followed him up the stairs.
He rounded the corner to his bedroom. Staggering his way to his unmade bed, Damian slipped off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. My eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his bicep. The design looked Celtic. He crawled into bed and fell onto his back, eyes closed. Another Celtic design in the shape of a cross was burned on his chest. I wondered what they meant.
My eyes drifted over his body. Oh so perfect! My heart pounded, and I forced myself to look away.
I grabbed the black blanket and spread it over him. He opened his eyes, staring straight into mine. Still high on courage, I reached down and touched his cheek, running my fingers down over his lips. He kissed my fingers, saying nothing. I dropped my hand, and Damian rolled to his side, taking the blanket with him. His shoulders soon rose and fell in a steady rhythm. I sat down beside him, rolling my fingers around locks of his hair.
More than anything, I wanted to take away his torment. Pain, even though it hurt, made us stronger—if it didn’t destroy us first. I fought my disease harder each time because of the sting inside. I couldn’t allow it to beat me. No matter how loud it screamed, I’d channel all of my energy into defeating it. I wanted Damian to do the same to his. Except right now, his pain was winning. And I didn’t know how to even the score.
Or even if I could.
I looked around the room as I toyed with his hair. Two shot glasses and an empty bottle of Tequila sat on top of his night stand. The wall across from his bed was black, all the others were white. Large white stair-step shelving stood at the far left, a guitar leaned against it. Black curtains draped the windows, and a huge television hung on the wall across from his bed. Clothing, CD cases, shoes, belts, towels, and empty bottles of whisky were strung across the floor. It looked nothing like my room, which I kept OCD clean.
Eyeing the mess, I decided to tidy up a bit. At least make a pathway from his bed to his private bathroom. His breathing had steadied, and he started to snore. The soft noise made me smile. I debated for a few seconds, then I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek before I chickened out.
I stood up and started creating a trail by moving stuff with my feet. At best I could get his shoes out of the way. My clean-freak-overdrive kicking in, I grabbed any CDs and Blu-rays I found lying on the floor. With a stack in my hands, I walked over to the white shelving and placed the stuff on it.
I glanced back at Damian; h e looked so peaceful. I started making my way to the door, watching my step. My eyes skipped across the carpet. My breath caught when I noticed something on the floor beside the bed. A lump welled up inside my throat. There was no mistaking what I saw.
Nothing Damian did or said that day had stung until now. I was able to excuse it all. But seeing the black lacy bra beside his bed hurt even more than any cancer procedure I’d endured.
Chapter 6
November 19
Dear Diary,
Now would be a great time to have a girl friend to hash stuff out with. I don’t know what to think. I mean, I know I’m new at this whole…whatever this is. Are we even in “friend” territory? Is it possible to go beyond friends without ever being friends? If this—whatever-thing—is nothing, then why does my stomach still feel so empty?
I guess I thought there was something behind what we shared the other day. You don’t kiss someone the way he did and not feel something, do you?
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it’s been there for a few weeks. It doesn’t look like he cleans his room much at all. Or…no, I’m an idiot. It’s lingerie! Of course it means what I know it means. Should I just ask him?
But the way he looked at me. And kissed me. And touched me.
I can’t get his blue eyes out of my mind. Every time I close mine, I see his. They pour into me with such intensity. Argh. This is crazy.
I wonder how
He rounded the corner to his bedroom. Staggering his way to his unmade bed, Damian slipped off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. My eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his bicep. The design looked Celtic. He crawled into bed and fell onto his back, eyes closed. Another Celtic design in the shape of a cross was burned on his chest. I wondered what they meant.
My eyes drifted over his body. Oh so perfect! My heart pounded, and I forced myself to look away.
I grabbed the black blanket and spread it over him. He opened his eyes, staring straight into mine. Still high on courage, I reached down and touched his cheek, running my fingers down over his lips. He kissed my fingers, saying nothing. I dropped my hand, and Damian rolled to his side, taking the blanket with him. His shoulders soon rose and fell in a steady rhythm. I sat down beside him, rolling my fingers around locks of his hair.
More than anything, I wanted to take away his torment. Pain, even though it hurt, made us stronger—if it didn’t destroy us first. I fought my disease harder each time because of the sting inside. I couldn’t allow it to beat me. No matter how loud it screamed, I’d channel all of my energy into defeating it. I wanted Damian to do the same to his. Except right now, his pain was winning. And I didn’t know how to even the score.
Or even if I could.
I looked around the room as I toyed with his hair. Two shot glasses and an empty bottle of Tequila sat on top of his night stand. The wall across from his bed was black, all the others were white. Large white stair-step shelving stood at the far left, a guitar leaned against it. Black curtains draped the windows, and a huge television hung on the wall across from his bed. Clothing, CD cases, shoes, belts, towels, and empty bottles of whisky were strung across the floor. It looked nothing like my room, which I kept OCD clean.
Eyeing the mess, I decided to tidy up a bit. At least make a pathway from his bed to his private bathroom. His breathing had steadied, and he started to snore. The soft noise made me smile. I debated for a few seconds, then I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek before I chickened out.
I stood up and started creating a trail by moving stuff with my feet. At best I could get his shoes out of the way. My clean-freak-overdrive kicking in, I grabbed any CDs and Blu-rays I found lying on the floor. With a stack in my hands, I walked over to the white shelving and placed the stuff on it.
I glanced back at Damian; h e looked so peaceful. I started making my way to the door, watching my step. My eyes skipped across the carpet. My breath caught when I noticed something on the floor beside the bed. A lump welled up inside my throat. There was no mistaking what I saw.
Nothing Damian did or said that day had stung until now. I was able to excuse it all. But seeing the black lacy bra beside his bed hurt even more than any cancer procedure I’d endured.
Chapter 6
November 19
Dear Diary,
Now would be a great time to have a girl friend to hash stuff out with. I don’t know what to think. I mean, I know I’m new at this whole…whatever this is. Are we even in “friend” territory? Is it possible to go beyond friends without ever being friends? If this—whatever-thing—is nothing, then why does my stomach still feel so empty?
I guess I thought there was something behind what we shared the other day. You don’t kiss someone the way he did and not feel something, do you?
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it’s been there for a few weeks. It doesn’t look like he cleans his room much at all. Or…no, I’m an idiot. It’s lingerie! Of course it means what I know it means. Should I just ask him?
But the way he looked at me. And kissed me. And touched me.
I can’t get his blue eyes out of my mind. Every time I close mine, I see his. They pour into me with such intensity. Argh. This is crazy.
I wonder how
Similar Books
