Stained

Chapter 23

Looking down at Damien's hand over mine on the book, I bask in the comfort, in the sense of calm his touch embarks within me.

Wait. What am I thinking and doing? With my regained senses, I snatch the book out of his grasp and grab my bag from beneath my chair. But I do it angrily. Why am I angry? Actually, the better question would be: am I mad at myself or him? I think the former but would like to believe the latter.

My bandaged hand makes it difficult for me to put my books in my bag. He notices and takes it upon himself to take my bag from me.

My stomach drops. There's menstrual stuff in there! I know I shouldn't feel embarrassed; its the twenty first century and periods are natural, but I can't help the sentiment, especially since I could never find the strength to grow out of pads.

I move to take it back it, but he won't let go. I glare.

I didn't want to talk to him, but he's not letting go so I don't have a choice. "Please can I have my bag back?"

'Please?!' I practically hear Hannah bellow in my ear, horrified. 'It's your bloody bag.'

She's right. "Let go of my bag," I demand, pulling on the strap. If it breaks, he's paying for it. He would like that though. Never mind, I wouldn't let him pay for it.

When did everything turn upside down?

He barely blinks, continues to wordlessly put my books away. I'm ashamed at how quickly I give in. But only because I hate how close we are. I stand up, cross my arms over my chest, holding myself back from the urge to help him. Which sounds insane because it's my bag. In any other circumstance I would appreciate the help and work with the person.

Once he's zipped up my bag, he looks up at me for the first time since I stood up. Seeing him on his knees in front of me, staring up at me through thick long lashes that hit his cheeks every time he blinks, causes a breath to catch in my lungs.

He stands up slowly, bag in hand. I have to strain my neck back to meet his eyes because of his damn height. And just like that the breath whooshes out of me. I said damn. Ugh, I won't ever be able to say the word without thinking about what those girls said... without thinking about him.

The irony is I never say damn.

I'm trying to forget about him, not find new ways to remember him. But it doesn't help when he's everywhere, and not just physically. His touch lingers on my skin, and I get the feeling no matter how long or hard I scrub my skin raw I won't get rid of the invisible stain he's left on it. On me.

Damien makes no move to pass me my bag, so I push my hand out between us, wordlessly asking for it. I return to my silent treatment because he is doing it.

He eyes my hand with mock scepticism, still making no move to hand it over.

I huff out an annoyed breath, unbothered by my petulance. He won't take me seriously either way anyways. I move to grab my bag from his grasp. Just as my fingers brush the strap, he moves it behind his back.

I visibly jolt. Half convinced my eyes are playing a trick on me. Half because his eyes gleam with mirth.

I reach behind him, but he moves the bag to his other hand. Is he playing some sort of game with me?

"What are you doing?" I whisper, remembering we're in a library. I quickly glance around. Luckily no one watches us.

When I rotate my gaze back to Damien, I find he is smirking. That annoying, taunting smirk, the one that reveals only one dimple.

What is he playing at?

I move to grab it, but like before, he moves it to his other hand.

"Give me my bag." I seriously don't understand what his problem is. Yesterday it seemed like he couldn't get away from me fast enough, and now he's here toying with me. He's so confusing. I don't understand him.