Chapter 39: I Don’t Hate You
•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
Inside my head, every piece of confetti exploded at once.
Outwardly, I simply smiled.
Awwn, could it be that all my attempts to get his attention were actually getting to him until his breaking point.
Damien was just standing there in the middle of the apartment, looking so annoyingly calm that I seriously thought about doing something drastic. Not anything too serious, mind you...nothing that would haunt me at work.
Just something to throw him off a bit and balance things out for the week. Something like tossing his protein shakes into the ocean one by one as he watched.
Or maybe while he was sleeping, I could shave off one of his eyebrows and just pretend everything was normal when he woke up. Or I could burn his precious list of rules and roast marshmallows over the ashes while keeping a straight face.
These all felt like fair responses to the emotional torture I’d been enduring for days. I mean, any jury would get it.
The sticky note was still pinched between Damien’s fingers as he looked down at me with that overly calm expression. The same expression that had made me want to scream into the couch cushions since I moved in.
Meanwhile, I was standing there in my baggy sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt, buzzing with all these mixed-up feelings I hadn’t even sorted out yet and a severe lack of caffeine that wasn’t helping my brain function.
Not exactly my best look, but I accepted that.
"What’s up with you?" he asked, his voice low and calm, with that underlying tension that suggested something significant was brewing beneath the surface, just waiting to bubble over.
And just like that, there it was: victory. After days of what felt like psychological warfare in this apartment, Mr. Emotionally Constipated finally acknowledged my existence with actual words.
It was everything I’d wanted and felt monumental now that it was happening.
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my desk chair, putting on the smug face I could muster on short notice.
"That my dear roomie," I declared, pointing dramatically at the sticky note, "is a new rule. Added by the other resident of this apartment...the one who actually lives here and has feelings."
Damien glanced back at the note.
His jaw tightened, and I couldn’t help but notice. The jaw thing. My favorite indicator.
"You’re being childish," he said.
"Oh, I’m childish?" I repeated, feigning surprise, fully ready for this exact accusation. "That’s rich coming from the guy who slammed me against a wall in a closet and kissed me outta nowhere."
Damien blinked slowly, that meant he was processing something and temporarily sidelining his facial expressions.
And then...this is key, the corner of his mouth quirked up. He smirked. An actual, real, self-produced smirk.
I stared at him like you would at a dog that suddenly learned to fill out tax forms, completely dumbfounded, feeling like reality had shifted without my consent once again.
Up until that moment, Damien Lockwood had displayed exactly three facial expressions:
1. Cold glare, used frequently.
2. Colder glare, reserved for rule violations and protein shake theft.
𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖
3. Emotionless statue, probably carved by monks who vowed to avoid warmth.
This smirk was a fourth expression that I hadn’t anticipated, and it changed everything about how he looked, suddenly he went from intimidating to something way more confusing, something I wasn’t ready to unpack right now.
The sharpness of his jaw. The dark hair that fell slightly on his forehead. The icy blue eyes catching the apartment light in a way that made them shimmer like silver–
Nope, can’t go there...not doing that!
I mentally grabbed my wandering thoughts and redirected them, to the important issue in ground.
Damien casually slipped his hands into his pocket, blissfully unaware of the seismic shift he was causing in my self-control.
"It was just a game," he said. "Rules are rules."
My jaw dropped. "You can’t be serious."
"You agreed to play."
"The crowd pressured me into it! There were chants, Damien! Organized chanting!"
"You still agreed."
"Under duress!"
"That’s not what duress means."
"Oh my God," I exclaimed, genuinely frustrated, "you’re actually insane. You’ve always been insane, and you’ve just been hiding it behind your good looks!"
He tilted his head as his smile widened, "You think I’m good looking?"
I glared at him while mentally kicking myself, shit I misspoke!
"That’s not the point and you know it."
"You’re the one who brought my good looks up." His smile turned into something a bit more guarded, but I was aware now...I’d seen the smirk and the smile, and that knowledge was something I couldn’t ignore.
I pointed at him decisively. "And why are you acting so normal about all this? Why is this not affecting you?"
Damien’s expression morphed into one that was almost perplexed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" I gestured wildly to encapsulate everything that had happened over the past week. "That! All of that! The fucking kiss, the closet, and you just going back to your boring ass day like you hadn’t done something completely insane!"
His eyes followed my gesturing, attentively focused as if he were trying to pinpoint the crux of the argument.
"The kiss," he said, tone flat as if reading off a list.
"Yes, the kiss!" I hissed, lowering my voice even though it didn’t really matter since we were alone. "Normal people don’t kiss their roommates and carry on like nothing happened! Normal people get flustered or awkward. They say something...anything!"
"Like leaving notes on the fridge numbered sixty-nine?"
"That was communication!" I shot back. "That was me processing my feelings through creativity!"
He exhaled sharply through his nose, so controlled that it barely registered as a sound, but I felt it, definitely a laugh suppressed before it could escape.
I wanted you wack him in the head with a saucer "Are you laughing at me?!"
"I wouldn’t dare."
"You absolutely did. That was a laugh, jerk."
"You’re just imagining things."
He looked away for just a moment, as if buying himself time to regroup. I noted it as a win and kept going.
I started pacing because standing still was impossible now. My thoughts felt chaotic, like shaking a snow globe that refused to settle.
"It’s weird," I muttered, mostly to myself. "The whole thing is weird. You made it weird."
Damien stayed silent, which was typical but had a different feel now.
"That kiss was weird," I pressed on, running a hand through my hair. "You don’t even like me! You literally hate my guts, and now you’re just acting like it meant nothing while I’m over here having this identity crisis I didn’t factor into my semester."
His expression shifted just the slightest, like a door cracking open only to second-guess itself.
"Who says I hate you," he said, his voice quieter. "I don’t hate you."
I blinked at him with shock and confusion etched on my face. He didn’t...what now?