{Maybe I'm too busy being yours ~ to fall for somebody new
Do I Wanna Know? ~ Arctic Monkeys}
Chapter 26 – Part Two – Bloody Knuckles
"Damon, I swear to god if you don't pick up I'm gonna hunt you down and throttle you while you sleep - unless you're into that kinky crap, 'cos like I'm sorry, no – just, answer your damn phone!"
I hung up, riled. I didn't even know where he lived. Did anyone? How was I supposed to carry out my threats if no one had his home address?
I was schlepping my way through quiet suburbia, having upped and left Warren's place after enduring as much sullenness as I could take from both Warren and Oliver alike. Finally, after an hour of awkwardness, I managed to make a break for the door.
The day was scorching hot, the temperature pushing 40 as I sweated in places I didn't know I could sweat. I felt like I'd been rubbed down with a slab of butter. My hair – which I'd spent many seconds scrapping into a plait before heading off to Warren's - had reacted to this kind of weather much like it usually did; doubling in size and sending all the baby hairs on my head out at right angles and making me look like the local mad woman.
It was on a particularly empty stretch of road when my phone chimed, startling my sluggish brain out of its daze and sending my phone clattering to the ground from my hand. When I bent down to retrieve it, I discovered my clothes had papier mache'd themselves to my limbs thanks to the humidity, making it more difficult to fetch my phone than it needed to be.
The phone itself was fine, but as I examined the screen I caught sight of the message that had made me drop it in the first place.
Can't talk now, meet you at the market square in 20 – Damon
I pursed my lips, holding in the onslaught of profanities I wanted to hurl a him as I squatted there in the middle of the deserted street.
My fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to call him even though he most likely wouldn't answer anyway, or spend the next ten minutes wording a lengthy text telling him exactly what I think of him.
Eventually, I settled on a simple fine.
Satisfied, I started walking with a renewed sense of purpose, heading in the direction of the local shopping centre.
*
He pulled up on his motorbike, wearing faded jeans, a leather jacket and a white button-down shirt that made is tanned skin almost glow.
He was the definition of a heart breaker. And a deadly weapon.
I was fuming over what he'd done, so mad that I could barely think straight; and yet my heart still banged against my ribs as he climbed off his ride and made his way towards me.
But as he drew closer, my eyes drifted away from his face down to his hands which, unlike Warren's, looked as if they'd been scrapped against a brick.
Knowing how they got to be like that made my admiration for his face fade. I shook my head, grit my teeth and reminded myself as to why we were both out roaming the streets before sundown on a Sunday.
He walked with such confidence, completely at ease with himself and his surroundings that it made my dislike for him in that moment intensify. I envied him the ability to be so comfortable in his own skin. He could captivate a crowd simply by moving, whereas I got attention by tripping over.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded, fury sparking off me and hopefully singeing him as he came to a stop in front of me. Damon looked away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth and squinting over at the sun sinking on the horizon. He didn't say anything.
"What, you don't have an excuse ready? You're slacking, Damon. Too busy hurting people to figure out a game-plan? Or maybe you thought you were gonna get away with it; that I wasn't gonna find out about your little tête-à-tête with Warren? Did you think you could beat him into staying quiet?"
Sapphire eyes flickered to meet mine, calm and clear - which only fuelled my anger.
"How could you do that, Damon? You managed to be the bigger man long enough for him to cool off, before throwing it all out the damn window the second you realised you could get him alone. That's sick."
"Hey," he interrupted, still seemingly unruffled by my frustration. "Don't start saying shit like that unless you've heard both sides. Yes, I followed him. Yes, I instigated it. But did it ever occur to you that I might have had a good reason? Or have all those years listening to people gossiping about me ruined what you've actually come to know as truth?"
"I already asked you why you did it," I threw back at him, folding my arms across my chest. Damon threw his hands in the air.
"You wouldn't stop accusing me long enough to let me open my damn mouth!"
He had a point.
I heaved a sigh, doing my best to calm down and hear what he had to say. After all, I'd listened to Warren's side of things – the little I could force out of him – so it was only fair to give Damon the same chance.
"Fine. Now's your chance."
Damon dropped his head back with a groan, rubbing his hands over his face before shrugging out of his jacket. I was instantly distracted. The sunlight caught in his platinum hair, setting it alight and making it look like a blazing halo ringing his head.
"I'm guessing you've already talked to Warren."
I cleared my throat, bringing my attention back to what he was saying and not focusing on his devastating looks. "Uh-huh."
"Did he tell you what he told me?"
I glared at him.
"You didn't give him the chance to say anything."
Damon laughed, which made me regret ever being hung up on his appearance. Good looks don't matter if you're a bad person underneath.
"I'll tell you one thing," he chuckled, shaking his head as he finished tying his jacket around his waist. "That sneaky son of a bitch sure loves playing the victim. Look, I went after Warren purely to talk. I wanted...well, I wanted him say that he'd keep away for a while, from you, just 'til things had cooled down. I needed him to say it without you being there distracting him. I didn't go after him to settle some stupid score, or to get my rocks off by beating up some dumb high schooler."
"Okay," I said slowly, still feeling at a total loss over what started it all. "But that still doesn't explain why you attacked him. What did he say to you?"
Damon rolled his crystalline eyes.
"Well for starters he called me a fucking bastard, which didn't bode well for how the rest of the conversation was going to go. I'm sure he meant it as a compliment. Anyway, I was prepared to let it slide until he started calling me out for sticking up for you. Said that you'd brainwashed me into doing it, and that your only goal was to spite him. He said he wasn't going to leave you alone until he'd made sure everyone knew what you did."
Again, Damon shook his head, looking amused.
"As if word hadn't already gotten 'round. When I asked him politely to stop running his mouth and back off, he told me he could do what he wanted as long as you had me wrapped around your little finger. He assumed that I wouldn't touch him because you'd told me not to. And then, well..."
"You proved him wrong," I said sagely, to which Damon shrugged. I didn't know what to say. I realised that I owed him an apology – well, half of one anyway. As long as what he was saying was true. "Listen, Damon..."
"Don't," he cut me off, holding up a hand. "You weren't to know. I'm the one who should be apologising. Not for hitting Warren, the dickhead had it coming – but for hurting you. It wasn't my intention."
"No, it's not..." I rubbed my forehead, hoping to ease the ache beginning behind my left eye. "What I mean is, you know that what you did was wrong. No matter what he said to you, to try and get a rise out of you; you should have just walked away. What if you'd seriously hurt him? Or he decided to call the police?"
"He wouldn't," Damon replied, sounding so sure of himself that it made me question just what exactly he'd done to ensure it.
"How do you know?"
Again, he simply shrugged.
"No one ever has."
My nails dug into my palms, wanting nothing more than to reach over and shake him until he realised he wasn't as invincible as people had him believe. No matter how worshipped he was, or how special he was made to feel, none of it could save him from being held accountable for his actions.
I wanted to tell him all of this, to clue him in on what he may not have realised - but instead all I did was fall silent, rubbing my now throbbing forehead and turning my attention to the more pressing matter of how I was getting back to my house. It was starting to turn dark.
"Whatever," I said eventually, feeling deflated now that things had been cleared up and all I had to look forward to now was an hour-long trek back to my neighbourhood. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. I just...I don't even know. When you didn't answer your phone, I thought you were ignoring me, and then when I spoke to Oliver he told me what had happened to Warren and-"
I stopped myself from saying more, closing my eyes. I could feel Damon watching me.
"Do you need a ride home?"
I blinked, opening my mouth to decline before remembering what the other alternative was. I nodded. "Please."
I followed him back to his bike, trying to avoid staring at his back and shoulders as he walked through the fading light. Instead I turned my attention to his mode of transportation, and the obvious lack of safety standards. I'd ridden his motorcycle only once, and I'd been too caught up in the moment to realise that he hadn't given me a helmet.
Of course not. Looking cool and being safe don't go hand in hand.
"Um," I began, right as he flipped open the storage compartment and produced a sleep black helmet from within. He just smirked, passing me the lump of plastic before shutting the lid and swinging his leg over the seat.
I looked from the helmet, to the bike, then to Damon, before shoving the sole piece of safety equipment onto my head and scrambling up after him.
I gripped his waist, making sure to keep my hands firmly planted on the thick material of his jacket and nowhere else. I was close enough to him to feel his body heat radiating through his clothing, and I didn't dare touch the flimsy material of his shirt, which was the only thing separating my hands from his warm skin.
Memories flashed in front of my eyes before I could help it - of the two of us kissing, my fingers on his chest, feeling his hair brush the backs of my hands and his fierce grip on my hips before we parted.
Jesus.
Embarrassment flooded through me at the thought, and I hated how easily I could switch from hating a guy to fantasising about him. I kept my eyes from wandering over the rest of him as he drove, picking up speed we he wove our way out onto the highway.
It felt like no time at all before we were pulling up at the end of my street, the exact same spot where he'd dropped me off yesterday before the whole Warren debacle.
I popped my head out of the shiny skull protector as Damon killed the engine, waiting until I'd slid ungraciously off the back of the bike before reaching for the helmet.
"Thank you for the lift," I said, feeling a little sheepish after accusing him of going around knocking people down without a reason. He nodded. I let out a breath, running a hand over my hair only to discover it was already completely flattened. I cringed.
Helmet hair.
"I should get going," I said, taking a step backwards in the direction of my house. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Hang on," Damon replied, kicking up the bike stand and climbing off to come stand in front of me. "We need to talk."
I frowned. "About what?"
"This weekend's been pretty full on," he began, frowning down at the helmet I'd pushed into his hands. "I just- I wanted to make sure that we're still, you know, okay. You remember what I told you, yeah?"
"In regard to...?" I asked, trying to sift through the mountain of everything that I could remember happening over the last few days and failing miserably. My brain felt like mush. Damon looked at me, a little unsure.
"What I said to you at the oval, and in my car?"
"Oh," I felt my cheeks heat up as I realised what he was talking about. The fact that he liked me. Me. Of all people. "Uh, yes. Yes, I do indeed. I do."
His eyes bore into mine through the dusk, so bright and beautiful that for a moment all I could do was gape at him in awe. He should be illegal.
"Just don't give up on me," was all he said, smiling the softest smile I'd ever seen even though his expression was edged with a hardness I didn't understand. "Not yet."
I couldn't breathe. He always managed to catch me off guard, no matter how many times I braced for the impact. Never did I expect a guy like him to be so open, and to feel so intensely as he did. Before we'd met, I'd painted him as some unconquerable goal, someone who reigned supreme over us commoners but underneath it all there wasn't much worth adoring.
But I'd been wrong.
I smiled without realising it, feeling my heart beating steadily in my chest.
"I wasn't planning on it."