The morning passes without any contact, and during my lunch break, I hide in the old bike sheds. Part of the roof collapsed under winter snow, and the school has tarpaulined the structure until the scheduled repair this coming summer holidays.
There’s detritus left behind by others. Spent nangs, empty RTD bottles. But I’ve never bumped into someone else during the day. Probably a warning sign I shouldn’t be here either, but the peaceful solitude keeps drawing me back.
A peace that’s long gone when I enter third-period music class.
Damien sits halfway to the back, and his scent reaches me when I’m still three desks away, sandalwood with a hint of spice.
I continue forward like my heart didn’t just kick in my chest, aiming for the very last row. But his lanky frame spills into the aisle, legs sprawling so I slow, picking my steps.
Steel fingers latch around my wrist. “Sit your arse down.”
The tone makes me shiver, even though he speaks too quietly for other students to hear over their pre-lesson chatter.
I slide into the seat beside him, nearest the window, his slouched posture meaning our heads are level. The whites of his eyes look raw, irritated. The surrounding skin red and puffy.
But I crush my sympathy. He and Chelsea are in the wrong here. I don’t owe him anything, least of all an apology.
I fix my attention on the whiteboard, ignoring him, and the fifty-minute lesson stretches into eternity.
Then he nudges me. “Given my offer any more thought?”
His voice is gravel on silk and heat rushes to my face. The same voice repeats last night’s words in my ear.Anything I want and you can’t refuse.A pulse throbs low in my belly as I shake my head.
“That’s very disappointing, Phee.”
“Don’t call me that.” The rebuke escapes before I can catch it, jaw aching from the tension.
His tone retains the same gruffly teasing lilt. “Sure thing, Snowflake.” He leans closer, breath hot and faintly minty against my neck. “Or would you prefer Casper, my friendly little ghost.”
“You could try using my name.”
“Too tragic.” He clicks his tongue. “I’ll just pick one to suit myself. Maybe I’ll think on it over the weekend while you reconsider my proposal… and whether you want me as a friend or an enemy.”
My stomach performs a slow forward roll, but I keep my voice light. “Is that an enemy for life or just for the next few weeks until you’re excluded again, and move to the next school?”
“There isn’t a next school, so you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. And you’re very glib, considering I’ve got your fingerprints on an illegal weapon.” He taps his finger on the desk. “I could turn it over to police.”
“Go ahead.” I don’t even take a beat. “I wiped my prints.”
“Liar.”
My hands fist with the effort of keeping my expression steady.
“But I’m rather impressed you called my bluff. There’s a lot more to you than just a pretty face, Ophelia Boehm. If you wanted my attention, you have it.” He faces forward and the tension in my shoulders dissolves. “But don’t send me to hospital again, okay?”
My startled gaze fixes on his reddened eyes. “You went to hospital?”
“No, but I told Chelsea I did.” His breath curls along my cheek, sweet and warm, and he taps my collarbone with his knuckle. “You’re the only one I’ve promised honesty.”
The admission twists something inside my chest.
“If you want to stay safe, don’t crash my support group again. How’d you even know I’d be there?”
“Because I’ve been parked outside your home morning and night since Monday.”
A wire unspools in my spine, live and sparking. Damien isn’t sat outside Chelsea’s house, watching for her to leave so he can follow. A thought I should probably make note of for the true-crime podcast of my impending murder.
His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Gotta say, your social life leaves something to be desired.”
