𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 | SPINOFF

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MARCELLA
CRIST

Damon's eyes glare in shock as my words sink in, the weight of my confession settling between us like a storm waiting to break. "For you to use me." Who even says that? The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them, wondering if he'd walk straight out of here to tell my brother something's wrong with me. But he doesn't move. He just stares at me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read between the lines, searching for something he's convinced I'm hiding.

He's a walking contradiction—arrogant, unyielding, yet undeniably captivating. Girls that are better than me for sure gravitate to him like stars caught in the pull of a black hole—drawn helplessly, captivated by something dark and consuming, even though they know it might destroy them. Even without even trying. Yet, despite the countless girls who throw themselves at him, Damon doesn't seem to care. He dismisses them, ignores them like they're nothing more than shadows. I've always wondered why, why he holds himself back, why he keeps that carefully constructed wall around himself.

But now, Damon reaches over and drops the gun beside my head. His movements are deliberate, each action purposeful, as though he's made some kind of decision. He unbuckles his belt, and before I can fully process what's happening, he slips the belt over my eyes, cutting off my vision. Darkness surrounds me, heightening every other sense, making me acutely aware of his presence.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. I can feel his hands as they wrap around my wrists, pinning them above my head. His grip is firm, unyielding, and my heartbeat quickens, a mixture of nerves and something I can't fully name racing through me.

He doesn't answer, not at first. Instead, he leans in closer, so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin. His weight presses down on me, his body aligning with mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. It's overwhelming, every sensation amplified by the darkness, by the way he refuses to let me see him, to meet his eyes.

All I could see was darkness—a heavy, consuming darkness that wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud. There was no hint of warmth, no glimmer of hope or light breaking through. Just a cold, vast emptiness that seemed to echo with everything Damon kept hidden from the world, and maybe even from himself—ever since we were kids he made me hide. In this moment, I felt like I was standing at the edge of something forbidden, peering into the depths of his true form. It was like he was showing me the part of himself he let no one else see, daring me to look past the mask he wore so effortlessly. This was Damon, stripped of all pretense, and I could feel the weight of his darkness pressing down on me, making my heart pound harder in my chest.

He was so close that his breath fanned across my skin, slow and controlled, and yet I couldn't see him—I couldn't see his eyes, his expression, nothing that might give me a clue about what he was thinking or feeling. All I knew was that this darkness was his true essence, his reality. Without my light, without the warmth he so carefully kept at arm's length, he was this: shadowed, dangerous, and unreachable.

It was as if he was daring me to understand him in this form, to face the side of him that he had been hiding all alone.

"Do you understand what I'm doing right now?" he finally murmurs, his voice rough and low, as though the words are scraped from the edges of his soul. His question hangs in the air, a challenge, a warning.

"I don't know," I admit, my voice shaking. I want to understand. I want to know what's going through his mind, why he's holding himself back, why he's hiding behind this mask of indifference. I want to reach him, to peel back the layers he keeps so carefully hidden, to uncover the truth buried beneath the arrogance and the attitude.