Chapter 303: Four Years and One Damn Bed

I spent the whole evening convincing myself that having Damien asleep in my room after four years of being MIA was totally normal.

But honestly, that shit was anything but.

There was nothing ordinary about having the guy who’d vanished from my life for the past four years standing in the doorway, especially with the thought that in just a bit, we’d be sharing a bed again.

My heart felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest, pounding against my ribs as if it wanted to flee the scene before I could catch up.

To distract myself, I started fussing with things.

I folded the blanket...then I unfolded it because I realized I hadn’t done it quite right.

Next, I readjusted the pillow.

Then I moved it a couple of inches to the left.

And because I clearly had no better use of my time, I even checked if the window was locked again, even though I’d just done that ten minutes ago.

The latch was right where I left it, just like the last three times I checked, which somehow made me even more determined to find something else to fiddle with.

Damien stood behind me, quiet and watching, with a patience that was starting to irritate me.

He hadn’t budged since I began rearranging the bedding, and his calm observation only made the whole situation feel more ridiculous.

"You know," he finally said, "the window’s still locked."

"Yeah..."

"You checked it twice."

"I know."

"And the door too."

"Yep."

"And the blanket has been folded three times."

I slowly turned around, giving him a look that hopefully conveyed the whirlwind of chaos in my mind. "Are you keeping track, asshole?"

His mouth twitched a bit. "No."

"You sure sound like you are."

"I’m just observing."

"Well, stop observing."

His almost-smile grew a bit more obvious, and the softness in his eyes made me want to throw a pillow at him just to regain some emotional balance. "All right."

That was the thing about Damien, he was way too agreeable.

Just as he was stubborn.

I expected him to tease or challenge me, but there he was, standing in a simple dark T-shirt and loose pants, looking way too at ease in my bedroom while I was having a full-on meltdown over my pillow arrangement.

The way his shirt fit across his shoulders was completely unfair, and I had to force myself not to notice how the low light from the hallway caught the line of his jaw.

I quickly averted my gaze before I looked too long.

"Okay," I said, clearing my throat to sound more in charge than I felt. "We...we– uh... need some rules."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Rules?"

"Yes. Obviously."

"I remember the last time we had ’rules’, anyways...I’m all ears."

I pointed at the bed like I was laying down the terms of a serious agreement, complete with invisible fine print. "You stay on your side."

"I will."

"No crossing the middle."

"Got it."

"And no touching."

There was a slight pause, just enough for me to see him flex his fingers at his side before he replied, Damien nodded. "Okay."

I narrowed my eyes.

He was being way too calm about all of this, which made me think he might already be planning to bend the rules as soon as the lights went out.

"And," I added, feeling the need to cover all bases, "we’re not talking about the past tonight."

His expression softened a bit. "All right."

"And no asking me dumb emotional questions."

"Such as?"

"Like..." I hesitated, realizing that trying to define "emotional" while standing just a few feet away from the guy who had caused me four years of emotional turmoil was a bit tricky. "Anything that sounds emotional."

"That’s quite a broad category."

"Perfect. Plenty of topics for you not to ask about."

A quiet laugh escaped him, and I immediately regretted it because I missed that sound more than I wanted to admit. It felt different from the laughter I remembered from long ago, deeper now, maybe a tad quieter, but still unmistakably his.

Hearing it in my bedroom after all these years did something to my chest, settling somewhere between my ribs and refusing to budge.

Damien looked at me for another moment. "Anything else, Sunshine?"

I ran through a mental checklist of boundaries I could quickly come up with. "No."

He nods solemnly. "I’ll do my best to survive these conditions."

"You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?"

Damien shrugged with a smirk and I rolled my eyes and climbed into bed, trying not to brush against the other side of the mattress. Damien turned off the light a moment later.

The room sank into darkness.

And all of a sudden, every ridiculous rule I had set became a lot harder to stick to.

The bed seemed a lot smaller than it had just five minutes ago. The distance I’d measured with my eyes earlier now seemed laughably insufficient, and I was hyper-aware of every inch of space between us.

I lay rigidly on my back, staring into the darkness even though there was nothing to see. Damien was right next to me, with what I had generously determined was enough space to qualify as a demilitarized zone.

I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him breathing, slow and steady, and somehow that was even worse.

Four years.

Four years since we’d shared a room.

Four years since I’d heard him breathe beside me.

Four years since I’d fallen asleep knowing he was just a few feet away.

The mattress shifted slightly when he adjusted himself, and I noticed it immediately. The slight creak of the bed frame felt louder than it should have, and I found myself paying attention to every small movement as if my life depended on knowing precisely how far away he was.

I hated my brain.

I hated my heart.

And most of all, I hated that my body seemed to have no loyalty at all.

I pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it under my chin as if the extra fabric could somehow shield me from the guy lying less than an arm’s length away. Damien remained silent next to me.

For several minutes, we were quiet.

The silence should have been peaceful.

Instead, it felt painfully loud.

I could hear the faint hum of the old fan in the corner, the occasional sound of a car passing outside, Dad moving around somewhere in the hallway before he quieted down, and under all that, Damien’s breathing.

Each time he inhaled, I noticed. Each little creak of the mattress, I noticed. Every time his arm shifted under the blanket, I noticed. The darkness seemed to amplify every tiny sound until the entire room felt charged with awareness.

I wondered if he sensed my presence too.

Then I immediately decided I didn’t want to know.

I was starting to think sleep was going to be a little ambitious.

Then Damien’s voice came, low and quiet in the dark.

"Have you been sleeping well these past few years?"

I stared at the ceiling, the question was simple, but it landed heavier than it should have.

"...Sometimes," I said.

"That’s not an answer."

I exhaled through my nose. "I take pills. When it gets too bad."

There was a short pause. I felt him shift slightly on the mattress, the warmth of his body drawing closer even though he still hadn’t touched me.

"Pills," he repeated, like he didn’t like the word.

"It’s not a big deal."

"It is to me." His voice stayed soft, but there was something firm underneath it. "We can’t have that, Sunshine."