The Deal

Chapter 26 - Part One - Bloody Knuckles

"Who the hell even are you, Warren's secretary or something? Why didn't you let him answer his own phone?"

The voice laughed. It sounded familiar.

"Like I said, he's a little incapacitated at the moment. And don't pretend like you don't know who I am Anna; before you destroyed my best mates life, we used to almost get along."

I frowned, before narrowing my eyes suspiciously. 

"Oliver?" 

"Ding-dong. It me."

I ground my teeth to stop from screaming.

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place? Never mind, don't answer that. Do you reckon I can come over? I need to speak to Warren."

  **

The door opened, and rather than being greeted by a brooding Warren or his parents, I spotted a smirking Oliver. I groaned.

"Why are you still here?" I whined, itching to push past him and thunder down the hallway in search of my target. But I stayed put. "Don't you have somewhere else to be annoying?"

"No," He replied simply, flashing me an innocent smile. "I'll have you know I've been the perfect caregiver to your poorly love. Sorry, ex-love. You, on the other hand, have done nothing but cause him trouble and break his little heart."

"This is between Warren and I, dickhead, not you," I snapped, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. "If you didn't want me to annoy you, you should have packed up and gone home already. You only have yourself to blame for sticking around. You knew I was coming."

"Okay, fine, I get it," he but in, holding up his hands in surrender and stepping back. "Just stop yakking on at me and get on with whatever it is you came here to do. I'll be relieved when it's over and we can finally get some p and q around here."

"You don't even live here, moron," I spat, stalking past him and into the house. I stomped my way past the living room, kitchen and bathroom to get to where I assumed Warren would be hiding, glad to see that his bedroom door was already open.

Without hesitating I stepped inside, my eyes going straight to where he lay on his bed.

I gasped.

Warren looked over at me, before sighing and turning away. One side of his face was shiny and swollen, and he was as stiff as a board.

"Are you okay?" I squawked, forgetting that Ollie had trailed after me into Warren's boudoir.

"Seriously?" The nurse-in-training-not snorted from the doorway, his nose wrinkling in distaste over my obvious lame question. "Are you blind? He looks like a baby echidna that's been inflated."

"They're called Puggles, idiot," I snapped, keeping my back to him. "Now do you mind? I'd like to talk to Warren in private."

"Aren't Puggles a type of dog?" He mused aloud, completely ignoring my request for privacy and instead focusing on the one part of what I'd said that wasn't at all relevant. "Yeah, they're a mix between a Pug and a Beagle. I saw them on Instagram. What are you on about?"

"Oliver," Warren piped up, sending his friend a look that made him sigh before backing out of the room.

"I live to serve," he said with an over-exaggerated bow, before closing the door.

I hesitated, the small space suddenly quiet without Oliver's annoying presence to fill it up. Hesitantly, I moved towards the bed, debating whether to sit on the floor or the bed when he cleared his throat.

"You sure know how to pick 'em," he remarked drily, trying to sit up only to hiss and cradle his middle. I knelt beside him on the carpet.

"What did he do to you?" I asked, my hands hovering helplessly over him as he very gingerly allowed himself to sink back onto his back. "Or more importantly, do you need to go to a hospital? Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, even though he couldn't open one eye and the other had a half moon bruise cradling the curve of its socket.

"Clearly that's a lie," I replied, sitting back on my haunches to look at him properly. His face was a battered mess, bloated and bruised and split in several places. He wouldn't touch his abdomen, which made me think he'd likely copped a couple in that area; while his ribs were obviously tender if his hissing whenever he so much as breathed was anything to go by.

He kept his arms by his side, but when he brought a hand to his face I noticed that his knuckles were surprisingly unscathed. A chill started at the top of my spine. He hadn't defended himself – or at least, he hadn't been given the chance.

I was mad - so mad that all I wanted to do was whip out my phone and scream abuse at Damon's voicemail; or better yet, throw in the towel and call the cops on him. He deserved it.

But instead, I pushed my fury to one side and focused on the bruised boy stretched out in front of me.

"Warren," I began, my voice strained as I attempted to keep calm. "Tell me what happened."

At first, I didn't think he was going to respond. He seemed on the verge of kicking me out like he had Oliver, but after a brief pause he rolled his eyes and opened his mouth.

"I think you can guess."

I looked at him. He sighed, wincing.

"Lover boy followed me after I left yours yesterday. Probably thinking he could kick my ass in private and still have you believing him to be Mr. Perfect; which is so stupid I can't even begin to tell you. If that's his version of 'under the radar', he's a bigger idiot than I thought."

I didn't defend Damon. From what I'd been able to gather, being called an idiot was polite.

"I didn't even see it coming, Anna. He jumped me from behind, no warning, and didn't leave until his point had been well and truly drilled into me."

"Bastard," I muttered, completely at a loss as to why he would hunt down Warren after everything that had happened. "So, he didn't say anything to you? You guys didn't talk at all?"

"Damon seems to do most of his talking with his fists," Warren replied flatly. Then he frowned, which only deepened the shadows rimming his black eye. "He did say something actually after I was down, but I was kind of out of it by then. I can't remember."

"I don't understand," I said disbelievingly, shaking my head. "I thought everything between us had been resolved. Well, maybe not resolved per se, but the two of you seemed on better terms. What made him suddenly take off after you and ruin all of our progress?"

Warren looked at me, nonplussed.

"You know, I'm not exactly thrilled to hear my ex-girlfriend refer to me as a problem that needs fixing."

"Warren," I said cautiously, "You know that's not what I meant."

"No, it's okay," he said, swallowing and looking away. "I admit I haven't been the most...sane person as of late. If someone had come up to me the way I did to you, I probably would have knocked them out too."

"That doesn't make what he did to you okay." I said vehemently. "No one should ever lay a finger on another living creature without their consent. And it's not like you didn't have your reasons for acting like that."

Warren held his hands up, smiling despite the split lip.

"Hey, I'm still pissed at the guy. I mean, ha, look at me – he kicked the hell outta me and walked away as if he hadn't even stopped for a breath. He's brutal. I'm just saying I get why he did it."   

"Yeah? I don't."

We fell into silence, Warren staring impassively at his bedroom wall while I tried to make sense of Damon's bizarre actions. Was he actually insane? Warren had come as close to giving us an apology as he was capable of, and I'd been satisfied that Damon had been okay about it. But now? That kid  had a lot of explaining to do.