Stained

Chapter 75

My eyes bulge at the sight before me; Damien leaning over a guy on the ground... no scratch that, he's leaning over the guy that smacked my ass and is punching him.

No. No. No. It can't be. Where are my glasses? I touch my head — the place I usually put them when I don't want to wear them — but they're already on my nose.

Okay, so I'm not seeing things. Maybe I need another eye test then? Yes. I don't wear them as often as I'm supposed to anywa... or maybe I've got my driving gla... but... he is. He is beating up the guy who smacked my ass.

My body works on autopilot and I grab Estella's earring and take it out of her ear. I barely feel the pain of my hair ripping out of my scalp as I do so. Even when I drag the earring out of my hair. My gaze all too focused on Damien to even remotely care.

One guy grabs Damien and struggles to pull him off the guy. He's relentless, his face morphed into pure and utter rage as he mercilessly punches the guy. I think I catch the tiniest glimpse of the guy's bloody face, but it's difficult with his arms up, shielding his face from Damien's harsh blows.

Everyone's surrounding him — filming him. I should stop him. This is happening because of me. I should go and do something, anything. Damien is going to get into some serious trouble. But I can't move, shock has frozen my body in place.

Another guy comes into the mix, and then the two of them finally manage to pull Damien off him.

I gasp, my trance of shock finally breaking at the sight of the guy currently being pulled up by his friends. His face... his, oh my gosh his face is gruesome. His nose is bleeding, one of his eyes is swollen shut and his lip is cut open, oozing blood faster than a waterfall.

I strongly hate violence and believe it's not the answer to anything. However, I can't find it anywhere in my conscious to feel sorry for him. Zero pity. That guy took my ass sticking out as an invitation for him to smack it. I could be completely naked yet he still wouldn't have the right to touch me without my permission.

Bile rises up my throat. If he did it to me so easily how many others has he done it to?

Damien manages to yank his arm out of one of the guys grasps and moves to lunge for him again but a teacher blocks his way.

However, that doesn't stop Damien, not even a little. I actually think it constructs his anger to even bigger heights. If the intensity in his thrashing isn't indication enough the yelling is.

Although, I'm unable to hear it past the students shouting, "fight! Fight! Fight!"

Unable to see this anymore, I grab my bag off the floor, deciding to leave. I've put one foot forward when Damien abruptly turns his head, and those piercing green eyes meet mine and freeze me in place. He immediately stills too, albeit even his chest stops heaving.

A teacher shouts for the students to return to their seats. And through the discarding crowd, I manage to get a full look at him. It doesn't look like he got into a fight, there's not a single cut or bruise on his face.

Looking at the other guy's face you can te... something red catches my attention and it's not Damien's preys face. Blood, there's blood dripping down Damien's knuckles.

Worry and concern twist my stomach. I completely forgot about his injured hand.

He punched the wall at his house, cracked the window open in his car... and now this. If his knuckles aren't broken I'll be surprised.

Concern for him has my foot edging forward... toward him.

He shakes his head and his expression tells me no. That he wants me nowhere near him. The dismissal hurts but I deserve it after all the times I've pushed him away.

A hot tear scorches down my cheek. Before Damien can see it I turn my head and quickly walk out of there.

Once I'm in the bathroom, I grip the sink sides, panting as if I ran a marathon. He just beat up a guy for smacking my ass. He defended me once again. Why did he defend me? Why does he keep defending me?

When no one did in the past?

I look up into the mirror and curse my red-rimmed eyes. Since year nine I haven't managed to go a week without crying. The closest I've gotten is three days. That's it.

I harshly wipe my tears away, glad for the hundredth time today I didn't wear mascara.

My phone buzzes for the hundredth time in my pocket. I quickly fish it out when I realise it could be Hannah having another mental breakdown. Nope, it's Sarah.

I clear my throat and answer the phone anyway. "Hey!" I say in my best cheery voice so she doesn't get suspicious.

"Shut up, I'll ask her," Sarah whispers to someone as I wipe my eyes.

'She can't see you, dummy.'

Right, yeah, she can't. Thank god.

"Ask me what?" I plug my headphones in and put my phone in my hoodie pocket, and walk out of the bathroom.

Sarah sighs loud enough to wake the dead. "Hannah wants to go and confront some girl who's been chatting shit about her."

"I'm not going to fucking confront her! I'm going to beat the bitch up!" Hannah shouts in the background.

"I was using a better word for it," Sarah says nonchalantly. Clearly against this as much as I am.

"Well, I want to beat the bitch up so tell that bitch we need her car." I can practically see Hannah's murderous expression as she paces the room.

"I can't, I'm in college. I'll take you after coll—

"No now!"

"I can't, I'm sorry."

"How do you even know where she is? I can't just search all the streets of Lenoris for her." She best pay for my petrol if we do. Why am I even considering this?

"Well, my love, that's where our amazing genius friend comes in," Hannah croons in an evil manner.

"Shit," Sarah curses.

"You encouraged this!" I exclaim.

"You know, every tripod should have a computer nerd," Hannah laughs.

"Bitch," Sarah whispers harshly but laughs with her.

"So I'm guessing you know her exact location?" If Sarah joins the FBI, or is already a part of it, I wouldn't be surprised.

"Damn well we do."

Sarah seems to have turned mute... probably because she knows she's going to receive an earful from me later. She shouldn't have helped Hannah in this revenge plot thing... whatever it is. Hannah's being her usual impulsive self, and she basically encouraged it. Threw a treat at a dog. Or in this case; threw the prey at a lion.

I cringe inwardly at how true that metaphor is.

I blow out a tired breath. "I've had enough of fights today, can we please do this some other day? Preferably a weekend?" First Damien and now Hannah, and all within a matter of minutes? Even the demons in my headspace span out their torture longer than that... well sometimes.

"Why what happened?" Hannah's asks.

I'm not in the mood to explain so I opt for the former, "Okay, so what did she do to make you want to beat her up?"