Caught in Us (Lost 3)

He narrows his eyes. "You think my father did this?"

"He didn't?"

"No, Dani. He didn't." He runs a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it. "Trust me, if he ever attempts to, he's a dead man."

"So, why are you looking this way? You did get into trouble with...someone."

"That's my problem," he says flatly.

I lower my eyes to the uneaten crust of my pizza slice. Damon's phone buzzes.

"Aren't you going to stop that thing?" I ask.

"No. That's Anna, asking if I want to buy her lunch."

He gave her his number. I feel a pang of something gripping me. With dread, I realize it might be jealousy. "Why don't you? Anna is beautiful."

"Not my type." He groans, winking at me. “I don’t even know how she got my number.”

I stare at him. "She's everyone's type."

"Do I look like everyone to you?"

"No," I tease. "You're special. Don't all bad boys think they’re special to everyone?"

"I'm not interested in being special to everyone. I want to be special to someone. That’d be enough for me."

"That's a hell of a statement for a guy."

He laughs softly. It's a surprisingly melodic sound. "It's your fault. I don't usually wear my heart on my sleeve. You make me feel too comfortable around you. When you don't insult me."

Comfortable. What's that supposed to mean? That's the kind of word you use to describe fluffy pajamas you love wearing on lazy days, but wouldn't be caught dead wearing outside the house.

"Do you keep in touch with your friends back home?" I inquire.

"I didn't have too many close friends. Mom was one of my best friends."

"Oh," I say before I can stop myself. "It must have been rough, what with her illness and all..."

"It was challenging because she could hardly move on her own." He hesitates, his fingers twitching. His chest rises and falls in slow, uneven beats, as if breathing has suddenly become a chore. I study every line on his face; the way his brow furrows in what he'd like to pass off as concentration, when it is, in fact, an effort to withhold tears. "We managed. A neighbor helped us a lot, looked after her when I was at school and work."

"You worked?" The concept of work is foreign to me. I volunteer often, but I haven't worked one day of my life.

"Had to," he says in a clipped tone. "Mom's benefits barely covered our basic needs."

"And you also had time for math contests and such? That's impressive."

He shrugs. "School was important to Mom. I wanted her to be happy."

I lie on my back next to him, watching the clouds.

"What was she like? Tell me. What was her favorite food? Music?"

"She listened to eighties hits, mostly. She loved lasagna. After she got sick, she couldn't cook by herself. It took me about two years to get that damn lasagna right." His voice is a tad uneven. "No one's asked me about her. It's like everyone wants me to forget she existed."

"I suppose they think it would be easier for you."

"And you don't?"