by Mara Lynne
Haynes stands, with his back leaning against the edge of his table, his two arms supporting his weight. His glare could knock out an army of angry students with failing marks.
“Shut the door,” he commands.
I follow.
“After thinking over this matter, I’ve decided to let you march.”
I freeze.
His glare goes from my stunned pale face down to my trembling legs.
“Aren’t you happy?” A meaningful grin formed at the edge of his mouth.
I feel like this is not going to be good. This just can’t be good — for me.
“Thank you, Mr. Haynes.” I hear my voice cracking. I pretend I am not affected at all by his crusty macabre lines. “I’m surprised!”
“After hearing what Damien had told me about you, I thought of reconsidering.”
“I wonder what he’s told you.”
Haynes crosses his arms and continuous to fix his glare on me.
“Etheridge has made me quite an appealing bargain. At first, I thought it was absurd but then, after seeing how passionate he was about it, I think I might go with it.”
The excitement starts to sizzle within me.
He continues, “The first deal was to let you pass my subject so you can graduate while he works for the price. Want to guess what it was?”
I shrug my shoulders. What could Damien do… for me? I just don’t think he’s got the heart for that. After all he’s done to me, I could only think of him as an obstinate, selfish jerk, and nothing more.
“He’d work for me for one more year as my research assistant, then I’d let him go when this special project of mine is finished.”
That would mean I’d graduate while Etheridge stays in college doing errands for Haynes. All this he’d do for me?
Just the thought of it sends unsettling sensation all over my stomach, like a shovel digging deep down into it. It’s a marvel to me as to why an unfeeling guy like him would even think of sacrificing. Nope, I won’t call it sacrificing. It’s too grand for a person with a little heart like Damien. Maybe in due time I’d figure out what I’d call this peculiar action. Sacrifice just isn’t something a Damien Etheridge could do.
“Etheridge already has his hands on the project as of now but, as I think of it again, I do think it would be unfair for him if I put all the stress on him. This young man is willing enough to sacrifice his future for some girl who didn’t even put an ounce of effort for your supposed team thesis, which by the way I found rather exceptional.”
I am about to defend myself when he cuts me out.
“I’ll let you two graduate on one condition. You two will work for me as my research assistants. I’m currently short of competent students.”
Whoa! Is this for real?
“Work for you?”
“Yes, I’m currently helping the local city for a social research, and I would need your and Ethridge’s genius to make this whole feat possible,” he says. “As a matter of fact, I read your research —your research paper, Mohr — by the constant nagging of one certain stubborn monster. It was well done though I think Etheridge has a slight edge over yours. You were a bit amateurish, and your materials weren’t on par with his, but I appreciate the effort. Nevertheless, he claims that you were a team. He claimed that the paper he submitted was a product of collective effort from you two, which I doubt was. Am I wrong, Ms. Mohr?”
“If I lie about this, will the offer still stand?” I ask.
“Just as I thought.” He turns his back on me.
Haynes walks toward his swivel chair, pushes it away, and opens the drawer of his desk.
“But I’m not silly to let you get away. I will need you and Etheridge. Work on this for a week, and you’ll see yourself with a diploma.” He pulls out one envelope and hands it over. “Here you go. Meet Etheridge and plan about how you’re going to do miracles. I mean business here, Mohr. My reputation is at stake.”
No wonder he’s so eager to have this done. It’s the Mayor who personally assigned him to work on the project. There’s the city’s insignia on top of the document, and the Etheridge family crest just beside it. But a week? This is a time study about population control. I am not an expert on this matter, so why choose me?
I don’t know about Etheridge, but he’s smart. Maybe he knows things like this.
“Mohr, when I say I mean business, I mean it. Let go of your indifferences. I won’t need it. It won’t help me either,” he adds. “If you want to graduate, make this whole thing possible in a week, not a year. I won’t wait for that long, and I hope you won’t want that too. I’ll check on you by the end of the week. If I see nothing spectacular, say goodbye to your dreams. I am actually giving you a chance now, so don’t waste it.”
Damn! This is actually a good bargain — a deal too good to be true, I must say. But work with Etheridge for a week? I can’t even stand a minute with him without wanting to hit him in the face. How will I fake that I am genuinely into this project?
I wonder if Haynes knows anything about the gap between us. He mentioned about letting go of indifferences, so perhaps he’s aware of it. Well, Haynes is an intelligent man. Our separate research papers speak a lot. Damien not arriving on time during the thesis defense was one thing too. He surely noticed it.
Etheridge must have something to do with this, I thought
“That’s great, Angel!” Ray enthusiastically says. We are sauntering along the narrow corridors of the third floor. The library is at the end of the corridor, and I see students going out of the glass door. They are probably having their clearances signed by the librarian or custodial staff before the break. “Accept it!”
“I actually don’t have a choice, do I?” I murmur.
“Well, you have! You can choose to get bitch-slapped by pride and totally waste this opportunity. Who cares who started this drama? Even if it’s for Haynes selfish purposes, you will still benefit from it. If it’s Etheridge’s plan to get on you, you’d still graduate anyway. Either way, you win!”
“You’re right!” I respond. “If I was able to survive one meal with Damien with his glare constantly transfixed on me, I think I can manage a week with his murdering presence.”
“You know what, Angel? I don’t know what to make out of that statement.” I feel this answer is going to end up on one topic I loathe the most. “It seems to be too sexy for murder.”
“Here we go again. Will you cut it out?”
“Come on! I saw it with my own two eyes! Dining with Damien? His full attention was solely on you! That’s big! And I love the way you said Damien’s glare was constantly transfixed on you. This is going to be beyond exciting!”
“I am not going to be flirting with him the whole time,” I say. “It’s pure business.”
“I’m not saying you’ll be flirting,” he replies wittily. “But Damien might. You know him.”
I pause right before I could grab the glass door’s knob and push it open. I stand in front of Ray and eye him warily. I have to put an end to his witty comebacks once and for all.
“Listen, Mr. Gaskell. I don’t know what went into your mind to have these delusional thoughts of Etheridge and me. If you are thinking about a possible romantic interest from either of us, you are wrong. How many times do I have to tell you? Etheridge is my arch enemy! Your fantasies will never happen.”
“Say all you want, Angel, but I don’t believe you don’t feel even a tiny thing for the charming Damien. Even the slightest rolling off your stomach or an indescribable heat that overwhelms your body? Come on! How cold can you be?”
Well, I do feel a bit strange toward him, but it’s because I nurture this unfathomable anger within me. This bloodcurdling heat that eats me up every time he shows up is nothing but annoyance. The ever growing urge to slap him on the face is plainly the only positive motivation I have to get with him. This electrifying and thrilling sensation that travels all over me whenever Damien shows that annoying and stuck-up grin is simply
utter disgust. Where on earth did Ray get the idea that anything I feel toward this shameless man is something more than hatred?
“Speechless now, Ms. Smart Mouth?” he teases. “Finally enlightened?”
I tug him by the shoulder and start pushing the door to open.
Ray walks behind me.
“No!” My voice is as soft as a whisper. The lady in the reception eyes us. Maybe I should thank her for reminding us that we’re inside the library. This time, Ray won’t have the excuse to torture me.
“I’ll wait for the day you’d eat your words, Angel,” he concludes.
“You wish!” This I am sure about.
Ray proceeds to the next floor while I make my way toward the archives where I think Damien is currently doing Hayne’s project.
In one corner, I see Damien typing on his laptop as books and papers surround him. He appears immovable. I am about to approach after a few seconds of gathering all my courage and wits. If I have to face the smartest enemy on the planet, I’d better be ready with an army of wits too.
And yet, even before I could take a step from the doorway, I hear one voice that stops me. I hurriedly hide behind a bookshelf just a few feet away from the door.
“Come on, dude! You have to do something other than this!”
I recognize the guy to be one of Damien’s friends. He was always with him in the diner, and he’s in Hayne’s class too. Right, Michael is his name!
“What? You’ve been doing this for three days!”
“Unlike you, Mike, I'm in trouble for not graduating,” Damien hisses. His eyes are still on the screen of his computer. “You can go hang around while I do something for myself.”
“Dude, we all know why you’re doing this. Your dad’s completely cool with you.”
“He doesn’t really care.”
“My point!” answers Mike. “What I’m trying to say is, just leave the work for next year. Fuck Haynes!”
“Just shut up, Mike. I’m actually working here!”
“We all know why you’re doing this,” Mike moans who seems to be pretty bored scanning the pages of a book.
“Do you want to start over again? Really, Mike?”
“It’s the girl, Damien. Why can’t you just leave her alone? She doesn’t even care!”
“It’s my fault, and she’s blaming me. I have to do something.”
“Well, this is really no fun! She is no fun!”
Damien shakes his head.
“She’s plain and boring. What did she do for you to be like… like this?”
“Maybe it’s time for you to leave, Mike.”
“Wait, don’t tell me this is like one of those cliché plots? A bad boy falling for the innocent nerd girl? That is so lame, dude!”
Frozen, I hear every word Mike blurted out. They sting my ears like acid pouring over fresh wounds.
“Oh, wait! Don’t tell me I am right. Am I?” Mike isn’t stopping.
Please don’t say it. Please. Please. With my hands clasped together, I could hear myself in silent prayer, hoping Damien would deny it.
“Just shut up, Mike!”
“Oh, God! It’s true! You’re not even denying it.”
The things Ray just told me a while ago come to me like flood, finally sinking into the chasm of my mind, and they sting. It hurt my ego which is not supposed to happen. Why?
“You like this girl! You like the Virgin Mary!”
“Go away, Mike!” Damien pitches his pen to a laughing Mike.
“Seriously, Damien? A diner girl?”
“So what if I like her? She’s a hundred times better than the airheads you’ve dated,” Damien answers.
“Jesus! You gotta be kidding me!”
Damien shoots him a spine-chilling gaze.
“Okay, okay. I’ll leave.” Finally, Mike has come to his senses and stops irking Etheridge.
And yet here I stand, still lifeless, my entire face parched of color except for the crimson blushing of my cheeks. It feels so warm that the heat begins to travel down from my cheeks to my neck until I feel my heart beating rather rapaciously. Perhaps this is the kind of feeling Ray was talking about. I cannot find anger nor hatred in it. Instead, I am baffled and mystified, curious though not wanting to know more. I fear that delving deeper into this will just give me answers not suited to my preconceived opinion.
Why is Damien not punishing Mike for saying the impossible? Why would he just let someone charge him of an obvious falsehood?
“Uh-oh!”
A pair of large green eyes glares at me. In just two seconds, I find myself dithering under Mike’s scrutinizing emerald green eyes. He caught me hiding behind the shelf.
“Looks like you’ve got an unexpected guest here, buddy!” Mike exclaims.
“Angel?” Damien readily stands from where he was seated. He looks so surprised that he almost knocks off his laptop after jumping to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
I gulp as I watch Damien grow red. I, too, feel the redness spreading all over my face with more intensity. I wish I could quickly move my hands to cover it to save myself from this humiliating situation.
Like?
I thought he hates me. It even reached to the point that I would curse him for bringing me bad luck. But it seems like it is not really the case.
Or is it not?
Chapter 20: More than Just That One Night
Turning my head from side to side, I try to shake the scene off my head and recreate thoughts that will strengthen every fiber of disinterest towards Damien.
He just didn’t say he likes me, did he? I force myself to believe that I misheard things, that it was only my overly creative imagination and nothing more.
Why would he even like me? Never in my life have I thought that my arch enemy would have diverted into another way of tormenting me, and this time uses fondness to what? Control everything? He surely is too evil to think of this method.
I know a great deal of this man, and he isn’t someone who will confess his heart out to someone like me. It is just too impossible.
If I know this is just some scheme to make things difficult for me. What else would this be? Damien breathes to plague me.
Hurrying off, I nearly bump to everyone I happen to pass by into. Muttering sorry is all I can do. I do not want to stay any longer in this place where I know he can easily stop me.
“Angel!” he calls.
I hear him, but I don’t want to stop. Everyone is looking at us, at me in particular, probably wondering why I am running away.
I don’t even know why I am sweating out. I just know I don’t want to see him or even hear him out. It’s a scary feeling. Hearing my heart beat so loud, overpowering my breathing, and even the little voice in my head. I’m not sure what it is saying, but I know it is not something nice. I fear it. I am disgusted by it.
“Angel!”
Not long enough, Damien has caught up to me, and his strong clutch on my hand sends feverish sensation all over me. When I turn back to look at him, I know I just turned tomato red. I am so ready to explode.
His gray eyes are piercing, and they look exactly the same as that night in his apartment —disarming and arresting. I feel my legs tremble when he pulls me close to him. Feeling a little bit of air passing through his nose, I realize that we are so close to each other, there’s no way I could be distracted by the ogling eyes around us. Damien is awkwardly resting his hand around my waist, and this touch is giving me exactly the same feeling he was giving me that one wrong night.
I am burning hot, not only because of the previous revelation but also probably because of the doubtful spectators’ heightened curiosity over this commotion that is slowly ripping me apart. I try to push him away, but his grasp tightens the more I avoid him. There’s no way I could get away from him. With these tiny arms and body of mine, Damien can easily engulf me.
“Please, Damien, not here,” I say in a whisper.
With one quick look at my side, I see Ms.
Tarth gaping at us in disapproval.
“If not here, where? If not now, when?” he replies.
“Don’t create a scene, will you?”
Gossips arise. I hear two girls to my right whispering though I couldn’t clearly hear what they’re mumbling about.
“You don’t know how much patience I stretched for you,” he adds as he keeps his gaze fixed on me.
“It’s not your obligation, Etheridge, and neither am I demanding it from you.”
He’s practically hurting me now. His fingers are wrapped around my wrist like strong chains, and the more I shake them off, the more they squeeze into my skin. Gone is the Damien whom I thought is a little merciful, whom I thought is capable of sacrificing. He’s back to being the villain now — the real unforgiving one, the one who used to pester me in the cafeteria or at Max’s, the one whose gaze could kill literally anything. What’s happening to him? Just a few seconds ago he was so red, blushing like a young boy. Now he’s still red, but fuming and demanding my sole attention.
“Why are you trying to avoid me?” The question comes in as a surprise, and it takes me into the depth of speechlessness. “Nope, not trying. You are always avoiding me like I’m some dying man with a contagious disease.”
“D-damien, you’re actually asking me that?” I manage to give off a disbelieving smile as I try to find an excuse for stuttering a bit. I honestly don’t know what to tell him. It is true that I am always avoiding him, but I don’t think I am answerable to him for that. I just have to avoid him — my unconscious has been doing it for me the whole time. It’s not like I chose to avoid him. If there’s a way to battle it out with him without avoiding him, I would have done that just to show I am not scared of him. But just why? Even I can’t find the true answer to that.
I add, “I thought you’re smart enough to figure out the answer to your own question.”
He responds, walking closer to me and heaving me closer to him, “You wouldn’t like my answer, Angel.” I feel the length of his body, the hardness of his trunk, and those strong arms that hold me to keep me from falling down to my knees.