Chapter 32: Seven Minutes In Hell
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
My fingers curled into his shirt as I pushed again, and Damien responded by kissing me harder, his mouth hot and rough, sending a message I couldn’t quite articulate...something like frustration or urgency, or maybe both, all the words I needed stuck somewhere I couldn’t reach.
The sound that escaped my throat in response was mortifying enough that I was grateful for the darkness.
My mind raced, panic latching onto multiple threads at once.
I don’t like guys.
I don’t like guys!
But why weren’t my hands pushing him away anymore?
Damien tilted my head a bit, adjusting the angle, and the kiss deepened, his tongue exploring the inside of my mouth like he owned it, dismantling whatever resolve I had left. Something inside me, that had been clinging on for dear life, just let go.
Heat surged through me so swiftly and thoroughly that it bypassed every argument I was trying to assemble and reached into something much more instinctual.
One second, my hands were pushing away, and the next, they were gripping his shirt, tightening like they’d made a decision without consulting the rest of me.
Which was profoundly troubling...deeply, significantly troubling.
My heart raced against my ribs hard enough that I could feel it in my throat while Damien kissed me like he was determined to make it impossible for me to think straight.
His hand slid up my side, fingers tightening for a split second before they wove into my hair, and the sound I made this time was considerably worse than the first.
I was going to pass out in this closet, they were going to find me here.
Oliver Jonathan Reyes. Gone too soon, cause of death: his own roommate. Didn’t see it coming. Services holds at the Floral & Fauna flower shop because that’s where he would’ve wanted it.
I hated him.
I hated him, utterly and completely.
So why were my eyes closed?
Why did I let myself be completely at his mercy?
Could it be that...I was enjoying this...?
No! Shit, no damn way!
Somewhere between the first shove and right now, my eyes had shut, my hands had stopped pushing, and I was actually kissing him back with an enthusiasm that my pride would really struggle to explain later.
The realization sunk in with the force of something dropped from a high place.
I was kissing Damien Lockwood, my mean ass roommate.
And, this is the part I’d need to think about...I wasn’t hating it.
My brain lodged the protest and simultaneously overruled it, which was something I hadn’t known was possible, and which I definitely intended to address when I could breathe again.
Damien kissed me slower now, deeper, shifting his urgency into something more precise that somehow felt even more damaging to my overall state than the urgency had.
Like every charged moment in that apartment...every glare, every correction, every silent page turn, every blanket thrown at me without explanation, had built up to this point and finally broke.
His breathing had changed too, it was rougher now and less controlled. And that detail hit me somewhere far more vulnerable than everything else combined.
Because Damien was always composed. Cold, collected, utterly unaffected by everything around him, especially me, or so I’d believed with reasonable certainty for two weeks.
But in this moment, he seemed affected...like I was doing something to him.
That thought surged through me like an electric shock, and I tightened my grip on his shirt without even thinking.
Damien let out a low sound against my mouth that I felt more than heard.
This was bad. Objectively, comprehensively, irreversibly bad. The kind of bad that didn’t just fix itself.
Finally, after what felt like a stretch of time I could no longer track, Damien pulled back.
I inhaled sharply, the air flooding in like I wasn’t aware I’d been holding my breath. My head spun, feeling dizzy not from the drinks I’d had earlier but from everything that had just transpired.
My lips felt swollen. My face was hot enough to be a fire hazard. I realized my hands were still gripping his shirt, and embarrassment washed over me.
And Damien—
Even in the darkness of the closet, I could make out his form standing close, breathing heavier than usual, one hand still at my waist, the other bracing against the wall. Still close enough that the warmth between us hadn’t faded.
Neither of us spoke at first.
I genuinely couldn’t. My brain was still in emergency repair mode, redirecting all resources away from producing coherent speech.
I stared at where his face was, while my heartbeat fluttered like it had somewhere urgent to be.
Then Damien leaned in a bit closer, close enough for his breath to touch my lips.
And in a voice lower than usual, rough around the edges, carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before, he said:
"You’ve been driving me crazy since the day you moved in."
My brain sputtered to a halt, absolutely nothing. A blank screen where thoughts usually were.
I blinked at him once.
Excuse me?
I’m sorry?
Could you repeat that in a way my brain can actually process?
Before I could grasp a single functional word, the lock clicked.The door swung open.
Light flooded into the closet with the force of something that had been waiting for the chance to burst in, bringing the party back with a rush—noise, heat, people—all crashing together at once.
"OH SHIT!"
"I KNEW IT! THEY ACTUALLY FUCKIN’ KISSED!"
"DAMNNNN!"
The cheering erupted immediately, huge and overwhelming, crashing over us like a tidal wave. Someone let out a wolf whistle from across the room with real enthusiasm. The crowd was buzzing with the kind of energy that came from people whose investment in a situation had just paid off.
I stumbled slightly as I stepped out of the closet, my legs clearly not on board with what they were supposed to be doing. The brightness was blinding. My lips still felt warm. My breathing was still far from normal.
"Oh my God, look at Oliver’s face!"
"Bro is FLUSTERED!"
"Damien finally made someone weak with just a kiss!"
Laughter erupted from every direction at once..I pulled together what little dignity I had left like a coat and avoided eye contact with everyone.
When I finally found Melanie in the crowd, her expression was pure delight, meaning she’d seen everything she needed to see from outside and had drawn all the right conclusions. She pressed her lips together, clearly trying hard not to say anything, giving herself about thirty seconds before she eventually failed.
Joey had his drink halfway to his mouth, frozen, staring at me with wide eyes. "What the hell happened in there?" he shouted, his volume set to maximum because Joey never did anything below that.
"Nothing," I blurted out immediately.
My voice cracked on the second syllable, the room erupted louder.
I was ready to just fade away. Right here. I was going to dissolve into the carpet of this frat house, and that would be the end of it. Either that or run away and start a new life in a new country.
Beside me, Damien casually stepped out of the closet looking like he’d just returned from a completely mundane task. If you looked at him, you might not have noticed anything had changed...except maybe his hair was a little less perfect, and something about his expression felt different than usual, not soft, but less controlled. Like something had been released that he’d been holding in tightly.
And when he locked eyes with me through the crowd, cutting through the noise and chaos like he always did—
My stomach dropped, seven minutes.
That was all it had taken.
Seven minutes in a closet with Damien Lockwood, and everything I thought I knew about this living situation had tilted completely off its axis and wasn’t going back.
I needed water, I needed air and I needed to stop looking at him, like, right now.
I averted my gaze, but my heart didn’t settle.
Fan-fucking-tastic.