?LIBIA (Find my confidence)?
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Chapter Ten.
When Damon arrived, Libia was wearing one of the outfits he’d bought her. Ben had stumbled throu-gh the kitchen in a daze, gr@bb£d an apple, and stumbled out the door, mumbling about college clas-ses. Shortly after, Sadie had come down, dressed in her work uniform, complaining about last minute calls. She’d hvgged Libia with all her might, agreeing to the day off. Libia didn’t mention the reason for it. She only said that she nee-ded it.
She wore the pair of shorts he’d gotten her, paired with a bright red blouse that was lace and a little low cut for her liking, but still acceptable if paired with an un-dershi-t.
She jumped up when he knocked on the door, quic-kly switching off the TV and gr-abbing her little black purse from the table. She jogged to the door, st©pping to steady her breathing and wait for a few seconds so she wouldn’t seem so eager.
Opening the door, she smiled up at him.
“Hi- holy hell!” He exclaimed, taking in her outfit.
Libia frowned, looking down at her apparel. “What?”
Damon couldn’t seem to form words. It had been a while since he’d seen her in the clothing he’d gotten her. Her long, slender legs were gloriously shown off, and the red blouse she had on accentuated each curve of her b©dy. Not to mention, she looked gracious in red. Absolutely stunning.
Libia looked up at him, her head tilting as he didn’t answer her. His mouth was open slightly, as he took her in.
“Should I change?”
“No!” He exclaimed, startling her. “I mean…no. You look perfect,” She had no idea how much meaning went into those words.
He noticed that her bruises were covered. Not completely gone by any stretch, but not as noticable either. He was glad to see that her most recent bruise wasn’t swollen anymore.
“Okay,” He cl@pped his hands together. “Shall we go?”
Nodding, Libia took the hand he offered her, her heart fluttering in her che-st when he laced their f!ngerstogether. She looked up at him, but he was staring ahead, leading her along as if he weren’t causing her a heart attack.
To her disappointment, it wasn’t sunny today, as it had been for the past day or so. Clouds gathered above, dark and foreboding, although it still remained warm outside – ma-king the air muggy. “br@ce yourselves – winter is coming…back,” She mumbled to herself.
Damon st©pped in front of his motorcycle, a grin splitting his face as he looked at her. “Did you just-?”
“No!” She exclaimed, shaking her head.
“Sure, sure,” He rolled his eyes. “Dork.”
Dork? Did he just call me…dork? Libia thought incredulously.
She suddenly felt her mood drop. What was she to him? A friend? But he’d k!$$£d her so pas-sionately the night before. But calling her dork? That wasn’t something that boded well in the ‘he potentially likes her as more than a friend’ evidence list. The name actually made her feel like a ten year old.
Oblivious to her change in mood, he got on the bike, and started it up. The sudden roar of the engine caused Libia to jump, breaking her from her down-in-the-dumps stupor. Carefully, she threw her leg over the back of the bike, sliding close to him and wra-pping her arms around his w@!st ti-ghtly.
Damon couldn’t help the thri-ll that went throu-gh him when Libia spla-yed her hands over his stomach, and he had to work ha-rd not to shiver at her t©uçh.
They went speeding off, and Libia let out a delighted howl at the exileration that raced throu-gh her.
Her hair flew behind her, and the wind wh!pped at her face. She felt alive.
“Where are we going?” She called in Damon’s ear.
Grinning, he briefly glanced at her over his shoulder. “Somewhere,” He answered vaguley.
Laughing, Libia lightly tapped her forehead on his back. “j£rk!”
He chuckled, gaining even more speed as they zoomed past the traffic light.
It took thirty minutes to get to their destination. They were out of the city, and in an industrial p@rt on the outSk-irts. Libia’s hair was a mess of tangly waves, and she combe-d her f!ngersthrou-gh the strands, trying to detangle it the best she could.
She got off of the bike, looking up at the seemingly-abandoned building they sat in front of. It was an old theater.
“Um…Damon?” She glanced at him apprehensively. “What the heck is this?”
Chuckling, Damon rummaged throu-gh a bag on the back of his bike and c@m£ up with a flashlight. He c@m£ up behind her. “This is fun, Babe. People say that this building is haunted. I want to see if what they say is true,” He told her.
“Um. Okay, no,” Libia turned and began walking away, but Damon caught her around the w@!st.
“Come on, Babe! I’ll protect you,” He murmured, hisl-ips brushing her ear.
“I’d rather not go into an abandoned building. And anyway, it’s ten AM! That’s ha-rd ly scary,” Libia told him, trying to pu-ll away.
Damon ti-ght£ñed his arms, turning her around and lifting one hand to her chin. He lifted her face to his. “If I had brou-ght you here at twelve at night, you wouldn’t have gone in with me,” He told her.
“And what makes you think I’m going in with you now?”
Chuckling, Damon pu-ll-ed her ti-ghter to him, so her b©dy was flush against his. “Because de-ep inside, you’re as curious as I am to see what’s in there,” He told her.
Libia shook her head. “I think you’re wrong on that account.”
Sighing, Damon leaned in close to her, his breath hitting her face, hisl-ips just ba-rely tou-ching hers as he spoke, “Fine, because I’m asking you to, and it’ll be no fun if you’re not in there with me,” He said.
Letting out a huff at his unfair advantage, Libia crossed her arms over her che-st, pouting. “Fine. I’ll go in the stupid building.”
Damon smiled hvgely. “Let’s go!”
He suddenly let go of Libia, gr-abbing her hand and tugging her toward the building. She felt like the cartoon characters that dug their feet into the ground as the other dragged them along throu-gh the concrete. She managed to pu-ll Damon to a st©p right outside the door, un-der the old, beaten down overhang. The windows to the ticket counter was clouded up and dusty. Libia suddenly felt like a mouse.
“O-on second thought, you go ahead,” Libia took a step back, but Damon dragged her to his side, wra-pping an arm around her w@!st. “Relax. We’ll be fine.”
Libia was on the verge of shaking, when a thought c@m£ to her. “Hey, isn’t this breaking and entering?”
Damon looked down at her, and win-ked. “Maybe.”
“Damon-!” Libia exclaimed, but she was cut off when he was suddenly right there, his eyes boring into hers, theirl-ips inches ap@rt.
“We won’t get caught. I promise. You’ve got to break the rules if you want to break free,” Damon told her.
Furrowing her eyebrows, Libia struggled to think clearly, “B-but-”
“Shh,” He tenderly pressed his f!ngerti-p to herl-ips, silencing her before he began tracing them. “We won’t get in trouble – I promise.”
She was going to go insane if he didn’t back off right then. Literally insane. She’d never been so…constantly t©uçhed by a man before. No matter what they were doing, he seemed to always be tou-ching her in some way. Whether it be his arm around her w@!st, his hand in hers. The way he t©uçhed her face all the time, brushed her hair behind her ear. It was all so new to her, so…confusing.
She was only able to nod. re-leasing her w@!st from his grip, he turned to the door with a smile and a wi-nk her way. There was a jagged hole in the glas-s from previous B&E attempts, so all Damon had to do was reach in and fl!pthe lock. He pushed on the door, gr-unting as it scR@p£d against the floor and pres£nted plenty of resistance.
When the door was completely open, Damon stood back, and Libia scurried to his side, wra-pping her arm around his own and clutching his sleeve with her other hand as she looked around. It was dark inside, despite the sunlight streaming throu-gh the open door. Damon smiled as he turned on the flashlight, thre-ading his f!ngersthrou-gh hers.
It occurred to Libia that she didn’t know this Damon at all. There was a defiant glint in his eyes, one that hinted at the “fugitive bad boy” that everyone had said him to be. She didn’t know Damon well. She knew his protective side of her, and his pla-yful side, his soft side, and a side she didn’t want to see again – his angry side, but she didn’t know his rebel side. Did he do this sort of thing often? Perhaps with his other friends?
Libia looked up at him in the darkness as they moved forward. The light briefly illuminated his face as he ran it over the del@pid@t£d ceiling, and his grin was one that told her that he was having fun.
Libia, however, was a little terrified. The thought of being caught, plus the thought of something actually happening p@rtaining to the supernatural was causing her to tremble next to Damon. Libia didn’t believe in spirits leaving their b©dy to haunt the place they died, but she did believe in Demons. Her mother was a baptist, and the baptist way was ingrained in her mind. She didn’t like messing with things like this.
“D-Damon…I’m not sure-”
“Relax, Babe. I’m right here. If anything happens, I’ll protect you. I promised, remember?” He looked down at her in the darkness, his eyes shining with determination. Libia got the feeling that he wasn’t just talking about their situation at hand.
Still, she nodded, and he began dragging her forward. Despite his as-surances, she still trembled as they went farther into the darkness. Consession counters sat empty and broken. The despl@ythat used to show candy were ba-re, the glas-s broken, browned, and even blackened in some places.
“This place used to be all the rage in my parents youth,” Libia noticed a change in Damon at the mention of his parents. He was tense, his eyes showing with a new kind of anger – res£ntment. “They said that all the clas-sics used to pl@yhere – Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, House on a Haunted Hill, Romeo and Juliet, yaddy, yaddy,” He waved his hand, his muscular arm flexing at the movement. “My parents went to see every showing there was.”
“Why is it haunted?” She asked him, imagining some stupid story about the place being built on a burial ground or some idiot bringing a Ouija board in the attic.
They entered a hallway, which led down both ways. A large, colonial 1 was painted above the door on the left, and on the right, was a number two. They walked down the hallway to the left, st©pping in front of the two large doors, which used to be painted vibr@nt red, were now faded and weathered. Their originally golden-painted wooden, swirled handles were now ch!pped and dirty.
Damon pressed a hand against the door, and then looked at Libia, before he spoke, “A man climbe-d up on stage in the middle of The Count of Monty Cristo, claimed that he had nothing else to live for, and sh0t himself.”
Libia g@sped, wrenching out of Damon’s grasp as if she’d been shocked. Without another word, she ran. She ran back to the open door, her shoes cl@pping against the dil@pid@t£d wooden floor. “Libia!” Damon called her.
She ignored him. Did he really think that she would stay after she’d heard that?
No wonder this place was rumored to be “haunted.” This was a h0tsp©t for maniplulative demons to have their way with the history of the theater! With the poor man’s story of depression.
She didn’t st©p, only slowed, as she reached the sidewalk. She walked briskly now, glaring at the ground. She couldn’t believe he’d taken her there! She couldn’t believe she’d let him lead her into that place!
She was walking slow enough that Damon easily caught up to her in a jog. She harshly shrugged his hand off of her arm without looking at him.
“Libia, come on!” He gr@bb£d a hold of her arm again, spinning her around.
“Leave me alone!” She told him.
“Libia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you in there,” He lifted her face, but she stared at his mouth instead of his eyes. “Libia,” Damon gro-an ed, pas-sing a hand over her forehead and brushing stray hairs from her face. “Look at me.”
“Why did you take me in there, Damon? I’m not…I’m not br@ve like you…not as adventerous. I believe that messing with things like that will bring something bad along with you,” She finally whispered.
Damon was silent for a few moments, before leaning his head down until she was f0rç£d to meet his gaze, those de-ep blue eyes warming. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you felt so strong about it. If I had known, you wouldn’t have come within a mile of this place,” He told her.
As the last words left his mouth, rain began to fall. It was in occasional drops at first, and then suddenly it was pouring. Both of them looked up at the dark sky, and then at each other. Thinking the same thing.
We c@m£ on a motorcycle.
“$h!t!” Damon exclaimed.
Libia covered her mouth as a loud giggle escaped. They were beginning to soak in the sudden downpour, and it was getting colder, but Libia couldn’t seem to care, as more laughter escaped. After a few seconds, Damon joined her. They laughed at their situation at hand, and at the fight they’d just shared. They laughed at their strange friendsh!p, and at everything that had happened recently. They just laughed. Libia took a step forward, but sli-pped on the now sli-ck concrete.
“Umph!” She said as she fell into Damon, and he sli-pped. They went tumbling onto the ground, laughing as they went.
“Ow,” Damon said in a casual manner, blinking as rain fell into his eyes.
Libia could ba-rely hear him over the pouring rain, but could see hisl-ips move as she was above him. Libia’s laughter slowly died down, as he lifted a hand to tuck a we-t tendril of hair behind her ear. “Are you alright?” She asked him, voice soft.
He stared into her eyes, his own terribly soft. Instead of answering her, he asked, “Why can’t I st©p thinking about you?”
Libia’s heart st©pped, before pounding violently in her che-st. “What?”
And there it was, that soft, genuine smile he loved to give her. And she loved to receive. “Don’t look at me with those big eyes. It’s not fair, Baby. Do you know how much power those two, chocolate brown orbs have over me? I’m not sure you should know,” He mused.
Libia wrinkled a brow in confusion. bu-tterflies were now wreaking havoc in her stomach with every tender t©uçh to her face. Every endearing pet name. She was falling, and falling ha-rd . She was unable to speak, unable to move. Her eyes were caught in his, and even when the cold began to pene-tratethe thin shi-t she had on, she could ba-rely feel it.
“Libia, baby,” Damon cooed, smoothly lifting up on one elbow below her, so their faces were inches ap@rt.
Blinking, Libia found herself breathing in his scent. She felt a familiar tickle in her nose. “What?”
Chuckling, Damon grinned slightly. “Can I…”
“Yes?” She hedged, almost too eagerly, as he trailed off.
“I’d really like to-”
Suddenly, Libia felt the tickle in her nose get stronger, she pu-ll-ed back, covering her face with her hands just in time to let out one hell of a sneeze.
As soon as it happened, Damon seemed to realize where they were. He then realized how cold it was, and that Libia was only wearing that S-xy blouse and shorts.
quic-kly, he pu-ll-ed her close to him, easily standing with her wra-pped in his arms. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll call a cab and have the bike picked up later.” He told her.
“What about the theater?” She asked him.
“Don’t worry. The police come throu-gh every week to have it closed up again. We’ll wait around the corner,” He as-sured.
Holding her ti-ghtly to his che-st, he scooped her up in his arms, jogging down to the end of the street, he turned left, finding a suitable bench with a little roof over the t©p – an old bus st©p.
He carefully set her on the dry bench, sitting beside her. As soon as he was comfortable, Libia curled into him. “Wait to call a cab, Damon,” Libia sighed, settling her head on his shoulder, and staring out at the sheeting rain. “This is nice.”
“You’re cold,” He said to her, his eyebrows furrowing.
Libia shook her head. “I’m okay…now,” She told him, cudd-ling dee-per into his side for emphasis.
He stared at her for a moment, deliberating, before he sighed. “Alright. But if you start shivering I’m calling a cab and taking you home.”
Libia shook her head, as if arguing with him. She didn’t want to go home. She was sure her father had heard of what had happened. He’d be home in hours. Libia didn’t want to remember what happened to her. She wanted to forget. In order to do that…she nee-ded Damon.
He wra-pped an arm around her shoulders, and she turned her head so it was buried in his side. She breathed in his scent, setting her mind free of all thoughts but of the man beside her.
Damon could only watch the action, his breath leaving him, and his heart racing. Her warm breath seeped throu-gh his we-t shi-t, the simple action warming his entire b©dy to the core. Her long black lashes were we-t against her cheek, and her hair was in we-t tresses down her back. She was the definition of lovely.
He found himself lifting his hand and stro-king her dark hair, running his f!ngersthrou-gh the slightly tangled mess. His eyes followed the movement of his hand, as if it were not his doing. Finally, he knew the answer as to why he couldn’t get her off of his mind.
She’d held his thoughts in her hands the day that she ran away from him after clas-s.
And his love.
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