Chapter 12

Louisa's point of view

The driver drove us back home. Both of us sat in the back seat, which suddenly felt too small. This was the closest we'd ever been to each other; the drive felt like it took ages.

I never expected him to come — not after getting so upset at me for suggesting it that he'd ended up crashing the car.

Maybe he meant well, trying to do right by me, and I'd blown it out of proportion. Or maybe he'd just done it to taunt me. I never know with him.

Damien kept glancing at me. I could feel his eyes travel over me before retreating.

"If you have something to say, just spill it," he said, eyes landing sharply on me — like he was almost afraid I actually had a voice.

"I... I..." He stuttered. I never thought I'd hear him stutter.

"Are you okay?" My brows pulled together. He was off. Completely off. Even his shirt wasn't tucked in properly — for the first time, he didn't look perfectly put together.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," he said, eyes darting around.

I felt something sharp pierce my chest. "Oh — no, you didn't bother me." I moved closer, drunk on some strange boldness.

"You're sweating." It was freezing in the car, the AC cranked to the highest setting. "Damien, are you okay?"

I might have started panicking a little.

He couldn't get sick and die now. He still owed me money.

What do I do? What do I do?

"I'm fine. I just need a minute to calm down." He waved me off, his other hand still not letting go of mine.

I looked down at our joined hands. His palm completely covered mine, warming them all the way through.

He wasn't looking at me at all — eyes fixed out the window, completely lost.

What game was he playing?

What was he trying to win?

Regardless of my questions, I didn't pull my hand away. I let him hold on to it until we got back to the house.

The second the car parked, he was gone — not once sparing me a glance back. I looked down at my hand, which had already lost its warmth.

Just gone.

*****

The cook came in the morning, and the fridge was filled with things that tasted better than what I could ever cook — but having nothing to do, I decided to cook something anyway. Make an early dinner.

I hadn't seen Damien since he left the car earlier, and I couldn't stop thinking about him.

He'd been genuinely weird, weirder than his usual unsteadiness, and it bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

I don't like being played with, and it felt like I was caught in some sort of game with him.

No one had told me why he needed a child so desperately. There was obviously a reason behind it, something more than just wanting one.

Matter of fact, he didn't even seem like he wanted a child.

My hands instinctively wrapped around my stomach. His child. My child.

I'd be leaving this child after it was born. What would its fate turn out to be?

Sure, it would have every material thing it could possibly want. But what else? Would it be loved? Cared for?

What sort of childhood would my baby have?

I sniffled, wiping away a tear that had fallen without permission.

I didn't deserve to cry over the child. Not when I was giving— selling it away.

"No, no. I'm not thinking about this." I shook my head.

The lasagna was ready. Piping hot.

I plated two portions — one for me, one for Damien.

I don't know why I bothered, honestly.

I took my portion to the living room. I never eat at a dining table; it always felt too performative.

Food in front of me, a comfortable couch beneath me, I switched on the eighteen-inch television and decided, rather comedically, to rewatch a few episodes of Julie's Secrets.

By the third episode, the lasagna had kicked in and I was dozing off when I heard footsteps.

"Louisa." The deep voice was nothing like my Parker's — the one I'd been drowning in all evening. "What do you think you're doing?"

The sleep washed off my face a little. "What?"

He looked around — from the empty, stained plate on the table, to the empty juice box on the floor, to my slippers flung across the room.

His expression looked exactly like a kid's cartoon character right before flames got edited in over their head.

I could almost see the flames.

"Erm?" I was aware of how it looked. I wasn't an untidy person — I was just... tired. "I was going to clean up. I made you lasagna."

He took another look around the room. "I'm going to say this once, and never again. This isn't your house. It will never be your house, so stop treating it like one. Don't cook for me, don't sleep on my couch — you have a room to sleep in. Stop getting on my last nerve, especially with whatever you think watching old footage of me is going to inspire. Don't try me, Louisa."

I have genuinely had enough of him.

"You know, you genuinely have problems." I got up, gathering my things, tidying as I went. "You need to get checked." I pointed at his head.

He didn't say anything. Just watched me leave.

It felt like he wasn't really seeing me at all.