Chapter 10

Damon

I heard the knock on the back door at eleven fifteen.

I was at my desk. Not working. Just sitting. The house was quiet. Rick had gone to bed an hour ago. I heard his footsteps on the stairs. His door closing. Then nothing.

I thought about going to sleep. I did not. I just sat there in the dark with a glass of whiskey I was not drinking.

The knock was soft. Three times. Like she was not sure she should be there.

I knew it was her before I opened the door. No one else uses that door. No one else knows it exists. I showed it to her once. After the night Rick left us alone. I told her if she ever needed to come over without anyone knowing, that was the way.

I did not think she would actually use it.

I opened the door.

She was standing there in the dark. Same sweater from earlier. Hair messier now. Her face was pale. Her eyes were red.

"Laura. What happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Something happened. You have been crying."

"I have not been crying."

"Your eyes are red. Your nose is red. You are standing at my back door at eleven fifteen on a school night. Something happened."

She looked down at her hands. She was twisting her fingers together. That thing she does when she is nervous.

"Can I come in," she said.

I stepped aside.

She walked past me into the study. Went straight to the couch. Sat down. Pulled her knees up to her chest. Wrapped her arms around them.

I closed the door. Locked it. Leaned against it.

"You cannot keep coming here like this."

"I know."

"Someone will see you."

"No one saw me."

"This time."

She looked at me. Her eyes were wet. "Are you going to stand there or are you going to sit down."

I walked to the chair across from her. Sat down. Not the couch. Never the couch. If I sat on the couch, I would be too close. I would touch her. And if I touched her, I would not stop.

"Why are you here, Laura."

"I needed to see you."

"You saw me earlier. At dinner. On the couch. With Rick."

"I know."

"So why are you here."

She pulled at a loose thread on her jeans. Wrapped it around her finger. Let it go.

"Rick and I had sex," she said.

I already knew. I could tell earlier. The way she moved. The way she would not look at me. The way her hair was damp at the back of her neck.

"Okay," I said.

"That is all you have to say."

"What do you want me to say."

"I do not know. Something. Anything. Tell me you are jealous. Tell me you are angry. Tell me you do not care. Just say something."

I leaned forward. Put my elbows on my knees. Looked at her.

"Did you want to."

"Did I want to what."

"Have sex with him."

She was quiet for a long time. She stopped pulling at the thread. Her hands went still in her lap.

"No," she said.

"Then why did you."

"Because I am supposed to want to. He is my boyfriend. That is what girlfriends do. They have sex with their boyfriends. They do not say no for no reason."

"That is not how it works, Laura."

She looked at me. Her eyes were wet again. One tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it fast. Like she was embarrassed.

"Then how does it work."

"You say no. You wait until you want to. You do not do things just because someone expects you to."

"He expects me to."

"Then he is wrong."

She wiped her eyes again. Her hand was shaking.

"I thought about you," she said.

My chest went tight. "Do not."

"I closed my eyes and thought about you."

"Laura. Stop."

"He does not feel like you. He does not touch me like you. He does not kiss me like you. He does not—"

I stood up. Walked to the window. Turned my back to her.

"You need to go home."

"I am not finished."

"Yes you are."

I heard her stand up. Heard her footsteps on the floor. She was walking toward me.

"Do not," I said.

She stopped behind me. Close enough that I could feel her body heat. Close enough that I could smell her. Something sweet. Something clean.

"Turn around," she said.

"No."

"Damon. Turn around."

I closed my eyes. Counted to five. Then I turned around.

She was right there. Her face was wet. Her lips were trembling. Her hands were at her sides. Fists. Like she was holding herself back.

"I am sorry," she said.

"For what."

"For wanting you. For not being able to stop. For making this harder than it already is."

I reached out. Wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb.

"You are not the one making this hard."

"Then who is."

"Me. For not being strong enough to walk away."

She leaned into my hand. Closed her eyes. Her skin was warm. Soft.

"Then do not walk away," she said. "Stay. Right here. With me."

"Laura."

"I am not asking for forever. I am just asking for tonight."

I looked at her. The girl who should have been nothing. The girl who should have been a stranger. The girl who had somehow become the only thing I thought about when I closed my eyes.

"One night," I said.

"Yes."

"And then tomorrow we figure out what comes next."

"Yes."

I kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her mouth.

She melted into me. Her arms went around my neck. Her body pressed against mine. She kissed me back like she had been holding her breath and I was the only thing that could make her breathe again.

"We should not do this here," I said.

"Then where."

I took her hand. Led her to the couch.

Not my bedroom. That was a line I was not ready to cross again. Not after last time. Not when she was sad and vulnerable and I was old enough to know better.

But the couch. The dark. The study where no one would look for her.

I sat down. Pulled her onto my lap.

She straddled me. Looked down at me. Her hair fell around her face. Her eyes were red but her mouth was soft.

"I feel safe with you," she said.

"You should not."

"But I do."

I put my hands on her hips. Held her still.

"Nothing happens tonight," I said. "Not like that. Not when you are sad and he just—"

"Do not say his name."

"Laura."

"Do not. Not right now. I cannot hear his name right now. I just want to be here. With you. No thinking. No guilt. Just us."

I nodded.

She leaned down. Rested her head on my shoulder. Her breath was warm on my neck.

I held her. Just held her. One hand on her back. One hand on her hip.

The study was dark. The only light came from the street outside. The house was quiet. Rick was upstairs asleep. He had no idea.

And I was holding his girlfriend in my arms.

"I am not a good person," I said.

"I know."

"I am going to hurt him."

"I know."

"And you."

She pulled back. Looked at me.

"Then we hurt together."

She kissed me. Soft. Slow. Not hungry like before. Just tender. Just real.

And I let her.

Because I was tired of being strong. Tired of doing the right thing. Tired of pretending I did not want her.

I wanted her.

I wanted her in ways that made me ashamed. In ways that made me feel like a predator. In ways that made me not care that I should feel ashamed.

And for one night, I was going to stop fighting it.

---

She fell asleep on my chest.

Her body curled into mine. Her hand over my heart. Her breath slow and even.

I did not sleep.

I watched her. The way her lips parted. The way her fingers twitched. The way her eyebrows moved like she was dreaming.

I thought about what she said. "I closed my eyes and thought about you."

That should have made me feel guilty. It did not. It made me feel something else. Something I did not have a word for.

She was seventeen. She was my son's girlfriend. She was young enough to be my daughter.

And I did not care.

That was the worst part. I did not care.

At 2am, she stirred. Mumbled something. Settled back down.

I pulled a blanket over her. She did not wake up.

I thought about what would happen tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

She would go back to Rick. She would sit on his couch. She would let him put his arm around her. She would let him kiss her forehead.

And I would watch.

I would sit in my chair and pretend to read and I would watch my son touch her.

And I would want to break his hand.

That was the truth. The ugly truth. I was jealous of my own son.

I closed my eyes. Tried to sleep. Could not.

Her hand was still on my heart.

---

At 3am, she woke up.

She blinked. Looked around. Remembered where she was.

"What time is it," she whispered.

"Late. Or early. Depends how you look at it."

"I should go."

"You should."

Neither of us moved.

"Laura."

"Yeah."

"Whatever happens tomorrow. Whatever happens with Rick. With your parents. With anyone. I need you to know something."

She looked at me.

"I have never felt this way about anyone. Not once. Not even close."

Her eyes filled up again.

"Do not cry," I said.

"I am not crying."

"You are doing that thing where you cry without making sounds."

She laughed. A small broken sound. "You notice everything."

"I notice you."

She kissed me one more time. Soft. Quick. Then she stood up. Fixed her clothes. Wiped her face with her sleeve.

"I will text you," she said.

"Do not."

"I will."

"Laura. If anyone sees—"

"No one will see."

She walked to the back door. Turned around.

"Three months," she said.

"Three months."

She left.

I sat on the couch until the sun came up.

---

My phone buzzed at 6am.

"made it home. sleep. please."

I typed back. "okay."

Then I typed. "Laura."

"Yeah."

"I meant what I said. Every word."

"I know. me too."

I put the phone down.

The sun was coming through the windows. The city was waking up. Cars outside. Birds. Someone walking their dog.

And I was already counting down the hours until I saw her again.

I got up. Showered. Dressed. Made coffee.

Rick came downstairs at 8am. Rubbed his eyes. Poured himself a cup.

"You look tired," he said.

"Did not sleep well."

"Same."

He sat across from me. Drank his coffee. Scrolled on his phone.

"Laura is coming over later," he said.

"What time."

"After school. We are watching a movie."

I nodded.

He looked at me. "You okay, Dad."

"Fine."

"You seem weird."

"I am always weird."

He laughed. Shook his head. Went back to his phone.

He had no idea.

His girlfriend had been in my arms five hours ago. She had slept on my chest. She had kissed me goodbye.

And he was sitting here drinking coffee like nothing had changed.

I finished my coffee. Stood up.

"I have work," I said.

"Okay."

I walked to my study. Closed the door.

Her smell was still on the couch.

I sat down at my desk. Pulled out my phone.

Her text was still there. "me too."

I typed. "what are you wearing."

Then I deleted it.

Typed. "I miss you already."

Deleted it.

Typed. "Be careful today."

Sent that one.

She replied two minutes later. "always."

I put the phone down.

Three months.

Ninety days.

I did not know if I could make it that long.

But I was going to try.

For her. For Rick. For whatever was left of my conscience.

I was going to try.