Maybe he wasn't even on the second floor. He could have been anywhere.
I headed to the bathroom, wiped the smudges of mascara underneath my bottom lids and sprayed my face with cold water. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hair wasn't as curly as it had been when I first entered the house, but it still looked good. I was slightly run-down and my eyelids felt really heavy. Maybe it was because of the difference in the intensity of light between rooms. Or because of the amount of alcohol I had ingested. The thought set the effect in motion.
The world around me started to spin like I was on a ship carried by the waves of the ocean, far, far away. I rubbed my forehead in hope of staunching the dizziness and got out of the bathroom. If I could just find an empty room with a bed and lie down...It wasn't like I could face Damian in this state anyway.
I inspected the large hall and the six closed doors. I wondered if Avery and her gang were in one of them. If they were, I really hoped I wouldn't run into them. I should've let Devon come with me. Now I was tipsy, disoriented and really, really sleepy.
"Did he finally step on your foot?"
The sardonic, familiar voice made me jump like a scared cat, a glacial frisson running down my spine. I exhaled loudly, turning to my interlocutor with an irritated look.
"Good Lord, Damian! You almost gave me a heart attack!" I hissed indignantly, placing a palm on my chest to calm down. I didn't even hear him creep up on me.
"I tend to have that effect on people." he affirmed seriously, inspecting my face. I couldn't read him. His expression didn't betray any emotion, any thought. He was sedate, bland, untouchable. Like an ice sculpture that never melted, no matter how powerful the sunrays were.
I glared at him, but I could feel my cheeks flushing under his intense scrutiny. It was hard to keep up my fierce facade when he looked at me that way. Like I was nothing and at the same time, everything. I started to feel self-conscious as a tensed silence floated between us. Why was he looking at me like that? Did he think I was pretty? Was he judging me behind that beautiful, but unsentimental mask? His lower lip was slightly swollen, where Devon had hit him three days ago. I suddenly remembered that he cut his hand recently with the glass shards. His left hand was tightened into a fist.
I approached him and noticed that with every step I took towards him, his body tensed up. I avoided his eyes and reached for his injured hand. He didn't move at all. I took his fist into my hand gently.
For the first time, his skin was warmer than mine. I turned his fist so his palm would be upwards, and I unclenched his fingers. He let me. I could feel his sight on me, delving deep into my innermost, but I didn't let that intimidate me. The cut on his hand wasn't deep, but it was more than just a scratch. It extended obliquely on his hand, almost parallel with the head line on his palm.
"You need to have this cleaned up. Come on." I said professionally, although I had no idea where I was going. He didn't protest or say anything. Perhaps it was my firm and adamant tone, but he followed me without a word.
I almost tripped once, but I quickly regained my balance. I chose a random door and opened it hesitantly. The light was off, and apparently, there wasn't anyone inside. I groped the wall for a light switch, but I couldn't find it. I heard Damian clear his throat as if to disguise a chuckle, and he leant forward, turning the light on right away.
The room was actually a spacious bedroom. Based on the double bed, practical wooden furniture and the solemn atmosphere of it, I presumed it belonged to Devon's parents. It was cosy and tidy. Damian closed the door behind us. I looked around and located another door that lead to a small bathroom.
"Here." I said, beckoning him over. "Wash your cut with water and soap. Meanwhile, I'll find a bandaid."
He did as I told him, and after looking for some time, I found some bandages. I took one and applied it over the small laceration.
"You would make a great doctor."
I looked up at his dark eyes. They were shimmering with an ambiguous light, piercing, drawing me in. It was as if I were staring at the abyss, infused with thousands of stars. And the abyss stared back at me.
I blinked and looked away.
I got out of the bathroom and perched on the bed, too tired and lazy to stand up. He followed me, but remained at a considerate distance, with his hands in the pockets of his black jeans.
"Why are you here?" I inquired him bluntly. I supposed I was too tipsy to beat around the bush.
"We're leaving." he declared simply.
"What?" I asked him, my voice laced with puzzlement. I must have misheard him.
"I'll drive you home. You can't even stand properly."
I leapt to my feet to prove him wrong, albeit a little too brusquely. I tottered forward and extended my arms to the side with what I hoped was an adorable smile.
"See? I can stand very well, thank you very much. You drive yourself home. If Devon sees you, he'll bust your upper lip too." I found that very amusing and giggled involuntarily.
He caught my wrist just at the right moment to stabilize me on my feet. He sighed silently, and I felt his hot breath on my cheek. He didn't smell of alcohol; only of mint and his usual sweet perfume. His other hand raised to my forearm and he guided me back to the bed, sitting next to me. Even in my state, I was aware of his every move, of every rise of his chest, of his every touch. It frustrated me. Why the hell was I so attracted to him? He was literally a jerk. Possibly a killer. A very good-looking killer.
"How many drinks have you had?" he asked, taking a strand of my hair out of my face. The gesture was gentle, so unlike him.
"Four."
"Six." he corrected me, as if was the most obvious thing in the world, with such a serious face that I couldn't help but burst out into laughter.
"You've counted? Daaamn. You must be really obsessed with me."
I saw him trying to hold back a smile. His facial features had softened and his stance was much more relaxed. I continued:
"I can't go home. I told my parents I'm going with Ellie to a school party and that afterwards I'll sleep at her place. Besides, it's still so early! And I'm only semi-drunk."
"It's almost midnight." he notified me, glancing at the watch on his wrist.
"So early!" I exclaimed. I started to unzip my knee-high boots and took them off one by one, to his complete surprise.
"What are you doing?"
"Just taking off my clothes. Don't mind me."
The mystified look on his face was priceless. I guffawed, settling myself comfortably on the bed. I turned to one side, bending my knees and propping my head onto my palm, so I could see him better.
"I was just joking, jeez! So, are you going to tell me why you're here or just keep avoiding the question in hope of me forgetting about it?"
He positioned himself so he'd face me, his knee almost touching my ankle. On the bed, where our height difference wasn't so noticeable, he looked really young.
"I had to see you." he confessed with an unadorned tone, gazing at me. His messy hair fell over his dark eyes and I inhibited the desire to touch it.
Something twitched in my heart, but I ignored it and answered him in a modulated timbre, although I was sure my brown eyes sparkled with mischief:
"So you stalked me here and planned this all along?"
"Basically, yes..." he replied earnestly, and then stopped, at a loss of words. He bit his lower lip, probably forgetting that it was swollen. I saw a scintilla of pain dashing across his face, but it faltered quickly. "I don't know how seriously you'll take me now. But I'll still say it."
Okay, I was officially freaking out. Hundreds of possible scenarios started to play inside my head; yet, as usual, none of them were the reality.
"I was really upset when I heard you accepted the dare. No, not upset. Disappointed. Because I looked at you and all I could think about was what the hell you're doing in that group. I thought you're different from them. But the fact that you accepted to slap me, I guess it...shattered any expectations I had of you."
I just listened to him with a frown, asking myself whether I should be offended by his words or not. He wasn't saying them in a critical way, but it wasn't complimentary either.
"And I'm glad it did. Because you're not the one I thought you were. And that gave me hope, because that means there's a chance that I'm not the one everyone thinks I am either."
He sounded so genuine, so sincere, and his words were imbued with something deeper, something I couldn't catalogue yet. Relief? Sadness? Both?
He wasn't done yet. He cleared his throat and continued:
"I shouldn't have kissed you without your consent. I shouldn't have kissed you at all, actually." he chuckled dispiritedly, shaking his head slightly. "But I believe everything happens for a reason. And I wouldn't change a single thing."
I didn't know what was the appropriate thing to say. My heart and brain were racing at a crazy rate, leaving me speechless. Oh, God. I was definitely too drunk for this conversation. What would a normal girl say? But normal girls didn't exist. Normal people didn't exist, because this wasn't a normal world. We were all a bit abnormal.
"You thought I was different from them. Different how?"
"Like you were pretending to be someone you're not just so they like you. But you have a good sense of self. You know who you are. I admire that."
"Oh, wow." I smiled. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. It's like I'm talking to Damian from another universe."
His shoulders shook with crystalline, light mirth. My heart filled with warmth, and I felt that the adamantine wall between us was slowly melting, piece by piece. Were we something more than strangers now? We gazed at each other in silence, both lost in thought. Did I trust him? No. But I wanted to.
I really wanted to.
"You said you heard about the dare. From where? From whom?" I asked after a while. Please answer me. I was tired of playing Sherlock.
Just like that, any trace of merriment erased from his face. His head turned to the side and his eyes fixed on the floor. He seemed to be debating whether to tell me or not. I remained silent, though anxiety was starting to gnaw at me. I heard the sharp tick of the wooden clock, marking another second that passed.
"From Bree." he said, at last, his voice bland.
The name didn't ring any bell in my memory. I had never heard of her.
"Who?"
"Bree. Short for Gabrielle."
I felt as if a cold gust of wind had slapped me with an immeasurable force. I goggled at him in total disbelief, shaking my head. I must have misheard.
"Sorry, did you say Gabrielle?"
"Yes. Gabrielle Colton. Your best friend."