Give To Skinny Love

//8

     “Rumor has it that you and Luke gave Damon O'Connell those shiny black eyes at the party Saturday,” Christie wiggled her eyebrows. It was Sunday and Christie invited me out with her for lunch. According to her, she had a major hangover and was in desperate need of food. It explained why she was wearing a pair of sunglasses she bought two years ago. We were sitting at a table in the mall's food court.

     “Very true. Damon assaulted me, then harassed Luke a bit. Both earned him a punch,” I threw a fry in my mouth and sat back. It still unnerved me how quickly Luke had lost his composure — resulting in him punching O'Connell.

     “That's odd,” Christie mumbled.

     “What is?”

     “The other day, before the party, someone told me Damon O'Connell was hardcore into you.” She finally took off her sunglasses and folded them on the metal table.

     I stared at her for a moment while she sipped on her smoothie. She couldn't really be talking of the same Damon O'Connell, right? It might be an odd combination of a name, but it is possible for there to be another guy exactly names that. Maybe I was thinking too much into this. Or was I?

     Think about this: Damon hasn't bothered talking to me or harassing me for a while, or ever. He may be the most egotistical douche ever, but perhaps that was his way of getting bimbos. I wasn't a bimbo. Either way, O'Connell was on the Do Not Interact With list. I bet everything that Christie just got confused.

     “You're insane," I muttered, picking up another fry. Christie just shrugged her shoulders and began talking about the latest gossip. All the while, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there could've been a small percentage of Damon taking interest in me.

***

     The rest of Sunday was peaceful and I couldn't stop wondering about Damon. The only thing that erased him from memory was the thought of Luke and I dancing at the party. Maybe I was being such a girl, but you'd melt too.

     There were several things with Monday when I arrived to school:

     1) It was a Monday, obvious enough for a complete reason.

     2) Damon O'Connell was in front of my locker, shamelessly checking out girls as they passed.

     I inwardly groaned, slapping my hand against my face. He just had to be in front of my locker. I stopped slapping myself once I reached my locker. Damon had looked around the corner, so I was temporarily able to open my locker and retrieve my belongings. The entire time of shoving books into my bag I prayed for him to not notice me. Half of my other prayers were for him to turn into a pile of ash and the wind taking hold of him.

     “Hey, Beatles Girl,” Damon smirked. I was utterly confused until I realized he only called me that because of my shirt Saturday night. Hopefully this little nickname wouldn't stick. When I didn't reply back — still avoiding eye contact, not once seeing was he looked like today — Damon took it upon himself to continue talking. Great.

     “So have you heard any of the rumors?” As odd of a question for him to ask me, I hadn't heard anything. I wasn't typically into the whole gossip thing. In fact, every time Christie would rant about the latest secrets I'd zone out and think about important things, like what I was having for dinner.

     I shook my head and slammed my locker shut. As I turned quickly I caught a glimpse of Damon's outfit and his shiners: regular jean pants, a classic plain V-neck; as for his eyes, the bruises had practically healed, allowing his blue eyes to shine brightly. No wonder so many girls fell victim to his acts. I hadn't realized how fast I was walking until I almost ran smack into someone. I quickly apologized but they dismissed me. That gave Damon the chance to catch up to me, unfortunately.