Chapter 5: I Was Claimed by Him

The money arrived in my account the next morning plus a little extra I hadn't expected. I stared at the notification on my phone for a full minute. I didn't waste time feeling guilty. I transferred the full amount to the hospital right there. After a few hours I went to the hospital, when I got to the ward, the nurse at the desk actually smiled at me, first time anyone in that place had looked at me like I wasn't just another broke family member taking up space.

“Your father's in surgery now,” she said. “They started about an hour ago.”

I nodded, throat tight. “Can I wait?”

She pointed to the chairs down the hall. “Family's area's that way. I'll let you know when he's out.”

I sat for hours, my mind kept replaying last night, the way he had said ‘one night’ like he was convincing himself more than me. I shifted in the plastic chair every time the memory hit too hard. My body still ached in places I hadn't known could ache. Not bad pain, just… there. 

When the doctor finally came out, he looked tired but calm. “Successful,” he said. “He's in recovery. We'll keep him here a few more days, but the worst is over. You did good getting the funds so fast.”

I almost laughed. ‘Good’ wasn't the word I'd use. But I thanked him, signed the forms, and left before anyone could ask too many questions. 

I went straight to the diner after. Sofia was wiping down the counter when I walked in. She looked up, eyes searching my face like she could read the whole night off me. “You're alive,” she said, half joking, half serious. 

“Barely,” I muttered. 

She dropped the rag and pulled me into the back room, away from the lunch crowd. “Okay, spill.”

I leaned against the wall, arms folded tight. “I did it.”

“I know you did it, I want details,” she said rolling her eyes.

I stared at the floor. “He didn't look like the picture.”

Sofia’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Yeah. The profile showed some old guy. The man who opened the door was… thirty nine, tall, built. Looked like he stepped out of a magazine.”

She let out a low whistle. “So you got a handsome man instead?”

I snorted despite myself. “Something like that.”

She stepped closer, voice dropping. “And? Was it… bad?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. The memories rushed back, the I had said his name when I came, his mouth on mine. Hear crawled up my neck. “It wasn't bad,” I said quietly. “It was… intense.”

Sofia studied me for a second. Then she reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “You okay?”

I shrugged. “I got the money, Dad's in surgery, that's what matters.”

She didn’t push, just nodded. “You're tougher than you look, Elena. But you don't have to pretend with me. We're friends now, right?”

The word ‘friends’ hit me harder than I expected. I blinked fast. “Yeah, friends.”

She smiled. “Good. Then next time you're at my place, we're getting drunk and you're telling me everything. No holding back.”

I laughed, shaky. “Deal.”

She hugged me quick and tight before we went back to work. For the first time the diner felt like somewhere I belonged.

The next week blurred together. Dad came out of surgery okay. I visited every day after classes, brought him magazines he wouldn't read. He didn't thank me, didn't ask where the money came from. Just grumbled about the food, nurses and the TV channels. Same old Victor.

School was the same hell, but I had less patience for it now. Monday morning, I was walking down the main corridor when the usual trio spotted me.

“Still wearing the same jacker?” one of them called. Chloe, the leader, voice dripping fake sweetness. “You know they sell new ones in stores, right?”

I kept walking. “Hey, scholarship girl,” another one said. “Your dad still drinking the rent money?”

I stopped, looked her dead in the eye. “Better than drinking Daddy's credit card,” I said flatly.

Chloe laughed, but it sounded forced. “Wow. Got a backbone today.”

I stepped closer. “I've always had one. You just never noticed because you were too busy staring at your own reflection.”

Chlow opened her mouth, closed it, then flicked her hair and walked away like she had won something. Her friends trailed behind.

By Thursday, the soreness was mostly gone. I could sit through lectures without wincing. I could walk without feeling every step between my legs. But I still thought about Damien. I hated how often the memory crept in and how my body warmed just remembering. I went to the hospital after school to visit my Dad but met him yelling at one of the nurse.

“Why is the food so bad, I don't pay so much money to get these kind of food,” he yelled.

“You don't pay anything at all Papa,” I said entering the room.

“I'm sorry,” I apologised to the nurse and collected the food tray from her.

“You don't get to act this way here,” I scolded him after the nurse left.

“You are developing all these attitude just because you paid the bill,” he frowned.

I let out a sigh, tired of his behaviour. “Think what you like, but you don't get to shout at anyone here, they aren't me that would put up with you behaviour,” I said trying to control my anger. 

“I don't remember raising such a disrespectful child,” he shouted.

“Well I don't remember you raising me at all, you can't even be appreciative for once in your life,” I dropped the food tray and left angrily. Dealing with him was just too much to handle so I went home, I would probably visit him another day.

Friday afternoon I had to go to the administration building in school for my final year scholarship renewal, some form I had to sign in person, get a stamp, make sure my grades hadn't dropped below the cutoff. I had been putting it off because the building always felt cold and official, like they were judging me just for existing there. The main hall was quiet when i walked in. High ceilings, portraits of donors and past presidents lined the walls. I barely glanced at them, I was just focused on finding the right office. 

Then I turned the corner and stopped shocked. The portrait was massive, bigger than the others, gold frame. It read, “Damien Blackwood, Principal Benefactor and Owner, Columbia University.”

I stared at the frame, same jawline, same dark hair, looking straight through the camera like he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

My stomach tightened so fast, i felt sick. “Oh fuck, what have I done?” I whispered.