CALLI
The next time I wake up, I’m once again back in his bed, only this time, I know I’m alone. I don’t feel his presence, his stare, his heat.
Cracking my eyes open, the first thing I notice is the bathroom door hanging off its bottom hinges at a funny angle. The second is that I’m no longer tied to the bed.
Pushing my messy bed hair back from my face, I sit up and look around.
Every part of my body aches, but nowhere near the pain in my heart. Thoughts of Ant’s infectious smile, his kind nature and supportive ways crack my chest wide open.
I knew he was going to end up paying the price for us sneaking around. But I never could have imagined this.
I still don’t know where I am, but equally, I’m having a hard job imagining that this is Daemon’s home.
It’s so… normal.
I sit there for long seconds just listening, trying to work out where he is.
A part of me wonders if he’s left me, but after waking up tied to the bed the last time, I doubt he’d let me go that easily.
Something tells me that I’m going to have to work harder than just waltzing out the front door to discover the fallout of all this.
How long have I even been here?
Each time I’ve slept, it’s been so deep that it could have been days, or could it be the effects of whatever drug he gave me making me lose my grip on reality.
Climbing out of the bed, I’m relieved when my legs are steadier than the last time I stood, and I make my way over to the window.
Pulling aside the blackout curtains, I discover that the sun is high in the sky. But the sight of it does little to lift my dark mood as grief continues to dig its claws into me.
Seeing that we’re a long way from the ground only confirms my first assumption that we’re in his flat.
“Jesus,” I breathe, spinning back around to look for a clock.
There’s one on the other side of the bed that shows eleven forty-five.
But what day?
It must still be the weekend. Someone will have noticed if I just didn’t turn up at school. Maybe not my parents, Jocelyn, our housekeeper, certainly would. Stella and Emmie also. Possibly even my brother.
A crash from somewhere beyond the bedroom makes my heart jump into my throat.
After another trip to the bathroom where I’m barely able to shut the busted door, I finger brush my teeth with the toothpaste left on the side of the basin and head out in search of the enigma that is Nikolas Daemon Deimos.
My eyes widen with every step I take through what can only be his home.
Because it looks exactly like that. A home.
The guys always joke about him living in a dark basement where he worships the devil and other shit along those lines, and I can’t deny that I kind of assumed something similar.
But he lives in a flat that any family would probably feel at home in.
There are even decorative cushions on the sofa.
Who the hell is this guy?
Another clatter forces me to look up from the soft furnishings, and I find the man in question standing in the middle of his kitchen with a tea towel over his shoulder and a spatula in his hand.
What the actual fuck?