KNIGHT: A Dark High School Bully Romance

by L. J. Woods

  “Jo?” The passenger window on the Jaguar rolls down when Christian calls my name. “We’re good to go.”

  Looking in the backseat, Christian has Willow covered with a blanket. It’s the same one he gave me when Damien left me in the rain that day. She’s pretty much asleep, knees curled to her chest. When I glance back at Damien, he’s reaching over the rail before he throws a long leg over. “Are we all just gonna leave him here?” I ask Christian.

  “He kicked everyone out. Probably had too much. He’ll be fine. His dad usually—” Christian stops himself as if he’s just remembering his best friend’s reality.

  I sigh, glancing back at Damien. Not only does seeing him like this break my heart but if I don’t do this, he may very well off himself. “Can you take her home?”

  “Really? Jo, you don’t have to help him he—”

  “Do you have my back?” I meet his emerald gaze, his round eyes hitting the roof of his car.

  “If this was any sign, yeah, yeah I do,” he says. “At least I’m trying to.”

  “Then you’ll take Willow home and let me handle this.” Christian glances in the backseat at my sister. “Take her home and text me when you do.”

  His shoulders drop. “Alright.”

  After thanking him again, I watch as he drives to the gate, solidifying my position. My stupid decision.

  Walking back into that mansion, I march up the stairs, but not without grabbing that coin. “C’mon.” He helped me, now it’s time for me to help him. Pulling his arm, I help him back over the rail. The entire property is empty save for some party stragglers too faded to move off the lawn.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Medusa?” He pulls from my hold but I grab his arm again and this time he lets me, staring into my eyes with a heat that makes it hard to speak.

  Clearing my throat, I lead him up the stairs. God, I must be a masochist. “I’m saving you from yourself.” And just like that, he pulls me in again.

  Seven

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  Cold water drenches my shirt and jeans, Damien’s large, lean body hanging off my arms. There are way too many nozzles in this shower but I get it going.

  “Joining me?” He has a stupid smirk on his face that’s both angering and smouldering. Tempting. He’s not kicking me out, not saying shitty things. He better not after I spent the last thirty minutes listening to him heave over a polished toilet. After a snack and a couple of slaps to the face, he’s coming back to life.

  “Not a chance.” Pushing him under the stream of warm water I can’t help but smirk when he squints, water shooting in his blue eye.

  Moving out of the way, he leans his body against the stone mosaic. Water drizzling over that hard body is hard to ignore. It outlines that monster in his pants I know all too well. Prominent and delicious.

  I’m too distracted to know he’s reaching for me before he pulls me further in. “Damien, what the fu—” The feeling of his arms moving around me makes me freeze, my words doing the same.

  I’ll admit, the water is soothing. I won’t admit his arms are too. Hell, his hold is as comforting as I remember. He’s like a venus fly trap: fascinating, oddly beautiful and deadly. His voice lowers in my ear, “Why are you helping me, Medusa?”

  Forcing myself to look the devil in his eyes, I turn around and I’m sorry I did. That gaze can sizzle your heart. Ruin your panties. He’s looking at me like I’m having a similar effect, his eyes wandering around my face before they land on my tits. Finding my words, I force them out, “You mean, despite the way you treat me?”

  I guess I’ve been here before, alone and lost with no parents. Seeing him left on his own after the party pulled at my heart. Whatever connection we have is way too strong and damn him. Damn him to hell.

  “I remember treating that pussy like royalty.”

  “And me like shit,” I snip. “You think I killed your father. You think I really—”

  “Fell for me.” He pulls me against his chest, water flowing between us, our bodies wet and warm. “Just like how I fell for you.”

  His lips crash into mine. Soft. Sultry. Damien. That boozy, peppermint taste on his tongue makes me weak to my core and my body wants him. So fucking bad. I can tell by the way my muscles relax, that pull between my thighs. When he sinks his teeth into my lip, it leaves a flurry of tingles rushing through me.

  “Damien,” my words fall against his kiss. It’s more of a sigh than I want but he eats it up like candy, his tongue moving over mine like I’m his favourite fruit. His hands fall to my ass and I press against his chest, fighting everything inside me that’s begging for more. “I … I can’t—”

  The water running over us reminds me of the time in the boys’ locker room. Trapped in a shower stall with my biggest enemy, and my biggest desire. He might be drunk but he moves with force, his knee pushing between my legs, pressing against my throbbing clit and fuuuck, this is a bad position to be in.

  “Are you wet for me like you always are, Jo?” His words land against my ear again. “I want you so fucking bad. Do you want me?”

  I can feel his heart racing against my chest and mine is beating just as fast. But I can’t give in if he’s just going to break me again.

  Biting hard into his lip, he growls, pulling back. It gives me enough space to abort whatever this is. Getting the power to leave the situation I’ve put myself in, I move towards the exit. He calls when I do, “Don’t walk away from me, Medusa.”

  I look back over my shoulder, my clothes soaked, sticking to my body. I say the same words he said to me that night, “Clean yourself up, Damien.”

  My back hits his bedroom wall when I’m out of the bathroom, taking a second to catch my breath in the dark.

  Being alone with Damien King was a short-sighted decision. And now, I’m reaping the consequences.

  I’m supposed to be making sure he gets to bed without killing himself in the process. Not reenacting a scene from a porno.

  “I did what you said.”

  Damien’s voice startles me and when I look to my right, he’s standing in the bathroom doorway completely nude.

  Water drips from his pecs, down his abs, all the way to his shaft and … he totally has a boner. He looks like a drizzling pile of sex and Queen Jesus help me.

  Crossing my arms, I’m doing my best to pull my eyes away from his cock when I meet his smirk. “Damien, can you please put some clothes on?”

  “Why? So you can stop wishing you were riding my cock?”

  “I’m leaving.” Turning around, I make my way for the door, clothes still wet but he grabs my hand.

  “Wait,” he says, and now Damien King is touching me naked and my body is well aware of it, the way everything is tingling.

  Facing him, I’m waiting for an answer but instead, his face goes pale again before he’s falling to the floor.

  Fuck.

  My heart skips a beat when my knees hit the spot beside him. “Damien?” Slapping his cheek, he groans and I know he’s alive. But it’s up to me to get his drunk ass into bed.

  * * *

  Damien stirs next to me, jolting me awake.

  It’s quiet, the sky still dark when my eyes flicker open.

  I’m in Damien’s bed, sheets more luxurious than the ones I have at the Archibalds’. They’re black and silky, matching his soul.

  Looking around his room, there’s not much to offset the black decor. Now I’m wondering if that’s to help with his frequent hangovers.

  It wasn’t easy getting Damien to sleep. But when I crawled into his bed like he insisted, okay, more like demanded, he was out in seconds. I’ll admit I expected him to finish what we started in the shower. I won’t admit that I’m disappointed he was too fucked up to do it. I shouldn’t be wanting anything from Damien anyway. Not after all this.

  He’s quiet when he sleeps. Just like I remember. The dude doesn’t even snore, just heavy breaths of slumber. Slipping out of the big, black blanket, a coldness washes over me.
Out of my stubbornness, I stayed in my wet clothes, not wanting to give Damien a show. Didn’t mean to fall asleep in it. I’d given him enough, but now I’m starting to regret it.

  Making sure not to startle him awake, I head towards one of the doors leading from his room. It brings me to a large closet that seems endless without the light on and I grab the first thing I see. A black designer hoodie. It smells like him. Weed. Pine. Fresh. And I’m angry with myself when I find it by my nose.

  My phone buzzes from his black, porcelain nightstand. An obscure shape that makes me wonder how it’s even standing.

  Rich people.

  When I make my way over, Christian’s name lights up the screen which makes me glance at Damien. Still asleep. He looks peaceful. Serene, like he isn’t the devil he is. When I look back at my phone, I’ve missed six calls from Christian and a bunch of texts. I read the last one.

  Christian: Please tell me you’re okay.

  I text him back right away.

  Jo: Sorry! I’m fine. R u?

  I’m pulling on my boots, they’re still soaked from the shower but I’m not leaving them here. Checking the time, if I call an Uber now I should be home before three. Christian is quick with his next text.

  Christian: Willow’s asleep. & I’m in your bed.

  He follows that text with a selfie of himself tucked in my bed, fluffy covers to his cheeks and I’ll admit it’s pretty cute.

  Christian: Didn’t want to leave Willow alone without you here but I could use some company.

  Christian’s being forward, something he usually isn’t, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s only because I’m with Damien. Regardless, I’m grateful he stayed with my sister.

  Jo: Getting an Uber.

  Damien is still knocked out as I head for his bedroom door. With my hand on the knob, it feels like this might be the last time we’re in a room together without being at each other’s throats. Or without Damien breaking my heart, but that breaks my heart more than his words ever will.

  My phone vibrates in my hand.

  Christian: I’ll come to get you.

  I’m opening the door before I text him back and when I do, Damien’s voice comes from behind me. It’s croaky, tired, but with just two words, I’m frozen in my path.

  “Don’t leave.”

  The lump I swallow in my throat goes down hard. “Wh-what?” I turn around, the phone clutched against my chest.

  He’s wincing, squinting as he sits up in his bed. “I said, don’t leave.”

  “I think I’ve done enough.” Letting go of the knob, I cross my arms. I should be running for the hills, but here I am, entertaining his bullshit.

  “What if I die?” The smirk he gives me tells me he’s feeling better. “Like my—”

  Picking up a sock from the floor of the door I whip it at his head before he winces again.

  “Shit, you really are a murderer.” He rubs his head before I turn around. “Jo, wait,” he calls again and I’m so fucking stupid that I stop. Again. “Please?”

  He looks pale when I turn around, clutching his stomach before he leans over the sofa, more puke spewing from his mouth.

  Hell.

  We’re both in hell.

  Rolling my eyes and cursing myself, I close the door before pulling his garbage bin from below his desk. He aims for that when he spews again before looking up at me, hair over his watery eyes. Pulling himself back up in bed, he settles against a pillow on his black velvet headboard. He still looks a mess.

  A beautiful mess.

  Sighing, I text Christian. He’s not going to like it but I do.

  Jo: Nevermind. Damien’s sick. Txt you in the morning. Thanks for everything. xo

  I put my phone on silent so the guilt from Christian doesn’t chew at me before I get a damp cloth for Damien’s head. Once the towel’s on his forehead, I get him another bottle of water from the bar near his desk.

  “Who do you keep texting?” he asks, voice hoarse.

  “What’s it to you?” Of course, Damien King is dying from a hangover and he’s still a jealous prick.

  “What kind of a question is that?” he scoffs. “Is that him? Is that Christian? Are you that stupid to bring him here?”

  The frustration builds again and I’m already regretting my decision. “Why does it matter? You don’t give a fuck about me. I should be at home, with my sister who almost got diddled by another one of your friends, but here I am. With you. Nursing a self-inflicted hangover of whatever fucking cocktail you decided to self-medicate with.” The words spew out of my mouth, just like the bile that spewed from Damien and there’s no slowing me down once I’ve started.

  “Did it work?” I continue, Damien watching me like his favourite team. He’s rising from the bed, making his way to me but I don’t care. I keep going, “Did all the alcohol, the pills and the blow to your brain make you forget about what happened? Did it make you forget about me?” The lump forms in my throat again, my eyes blurry before I even realize what’s happening. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” His words ring loud in my head again. Didn’t you? “I didn’t kill your dad, Damien! I didn’t do it and you know that!”

  His arms are around me before I can tell him to go away and once I’m in his hold again, my muscles betray me. My body relaxes like he’s a human-sized teddy bear and all I can do is cry, my tears landing on his bare chest. His heart pounds against my head, and I can hear every thump. A quick tempo.

  “Jo,” Damien’s lips land on my head in such a tender touch that it startles me. “I’m sorry.” My head falls against his chest and his hand comes to the back of my head, holding me like a prized pet before I’m lifted off the floor.

  I’m not sure where he finds the energy, but he scoops me up in his arms, just like Christian did Willow and … it feels good. Really good. He brings me back to his bed, his arms around me so warm, so … perfect, that I don’t even realize when I drift to sleep.

  * * *

  Warm bodies writhe together.

  Buzzzzzzz.

  Panting.

  Groans.

  Buzzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzzz.

  A moan, “Damien …”

  Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  A vibration stirs me awake. The sunlight hardly breaks through black curtains when I open my eyes. It takes me a second to piece my surroundings together.

  Black abstract chandelier.

  Dark walls.

  The smell of scotch and weed.

  Hockey jersey on the wall.

  Right.

  I’m in the devil’s domain.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzz.

  My phone vibrates off the side table, dropping to the dark hardwood floor with a clatter. Groaning, I reach over, grabbing it. I’m greeted by twenty missed calls, even more texts. Willow, Christian, Allie and Nate.

  Taking a deep breath, I’m finally ready to face the music. To see the results of my bad decision making. “Hey …” Expecting to see the devil himself when I roll over, the bed is empty. The side where I expect to see him is cold like I didn’t just spend the night with the enemy.

  Texting the most important person first, Willow, I let her know I’m okay and I’ll be at school a little late. Glancing at the time it’s already eight-thirty. Fuck, I don’t even have my uniform. As I press send on the text, anger replaces the confusion in my heart.

  He couldn’t even wake me?

  I walk to Damien’s closet, looking for something that won’t get me kicked out of the Academy. I could rush back to the Archibalds’, but there’s no way I’m making it to homeroom on time. Every class I miss, every class I’m tardy for, that scholarship slips further away.

  Mr. Hill already has his impressions of me, and I know they’re not good. Not after the antics the Supreme Squad pulled on me. So today I’m going to have to bend the rules a little. It’s fine. I’m good at that.

  Finding a pair of ERA approved pants, I pull them on. They’re big on my waist, Damien’s body much wider than my boxy, boyish frame.
I find one of his shirts, taking a tie as well. I haven’t read the ERA Welcome Guide but I’m sure it doesn’t say anything about girls wearing the boys’ uniform.

  Once I’m dressed, I pile my curls on top of my head, taking a look around the room. With the light on, his closet isn’t that different from his bedroom. Decorated in black with speckles of white. Some gold here and there. There’s a shelf for everything. Ties. Shoes. Hats. There’s even a little rotisserie thing with a selection of watches. Walking over to it, my boots thudding against the dark wood, I run my finger along the cold metal of a gold Cartier. My eyes drop to the drawer underneath, one that looks like it’s filled with his boxers.

  Pulling it out, I snort at the ones with robots on it before my eyes land on something else. A photo. A polaroid. Pulling it out there’s a photo of a beautiful woman in a large white hat, her dress almost as white as her complexion. She looks like a pin-up doll. A classic Marilyn Monore, dark hair in exchange for blonde. And like the famous starlet, there’s distance in her eyes. Eyes that are narrow and striking, like Damien’s. Blue.

  My phone buzzes again from the room, pulling me out of my trance before I tuck the polaroid where I found it. I don’t check it before I move to the bathroom beside his closet. Once inside, I splash some water on my face from the white pedestal sink. The walls are dark blue, the wood floor a dark brown, the only other white things are the shower and large square tub.

  Zoning in on the dark circles under my eyes, I pat my cold fingers against them. They’re getting worse and there’s more than one reason Damien’s clothes are hanging off me. My body looks thinner like I’m withering away in this town. Little by little. Lie by lie. Prank by prank.

  Opening the large mirrored cabinet above the sink, I’m looking for something to help me out. My skin’s starting to look as washed out as Damien’s. He’s rich, his face smooth, soft and supple. There’s gotta be something in here that helps with that modelesque mug.

  My eyes land on a piece of plastic that stops my hands in their rummaging paths. “Is that …” I mumble to myself, pulling it out off the glass shelf. It’s a hospital band, “Joelle Rowland” typed on the side. “He kept it.” The memories of that evening come flooding back.