by Tempest Phan
She looked at me and slowly nodded. “I’m ok, Dame. It’s ok.”
I reached out to gently touch her bruise. She flinched, and it was all I could do to not turn right back around and beat the shit out of that asshole.
My voice sounded unsteady to my own ears, tinged with rage and fear, as I asked, “Did he hurt you anywhere else?” Motherfucker. I’d kill him. I’d kill him dead if he’d as much as touched her anywhere else without her consent. If he’d . . . I couldn’t bear to finish the thought. She was a queen who deserved to be treated with love and care and gentleness. I’d kill him.
She shook her head. “No, I left. I’m ok.” She reached up to touch my cheek, and smiled at me, trying her best to reassure me. “Thanks for picking me up, Dame.”
We left the car and headed upstairs to her room.
“Baby girl, you need to ice that.” I knew all about bruises, thanks to my dad and his short fuse.
“It’s ok. Wait for me while I take a quick shower?”
I paused, saw the look in her eyes, and nodded as she walked toward her bathroom and closed the door.
I laid down on her bed, sinking into the white down comforter. I grabbed the remote and flipped through screens, not really paying attention to what I was doing. Every nerve in my body was instead aware of the fact that she was behind that door. The rustling of clothes indicating to me that she was likely naked now. My body began to stir at the thought. What the hell was wrong with me? She was out of bounds for me. And I’d better remember that.
Instead of sitting there imagining things I had no right to imagine, I headed down to her kitchen to grab her some ice. I threw open the freezer door and saw a few ice packs. I grabbed one and went back up, settling back onto her bed while she showered.
Finally, she came out, a warm steam fog following her. She was walking while putting her towel-dried hair up in a messy half bun, clad in a pale pink Hello Kitty pj tank and shorts. She looked utterly adorable. Her tank was so light, so form fitting that I could almost see the dark shadows of her nipples. I willed myself away from this thought, and as my eyes fell on her swollen jaw, I felt the protective rage rise up again, an odd emotion, but one that had surfaced again and again since she’d come back into my life.
I gently touched her jaw. “I got you this ice pack,” I said softly.
I reached over to grab the pack as she plopped down next to me. “Thank you,” she tried to smile that gorgeous smile at me, wincing, as I gently placed the ice across her cheek and jaw. She cupped her hand against mine and leaned in, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, I saw in their depths emotions that unsettled me, that made my brain scream out warnings, but my foolish heart had already stopped listening. Finally, she grabbed the pack from me and said, turning to the TV, “Whatcha watching?”
“Nothing. There really isn’t anything I want to see.” She scooted closer to me, tucking herself against me.
I was acutely aware of her beautiful pale thigh just inches away from mine but tried to ignore the tightening of my body.
She wrinkled her adorable nose at me and smiled. “There must be hundreds of shows and you can’t find one thing to watch?”
I shrugged.
“Oh, Dame!” She laughed, curling against me as I continued to flip mindlessly across Netflix. She let out a yawn.
“I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute,” she said softly before putting her head down against my chest.
I held my breath, willing my heart to stop beating double time, for my body to stop hardening. She didn’t need this from me. After a few agonizing seconds, I got myself back under control and looked down at her.
Her breathing was soft and steady. She’d already fallen asleep. I removed the ice pack that had half fallen onto the mattress and gently stroked her hair.
“Stay with me tonight, my Damien James?” she murmured sleepily, not quite fully out yet, after all. I leaned down to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her dark eyelashes were fanned out against them. Her mouth was full and lush. I wanted to kiss her, to run my thumb lightly over the flower of her lips, but held back through sheer force of willpower I didn’t know I had. Instead, I took in her bruise. The ugly welt on her jaw was starting to turn a purplish hue, and I felt the rage spike through me again. Motherfucking Jonny and I were going to have a long chat in the morning.
“Sleep tight, Bella.”
“Don’t let the bedbugs...” Her voice trailed off as she yawned.
I smiled. “No bedbugs in this bed, sweetheart. Just kisses and bites.” I leaned down to kiss her temple.
Stop, stop, stop.
But she only smiled. Her eyes still closed, her voice an angel’s breath, she whispered, “Kisses and bites. Aw, silly.” She sighed softly. “You’re so good to me, Dame. I wish my dad could see that.”
I wish he could too.
But I’d seen the hard look in his eyes when I’d taken her home that night. I certainly wasn’t making a better case for myself by still hanging out with her against his wishes. I had the moral higher ground, however, in that I hadn’t—and wouldn’t—touch her. And beyond that, I didn’t know what I would, or could do about it, short of completely walking away again, which was out of the question, given how much she obviously needed me.
So no, I didn’t know what else the fuck to do.
But what I did know was that he was the only family she had, and that in spite of that early encounter, it was clear he was a pretty decent father. I had the absence of my own for contrast, and I knew I would never be the one to make her lose that. Because she deserved it all, this girl. Every single bit. Every. Fucking. Thing. No compromise.
As I stared at her, lost in my thoughts, she tucked herself closer to me. I could feel her naked thigh resting near my crotch, and I fought a losing battle against my hardening cock. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice.
Before I knew it, my eyes started to feel heavy as well, and I fell asleep holding her close to me, dreaming of all the things that were nearly impossible.
***
Damien
The next morning, I sped off to Jon’s house. I parked and as I got out of my Chevy, he was heading toward his Audi. I slowly walked his way, cigarette dangling from my lips. He glanced at me, paled, and walked faster.
“Hey asshat,” I called out.
He didn’t look at me, didn’t respond. I reached him just as he was opening the driver’s door. I placed my palm against it and slammed it shut.
“The fuck,” he yelled out.
My eyes never leaving his face, I took the cigarette out of my mouth and dropped it to the ground, grinding it into the paving stone with the heel of my Vans.
I moved in front of him, my hand still against his car door, trapping him in. He tried to spin away but I grabbed him by the back of his collar, slamming him back against his Audi—hard.
“We need to talk, asshole,” I said softly.
“About how you’re fucking my girlfriend?” He sneered.
I saw red, a newly familiar anger raging through me at the disrespect he was showing her. How could he not know that she wasn’t that kind of girl? That her integrity ran deep and was unshakeable? Unable to stop myself, I threw a punch to his stomach. He gasped and bent over.
I growled out, “Now listen to me, motherfucker. I’ll ignore what you just said because it isn’t worth a response. But you lay another finger on her, and I’ll cut them off, one by one, before I fucking smash your head in.”
He looked up at me and paled.
“Do you hear me? Don’t you think I won’t do it. In fact, I should fucking rearrange your face now for what you did to Bella.” I slammed him against his car once more. “Touch her again and I swear to fucking God and back, you’re dead. I will shred you. Understood?”
He nodded weakly.
Football player my ass.
I could have snapped him in half without even breaking a sweat. I spat at his feet. The handle I’d had on my silent rage had suddenly
slipped away. I’d spent the last seventeen years of my life carefully controlling my emotions, a necessity to keep my mother’s outbursts to a minimum, to keep at bay my own guilt, my own anger at myself, at my role in the greatest tragedy of our lives.
I’m so sorry, Emily. So very sorry.
All these years with feelings tightly reined in, and now, suddenly, I felt completely out of control, destabilized. One word, one move against Bella, and my fury had come unleashed.
I was terrified of this stranger I was becoming.
Damien
I left Jon’s house and made it to school just as the bell rang. I walked into my advanced calculus class. Bella was in the front row and she beamed me a smile. Her face was still bruised, the purple hue peeking through in spite of the makeup she’d piled on top of it. I should have beat the shit out of that motherfucker. But I pushed the rage down and smiled at her as I strolled to the back.
As I slumped in my usual chair, Mr. Perini, the calc teacher, called out dryly, “Good of you to finally join us, Mr. Mortensen.”
Perini was a short, balding man whose eyes said I fucking hate my life, and I fucking hate you kids.
“Since you couldn’t be bothered to be on time,” he added, “why don’t you save me mine and walk us through how to solve the rate of change in this function.” He held out the dry-erase marker to me. I looked up slowly. A familiar-looking football player guffawed, and then, affecting a loud whisper, said, “Come on, Mortensen. Don’t keep us waiting.” He traced his lower lash line with his middle finger, no doubt mocking me. I ignored him, but Bella’s voice rang out.
“Shut up, Sean.”
Perini glanced at her. “What was that, Mira?”
She cleared her throat, meeting his stare straight on. “Apologies, Mr. Perini, but Sean’s B.S. is unnecessary.”
She was standing up for me, over something fairly stupid, something that in any other situation, I would have simply ignored. My heart constricted at the unfamiliar feeling of having someone . . . in my corner.
“What’s up with the face, Mira? You hangin’ with the trashy crowd these days?”
“How dare you, Sean,” Bella yelled as she stood up to turn and face him, her small hands fisted at her sides. When he got up to face her down, his large frame towering over her tiny one, it was pure instinct that made me push out of my chair and bound toward them. I pulled him back and swung him around to face me.
Somewhere, I heard Perini yell for us all to sit back down, but I ignored him as I leaned down into Sean’s face and said softly, menace dripping like ice over each word, “Say one more thing about her, asshole. One more.” My voice never above a whisper, but darkness in it all the same. His face was as white as a sheet, and fear and loathing pooled in his eyes.
“Just one more. Try it,” I said with barely controlled rage in my low voice.
“That’s enough. Mortensen, sit the hell down or it’s detention until the end of time for you!” Perini was screeching now.
Sean stepped back, hands up as he smirked at me and sat back down. I turned to Bella who was looking at me, concern etched into her face. I let out a long breath before forcing a smile and winking at her as I walked back to my seat. Perini huffed and let out an unintelligible curse. And that was that.
Later, as we walked out together, I glanced at Bella. She was lovely. Not even a fucking bruise could mar that, but it made my blood boil that it was even there at all. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, emphasizing her delicate features, making her almond eyes seem even bigger. Lovely, just so quietly, deeply lovely. She was in her cheer uniform, her slender legs going on for miles in spite of her short stature. Yes, I guess I could no longer deny it. No matter how much I hated him, Jon was right. I wanted her. I wanted her so badly it hurt.
We didn’t share any other classes today, and so before letting her step into her next classroom, I gave her a big bear hug, relishing the feel of her small body in my arms. Students walked around us, glancing at us curiously. Of course they’d heard the rumors about Jon. The breakup. The weird bruise on Bella’s face. And who knew what kind of other gossip had followed me.
Fine.
They could talk shit about me all they wanted, but they’d better not dare a single word, a single move against her.
“By the way, Dame.”
“Yes?” I looked down at her.
“Practice was canceled this afternoon, so I’m free and we can hang out after school today.”
I smiled at her. “Wouldn’t want to be doing anything else,” I said. And I meant it.
As promised, at two forty-five, I was at my car waiting for her. She walked briskly over, hugged me, and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” She’d changed out of her uniform and was wearing ripped, skinny black jeans that only emphasized her gorgeous, lithe body. I found her adorable in her cheer outfit. But dressed like this, in torn street wear, she was lethal. I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to regain my composure.
I drove to a secluded spot by the lake and parked. I reached into the backseat for my acoustic guitar and winked at her. She smiled as we walked toward the water and sat on the edge, legs hanging off the dock. We sat there in silence for a while, just enjoying the view and each other’s company. It speaks volume about the person you’re with when just being near her is enough to fill you with deep contentment and peace. Words had always felt unnecessary, with her.
I grabbed my guitar and started strumming mindlessly.
“I love the sound of guitars, Dame. I always meant to learn how to play, but my dad’s more into me perfecting the piano. I suppose it is more lady-like, or some such bullshit.”
I nodded at her. “And you do what it takes to make him happy.” It wasn’t a question. It was clear as daylight.
She smiled sadly. “He’s all the family I have.” She grabbed her ponytail and began to play with it as she spoke, still looking into the distance. “It’s just him and me. My mom was an orphan. And his parents?” She laughed without humor. “His parents have never met me, and never will. They’ve never wanted anything to do with me. My blood is tainted.” She turned to look at me, her hazel eyes dripping with emotions. “Did I ever tell you that they disowned him after he married my mom?”
I shook my head.
“Yeah, they did. It’s always been just me and him. And I know he can be harsh, but that’s love right there. He gave it all up for my mom and me. Didn’t take a red cent from them, built his legal empire from the seed money his grandmother had left him and his own blood and sweat.”
I reached out, placed my hand on her slight shoulder as I nodded. Yes, that was love right there. Davenport had given it all up for Bella and her mom. My own dad had given my mom and me up for it all. Good fathers were hard to come by.
“But I don’t do everything to make him happy, you know.” She looked at me as she said it, and I knew that she meant this.
This, the fact that she was defying her father just so we could be friends.
Minutes passed by, before she volunteered, seemingly out of nowhere, “I heard about Jon.”
“Yes.”
She stared at me intently, expectantly, affection dripping from her breathtaking hazel eyes.
I looked away. “He’ll think twice before ever laying a hand on you again.”
She touched my arm. I glanced back at her as she tucked the bottom right side of her lip between her perfect little teeth.
And then she said very simply, “Thank you.”
Our eyes locked, and emotions neither of us wanted to acknowledge were mirrored in our gaze. I ran a thumb alongside her delicately angled jaw, barely, barely touching that darkened bruise. “Always. I’ll always be there for you, baby girl.”
Her eyes got suspiciously bright, and she turned away.
She forced a laugh and a lighthearted tone. “Don’t know what I ever saw in him. Preppy guys have never really been my thing.”
I didn’t know what to say, and so I said n
othing. She sighed, looking away again.
A blue jay flew across the lake, its azure wings brilliant as they caught the fading light of the dipping sun.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, looking out into the distance, her legs swinging back and forth over the water, following the downbeat of the song I was quietly playing on my guitar.
“Yes,” I responded, my eyes never leaving her. She turned to me and smiled.
“What are you playing?”
“Just something I’ve been working on. It’s called She’s So Lovely . . . And She’ll Kick Your Ass.”
“Oh. It’s so melodic and haunting, so at odds with this amazing, amazing title. Sing it for me, my Damien James.”
Her Damien James . . .
I smiled and strummed more loudly, and began to sing, looking at her as I delivered each and every single aching word, a mirror of my own anguished heart. I closed my eyes on that last, heartbreaking chord. When I reopened them, the tears were rolling down her face.
“Baby doll?” I said softly.
She ran the heels of her hands across her eyes and sniffled. She looked at me, her eyes bright with half-wiped tears. I set my guitar aside and reached out with a finger to dry the ones still falling down her cheeks.
“I’m so silly,” she sputtered. “So, so fucking silly.”
“It’s ok,” I responded. But that’s what I love about you, I told myself silently. The fact that she felt each emotion so intensely, and, even more heartbreakingly, that she never, ever tried to hide them. That she let each and every single one out into the open. Raw, vulnerable, yet never allowing anyone to tell her how to be, to tell her how to feel.
For someone who’d spent a whole lifetime repressing his every emotion for fear of breaking; for someone who’d buried each and every one of them so deep until they clawed their way out during the dark cover of night like demons ready to devastate, her open heart was like the dawn after a terrifying nightmare. Beautiful and perhaps inevitable, and so very cherished. How could my broken soul not respond to her? I knew I’d give my life to protect her and how she saw the world.