Chapter 131: Damien Lockwood: 5, My Dignity: -100 (I Give Up)
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Damien didn’t respond.
"You told me," I continued, feeling smaller, stripped of the defenses I’d started this conversation with. "On the way here. You said not to let anyone else kiss me, you said you’d be mad."
A laugh escaped, but it sounded wrong, too thin.
"And then I turned around and you were sitting there with someone else—" Another tear fell. I couldn’t catch it fast enough. "Do you have any idea how stupid I felt?"
Damien still didn’t speak. He was watching me, and his expression had shifted through several phases in the last thirty seconds, none of which I could fully grasp.
"The hockey game," I said. "The blanket. Every time you made me breakfast. The naps. Every little thing—" My voice cracked, splintering in a way I couldn’t hide.
I covered my face. "Did any of it mean anything? Or was I just reading too much into it?"
I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Because I started crying.
Not loudly or dramatically, just the quiet, embarrassing kind that comes when something you’ve kept at a distance gets too close, and you can’t hold it together anymore.
"Oh, sunshine."
My shoulders shook as the sobs came harder, the alcohol stripping away every filter I usually kept in check.
I rarely cried, especially not like this, and the vulnerability of it made everything feel ten times more intense. Damien’s face went pale, shock flashing across his features before he moved
In two strides, Damien crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around me. This time, there was no teasing in it...just the simple act of holding someone steady when they’re falling apart.
"I’m sorry," he said, his voice low. "I never wanted to make you cry."
His hands caressed my back in slow, soothing strokes, one coming up to cradle the back of my head as he pressed gentle kisses against my tear-streaked cheeks, tasting the salt on my skin.
I tried to push him away. It was probably the weakest shove I’d ever executed.
"Go away, I’m still mad at you."
"I get it."
"I mean it. I’m genuinely mad!"
"I know."
"You fucking suck!"
"I know." His hand began to move in slow circles against my back. "I’m sorry."
Damien guided us backward until he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me down onto his lap without hesitation.
The position surprised me for a moment...straddling him like this, our faces close, his arms secure around my waist, but eventually, comfort won out.
I surrendered to his hold, burying my face in the crook of his neck as fresh tears slipped free. He continued to stroke my back, one hand tracing gentle patterns along my cheek and over the bridge of my nose where my freckles dusted my skin.
I buried my face against his shoulder, despite all the logic telling me it was a contradiction to be angry at someone while also seeking their comfort.
But he was warm and solid, something fancy and expensive, and my brain, working on minimal fuel, decided this was where I was staying for a while.
"I’m going to tell you the truth," he said.
I looked up at him.
"She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not anything to me." He sighed. "She’s the daughter of one of my dad’s business contacts. She likes me, and she’s been around enough that I recognize her. That’s all there is to it."
"Then why didn’t you ask her to move?"
"I was going to, I was just trying to be polite because of some deal my father’s working on with hers. I thought I’d pretend to excuse myself to the bathroom so she’d get up, but then..."
There was a pause, a guilty one. I recognized it; I had become good at reading Damien’s expressions. This one was the precursor to an admission he didn’t want to make.
"Then what?"
"...Then I saw you looking."
I froze.
"What?"
"I noticed you watching from across the yard." He held my gaze, clearly determined to follow through even though he knew the reaction would likely not be great. "I...wanted to see how you’d react. So I let her stay a little longer... I was trying to get a reaction out of you, to see if you felt the same pull I do. But I never expected you to get this upset, I feel terrible about it now. I’m sorry, Oliver. Honestly."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then I grabbed the nearest pillow.
"You absolute idiot—"
It thudded against his shoulder with a satisfying bounce, though not enough to release my frustration.
He laughed, which wasn’t the response I wanted, and I swung again.
"You did it on purpose?"
"I deserve that."
"You absolutely deserve that—" Whack. "—you manipulative, infuriating—" Whack. "—you made me cry—"
"I know. I’m sorry."
Whack.
The fourth swing missed him entirely, which was more gravity’s fault than mine, and the momentum carried me straight into him. His arms caught me automatically, like they always did, like I’d stopped pretending I hadn’t noticed it by now.
I pressed my face against his shoulder, wishing I could avoid looking at him. Looking at him was more than I could handle at that moment.
"Don’t laugh," I said, muffled.
"I’m trying."
"You’re not trying."
"I’m trying a bit."
"Stop smiling. I can feel you smiling."
"It’s involuntary."
"Control it, you ass."
His fingers moved slowly through my hair, and I let him because I was tipsy and exhausted and my chest ached. I had apparently run out of energy to maintain appropriate emotional distance for one evening.
"I’m really sorry, Oliver."
His tone was different now...no smile in it, just plain sincerity directed right at me. I ended up pulling him into another awkward hug, my face pressed against his chest. "You idiot... I should strangle you with this pillow."
Damien let out a soft, relieved chuckle, wrapping his arms around me more securely as he kissed my face lightly...my cheeks, my forehead, the corner of my eye.
"For what it’s worth," he added quietly, "your reaction told me everything I needed to know."
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t ready to.
Because, well fuck...he actually got me there.
Fucking trickster.
The room quieted down, with the bass from downstairs being the only sound, distant and rhythmic, completely irrelevant to everything between us right now.
I was still angry, though not as much as before. The pillow assault had done something to help. But the residue of that anger lingered, mixed with something more complicated than just pure fury.
I had come upstairs to yell at him until I felt better or he apologized...or maybe both.
Instead, I found myself resting against his shoulder with tear-stained cheeks, my heart feeling both lighter and heavier than it had at the bottom of the stairs, and he was holding me like something precious. The conversation I had planned had taken a completely different turn than I expected.
I wasn’t certain if that was worse.
I wasn’t sure if it was better, either.
I just knew that he understood now. In the roundabout, tear-filled, pillow-hitting way that I seemed to express important things...he knew.
And he was still there.
That, at least, felt like something.
"I know. I was wrong. Will you forgive me?" His voice dropped lower, tender and vulnerable in a way that made my heart skip a beat despite everything.
"You’re mine, you know that, right? I don’t want anyone else sitting on my lap or kissing me. Just you."
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𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯’𝔰 𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰
here’s two bonus Chapters because we hit win-win tier one again 🥳 (and so soon too lol) thank you all for making this possible!
your support and encouragement is literally my writing fuel💪 let’s make it to tier two this time!
anywho, hope you enjoyed reading💕bye!