in my hands.

"I could fill it for you" my fathers voice booms from behind me.

Somehow I never hear his footsteps.

I flinch, knowing that it didn't go unnoticed when I turn around to see him.

My father stands there with a glass of whiskey. Never in my life have I seen him without one, even when he was somewhat being a good father.

"Come on, have a glass with your old man" he raises his glass and tips his chin in the direction of his office.