Can't Resist His Charm

Load And Reloaded

In the waiting room, I replay Damian’s hesitant words to me. "Will you wait- for me, please."

Pretty sure he was just joking around because of the shower comment he had made earlier, I had turned to leave after he checked in. But his soft voice as he muttered, “Wait- I can’t stay the night here,” held me back. It was so innocent and almost child-like.

So here I am waiting on a high schooler that I didn’t even like just because I am a good person. I wanted to get out of here so I can- yes, shower for I could feel the germs growing on me now.

Beep. I received a text from Mel then- [Home yet Bunny?]

I replied- [not yet.]

Should I tell her I was with Damian at the hospital? She might be worried and I didn’t want to worry her for she might not sleep well. My mother had already tired her out today with all the walking around and dancing to playing hostess when my mother was busy then introducing her around to the family who came over for the 'real eighteenth birthday bash'.

I send Mel another text. [Something came up. Tell you tomorrow.]

[Nothing drastic, I hope.]

[No babe.]

[Luv ya]

[Ily]

An hour later I can take it no more and I walked to the male washroom casually and seeing it is empty I rush back out to the wall with the hand sanitizer. I couldn’t believe I was doing this but I had no choice as it was an emergency.

I filled my hands and walked back in rubbing and covering both my hands with the clear gel. Pulling my pants down I rubbed the sanitizer on my butt cheeks and legs too.

“I can just leave him here,” I mutter to myself, for I was embarrassed by the lengths I was stepping to. Feeling much better, I pull my pants back up and returned to my seat, and wait another hour while playing a game on my phone.

I wonder why he didn’t call his parents.

“Let’s get you home,” I say with a smile as Damian walked out the door and I thanked the nurse who still looked a bit concerned at Damian’s forehead which was now in a bandage. His face was swollen a bit more and bruised more I noticed as the blood was now gone.

“He needs to stay the night for further-” she started saying to me but Damian interrupted her, “Ah- pish, I need to go home to my bed. I can’t afford that bill miss.”

The woman hands him a clipboard and pen and he scribbles his name onto it. His release form. The nurse still tries to caution him, “But if you are seriously in-”

“Home,” he insisted as he walked past me, ignoring the woman.

But inside the car, Damian insisted I go home to shower first. “I can wait,” he mumbled as he looked outside the car just as he had when we had walked out of the glass doors of the building.

“It’s fine,” I assure him as I started the engine and reverse.

“I insist- I live far, so you will be driving double and you already waited so long. I figured you would have wiped with sanitizer or something.”

Squinting my eyes. I look at him, shifting gears. He was nervous and fidgety.

“Are you still in pain? What did the doctor say?” I try to soothe him when I noticed his fingers going into his mouth and he bit into his nails. From this side, his face was normal almost, because of the dim street lighting. He was lucky to not get a bruised lip I thought although a bruised lip would be preferred to his entire face.

“He said I’m fine and look- a prescription,” he held the paper with the doctor's scrawl up for me to see before putting it inside the dash. “I’m wet,” he explained to me and I nod.

Inquisitively, I ask, “Why didn’t you call your mum?”

“Cuz, I don’t need to? Lighten up man, I’m nineteen. Can you spare me a change of clothing too?”

“What about the police?” I prod again.

He became silent then and turned to face the road as I stopped by a red light. Looking at him in the mirror I saw his face etched in pain- as if he wanted to cry then he steeled it up and deadpans, “Would you call the cops on your father?”

'His what?'

He stops talking then but I know he has a lot on his mind for I saw the muscles on his cheekbones working. I try to keep my mind clear about what he just said and decided to be patient, knowing he would say what he wanted to only when he was comfortable enough to talk about it. But damn- what a sh*itty situation.

Minutes later, I parked in the driveway and not the garage for I would be back down in a few minutes, and Damian and I got out of my car. The house is quiet as I make my way up to my room with Damian whose eyes still had that shocked look from when we had pulled in.

“Sh*t man. You’re loaded. And reloaded,” he exclaimed as he saw my room. “So- this is how the-high and mighty live?”

Never have I ever, heard that expression, 'loaded and reloaded' before today and I smiled when Damian looked around him. I walk to my cupboard and take out two sweats bottoms and t-shirts and a towel and place them on my bed as Damian still had that 'amazed' look on his face.

Yes, it was a bit on the lavish side as my father had a saying that a man’s home is his comfort away from the world. The walls were of light gray and soft blue shades and nothing was out of place. Two art pieces hung on one wall to my right, underpainting lights. Nothing else decorated my wall beside a round white clock that was placed on the other side. Everything is neatly tucked away in the drawers or placed on the closet shelves. Aside from the fact that I kept it tidy, a maid was cleaning behind me almost daily.

My king-sized bed was of a modern style with metallic accents that were at the center of the room.

“Did you know we spend a third of our lives inside our bedroom?” I ask him just as my father had asked me. Damian sat down heavily on the grey-colored ottoman and brought his feet up on the footer and replied, “No way. I barely see mine.”

He barely sees his bedroom? What does that even mean? But instead, I voiced, “Did your father really do that to you?”

“No- I lied. Didn’t you make a fuss about a shower?”

“You lied?” I let my loose jaw hang open.

“No, but you irritated me with the foolish question. Yea he beat me. He and his friends for money. Happy? I’m broke now. I can’t even buy my medicine.”

Damian’s small outburst caught by yet again by surprise and I gaped at him. Sure, I knew some fathers were terrible but I had never actually met someone like him. My father made sure I wasn’t exposed to this part of society.

“Shower?”

“I used the-”

“No- you didn’t,” Damian’s eyes bulge and a smile c***k out. Judging by the way his facial muscles hold the comical, unbelieving expression that it had entered his mind about me using the hospital’s hand sanitizer.

“I did,” I bend over for the giggles just kept on coming.

“I couldn’t smell it because-” he pointed to his slightly swollen face as he laughed on. "I bet you're still going to-"

Nodding, I head to the bathroom area as he seemed to not be interested in cleansing himself.

“All yours now," I say minutes later when I emerged from the bathroom fully showered and changed into clean, sweat cotton pants and a t-shirt. But Damian was out cold on the rug, next to my bed. He had spread the towel I had given him first and was lying on his stomach on top of it. I didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to ruin the rug or if he didn’t go on the bed or because he didn’t want to stain my bed.

Both made me feel ashamed of my status.

Did he think I was that low- or 'high and mighty', to refuse him a good night’s rest? This also saddened me to know that he thought like that. But more importantly- what or who made him think that way? Did he hate me for living like this while he couldn't afford medication? How would he eat tomorrow without money for a meal?

How could his own father do this to him? Where was his mother? Did he have siblings? Were they smaller than him or older? Were they also being bullied by this man who was supposed to protect them?

Remembering how his facial expression had changed in the car, on our way back here and I know that Damian has a lot of battles to fight and facing them. He was hardening himself emotionally.

Fine, he could spend the night, I decided for he did seem like he didn't want to go home, and besides, my parents were already in bed fast asleep. Although I wonder why he just didn’t stay at the hospital.

Should I wake him to go use the guest bedroom? I ponder for a moment thinking against it for he did knock out from his body having been put under strain. Not even an athletic body would be able to stand many hits against it.

I found myself wondering if he was bruised anywhere on his body besides his head and I looked to his soiled hands and noticed he had changed out of his blood-stained t-shirt and into mine but still had on his dirty pants. The pants I had taken out for him earlier, still lay on the bed. I take the stained shirt off the floor and threw it in the bin and then proceeded to clean his blood-stained hair and hands. I pull off his wet shoes and socks and dried his feet.

Gosh- why couldn’t he shower first? Ugh, I’m not going to wipe him off…he can keep his germs with him on the floor. But what about his wet pants?