Drawn (12 page)

I pause and give my father my best unimpressed look. “Can you just call him off please? Tell him that you don’t want him to be my guardian?”

“I didn’t tell him to watch you.”

“What do you mean? I thought you sent him out on Thursday to keep an eye on me?”

“No. Why would I do that? You’re eighteen now. I promised you I’d back off.”

“That man!” I say pushing back from the table. “Mum, can I borrow your car? I need to go and speak to someone.”

“Sure honey,” she laughs. I don’t understand why she is finding this all so amusing. “The keys are hanging by the door.”

“Jan, this isn’t funny,” I hear my father tell her as I grab her keys off the hook.

“Just let her deal with it,” she responds
, as I slam the door behind me. Jumping in her car, I take off to confront Damien. What game is this guy playing? I just don’t understand it. Why lead me to believe he’s been asked to protect me. This is just ridiculous, and I need to get to the bottom of it.

I pull up outside his building and stomp toward the entrance, continuing my stomping as I climb the stairs until I find his door.

“Damien!” I yell, thumping on his door with my fist. “Damien!”

“I’m coming. Hang on,” he calls from inside. “What is it?” he exasperates as he opens the door, water beading all over his body as if he’s just been in the shower… my mouth goes dry and my thoughts leave my mind as my eyes
drag over him – to his hand as it clutches the towel about his waist.

“I… um…” I stammer.

“Jesus,” he hisses, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me inside. “Just sit,” he commands, heading back towards his bathroom, pausing only to grab some clothes from his bedroom before he disappears back inside.

I sit at the small table, listening as he finishes his shower and berating myself for not being able to keep a hold on my thoughts around him.

As I look around, I start paying closer attention to his pin board, remembering that the first time I was in here, it was turned around and had a bunch of drawings on it.

Listening to the still running water, I twist the board around. The entire surface is covered with small pieces of paper. Some are lined, some are white, some are yellow and a couple are green or pink. It seems that it’s just been whatever has been on hand at the time and they’re all overlapping each other so you couldn’t possibly see each one without removing everything on top. On each piece of paper is a sketch. There’s no distinct theme, I’d assume he’s just drawn whatever has taken his fancy at the time. There are trees, chairs, hands, lips, eyes, people studying, people laughing, buildings, and at the very bottom – me…

“Seriously?” I say to myself, looking closer at the piece of lined note paper with my image on it. It’s picture perfect and shows me, laughing as I tuck my hair behind my ear. I can tell by the clothing I’m in that he drew this on Thursday when I was at the Uni Bar. How did I not see him doing this?

The clearing of his throat behind me, snaps me to attention
, and I spin around to face him, feeling immensely guilty. “Why is there a picture of me there?” I demand immediately.

“If I wanted people to look at this, I’d have it on display.” He leans around me, smelling of soap and warmth as he flips the board back around.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I whisper, leaning up against the wall – I kind of need it to hold me up right now.

He smiles, his hand resting just above my head as he searches my face. “Why did you come here?”

“I…” He’s too close to me. I can’t breathe, let alone think clearly.

“Do you need something?” he whispers, leaning close to my ear. His breath washes over me, causing my skin to prickle. I can’t help it, and I turn toward him.

My words, usually so important to me, have evaporated into the ether, and I can’t even remember what I was so annoyed about. All I want right now is him.

Softly, he brushes his mouth along my jawline, causing my breathing to increase as my heart thuds against my chest. My eyes flutter closed as my tongue sneaks out of my mouth, wetting my lips, wanting him to kiss me.

But as his lips travel toward my mouth, he brushes upward, skimming the corner and leaving me wanting. I whimper in response, turning my head slightly toward him. 

“Henrietta,” he whispers. “Open your eyes.”

Slowly, I force my eyes open, meeting his.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asks, brushing his bottom lip right next to my mouth again.

Once again, I whimper, nodding my head in response, struggling to find my voice.

“I need you to say it.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me,” I admit, my voice barely audible as I force my voice to speak.

“Want or need?” he whispers, bri
nging his mouth to mine, gently grazing my bottom lip.

“Need,” I breathe, my body pressed firmly up against the wall, frozen and unable to move with him so close to me. It’s true, I do feel a need for him. I don’t think I can even move without his assistance right now.

Sliding his arm around my waist, he pulls my body against his, kissing my mouth with a controlled passion that makes my head swim, and my senses scream. I want more.

His tongue snakes out, teasing my mouth, getting me to part my lips to let him in. Tiny whimpers escape my throat as his tongue slides over mine, smooth and minty from his mouthwash.

One of his hands cups the side of my head, holding me steady as he explores my mouth and I, in turn, explore his.

Our breathing grows heavier and somehow I manage to gain control of my body and find a way to move my limbs. My arms slide around his body, pulling him closer to me, gripping at his black shirt as my want – my need for him, increases.

Breaking the kiss, he pulls his head away from me, smoothing the skin on my cheek as he gazes upon my face. His eyes study me, as his thumb smooths, moving from my cheek, to my brow bone, down my nose and over my lips.

“I’ll take you home now,” he says finally.

“What?” I ask, confused – this is ending now?

“Come on,” he says, moving to collect his wallet and car keys, pocketing them in his black jeans and holding his hand out to me.

I move toward him, as if in a dream, still feeling heady after our kissing, and collect my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

Smiling approvingly at me, he takes my hand and gently kisses the side of my forehead, before leading me back downstairs and out of the building.

“Oh, you don’t need to drive me. I borrowed my mum’s car,” I tell him, suddenly remembering how I got here. “It’s just this one here.”

He nods once, walking me toward the silver hatchback and takes the keys from my hand as I fumble with them, my mind a complete mess right now.

“Here,” he says, pressing the button to unlock the car, opening the door for me. As I climb in, he reaches for the seatbelt, and I don’t stop or argue with him. I want his arm around me, I want to inhale the scent of his skin as he leans in to click the buckle in place.

“Thank you,” I whisper, meeting his eyes.

I’m rewarded with a smile, a beautiful heart stopping smile. “Drive safely and text me when you get home.” He kisses me, just next to my mouth and my lips burn, wishing his mouth was there instead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Nodding, I can’t keep the smile off my face as he shuts me in the car and steps back as I start the engine.

Forcing my mind to concentrate on driving, I turn around to reverse out of the car space, glancing again at the man standing on the footpath, watching as I leave.

He nods his head at me instead of waving, his mouth curled up on one side in an amused smile.

As I drive away, the fog that occurs when I’m near him lifts from my mind like a veil. Of course he was smiling, he just managed to make me completely forget what I was doing there. I didn’t even get the chance to ask him why he lied about my father telling him to protect me. Moreover, why does he feel the need to protect me? It’s not like I’m prone to getting attacked.

“Oh! That man!” I yell, slapping my hand on the steering wheel, feeling like I’ve just been made the fool and what the hell did he mean by
‘I’ll see you in the morning’
?

My annoyance returns tenfold by the time I’m home
, and the last thing I want to do is let him know that I made it home safe. Instead, I switch off my phone and spend the rest of the evening studying before falling into a restless sleep. Tomorrow is the day I get my freedom. It’s the day I move. 

A loud thumping rattles the glass on my window, and tears me from my sleep. Glancing at the clock beside me it reads 2am. Scrunching my face up in confusion, I climb out of bed as the banging continues.

Cautiously, I pull the curtains to the side, my heart beating wildly in my chest as I wonder what’s going on. But I relax a little when I see
Damien standing there.

“Come outside,” he tells me through the glass.

I sleep in a singlet and underwear, so I grab a pair of leggings and a t-shirt and put them on before heading to the front door to see what he’s doing here.

“I hope you aren’t planning on making me train or something?” I ask as soon as I open the door and step out onto the small landing.

“Why didn’t you message me like I asked you to?” he responds, moving to climb the two steps that lead to my front door – to where I’m standing.

Holding my hands up, I step backwards, wanting to keep some distance between us so I can think properly. “Don’t. I can’t think properly if you’re too close,” I admit.

“I can’t think when you’re far away.” My heart freezes, the strain in his voice conveying my exact feelings around him.

“What’s going on
Damien? My dad didn’t ask you to watch out for me. Why are you so hell bent on protecting me? And from what?”

He runs his hand over his head, messing up his usually neat hair. “I don’t know. I just need to. I don’t know what it is. But you feel it too right? It’s not just me.”

“No. It’s not just you. But I don’t know how to deal with this. I mean, would we even work in a re–” I stop, not wanting to say the word ‘relationship’. I have no idea what this thing is right now.

“I’ve never even been in one,” he admits, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he stands on the concrete path at the base of the stairs. “I just…
I need to know you’re ok. It’s been just over a week, and I’m constantly thinking about you, and what you’re doing, and who you’re with – it’s driving me insane. I’m not sleeping, and I’ve just spent all day and most of the night trying to tell myself that it doesn’t matter that you didn’t text me. But it does Henrietta. I can’t explain why. But it does.”

“Why are you so worried about me?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I just am, and I don’t know if I can stop,” he says, once again moving toward me, in the dim light, it’s hard to make out his features, but I can see that something isn’t right.

“Have you been fighting?” I ask, reaching up to gently touch his cheek where it appears as th
ough he’s sucking on a wad of cotton wool.

“I was distracted. They got in a lucky punch. I still won though.”

“Why do you do it?”

“
Fight? Because I’m good at it,” he murmurs. “Normally, they don’t even get a punch in.” He shift his stance, seemingly agitated. “Don’t you see? This is why I needed you to tell me you were home safe. When you didn’t message, I tried to call you but your phone was off. Then when I went out, all I could think of was you, and I didn’t see the hit coming.”

A pain lodges itself in my chest as his own distress radiates off him, causing g
uilt to wash over me as I realise that my actions got him hurt. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I should have messaged you. I was just being stubborn when I realised I didn’t even get to yell at you for lying to me.”

“I told him I’d look out for you. I didn’t lie. I don’t lie Henrietta.”

“But you avoid the truth.”

Sighing, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest, tucking my head into the crook of his neck. I breathe him in, his scent and his closeness is so intoxicating to me, making my head spin as my hormones release euphoric serotonin in
to my bloodstream, heightening my emotions as I wish to stay in his arms forever.

Finally, he releases me. Kissing me in my hair as he descends the steps backwards to stand at my feet.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he informs me.

“I don’t want to train
Damien,” I murmur, shaking my head from side to side. “Please don’t make me.”

“Please,” he whispers, his voice thick and his expression pained. “I need to be around you and training with you is…it’s calming. Please Henrietta. Be ready at six.”
He steps away, and the sight of him retreating makes my heart lurch. I don’t want him to go. I want more of him.

“How about I go with you now? To um…your apartment – if you’d like me to of course. I mean, if I’m with you – at least you’ll know where I am… and you can sleep…” I suggest
boldly, biting on my lip nervously as I wait for his response. “But I still don’t want to train.”