Caught in Us (Lost 3)

"I'll take my chances."

"You shouldn't. In fact, you should stay away from me."

"You've said this before."

"I'll keep repeating it. Maybe you'll eventually listen. To tell you a little secret, I hope you won't."

He runs his finger up my forearm once, setting my skin ablaze. He leans in a tad too close, so I inhale the smell of his skin and aftershave and lose my trail of thoughts.

"You're so beautiful when you blush," he says in a hoarse

voice.

A slight shudder runs through me. No one's called me beautiful before.

"I'm tempted to do this again and again just to see the flush on your cheeks. And your neck." He looks at my neck with a dangerous glint in his eyes that undoes me. He could ask anything of me right now. Anything. I would give it to him. "Look at you," he murmurs, as if just for himself. His gaze wanders further down from my neck, and though he doesn't touch me at all, my skin burns. "Of course, you could just admit that you put up with me because I'm ridiculously good-looking, and I would stop teasing you."

I shove him away playfully. It's in moments like this that I don't know if he's flirting, or playing, or doing something else entirely. "Get over yourself, Damon."

Secretly, I fear I'm the one who won't be able to get over him.

Chapter Ten: Damon

On Monday, I show up at school with more bruises. Every single teacher assures me that if I need support, I can always come to them. They tell me they understand. Like hell. I tell all of them as much, occasionally adding a full-on swear, so they know I mean it.

Thursday, the principal asks me what I think of shrinks. I tell him it's my honest opinion that every teacher in this school, himself included, could use a visit to one. The old man loses it. He all but throws me out of his office, which gives me a brief sense of satisfaction, then guilt, because I promised Dani to behave.

Today, as I prepare to leave for school, I’m determined to keep my promise. Something about disappointing her makes me uneasy.

I'm almost at the front door when George says from behind, "I've spoken with Principal Charleston this week already."

"Oh, what a tragedy."

"I didn't bring you here to cause me trouble."

"What did you expect? An obedient and respectful son? Then you're more delusional than I thought. You ignored me and Mom for the past seventeen years."

"Look, boy, if I hadn't brought you here¸ you would be in a group home right now."

"I'd prefer that."

"Then walk out. Go on. Ignore your mother's last wish."

"You're a jerk." Mom's last wish was that my father should take me in. I should give him some credit for having shown up at all and taken responsibility for me. But then I remember how my mom had to work day and night in the most miserable jobs, which led to her having a stroke at the age of thirty. Thirty. My beautiful, kind mother was defeated so young. She was unable to move on her own, or read or write. Sometimes, she mixed up days, and sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, she would forget what we were talking about.

Near the end, she frequently forgot who I was, too.

The doctors said such powerful strokes sometimes lead to premature dementia. But my mother was young; I was sure that couldn't possibly apply to her. I kept hoping she would get better. The opposite happened. She became a shadow of herself, her condition deteriorating with every passing day. We couldn't afford to care properly for her, so her deterioration was even quicker. He never helped. No, credit is the last thing he deserves.

"Where are you disappearing every weekend, returning like that?" He points at my bruises. When I don't answer, he continues, "If you get into trouble, don't expect me to get you out of it."

"I don't. I've spent seventeen years getting myself out of trouble. I'm proficient at it."

"At the moment, you are only getting yourself into trouble. Principal Charleston also told me you spend a lot of time with the Cohen girl."

"That's right. I do."

"I told you to stay away from her."