The Bad Boy Has A Secret

Chapter 14- So many questions

Y/N---

I crash into my matress, shoving my face into the pillow.

Why can't I stop thinking about him?

I'm not in 'love'. At least I don't think so. How can I even be when we've only had one good encounter together, which was today?

But even so why has he reappeared in my present memory on numerous occasions?

I came home an hour ago, based off what my phone tells me. She asked me about this new 'friend' I had been with, very much familiar to the natural seclusion of which I brought about myself; and my "5 day Friend Trial", a strict imposure of examination upon all strangers willing to enter my close social circle. I had let her know that it was a girl of course (if I told her it was a boy, the embarrassment I would receive would hit like a bullet to the brain), and that we had a 'decent' time out in the cafe, discussing casual topics like school and studies. Her face had lit up; the corners of her eyes and mouth had lifted, in that usual way whenever the prospect of me finally having a friend occured and her mind went into feverish excitement.

"You sound like you had fun. What's her name?"

I answered readily, a false description and identity preprogrammed in my head.

"I believe her name was Dana. I'd have to confirm later. However I am certainly tired Mother, and would like to rest temporarily in my bedroom til it is dinner time. I do hope you don't mind."

And that was how I had escaped that conversation then.

However the conversation at dinner was no different. She had pressed on the matter again, enthusiastically, and even suggested if this new 'friend' could perhaps come over to ours for a day. Although my face alone expressed great discontent at such an idea, my words were necessary to somewhat discourage her from the offer.

"Well did anything else happen at school?" she asks, jabbing at a stray morsel of food with her fork, mild frustration brewing on her face when it kept escaping. I tried not to giggle. "Apart from the usual routine of lessons, not quite. I've been tasked with homework though." I groan. "Not that it's hard, it's just that I'd rather do other things."
She sighs, a slight laugh to it. "You'd better get started soon then."

A moment's quiet falls upon us as we move around the kitchen, clearing up the table. Whilst stepping on the bin pedal to throw away some previously discarded packaging, I stop rather abruptly. As if a comic villain has struck me with a freeze ray.

"Mother. Why does this bin smell like what I think it does?"

She too pauses, still in her tracks. "What do you mean Y/N?"

"You know exactly what I mean." My words are slow, coated in emphasis and emotion. Irritation, disgust and concern bubble inside me. "Cigarettes."

I turn to make eye contact. She returns the favour, her expression readable like a classic novel.

"It was just one." She mumbles after a few seconds. Like one cigarette is meaningless, casual. Like one cigarette doesn't lead to just another cigarette, and then another.

I steady my discontent that threatens to overtake me in the form of an uncontrolled surge of rage.

"I told you you'd regret cutting it off in one go. Why didn't you try to slowly reduce the amount you smoked from a handful to a few, then to none? You knew going 'cold turkey' wouldn't be for you."

Her jaw is agape, as if her mind is searching for something to reply with. But she ends up not saying anything.

Repulsed by the topic of conversation I flee to my room, my feelings made clear from my body language alone. I'd need some time to myself.

I sigh, stretching my arms and flexing my hands. I wonder what Damien's doing right now. And how he's living, being a werewolf hidden amongst humans. And what his family must be like.

I think I still have so many questions.