Stained

Chapter 57

He's looking down at me with a mixture of tenderness and compassion.

I clear my throat and drop my gaze back to the book. "So yeah. They're not kids books."

I look up at him through my lashes, expecting him to have schooled his expression by now but am surprised to find he hasn't.

He's drunk.

However, the longer I stare at him, I can't help noticing something else, this time in his eyes... empathy?

Before I can read more into the question, he turns around and opens my wardrobe.

"Hey!" I warn.

He doesn't listen, though and pulls out a plain white bra, identical to the one he saw this morning.

"Nice." He turns around, and for once, I'm not surprised by the huge smile on his face. He shakes the bra.

I blush and snatch it off him."Jerk."

His smile just grows as he pulls out my white panties. "Virgin panties, of course." He teases with an eye roll.

I also pull them out of his grasp. "Ever heard of something called privacy?"

I know he's drunk, so I brush it off. It also so happens to be the reason why he's being so playful. Nevertheless, I revel in it even despite it coming at the expense of my embarrassment.

"What's that?" Damien asks, directing his gaze toward the foot of my bed.

I follow his gaze to... MY NOT DIARY! I jump onto my stomach, burying it beneath my body. "N... nothing," I stammer. I immediately mentally slap myself. In the history of "hiding", since when has saying nothing worked?

Hopefully, him being drunk works to my advantage.

"Is that a diary?" A devious smirk lifts the corners of his lips.

The lies there, on the tip of my tongue. But then I decide against it. I'm done being ashamed of what I like.

I defiantly tip my chin up. "Yes, it is."

He nods, plopping down next to me. I'm glad he's sitting down, he looked like a giant standing in my small room.

Realising the flaw in my answer, I'm quick to correct myself, "actually, it isn't a Dairy. It's a Not Diary."

Damien blanches. "What?"

"A Not Diary," I repeat.

He stares at me for a moment, like I'm a creature he can't quite figure out. "I'm drunk, Rose. You're going to have to be more specific than that."

I sigh. "I call it my Not Diary."

"Why?"

Tilting my head back, I click my tongue up at the roof. "I haven't quite figured out why yet." I bring my eyes back to his, shaking my head. "But when I do, you'll be the first person to know."

"You're so weird," he chuckles under his breath. And then intrigue paints his features. "Maybe I can help you determine why now."

My eyebrows crawl up my forehead. "How?" Suspicion laces my tone.

"By reading it," he utters the words so casually, a laugh bursts out of me. "Funny." When his expression doesn't waver, my chortle ceases. He's not joking.

I protectively push my diary underneath my vest. "No way." How much did he drink? Because he must be on a whole other planet to think I would ever let him read my Diary- sorry, Not Diary.