Chapter 27 MY GIRL.
\~~~DAMIEN.
The question hit harder than I expected.
I closed my eyes briefly and then leaned back just enough to look at her properly.
“You are drunk,” I said firmly. “And I am not having this conversation with you like this.”
Her smile faltered slightly. “So… that is a no?”
“Yes, it is a no.”
I gently but firmly untangled her arms from my neck and laid her back on the bed but she sat up right back, frowning.
“You don’t find me hot? Me?! Me, Serena, Me?” Her voice went high for no reason and I breathed out.
“You need to sleep.”
But she didn’t answer me, she struggled to get on her feet, staggering.
“Look at me,” she moved backward and I watched in surrender as she flicked her hair to the side.
“Tell me you don’t find me hot this way.”
Her hands rested on her waist, and she raised her shoulders, forcing herself to stand still.
“Serena.”
“So, how could you not…” She stood talking as she tried to push her hair away from her face.
“Nothing is going my way. Even my hair is being disrespectful. I swear I am going to shave it off!” She burst into tears and then sat on the floor, kicking her legs.
My lips parted in bewilderment, definitely not knowing what to say or do.
This woman must never drink again, never.
It was hard dealing with a sober Serena, and now, this?
I stared at her for a long second, completely stunned.
She was sitting on the floor now, crying like the world had personally offended her, kicking her legs in small angry motions. Her hair had fallen into her face again, proving her point about it being disrespectful.
I dragged a hand down my face.
“Serena,” I exhaled.
She looked up at me with watery eyes, her mascara threatening to betray her at any moment. “Am I not hot enough for you?” she asked, voice breaking again. “First Ryan thinks I’m beneath you, and now you won’t even say it.”
Ah, we are still on that?
I turned to her vanity table, walked over to it, and grabbed the black scrunch. Before I could think better of it, I returned to her, knelt in front of her, brushed her hair away from her face, and gently gathered it into my hand.
She froze, blinking at me like I’d just short-circuited her thoughts.
“Listen to me,” I said slowly and clearly. “You are drunk, emotional, and overthinking things that do not deserve this much power over you.”
She sniffed again. “That didn’t answer the question.”
I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself and secured her hair with the scrunch. “You are so annoying.”
“But am I hot?” she pressed stubbornly.
I held her gaze, making sure she was actually looking at me now.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “You are beautiful. You are attractive. You turn heads without trying. And you don’t need to put on a performance or stand on shaky legs to prove that to anyone, especially not to me.”
Her lips parted slightly and her face turned even redder. “So sweet.”
I stood up and offered her my hand. “Now, get off the floor before you catch a cold or decide to shave your head and blame me for it tomorrow.”
She stared at my hand for a moment, then took it. I pulled her up easily, steadying her when she swayed.
“See?” she said softly, nodding like she’d just proven a serious point. “You do find me hot.”
“Right,” I said, guiding her until she finally settled on the bed.
“You should clean my makeup too,” she groaned, rubbing at her cheek clumsily.
“Clean your makeup?”
“Yes,” she said, dragging the word. “Unless you want me to wake up tomorrow with my face all red and swollen and full of rashes and looking like… like I fought a bee.”
I stared at her.
“I mean,” she continued quickly, words tumbling over themselves, “It is fine if you don’t want to. I get it. I am just… some inconvenient girl that life suddenly throws at you. People get annoyed, you probably get annoyed too. I mean, I would too, if I were you. So, it’s fine if you think I am not worthy, or if I am beneath you. I am not exactly…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up,” I cut in before she could spiral any further.
She blinked at me, then smiled lazily.
“So… you will clean it, yeah?”
I sighed. “Yes. Your makeup.”
She nodded eagerly, grinning like she’d won something.
Even drunk, this woman knew exactly what she was doing. What a manipulative little menace.
I turned back to the table, searching for something to use, until my eyes landed on a box of wipes.
When I returned, I sat beside her carefully and turned her face toward me.
My eyes went to her lips first.
I cleared my throat and shook my head sharply, forcing my gaze away.
I continued wiping her face gently, little by little.
She did not stop talking.
Her words ran into each other, stories half-finished, and her thoughts jumping from one thing to another. I nodded when it seemed appropriate, even though I barely understood most of what she was saying.
Then she mentioned his name.
“And he had the gut to say I am beneath you,” she scoffed bitterly. “Like… Can you imagine that?”
My hand stilled.
“You met Ryan?” I asked calmly.
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened. “Did he touch you?”
“Yes,” she paused, then suddenly clapped her hands together and laughed loudly. “But I slapped him!”
She laughed as if she had just won a trophy.
Against my will, a small flicker of satisfaction ran through me.
“That is my girl,” I muttered.
She scoffed and continued, her voice turning sharp again.
“He said you would discard me. That I am beneath you and that you’re only using me. That once you’re done, you’d throw me away like I meant nothing.”
Her smile disappeared and her hands clenched into fists on the bed.
I looked at her carefully. “So… Do you believe him?”
She breathed out slowly.
“Of course,” she said. “I mean, what is there not to believe?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, and to shut it down completely, but she spoke again before I could.
This time, a slow, mischievous smile spread across her lips.
“But do you know how to make me not believe that?”
I frowned slightly. “How?”
She did not answer with words.
Suddenly, she lunged forward and before I could react, my back hit the mattress and her lips crashed against mine.
“Hey!” I grunted, instinctively trying to push her away.
“What are you doing?” I asked, lifting my head.
Instead of answering, she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and locked her legs around my waist.
“This will cancel every single doubt he planted in my head,” she said with a grin, before kissing me again.
I tried to pull back, but she held on stubbornly, like she had glued herself to me.
“Serena,” I warned, my breath uneven. “Stop.”
She pressed her forehead against mine, eyes heavy, and voice low.
“Make love to me, Damien.”
“Fuck it. I want to feel you inside me.”