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Chapter 8: Not A Teenage Boy

Amelia's POV:

Damien's key chain jingled as he twisted the key to his apartment.

Unlike our two story white picket fence house, he resided in an apartments complex that was a 20 minutes walk from where I resided. After all, he was a bachelor, he didn't need the extra space.

His apartment was larger than expected, very well kept even. I expected it to be a lot messier.

The furniture was all classic, leather couches, large flat screen that I was certain he constantly watched football matches on, a clear glass table and some very fine art pieces hanging on the walls.

There was an open kitchen that was surprising clean too except for a stray mug and plate that sat out of place amidst the squeaky clean space.

There were a lot of windows, and Damien kept the blinds wide open letting the sunlight in. It felt homey.

"You like it?" He asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at him, smiling, and nodded, "everything is very well kept. I was sort of expecting a mess." I murmured sheepishly.

He chuckled lightly, "I'm not a teenage boy, Amelia, I've lived on my own for more than 20 years, I know how to clean and cook." 

I pursed my lips together, "why do you always keep stressing on the fact that you're not a teenage boy?" The question that was carelessly roaming in my head felt the impeding urge to be asked, and I was glad I asked.

I took a decision upon myself that I was allowed to talk freely around Damien. I didn't want to stay quiet all the time. A part of me was afraid he'd grow sick of how silent I generally was, but another part was worried that he'd think I'm too childish, needy, and worrisome.

"Because I don't want you to forget that I'm too old, and because I don't want you to base your expectations off the things you know about teenagers - this isn't our case." I despised how he constantly reminded me of our extreme age gap, but I knew he did it for my own sake.

"I don't care about your age." I mumbled, almost too inaudibly.

Damien didn't reply, and I wasn't sure why.

"Give me a second, I'll go get something from my office."

I didn't want to seem intrusive, so I quietly took a seat on one of the couches. I wasn't sure how did my life shift so fast, and how just a day ago I was avoiding Damien as if my life depended on it.

I felt awfully guilty whenever I remembered my parents, but at the same time, I was too happy to let go; the happiest I've been in years.

I felt selfish, but a devious voice in me said it's okay to be selfish for once.

"What are you think about?" I slightly jolted upwards as my daydream was cut rather ungracefully.

I hummed impulsively, not wanting to burden Damien even further. He was already guilty as it is. "Nothing."

I felt his hand grip my thigh tightly, and I almost jolted again.

"Don't lie."

I didn't know what it was about him, but the way he suddenly gets overtly demanding made my whole body heat up and my breathing pick up. I was sure anyone in their right mind would think I'm insane - that I should be frightened of him - but I wasn't, contrarily I felt safer than ever.

Perhaps because his eyes were always soft even when his voice shifted, and I knew he wasn't planning on hurting me. He knew that I always complied when he spoke this way, after all, he wasn't some teenage boy.