by Layla Hagen
He moves his lips down my belly again, then to my thighs, cupping my ass with both hands and pulling me even closer to him. A wave of heat overcomes me when he backs away, his eyes raking over my completely naked body.
"Don't do that," I whisper.
"What?"
"Look at me like you'll never see me again."
"I don't know when I'll see you again, so I want to make sure your beautiful body is branded in my memory."
The next inhale stings, but I try not to show it. "I want the same privilege then. Strip."
Damon gets rid of his clothes in a few seconds. He's beautiful—perfect, really. His erection catches my attention, and not for a good reason. It's huge. How will it ever fit inside me? He chuckles as if guessing my thoughts, and when I bite my lip, he takes it as an invitation, lounging over me within seconds.
Desire sears through me, turning my blood to liquid wildfire, making me squirm under him. Damon drags his fingers between my legs, tapping my folds lightly. I buck my hips, gasping.
"Shh," he says, grinning as he presses his forehead on mine.
"No one will hear us," I assure him.
"No?" he asks playfully. I feel his fingers travel along my slit, sending flaming tingles everywhere. "You are so wet. Fuck." He spreads my wetness around, then dips one finger inside me.
I grit out his name, shiver after shiver raking my body. "Damon. More, please."
"Be patient. I need you to be ready."
"I am ready," I say, though I have no clue, really. Desire blinds me, and this doesn't hurt at all.
"I want to make it good for you; so good you won't forget it." There it is, the bittersweet reminder again. I kiss him so he won't utter one more word.
"Do you have a condom with you?" I murmur when we break apart, wondering what we'll do if he says no.
"Yes. I put it on the nightstand when I was undressing you." He reaches for it, rips the package and slides the condom over his erection. He slides the tip up my glistening flesh in slow motion that turns me crazy, then down again. I keep my eyes glued on him.
I inch my legs wider apart, and hold my breath when he pushes his tip inside just a fraction of an inch. "Ouch." Damon hovers over me, his hands cupping my face, his lips planting soft kisses on my lips and cheeks. Ever so slightly, he lets more of himself inside me, a slicing pain accompanying his move. Tears spring at the inner corner of my eyes and Damon stills, his body rigid. He settles inside me, allowing my body to get used to him. Kissing me languidly, he fists my hair, tugging at it, sending delicious ripples through me. I’m surprised to realize I don't hurt anymore. I push my hips into him to let him know I’m ready for more.
His labored breathing intensifies, and he catches my gaze as he starts moving again, sliding in and out of me with careful strokes. My tight passage still twinges with the slightest pain, but the delicious ripples each stroke sends through me far overrides it. The sensation of him caressing me on the inside is unlike anything I have experienced before. Like all things tonight, our union is bittersweet. Pleasure laces with pain, and when he pins my hands to the sides of my head, interlacing his fingers with mine, smiles mingle with tears. His lovemaking is intoxicating, hearing his grunts of pleasure—addictive. Dragging one hand between our sweaty bodies, he applies pressure on my clit, flicking it with his thumb as he slowly moves in and out of me. That blessed thumb awakens something dangerous inside me. It unleashes an inferno that sets alight every nerve ending in my body, threatening to undo me. The quivers start from deep within me. I clench around his length, writhing and moaning, slamming my hips against him in my frenzy as I ride the wave of my orgasm.
"Dani," he grits, grabbing my ass with his hands, all thoughts of being gentle forgotten. He spasms inside me as he comes, calling my name over and over again. When he pulls out, I feel a sense of loss. Tiredness overcomes me almost immediately, and I suddenly know I won't be able to fight it. The lack of sleep in the last forty-eight hours is finally catching up with me. Damon fumbles with something on the other side of the bed for a few minutes before cradling me in his arms.
"I don't want to sleep," I murmur, even as the tendrils of sleep threaten to steal the last hours I have with him.
"Shhhh, I'll stay with you."
"I want to be awake and talk." My voice is so weak with sleepiness I can barely hear myself.
"You said no talking," I hear him say as I slide away. "I love you, Dani Cohen. You're everything to me."
***
When I wake up in the morning, Damon is gone. My bed is cold. That's it then. There’s no point trying to deny the pain. It's so alive; it punches holes in my chest with every breath. It curls around me, ensnaring me, dripping in every corner of me, just like a poison would, until I feel his absence in my very bones. I curl, drawing my knees to my chest in the hope of quenching this massive emptiness inside me. Gripping the pillow hard, I can't stop the tears falling on it. I find something underneath my pillow, something silky. Tugging on it, I break into sobs. It's the silk scarf Damon gave me. I stuffed it under my pillow the night after the movie incident. I immediately put it around my neck, covering my mouth and nose with it, breathing in deeply. I search for his scent in it, but it only carries mine. But it also carries something else: whispers from our rooftop conversations and the taste of our kisses. Yes, it holds many dear memories, but now it only causes me pain. I cry and cry for what feels like hours until I feel drained and fall asleep.
The sun still shines when I wake up, and not wanting to fall into crying again, I get dressed and leave my room. I keep the scarf around my neck.
My parents are in the living room, eating lunch together. That’s weird. I join them, eating in silence.
"That scarf looks great on you," Mom comments.
"Thanks. Damon gave it to me." I stiffen when I see my parents exchange glances, a sinking feeling forming in my stomach. "Damon leaves for boarding school today. In Canada. Did you have anything to do with it?"
"His father was very unhappy with him," Dad says, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork.
"That's not answering my question." Looking at both of them, I get my answer. It's written all over their guilty glances.
"I facilitated his transfer," Dad replies eventually. "A friend of mine is the principal."
"You took him away from me," I whisper.
"What he did on Thursday—”
"This has got nothing to do with that. You've been planning to send him away for a long time."
"Dani, that boy is no good for you," Mom adds unhelpfully. I push my plate away, gripped by the sudden desire to break it along with every piece of china on the table. To avoid that, I cross my arms over my chest.
"He made me feel important and confident," I almost spit the words out. "That's more than the two of you ever did for me." My parents not giving me a shred of love or attention made me wonder if there was something wrong with me. Damon showed me there isn’t. It felt so wonderful to be loved. Now he's gone, and I'm alone again, with nothing but a piece of red fabric to remind me I'm worthy of love. "You two have been busy hating each other for more than ten years. You can't tell me a thing about love or who is right for me."
My mother pales, pursing her lips, just as Dad says, "This is no way to talk to your parents." They look stricken, but I’m far from being done.
"I'm the second child you had in the hope of saving your marriage, and then you realized you made a gigantic mistake."
"You were not a mistake." Mom covers her mouth, looking away quickly. I think I spot tears at the corners of her eyes, and guilt overcomes me.
"Really? Great job at showing it, Mom. You hoped that if you ignored me enough, I would eventually vanish into thin air. Well, guess what? I didn't. I'm a real person with real feelings. Damon gave me everything, and you took him away from me. I can't believe it."
When my parents look at me again, I see in their eyes something I never did before: awareness and the recognition they might have made a mis
take.
Then my father booms, "You've never been rebellious; this behavior isn't characteristic of you."
I swear something snaps inside me. The moment I stopped being happy with an invisible existence, the moment I wanted something for myself, I became a problem.
Pure anger pours out of me as I say through gritted teeth, "Rebellious? I'll give you rebellious."
One year later
Chapter Twenty-Two: Dani
Drawing in a deep breath, I stare at the gray building of my new dorm at Stanford. Some things you cannot escape, as much as you want to. My father went to Stanford, and my brother went to Stanford; now it's my turn. Still, as I inhale the brisk end of March air, I know I made the right decision to come back. I am home in California, after all.
After Damon left one year ago, all Hell broke loose. I channeled all my pain in lashing out at my parents and James. I wanted to punish them for my pain and for pushing away the boy I loved. It was teenage rebellion at its finest. I had always prided myself in not going through the typical ‘teenage phase’, yet there I was, squeezing years’ worth of rebellion into a few short months. Ultimately, it all came to bite me back. My exam performance took a nosedive, and I missed my grades for Oxford, ending up at another London university. James begged me not to move, but of course I didn't listen. I moved to London and lived there for an entire semester. The best part of my stay there was my kick-ass flatmate, Jessica. The story behind meeting Jessica is quite funny.
Almost exactly one year ago, the night I lost Damon, James found Serena. He fell head-over-heels for her, and they are now engaged, getting married in three months. Jessica is Serena's best friend, and she moved to London at the same time I did and hooked up with my cousin, Parker.
I was only halfway over my rebel phase when I moved in with Jessica, no longer lashing out at my parents, but I continued with a project I started in my rebel days back home: changing myself. I wanted to fashion out a new Dani, one who wasn't a nerd. As a reformed party girl, Jessica was more than happy to help turn this good girl into a bad one. But I never felt right pretending to be someone else, just like I never felt comfortable in London. Turns out the answer to feeling home someplace wasn't moving to a foreign country. I yearned to come back, but pride kept me from admitting to myself and to my family that moving had been a mistake.
One phone call changed all of that.
Before Christmas, James called me during the night with the news that my father had suffered a heart attack and the doctors weren't optimistic. I jumped on the first flight to California, the last words I had spoken to my father playing in my mind over and over again. They had been resentful and mean, and the thought that those might turn out to be the very last words was unbearable. My father was in critical condition when I arrived, but he survived. The doctor ordered him to quit work right away because he was at high risk of having another heart attack. After a heart-to-heart conversation with James and my mother, I decided to return. Despite our differences, we are family, and I longed to be home.
James pulled some strings so I could start at Stanford in the spring, so here I am, in the place I should have been from the very beginning.
"Hazel," I call the second I step into our room. She lifts her head, deep brown curls dangling from her messy bun. She's wearing a baggy t-shirt, and her hands are full with books. Dropping the books, she rushes between the boxes, throwing her arms around me when she reaches me.
"I can't believe you’re back."
I inhale one whiff of her familiar jasmine and lily perfume before her hug becomes a tad too tight. "Welcome to Stanford's finest on-campus accommodation," she says. I lived in a luxury apartment in London, but I want an authentic college experience this time.
"Hazel, I can't breathe," I stammer. She lets go. "You have to stop doing this every time you see me." Since I've been back, I've seen Hazel about four times, and she’s reacted the same every single time. Truth be told, I can't get enough of her hugs. I missed her like crazy while I was in London. The prospect of experiencing college with my best friend makes me giddy.
"I still can't believe you’re here to stay. If you insist I treat you normally, help me unload all of these boxes. We have about four hours. Then we need to start preparing for the party I told you about." She wiggles her eyebrows, and I can't help bursting out laughing.
"I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have an appointment at the orientation office in fifteen minutes. I'll make sure to come back in time to prepare for the party, though."
"Traitor," she mutters under her breath. "By the way, I need to tell you something." She purses her lips.
"Well?"
Hazel twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, chewing her lip. "I'll tell you when you get back from the office."
"Ah, resorting to cheap tricks to make me help you unpack."
She rolls her eyes, starting to unload yet another box.
I stride through the campus, soaking up the sun. It's good to be back. There is a lot of commotion at the orientation office, and I wait in line for at least half an hour, despite having an appointment. I keep myself entertained by going over the syllabus for this semester again. Thank God American universities basically force you to do a broad selection of courses. In England, you choose one subject and stick with it until the end. I love to read, but it turns out that studying English wasn't exactly my thing. I still don't know what my thing is, but luckily, I have some time to decide before I have to declare my major. I'm still buried in the syllabus when a voice I haven't heard in months reaches my ears.
"How many courses do I have to take if I don’t want this one?"
The voice belongs to Damon. My heart does a double-beat, my hands freezing on the brochure. I don't dare raise my eyes for fear that seeing him might prompt a reaction that is best kept out of the public eye. The woman behind the desk explains something to Damon, and he acknowledges it with a short "Thank you." I can't help peeking sideways when he passes me. The air changes instantly, something like an electric shock zipping through me when our gazes meet. Were this the first time I saw him since he left that dreadful night, I think I might have had to grab the shoulder of the blonde in front of me for support.
I saw him once before when I was in London. I had found out that Damon was in London for a fight. I could hardly believe that after graduating high school he returned to fighting, so I set out to see him with my own eyes. It was a shock to my system to see him in the ring again. I was disappointed and told him so. Our encounter was very brief and bittersweet.
"Why did you never write or call, Damon?"
He gestured around himself as if the mere fact that we were in a fighter dungeon should answer my question. In a way, it did, but I wanted to hear it from him. "I made you a promise when I left California that I will only come back into your life when I get my shit together, and I can't make good on that promise yet." He took my hand in his and pressed his forehead to mine. "I will look for you when I’m able to. I don't know if you’ll still want me, but I will look for you."
That was the first and last time I saw him since he left California.
I snap out of my reverie when the woman behind the desk calls my name, the fragmented memories of that night full of heartbreak and hope sliding away in the recesses of my mind. Leaning slightly over the counter, I try my best to pay attention to what the woman is saying. Since I spent the first semester of freshman year in London, and now the second semester at Stanford, I can transfer some credits. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damon waiting by the door.
He's still there fifteen minutes later when I finish with the advisor.
"Hi," he says.
"Damon," I reply, unsure of what to say.
"Do you have time to talk?"
I lick my lips as I take in his appearance. He was sexy before, but now his sex appeal seems out of this world. He shed the few shreds of boyhood that betrayed his age sometime in the last year. Now he’s all man. The green shirt he wears stre
tches over his shoulders, and I wonder if they were so strong before. Imagining what’s beneath the fabric muddles my thoughts.
"Well, I'm supposed to help Hazel unpack..." I squirm in my spot, fidgeting with my fingers, then we move away from the door to a marble fountain. "So, Stanford, huh? Congratulations."
"I have to thank someone for practically forcing me to apply."
"What are you talking about? You didn't apply back when we..." I take a deep breath, letting my words fade.
"No, but you grilled me hard enough about college that I eventually applied for the spring intake."
A grin spreads over my face. "That's great. What about the fighting?"
"No more of that. I quit the day my Stanford acceptance came. I’m looking for an honest-to-goodness job, so if you know of anyone hiring, let me know. My dad is paying for Stanford, but I don't want him paying for anything else."
I nod in appreciation. "Wow, that's a change I never expected. Not in a million years did I think you'd let your dad pay for anything."
"I've learned a thing or two over the past few months. I have pocket money to last me about a week, but I’ll gladly give all of it out if you let me buy you lunch." He checks his watch. "Or early dinner."
"I can't," I say truthfully. "I promised Hazel I'd help her unpack, and then we're going to some party." I regret the promise more with every passing second. Damon unexpectedly cheers up.
"I'm supposed to go to a party, too."
"I’m going to a party, no idea if it's the same you are going to. Some guy from the soccer team is throwing it."
"I’m going to the same one."
"See you in a few hours, then." I attempt to pass by him when his hand grabs my wrist. It's a gentle move, but it stops me in my tracks nonetheless.
"I can finally make good on all my promises, Dani."
***
My mind plays his words over and over on my way back to the dorm, sending shivers of anticipation all over my body. This exceeds all of my expectations. Damon attends Stanford, no longer fights, and accepts help from his dad.