Damonic

Chapter 5

Oh, and just because we owe it to you - here's another chapter.

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The silence is the first thing I notice. 

For once, there isn’t any childish laughter, or shouting matches over the television channel.  Instead, the only noise is the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat. 

Thump, thump, thump.

I sigh, relieved–the pain is gone too, and I can breathe again. 

Unfortunately, someone else must have heard my large exhale as well. The sounds of heel meeting stone make me involuntarily twitch, and my eyes fly open.

Ah, hell.

I was hoping this—the jumbled of thoughts in my brain starring a certain, rude blond—was all just a bad dream.  Maybe I’d only find little Bobby hovering over me with an adorable, cheeky smile.

But no, a girl and a boy stand beside the bed, watching me.   

Startled, I throw off the comforter that had been thrown over my body and bring my knees to my chest, not taking my eyes off of the strangers for a second. 

“Who are you?”

They both stand still and I notice that their faces are almost identical and they have the same ink, dark shade of hair. The boy wears his short, neatly cropped to frame his chubby face. The girl –who I assume is his sister—has her hair tied back into a high ponytail. They both remain silent, their large green eyes boring right through me.

“Hello?”  I have to fight down the urge to wave my hand in front of their faces.  “Can you hear me?”

Silence.

Well, this isn’t creepy at all.

“Well aren’t you two just the best welcoming committee ever!” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Where am I, anyways?”

For the first time, I take in my surroundings – always keeping the twins in my peripheral vision.

The room is a moderate size, albeit much larger than my old one, back at the orphanage. The walls are painted a dark blue, which makes me frown.  It’s so much harder to paint murals on darker walls than light ones.

Though—if this was where Gabrielle and that boy who-shall-not-be-mentioned wanted me to live—it wasn’t like I would stay here long enough to paint anyway. 

One way or another, I’m getting out of here. 

“They don’t speak, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Speak of the devil.

Damon comes strolling into the room; his hands in his designer jeans pockets, and a smug look on his face.  His perfectly sculpted face…

Jesus girl, get it together!

I shake my head and try to regain control of my thoughts.    

“That explains a lot.” Suddenly wary, I discreetly pull the comforter over myself again. “Where am I?”

Arching his brow, Damon says, “You are home now. At least that’s what Gabrielle keeps insisting.”

I can’t help but snort.  “Well don’t worry your pretty little head, because I don’t want to be here any more than you seem to want me here.”

 I glare at the open space between the door and Damon, himself – not wanting to make anymore eye contact than necessary.

“Ouch.” Dramatically, he flings his arms towards his chest – mock hurt written all over his face. “That hurts.”