I clamp my lips together when the scolding voice of my conscience makes an unwelcome appearance.
Seriously? You don’t know what else could be bothering him? How about the dead brother he told you about just last night?
I resist the urge to slap myself on the forehead.
I’m about to tell him to forget what I said when he suddenly whispers, “You’re right.”
My stomach sinks, though I’m not prepared to analyze why. “But not about what you think,” he adds when he notices the look on my face and my hand lifts to adjust my glasses.
I shift in my seat to face him, trying—and failing—to ignore my now frantic heartbeat.
Damian doesn’t meet my gaze, keeping his focus on the window, staring out into the darkness of night on the other side.
“I meant what I said yesterday. To my parents.” His eyes remain on the glass, but even with his head averted, I can see his reflection…along with the miserable expression he’s likely keeping his face turned from me to hide. “I know you said what you had to, and I appreciate that, but whatIsaid? It wasn’t a lie. And I—” His voice breaks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “I’msofucking sorry about the bet. About playing you, and making you think…”
I liked you.
My insides turn slippery and cold at those unspoken words—at the humiliation and anger that are still there, ever present in my memory, but are dulling with time and as I get these tiny,earned glimpses behind his mask, like a knife losing its edge from wear.
“I’m just sorry about all of it,” he breathes. His eyes trail to mine, and the ice in my veins starts to melt at their warm, honeyed touch.
“What you said,” he continues a moment later, “about not regretting what happened last spring… I know it was just some bullshit you spun on a whim to appease my parents, but for me?” He lets out a quiet laugh, as if he can’t quite believe this revelation himself. “That’s exactly how I feel about you. The part without a conscience, at least. That part of me is selfish, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing that’s happened because, if Ihadlistened to that voice in my head and stayed away, I wouldn’t have gotten this chance to know you. And that would be a real shame.”
A hundred different thoughts whirlwind through my head in response to his confession. But all I can think to ask is, “And the partwitha conscience?”
Damian considers my question for the length of a few steady heartbeats, and in those silent seconds, that’s when I see it: the genuine remorse in his eyes.
“For four years, all that part of me has wanted is for my brother to be alive again. But now… For so long, I’ve been torn up inside, and hell-bent on trying to punish my parents for what happened to Jamie, that I didn’t see how you and so many others were getting caught in the crossfire. It was fucked up—I can see that now. And I—” His slow exhalation is shaky. “More than anything, that part of me only wants to take back all the pain and humiliation I caused you…even if it means I never would’ve gotten to know you at all.”
Those words hang heavy in the air between us, choking all the oxygen out of my lungs until I’m on the verge of gasping for breath. Damian, mistaking the look on my face, quickly says,“I’m not asking for your forgiveness because I know what I did doesn’t deserve it. But I hope you at least believe me when I tell you I’m sorry.”
He stares at me with imploring eyes, and despite calling us enemies, despite insisting with every bone in my body that I hate him…in this moment, I find it’s all too easy to say, “I do.”
Neither of us says anything else apart from a brief goodbye after that. Damian doesn’t seem like he has it in him for more, like the weekend has fully wiped him clean of words and he just used up the few he had left.
As for me, I’m teeming with them, the letters spelling out the names of all the conflicted feelings rushing through me pushing at my inner walls until I feel like I might explode.
I burst through the front door, managing a quick hello and goodnight to my mom and Gina, who watch me in quiet bemusement as I move through the house like a human tornado. Once in my room, I don’t even bother to change before grabbing my phone from my desk and flopping stomach-first onto my bed. The battery in the device is low, so I plug it in before it can die, then quickly thumb open iMessage. My fingers are trembling by the time I text my group chat with Ronnie and Andie.
I tell them everything that happened this weekend. About Damian’s parents. About his brother. About his confession just now in the car. And then I tell them about the sex.
Thankfully, they both wait to comment until I’m done purging.
Ronnie
Called it. Pay up bitch
Andie’s response follows a few seconds later.
Andie
I scowl at the phone.
Me
Did you two seriously bet on my weekend? Shameful behavior given my history with bets
Ronnie
