Chapter 29 JUST KILL ME.
\~~~SERENA.
I woke up with a sharp groan, and my hands flew straight to my head.
God.
The morning light was wicked. It poured in through the curtains like it had a personal vendetta against me, stabbing directly behind my eyes. My head throbbed, splitting into two, and for a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how people actually died.
My mouth was dry, my tongue felt heavy and my body felt like I had been run over and politely placed back on the bed afterward.
Never again.
I rolled to my side and immediately regretted it. The room spun, slow and cruel, and I hissed as I clutched my head tighter.
“How do people do this?” I muttered hoarsely.
I forced myself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees and my palms pressed against my temples. My heart beat in my ears and my head felt too full, like it might burst open if I moved the wrong way.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember.
Last night…
The event, the award ceremony… the champagne.
I remembered drinking, I remembered laughing and I remembered feeling… bold. Too bold.
Then nothing.
My brows pulled together as I looked around the room. This was my room in Damien’s house.
So I didn’t do anything completely insane like sleep in the hallway.
That was good.
Damien must have brought me home but that thought alone made my chest tighten.
I stood up slowly, careful of every movement, and dragged myself into the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with no mercy. My hair was wild, my face bare, and my eyes looked tired and swollen.
I turned on the tap and started brushing my teeth, my movements slow and stiff.
Then it hit me.
A memory.
It wasn’t clear, or whole, just a flash.
Damien…. Kneeling in front of me… his hands in my hair… packing it back gently.
I froze.
The toothbrush slipped slightly in my hand as I stared at my reflection, my eyes wide.
What… was that?
I stared at my hair in the mirror, rough and loosely tied, like someone had actually handled it with care.
I shook my head quickly.
No. That couldn’t be real.
I must have imagined it. Or dreamt about it. Or my brain was playing tricks on me because of the alcohol.
Yes, that had to be it.
I finished up in a hurry, rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face, and walked out of the bathroom like I was escaping my own thoughts.
The house was quiet as I went downstairs. I looked around, scanning the living room.
“Damien?” I called softly.
There was no answer.
Then, I heard a faint clatter and a movement from the kitchen so I followed the sound slowly, my steps careful, and the moment I turned the corner…
I stopped dead.
Damien stood in the kitchen, shirtless.
He was wearing only shorts, and I gasped before I could stop myself.
My brain blanked completely.
His back was to me, his muscles moving easily as he stirred something on the stove. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong, and his skin…
God.
I swallowed hard.
“You are awake,” he said calmly, not even turning fully. He spared me only a brief glance, like this was completely normal.
I stood there, frozen.
“I made soup,” he continued. “You must be hungover. Sit down, I am coming.”
Soup?
He… cooked?
I nodded dumbly and moved to the dining table, sitting down like my legs belonged to someone else.
A moment later, he came over with a bowl in his hand and placed it in front of me.
“Chicken pepper soup,” he said. “It is good for hangovers.”
He handed me a spoon, then poured water into a glass and placed it beside the bowl.
I stared at the soup, then at him.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He didn’t reply. He just leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, watching me.
I lifted the spoon and took a small sip.
It was warm, spicy, and comforting.
I took another spoonful, and then,
Another memory crashed into me.
It was clear and sharp this time around.
There was my voice low, bold, and unfiltered.
‘Fuck it. I want to feel you inside me.’
I choked.
The soup went down the wrong way and I coughed violently, my eyes watering.
Damien was beside me instantly, pushing the glass of water into my hand.
“Take it easy,” he said.
I drank quickly, my heart racing.
Then everything came back.
The bed, his face, my words, and my fucking audacity.
I let out a small scream before clapping my hand over my mouth.
“What?” Damien asked calmly.
I shot up from my seat, shaking my head wildly.
“No. No. No.”
“Ah,” he said quietly. “You remember now.”
“No!” I blurted. “I don’t. I don’t remember anything.”
He raised a brow.
“I mean…” I waved my hands. “Nothing at all. It is like my memory was wiped clean. I am sure I behaved properly while I was drunk.”
He looked at me.
His head tilted slightly, his gaze slow as it dragged from my face down to my body and back up again.
My skin prickled.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“You said nothing happened,” he replied calmly. “Finish your soup.”
Why was he acting like this?
Why was he acting so calm and unbothered?
I wanted him to react, to scold me, or tease me.
To just say anything, at least.
Instead, I felt like I was sinking into the floor.
Embarrassment burned hot in my chest.
How could I be so shameless, so bold and so stupid?
I had asked him to make love to me.
Begged him, actually.
God.
He must have thought I was cheap, loose, and desperate.
My throat tightened.
Maybe it would have been easier if he had actually agreed.
At least then, I wouldn’t be standing here feeling like this.
“Fuck!” I cried without meaning to.
He didn’t flinch.
“Don’t beat yourself up, moonlight,” he said. “You were drunk.”
As if that helped.
“Why didn’t you…” I started, then stopped.
He looked at me steadily. “Finish your statement.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Nothing.”
“Go on.”
“It is nothing.”
“Why?” he asked calmly. “Are you ashamed that you asked me to fuck you? Or that I didn’t?”
My breath caught.
Of course, he would say it like that.
Blunt, straightforward, and merciless.
I stared at him, mortified, my face burning as every nerve in my body screamed.
God.
Just kill me already.