Opus Dei

Ten

I stay still, with my back still turned towards the tantalizing voice. By now, I am completely aware of the fact that I am not that drunk. The guy that is in the pool with Kendall is in fact Matt, and the person who called dibs on me is Vincent.

As I force my head to find the definition of the freaking word and place it in context I see Damon turning around slowly, shoulders as tense as mine. Do they know each other? How in the world am I that unlucky?

"So sorry, I apologize, it was just a joke." Low toned, and gesturing with his hands, as if to put more space between the two of them.

"Just go." By the time Vincent had finished the sentence, Damon was already making his way through the crowd, shoulders still tense.

Even though I realize the weird picture that we must paint with my back turned against him and his gaze burning my back, my body keeps me from turning. The whole point of the trip was to get the viciously bad individual and the things I had stupidly said out of my mind so that I could happily move on to my prior happy and jolly life.

Seeing as I was virtually inapt and momentarily paralyzed he is the one that makes the first move, taking small, lingering and calculated steps, each one getting him closer to me. First, I feel his stare stop at my back, then I see the tip of what I know are some really expensive Armani shoes. The elegant – office ones, at a damned frat party. Because why not?

Stunned and taken aback by the image of him in front of me and the bemused look on his face I suddenly place everything together, conclusion slipping out of my mouth like vomit "Let me guess, you own the boat." – Frustration leaks through every word, but at this point I don't even mind it. Of course it was Matt who assisted with picking the location, recommended the hotel, helped us with our flight and made sure that we got there precisely on time. I should have figured it would come to this...

"It was my present for Matt's twentieth birthday, if you want exacts." I ignore the preppie comment because I bet he was waiting to feed me that, so I don't give him the satisfaction and study his features instead. He is calm, and steady. Each word was muttered slowly, with his head bent slightly towards me, as if feeding me each word. By now he figured that I placed two and two together and I can sense him trying to get a reaction from me.

All I can manage is the thing I really need to know most right now: "Why?"

"Not here." He says, turning a calm gaze around, as if to point out that this is not really the most decent place where we could have the conversation that is to come. Taking the surroundings in I am slapped in the face by the reality of this man. Not the boat, nor the people on it can exercise as much power and confidence as he can. All suited up at a freaking frat party on a God damned island he manages to look like he owns the fucking world, like he could snap his fingers and generate another Big Bang. Each atom in his body is perfectly sculptured to compliment him. However, my common sense, even though turned to mush in his presence is somehow still there "You must be out of your mind if you think I will ever leave here with you"

"We're not leaving, just headed somewhere quiet." He does not allow me to protest or even register before he turns his back to me, making room through the crowd. He grabs my hand to guide me along with him, squeezing it gently before each stair that we reach, as a heads up. Small gesture, but with each squeeze I get electrocuted and amazed at the idea of it. I have had my fair share of clubbing, fair share walking behind someone in a crowded room trying to follow them through the crowd. Not once did anybody squeeze my hand as a heads up to obstacles or people in our way. Maybe its him, or maybe the booze or the place but I find that to be the next innovation for clubbers.