Spitfire

Chapter 1: Asking Help From The School's Delinquent

A/N: Hello ((read like the first line in Adele's hit single, Hello))
This is my first ever story. Yeay! Confetti, champagne, fireworks! Hope you enjoy this. Leave a comment and vote if you will :)).

x o x o

"Please teach me how to fight."

He opens an eye and looks at me wearily.

"Why do you wanna learn how to fight anyway?"

I look down and clench my fists. He can't know, he shouldn't be dragged into this mess. It's my fault, and I know I should keep quiet.

"Please, teach me." I repeat.

He sits up and my breath is momentarily knocked out of my chest by how he looks.

I've heard stories about Damien Sprouse, apparently he was an underground fighter and a great one at that. He barely lost, and there was enough evidence with how he held himself.

His blonde hair was held up above his head and contrary to popular belief, it actually looked soft enough and as if he spent no time styling it. His blue eyes were piercing with specks of gray and he seemed to analyze my every move. I shift under his heavy gaze. He's got pale skin, I absentmindedly notice he was a tad paler than me. The most noticeable feature was his lip ring. He lightly pulls it between his teeth and I cough lightly to avoid staring.

"Look, shortstuff," he starts but I hold a hand up to stop whatever he's planning to say.

"Alright, here's the deal, buddy," I place both hands against the trunk he's leaning on. He leans back a little and I inwardly grin.

Nice to know I intimidate you, too.

"I've got money. Real money. Surely enough to buy you decent clothes," I say and he wrinkles his nose in response.

Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with his outfit, I guess. He regularly wore a tattered muscle tee and ripped jeans. Every single day.

A day when he never pulled it off was nonexistent.

Damien was buff, but not wrestling type buff. He had enough muscle in him to make a few- or several, girls swoon. He was pretty tall too, I suppose. His six feet and something frame did no justice to me being 5'5. I barely grazed his shoulder, for crying out loud!

"Shortstuff," he starts.

I hmph at the name calling.

"I don't really think you're cut out for this. Besides, I've got no interest in your money. Do me a favor and quit bugging me. Now, fuck off."

My eyes widen at the last statement. Never have I ever heard such vulgar language, albeit not directed at me.

I make a sound at the base of my throat, something akin to a growl. Inside my head, I'm impressed I managed to growl, never did that before.

"Sprouse, for the last time, please teach me how to fight," I beg.

He looks at me.

"Please," I add again for good measure.

He sits up and I step back. He ruffles his hair in annoyance and kicks some dirt at me.

"For the last time," he nearly snarls and rips the beanie off his head.

"No."

I huff in exasperation and throw my hands up in the air.

"What was that?"

Huh?

I look at Damien, and he's looking at me funny. Sort of amused.

"What, what was that?" I ask.

"Did you just stomp your foot?" He asks and chuckles. The sound vibrates through my entire being like warmth and I feel my eyes soften.

"No, I don't stomp my foot. That would be ridiculous," I roll my eyes when he laughs once more.

"You fucking stomped your foot!"

My knuckles should be white by now.

"I do not, Sprouse."

"Yes, you do, Summer."

He's mocking me. The nerve of this guy.

"Look, will you help me or not?" I ask impatiently.

"No, now get the fuck out of here," he replies and leans back against the tree trunk once more.

My hands slack to my sides and I shake my head. I knew this all along. I expected he'll never help me.

I mumble a 'thanks', secure my backpack on my shoulder and walk back to the campus.

I knew it, Damien was just hard to crack.

The walk back to the building is short and by the time I get there, lunch break has passed.

Great, I just wasted an hour of my life talking with the biggest idiot on campus.

Classes drag on forever and as the last bell signals the end of this torturous day, I hastily pack my stuff and walk home.

One glance at the sky and I curse myself for not having someone in my house pick me up. It's dark out, and it looks like rain's about to fall any second. As soon as that thought flashes, a raindrop skims my cheek.

Amazing.

I grip my bag tighter and break into a sprint. The faster, the better. I need to get home before-

I gasp as the wind is knocked out of my body. My body hits the ground and the contents of my bag scatter across the pavement. Oh no, please no. I scamper up and see a battered face staring back at me. A cigarette hangs from his lips and his hand juts out to grab my hair.

"Not so pretty now when you ain't got yer father's money supportin' ya? Hmm, sweet cheeks?" His breath reeks of alcohol and he looks as if he hadn't had a shower in a week.

"Shut up, Stefano."

"It remembers my name!" He cackles and I swing my fist at him. Stefano grins and grabs my arm, twisting it at a painful angle. I cry out and he smirks.

"Got what I asked you to get?"

I shake my head. No, I haven't.

He retches and throws up on the sidewalk and I scramble backwards. My eyes widen as he lurches forward. I kick a foot out hoping he'll fall and get knocked out, but he grabs and twists my ankle.

I yell in indignation and pain. My right arm is cradled to my chest and I'm rendered useless of walking.

"No money, again? You know what's next, honey," he says and I feel my lungs grabbing air to keep me breathing. I'm gasping by this point and tears fall freely from my eyes. No, please, no.

He lunges at me and is promptly thrown to the side. I blink in confusion and take in the new sight in front of me.

Breathing heavily with sweat across his brow, Damien Sprouse has never looked this good.

Then I do the inevitable.

I pass out.