Playing With Fire (Previously Burning The Bad Boy) (UNDER RECONSTRUCTION)

{11} Get The Hell Out of My Head

It wouldn't have exactly been at the top of my list of bad experiences to wake up screaming Damon's name, but it wasn't something I'd like to experience again.

My dad continued to knock on the door hours after the countless stream of nightmares that had haunted me all night. He tried all that he could; pleading, whispering, angry. Nothing he said or did struck enough fear or sympathy in me to open the door. Instead, I spent the entire morning buried in a pile of blankets, hugging my old stuffed bear against me.

The fur on Beary had matted over the years and smelt horrible, but I had refused to allow my parents to wash him. My stuffed animal had been the only thing there for comfort when I'd lost my brother, and I wasn't going to let it go, even if it was only to wash it. There were too many memories locked away inside the old, ratty toy.

"Mack, sweetheart, open the door." my dad pleaded. "Your friend is here."

I wasn't in any mood to talk to Rachel anytime soon. "Go home, Rach! I don't want to hear it."

My voice was hoarse from hours of screaming and crying. I wrapped my fingers around it, shocked by how raw it was.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart. But it isn't Rachel." It was Damon.

Damon Fox was in my house, standing outside my bedroom door and I couldn't care less.

"Mack, honey, please just let us in." my dad tried. I sat upright, wiping my tear stained cheeks.

I heard quiet chatter outside the door for a few minutes before fading footsteps. I got the sickening feeling that my father had left for work; that he had just left me alone in the house with Damon.

"Thomas, open the door." Damon's voice sounded strained.

"Get out of my house." I snapped.

There was no way in hell I was going to let Damon in my room; not after last night-or the dreams he'd made appearances in. He had been on my mind far more than I cared to admit.

"Look, McKenzie. I'm going to ask nicely again and if you still don't want to be a good little girl and open the door, I'll have to open it myself." I couldn't tell whether Damon's words were a joke or a threat, but they struck about as much fear in me as a puppy.

I stared at my bedroom door expectantly, slowly leaning back into my pillows. Just as my eyes fluttered shut, the sound of my door clicking forced them open.

Damon stood in my doorway, waving a debit card as a smirk made its way to his face. "Nice pajamas, babe."

I flipped him off and turned away. "Get out before I call the cops."

"Your dad let me in. I didn't do anything wrong." he feigned innocence, his palm flat over his heart. I bit my lip to stop from lashing out at him, reaching for a pillow to hold over my ear.

"Wanna talk about what's bothering you, Thomas?" he sighed, staring down at the vase of flowers on my nightstand with a bored expression.

"You're bothering me, Fox. Leave." I grumbled.

If there was even a little hope he might leave, it was gone the second he stretched himself out at the foot of my bed, head propped by elbow as he smirked across the bed at me.

"Is it your little date with Greene at the dance next weekend?" he quirked a dark brow. My eyes widened in surprise.

That was next weekend?