**Damon jolted awake**, tumbling off his washing machine-bed with a thud. The impact rattled his entire body, but by now, he was used to the fall.
The TV droned in the living room—*weird*. Mrs. Davis never watched TV past midnight.
He crept down the hallway, scratching his eyes trying to stay awake, bare feet cold against the floorboards. Then he saw it: a **man in a black tuxedo**, lounging in a rocking chair that *definitely* didn't belong in their apartment. The chair creaked back, forth, back— and finally the man muted the TV.
**"So,"** the man mused, voice like gravel scratching on a vinyl track, **"this is the average day in the life of Damon Blake. The depressed little boy who lost both his parents in a car crash.
And yet, years later… still haunted by ghosts and shadows."** A chuckle. **"A beautiful romance that creeps with hints of unimaginable horrors. *Oh*, what a beautiful story to unfold right before our eyes, really."**
The chair rocked harder. Back, forth—then **too far back**. The man vanished mid-motion.
Damon's breath hitched. A whisper slithered against his neck:
**"Wake up and start the show."**
—
He **launched upright**, gasping, and promptly faceplanted onto the floor. **Again**.
*What the hell was that?* He punched his own temples, desperate to claw back the memory—but it was gone. **"If it's important, I'll remember it,"** he muttered, shrugging off the dread coiling in his gut.
—
**Eggs sizzled** in the pan. Fruit cubes glistened on a plate. Then—
**RING RING RING.**
Caleb's name flashed on his cracked screen. **"We're downstairs in the Thunderbird. Get here *fast*."**
Damon yanked on his flannel. **"Your breakfast's on the table, Mrs. Davis!"** he yelled, already bolting out the door.
He **tripped** in the lobby, **scrambled up**, and **slammed** into the Thunderbird's backseat. Patrick peeled out before the door even shut.
**"So,"** Patrick drawled, grinning at the rearview mirror, **"heard you finally got a girl, you little virgin—"**
**Caleb punched his shoulder.** **"What?! I'm *proud* of him!"** Patrick said while swerving lanes. **"Besides, we're inviting you to the football game tonight."**
Damon rolled his eyes. **"Sure, I'd *love* to watch you guys play—"**
**"Perfect place to scout girls,"** Caleb interrupted. **"Isabella's friend's on the cheer squad. *Dig a little*, you might get intel."**
Damon **slammed his head into the roof** trying to sit up too fast.
**"I'll take that as a yes, Dumbo"** Caleb deadpanned.
—
The school parking lot was **eerily normal** for someone who'd missed more days than he'd attended. Damon's eyes darted between cars, searching for **one**: Isabella's black AMG C650. (*Not pink. Never pink—she wasn't a pink girl.*) He had the car's make and model imprinted on his retina ever since she was the one who stepped out of it
**Nothing.**
Caleb slung an arm around him. **"You'll see her later."** Then, **bellowing in his ear**: **"WE HAVE BIOLOGY, LOVERBOY."**
They shoved into class just as **Ms. Adams**—their biology teacher who didn't *hate* Damon so much as she regarded all her students with the same detest and disdain—launched into her lecture. Damon tuned her out instantly, like always as he would just stare at the gup of mascara that was always in the corner of her eye.
The clock's hands always seemed to stay perfectly still in classes . Her voice droned on, like she was always talking to herself about whatever the fuck she rambled on about.
He raised his hand, like he had a question.
Ms. Adams paused mid-syllable, spotting him. Her sigh could've been a gust of wind and her eye roll that followed the room. **"Yes, Mr. Ackerman. You may go to the restroom."**
**"Cool."** He stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
**"Take your bag, too,"** she added dryly. **"Since there's clearly no point in you being here."**
Damon shot her a lazy salute. **"Maybe I'll actually learn something interesting out there."**
Beside him, Caleb slid so low in his seat he was practically under the desk, silently praying the universe would disassociate him from the idiot called his best friend.
Damon slammed the door on his way out—
And froze.
**Isabella.**
Crouched against the lockers, knees pulled to her chest, her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Mascara streaked down her cheeks like inkblots. The hallway was empty except for the distant chatter of classrooms and students skipping class.
Damon's chest tightened. He didn't think—just **acted**.
Digging into his backpack, he pulled out two Twix bars and a napkin, approached her like he was just passing by but stopped by her. He sank down beside her, their shoulders almost touching, and held out a bar and the napkin.
**"Trust me,"** he said, grinning crookedly. **"It helps."**
Isabella's breath hitched. She stared at the candy, then at him—red-rimmed eyes wide, lips parted—before snatching it with a wet laugh. **"You're such a weirdo."**
They sat in silence for five minutes, the only sound her occasional sniffle and the crinkle of chocolate wrappers.
The silence between them stretched, but not uncomfortably - just long enough for Damon to notice and truly appreciate how the fluorescent lights made Isabella's tear tracks shimmer, beautiful on a whole other level. He broke the silence by throwing his arms up dramatically.
"School's a bitch, right?" he said, his voice bouncing off the lockers as the entire hallway was empty. "I mean, what even is the point of half this stuff? When am I ever gonna need to know the mitochondria is the centre of the cell in real life? Or something like that"
Isabella stared at him with those wide, doe-like eyes before a surprised chuckle burst from her lips. For a full minute she just laughed, the sound watery but genuine, and Damon could see the exact moment she really looked at him - not just as some classmate, but as someone who carried his own burdens yet still tried to lift hers.
"I wish school was my biggest problem," she finally said, picking at the edge of her Twix wrapper.
Damon nudged her knee with his. "Well, not to pry," he began, tapping his temple, "but what else is it? And before you get worried - terrible memory ever since some maniac in a car ran me over. Whatever you say? Poof. Gone by tomorrow."
Isabella jabbed him in the shoulder, harder than necessary, but she was smiling now. "You're impossible," she muttered, then took a deep breath.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this but... here goes. My mom and dad were together and happy. Or at least, I thought they were." Her voice hitched. "Until my mom decided she doesn't want to be a mom anymore. Wants to be 'free', whatever that means. And my dad? He up and just decided to 'start over'. In my senior fucking year, Damon. They're fighting over me and my little brother like we're the last can beer at a frat house."
She gestured helplessly and let out a sigh. "Now I'm the new kid in senior freaking year, trying to pretend everything's fine when..." Her voice trailed off as she finally looked at Damon's face, expecting pity or discomfort.
Instead, she found quiet understanding, his usual goofy expression replaced by something more intense - like he was hanging on every word.
"Oh shit," she muttered, wiping her cheeks. "Sorry for trauma-dumping on you."
"Don't be," Damon said immediately. He shifted to face her fully. "Look, yeah, life's shitty. That's just life. But that doesn't mean you can't pull through. Sometimes you gotta grab your problems by the balls-" He made a fist and a crude squeezing motion that startled another laugh out of her. "-and say, 'I'm better than you.'"
He grinned then, that lopsided, infuriatingly charming grin. "And plus, you're incredibly pretty. You'll survive."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."
Damon's hand found hers, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his rough exterior. "Don't pretend you didn't already know that," he murmured, leaning in.
The world narrowed to the space between them. Damon could count the freckles dusting her nose and the vanilla of her hair shampoo, could feel her breath hitch as he closed the distance. The hallway, the school, all of it faded away until there was only this moment, this almost-kiss, the air between them electric with possibility-
**BRRRRIIIIINNNNGGG!**
The bell shattered the moment like glass. Students burst from classrooms, the spell broken as the hallway flooded with noise and movement. Isabella jerked back, her cheeks flaming, but she didn't let go of his hand.
Damon sighed dramatically. "Worst. Fucking. Timing. Ever."