Stained

Chapter 34

I step through the door and my smile fades when I see it's a single bedroom. But I'm instantly reassured by the door in between the dresser and wardrobe. 

That has to be a spare bedroom. But it seems strange for there to be a door to the bedroom through a bedroom. I press my worry. It could be one of those houses that has a bathroom between the rooms. But I didn't see a door to the other bedroom outside, well apart from the door I just entered through and the main door outside.

Unless, whoever designed this home was stupid enough to have created a situation where the person in the other room would have to go through the bathroom then this bedroom to get outside. Or, there could be a door in the room that leads outside.

I mentally slap myself. In the time I'm wasting creating hypothesis in my head, I could be using that time to ask him. Someone who's know his house.

I part my lips to speak but no words come out because his simple yet perfect room has captured my eyes. Amazed, my gaze wanders over the room. The entire room is painted white. To the left of the door, pushed up against the wall is a simple jet black double bed. Pressed up against it is a black nightstand.

There is a tall black wardrobe on the wall opposite the door. On the right of it, a black punching bag dangles from the ceiling by a silver chain. And finally, next to that is a rectangular window, the blinds snapped shut, unlike my mouth which is parted wide with surprise.

I have to take back my perfect because his room is messy. Actually no, messy is too harsh of a word for his room. The right term would be untidy.

It's not that untidy, however, I have OCD so the tiny things like the bedsheets untucked and the papers littered across his dresser and nightstand give me anxiety. But other than that, the room is fairly clean.

And I'm not going to judge and say, surprisingly for a guy because there are probably more men than women that are tiddy.

My curiosity peaks at the sight of a book laying above the papers on the nightstand. I can't read the cover because I don't have my glasses on and I can't take them out of my pocket since my clothes are soaked and there's not a single dry spot on me to clean them with.

The words escape my lips before I can stop myself. "Will I be sleeping in the other room, or here?" Crap, that wasn't the question I was supposed to ask first. I was supposed to ask if there's a spare bedroom through the door thats currently shut.

Damien looks at me and raises a pierced brow. "What?"

I point to the door.

"That's a bathroom."

My stomach sinks. "Where will I be sleeping then?"

He approaches me with a black t-shirt in hand. "My bed."

My eyebrows draw in together. "And where will you sleep?" There's only one bed. Unless he has an air bed. Please say he has an air bed. Or a sofa that can turn into a bed.

"My bed," he says matter of factly.

"Do you have an air bed I could sleep on? Or the couch outside, can that turn into a bed?" The couch itself is too small to sleep on. I begin to panic at the idea of sleeping in the same bed as him.

"Neither," he deadpans.

"I'll sleep on the floor then," I tell him.

He rolls his eyes but surprisingly doesn't protest.

How can he have this beautiful modern home, but a tiny couch? It doesn't make sense, especially since he's so tall.

He lifts his hand, showing me the black t-shirt he's holding. I forgot he had that. I don't want to seem like a constant complainer but it's got short sleeves and if I wear that he'll see my scars and cuts. I know he's already seen them, but I've done new ones since the last time he saw my arm. God, I still find it hard to believe he's seen my arm.

"I can't wear that shirt, it's too cold," I lie eyeing the shirt, hoping he doesn't see through my lie. It's actually quite warm in here, considering I'm soaked to the t.

"Do you have anything I could maybe wear under it?" I can't begin to describe how much I hate the situation I'm in. I feel annoying and irrelevant and stupid. It feels like I'm at his mercy despite him insisting on me staying at his house. I don't want to complain too much, but I'm scared to sleep in the same bed as him and not because I'm scared he'll do something, — after everything he's done, I don't have a doubt in my mind he would — but I have the worst anxiety and ill shake uncontrollably until I'm sick.

It's something I can't control and the more it happens the more it affects me. And I feel uncomfortable over giving him the slightest impression I'm scared of him doing something to me because I'm not. It's something completely out of my power.

And I've been chastised about this so much by my family, specifically my cousins that I hardly leave my house. If I'm being honest with myself, it was the foundation of my social anxiety.

Without a word, he turns and pulls out a black hoodie and grey tracksuit bottoms.

"Thank you," I mumble self consciously, feeling pathetic before him.

"I'm going to order Chinese so come out once you're done 'cause you're not sleeping on an empty stomach." With that final note, he leaves the room.

As per, he's not going to listen, so I might as well eat what he orders, it'll be a waste of food if I don't. Plus I am hungry and Chinese food is my favourite.

I move into the bathroom. It's a small grey tiled bathroom. On the left, there's a bathtub and a glass shower stall. A small washbasin and toilet on the right-hand side.

I stare at the shower for a while. I feel dirty from Billy touching me at Estella's party, and desperately want to have a shower to wash his touch away.

'But you don't feel dirty from Damien touching you', a voice taunts but I push her away.

I should ask Damien if I can have a shower, he might think it's weird that I helped myself to it.

I put the clothes Damien gave me on the washbasin and leave the bathroom.

I've opened the door halfway when I hear Damien's voice. I stop, not wanting to interrupt him whilst he's on the phone and am about to go back into the bathroom but freeze when I hear him mention me.