Be My Friend

Chapter 22: Date with the Devil

The place I chose was a small bar and grill a few blocks away from the school. It was a quiet place I often enjoyed eating at because barely anyone came here. As a regular here I noticed quickly that it wasn't a popular place which was a shame; this is a nice place and should get all the attention it can.

We took a seat at one of the two-person booths near a one-way glass window with a single candle lit in the middle of the table. The wooden blinds blocked the harsh sun rays coming in from the August heat, and the conditioned air raised goosebumps on my arms. The place had a dark but homey vibe with the wooden theme it had going on. Soft old rock songs play in the background but they were too quiet for me to bother listening in. 

After looking at the menu and ordering drinks; I, some kind of fruity alcoholic drink and him a cup of herbal tea with honey, silently his gaze sweeps across the room. I look around myself, but only spot some other couple sitting at one of the booths in the corner, and a lonesome man at the bar drinking shot after shot. I wouldn't have said anything if Damian only scouted the place once, but when his eyes shift a second time and I squint sharply at him in suspicion. 

"What?" I finally ask. The waitress sets our drinks down and tells us she'll be back to take our orders. I rotate the candle around in the center of the table with my thumb and middle finger watching the flame dance. 

"Is this..." He trails off, I begin taking a sip of my drink, "a date?" He finishes and narrows his brows a little.

I suck in a sharp breath by accident and start choking immediately when the drink goes down the wrong pipe. "W-what?" I manage to wheeze out over a coughing fit. He raises his brows expectantly and tilts his head. Even if he's 7 ft tall, he makes himself look like a little puppy sitting there, shoulders hunched, twirling a coffee stick around in his drink. Fuck, he's so cute when he does that. Wait, what am I thinking? He raises an eyebrow at me and I feel my face set on fire and look away, letting my hair fall over my face. 

"Why would you think this was-" I manage to say somewhat normally before stopping myself.

A date? I then take note of the mood in this place; the romantic old rock love tunes in the background that I thought nothing of and the candle that was currently burning between us. Oh. Oh.

"I, uh... u-um," I stutter out and avert my gaze to the cracks of the wooden table. The blush spread across my cheeks feels like wildfire. "I don't know. Yeah, I guess- I mean, if you wanted it to be, then that's fine- but I- do you want it to be a date?" I ask somewhat timidly.

Damian's hand reaches across the tables without my knowing and runs his fingers under my jawline and gently lifts my eyes to reach his intense stare, then takes my hand into his own. I can only imagine my face as being redder than a tomato right about now.

"I do. If you're okay with that?" He questions and I can feel my heart racing a million miles a minute as I tip my head up and down in a nod. I take a sip of my drink in hopes of calming my heart down and cool off my face. 

"Ahem," someone clears their throat a couple feet away from our table. I unlatch my hand from Damian's and he looks annoyed at being interrupted.  I glance up nervously and meet the gaze of a man with glazed over eyes that told me he had way too many drinks but not enough to wipe away any anger he was clearly showing on that face of his. It wasn't the waitress cutting in; that's for sure, she was sweet and charming, this man looked anything but.

With his narrowed eyes and a stern steely look painted across his face and a mouth that was seemingly pressed into a permanent frown. My gut twists in dismay. 

"Some of the customers here don't want to see no fags gettin' all touchy-feely, got it? Take it somewhere else." He slurs, a string of dribble coming out of his mouth. The couple in the corner has stopped talking and giggling, now looking at us and I can up but feel embarrassed. 

All of a sudden I don't feel so good. I sneak a glance at Damian and I see him visibly tense for a second, his eyes flashing a brilliant flame so quickly I'm wondering if it was just the reflection of the candle. 

I look back towards the man and my chin trembles at the sight of his disgust and I look away. I've always been comfortable with my identity but for some reason, this just really hurts. "I- um, look, I'm sorry, we'll just leave." I stammer, trying to come up with something on the spot and keep the pain out of my voice. 

The sound of a lighter flickering makes me look at Damian. He's lighting a cigarette; which I'm pretty sure isn't allowed. On time and as if to prove a point, the waitress comes over at that moment, "Sir, you're not allowed to smoke in here-" She tries but her eyes glaze over and she goes behind the bar and begins cleaning it like she wasn't just in the middle of a sentence. The couple in the background is back to their playful bickering and giggling. 

An eerie scraping of a chair gets my attention as Damian rises to his feet slowly and it's strangely frightening. He surpasses the drunken mess of a guy completely by at least a foot and towers over him menacingly. An immense pressure begins building in my chest and I have to slide out of my booth and step away from the both of them as it almost gets too much. The man in front of Damian is quivering already and shaking with fear. 

I step back even more to get a look at Damian's face but it's like someone blurred it out with a dark splotch of smeared ink and all I can see is a black nothingness. The man has tears streaming down his face and is slowly dropping to his knees with a look of horror. "Please," he begs over and over. "Please, no."

My eyes are glued to the scene in front of me and I don't realize I'm still retreating until my back hits a wall. "Damian?" I manage to get out gently. What the hell is going on? I look between the waitress humming to herself while cleaning the bar, the giggling couple and the man on his knees sobbing like a child. Does nobody see this?!

"Stand outside, Mason, this won't take long." He says but it barely sounds like his own voice. He summons a scary-looking weapon about the size of himself with a curved triangle-shaped blade on the end out of mid-air and just as I fumble with the doorknob and jerk it open as I hear a sickening slice and the sound of bones cracking and snapping and a feeling of dread as I press my back to the closed door of the restaurant. 

My chest falls up and down rapidly. I try and block out the sound of wailing and noises that make me double over and heave that alcohol drink.  I walk a few steps and fall to my knees clenching my shaking hands over my ears. I've never felt more disconnected from Damian in this instance. 

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A/N: I hate writing the f slur word. Makes me angry at myself.