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I don't say anything. I haven't been through what he has, but the feeling of being trapped is familiar.
"If you need to talk, you can call me." I poke him in the ribs playfully. "Since you have my number and all."
We walk together to the afternoon class, which garners us incredulous stares. Damon doesn't notice, but I do. James texts me that he'll take the bag of clothes I left at home and pick me up right after school to start our weekend together. That's a bonus few hours with him since the original plan was he'd pick me up from home tonight.
When classes are over, I tell Damon, "Promise me you won't get into trouble with your dad."
"I promise."
Chapter Six: Damon
The shouting begins the moment I set foot in the house. "Your behavior at school is unacceptable." George stands in the lobby of the monstrosity of glass and steel he calls home. It's as cold as ice, and cost him a fortune. Giving Mom the proper care would have cost him a fraction of that.
"Tell that to someone who cares; I've got to go." I throw the backpack on the floor, pushing it away with my foot.
"Where are you going?"
"That's none of your business." I make a point to stare anywhere except at him. I look like him, and I hate myself for it—what if I’m like him? What if the greatest things I'll achieve will be gambling my way through life and ruining other people? I take a step back, repelled by his presence. This man represents everything I hate.
"You live under my roof, Goddamn you." He does a poor imitation of a father figure, not that I can compare him to anyone. I never had someone to fill in that role, and I was happy with the way things were.
"Not by my choice. I'm happy to leave."
"You need to behave, boy." His face grows harder by the second, the veins in his temple thickening. It's almost comical. "I am just starting to build a reputation with my business partners, and you will not ruin it."
Squinting, I chortle. "So that's what this is about."
"The principal called me today and told me you were seen with the Cohen girl."
"What the fuck?" I force myself to breathe in and out and to keep my hands from throwing punches at him, which is something I've wanted to do since I first saw him. "You pay him to spy on me? That's low, even for you."
"Damon, you're a ticking bomb." Throwing his hands in the air, he looks a tad theatrical. Fake it till you make it holds true for wannabe parents, too. "He's watching you for his school's sake, not because I'm paying him. Stay away from that girl."
"Stay out of my business," I say through gritted teeth then trot past him, heading for the door.
"Where are you going? We're not done."
"I'm done," I throw the words over my shoulder before banging the door in his face, stepping out right in the blinding light. "Fuck." Is the sun always up in this craphole even in January? I miss home: the rain, the wind. I could always count on that to cool me off.
I cooled off when I was on the rooftop with her. I could lie to myself and say it was the breeze, but it was her presence. Her innocence made me think that maybe not all good things in this world have ended. Her laughter filled a void that felt unfillable and her curiosity about me...it almost convinced me that I'm more than a fuck-up without a future.
I like her.
In other words, I'm screwed.
Chapter Seven: Dani
On Monday, Damon comes to school with a black eye and a split lip. I watch with horror as he enters Trig, fifteen minutes after Mr. Smith started torturing us with the lesson. Damon proceeds to his seat, ignoring the teacher's reprimands. But there is more in Mr. Smith's tone than annoyance at Damon's late arrival. There is worry, and I worry, too.
"What do you think happened to him?" Hazel whispers, while pretending to solve the exercise Mr. Smith gave us. We both dislike Trig, which makes this class downright painful.
"I don't know." Secretly, I have a somber feeling I do know. I flip my smartphone between my fingers, tempted to text him, but I'm not bold enough. He hasn't texted me at all since Friday. Maybe it was just a one-time thing.
"Ask him," Hazel beckons as if reading my thoughts.
I glance at him, making a truce with myself: if he's playing with his phone, I’ll text him. If not, I'll swallow my curiosity. To my astonishment, Damon is bent over a notebook, scribbling. I suspect he's doing crosswords or whatever, but when Mr. Smith asks, "Anyone have the answer?" Damon is the only one who says yes.
Mr. Smith reluctantly asks him to explain his solution on the whiteboard. Damon writes out the answer with a mix of carelessness and confidence. Anna and her friends watch him, whispering continuously. I have a hunch they're not gossiping about his Trig knowledge. None of them looks at him with worry, though. I guess the bruises just make him even more attractive. Whatever.
