Out of everything that's shit about this world, I was expecting Damien Black to be the absolute worst. Honestly, I wasn't that far off.

"Woah there, baby girl." What an icky thing to say.

He smiles—no, sorry, smirks—down at me with a practiced ease. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

I'm all too aware of how firmly his fingers press into my arms, how his cologne is the right kind of musky, how his shoulders are broad and his jawline is sharp and his eyes are the most perfect shade of green I've ever seen in my entire life. Maiya, Daffy, readers: I get it. I do.

I just also happen to know what kind of man this is. And I think he's the absolute fucking scum of the earth.

"Um." I'm staring up at him—even with these heeled booties on, he still has a considerable height advantage. And Other Sawyer has to be like around five-ten. (Being a tall girl makes you an antagonist.) (Case in point: Daffy is barely five-foot.)

He squints down back at me. "Are you okay, babe?"

I try not to make a face. A scrunched up grimace turns into an awkward, more scrunched smile, and I manage a little nonchalant half-shrug with it too. "Just a bit tired, that's all." I hate how babyish this voice is. But if there's one thing I learned from my 3 a.m. Wattpad binge-session, it's that this man loves infantilized women. So, for the sake of the plot, I am simply too widdle.

He bites his lip a moment, smoldering down at me like he's trying to make it awkward. And then he says, "Yeah." Just, yeah.

I wonder if he thinks Africa is a country.

"Well...." I don't know what we're still doing here. I take a step back from him, and his hands drop to his sides. I flash him what I hope is a winning smile, then do my best to strut over to his car—his 1969 Pontiac Firebird, oh my god. I stumble on the way there but manage to catch myself.

"I've never seen you walk like that before," Damien says from behind me. "You good?"

"I'm fine." Nice to know that I am so not selling this. "Just a bit out of it today."

"Well that's an understatement. You seem like a whole new person today."

Oh my GOD. I yank the Firebird's door open and sigh. "I'm fine, Damien. Everything is fine, okay? There's nothing to worry about. Just leave it." It comes out a little sharper than I'd intended, but like, I'm sorry, but this morning is a lot for me, and I kinda don't care if I offend Little Mr. In-School Suspension.

We get in the car at the same time. He's already starting the engine when he speaks, looking at me with those dark eyes and a sudden scowl. "Fucking hell, Sawyer, I'm sorry, okay? You're just walking a bit weird. Is it so bad for me to ask if you're okay? What, is your tampon in wrong or something?"

Ugh. The tampon question, a close cousin to the "are you on your period" question. I hate the tampon question. I remember back in the seventh grade, when Braxton Peterson said the same thing to Maiya in first period math. I threw a pencil at the back of his head and called out, "Hers is fine. Is yours?" I got made fun of for that one, somehow. Just, ugh. It's such a childish thing to say that I'm almost surprised that it came from a man who looks this fucking old.

I meet Damien's scowl with my own. Maiya might not have been able to deal with guys like this, but I was always bitchy enough for the both of us. "I don't know why you think it's okay to address me like that, but let's both agree here and now that you're never gonna speak to me like that again, okay?"

His expression doesn't change. He leans in closer, though, and even though I know he's trying to intimidate me, it still takes effort not to shrink back. There's a darkness in those green eyes. Honestly, this man's very face feels like a crime against nature. "Baby," he says, his voice low and disturbingly gravelly, "I'll speak to you any way I want."

And then he leans in more. His eyes roll back as his eyelids flutter and his lips part. I'm trying not to laugh, but WOW. He's doing the Guy Trying To Kiss You™ face. I can't. Even if I liked men, I think I'd still want to puke.

I reach out and press his forehead back with my pointer finger. His eyes snap open, and I smile. "Yeah, no, Damien. That's not gonna work for me."

I don't know how I'm expecting him to react. Would it really matter if he were violent with me? If he got into a fight with me in the middle of this driveway? I'm already dead. For the most part, at least. I think. Still, this doesn't matter. None of this matters. He can act however the fuck he wants. And I'll do the same.

But there's no outburst. Surprisingly. Damien pulls away, and I realize what Maiya meant each time she wrote Daffy releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. Tension dissipates in my shoulders and jaw as Damien puts his hands at ten and two and slowly reverses out of the driveway, looking back over his right shoulder as if I'm not even there. I keep my eyes trained forward on the dash. I don't want to look at him.

Like, disaster averted, whatever, slay. I still don't want to talk to this man.

But as soon as Damien switches gears and pulls up to the stop sign marking the beginning of Other Sawyer's Million Dollar Listing-looking-ass neighborhood, he places one massive paw on my upper thigh, stroking the denim with his thumb. I try not to grimace, or to slap his hand away. I hope he doesn't notice that the tightness in my jaw and shoulders has returned, closely followed by a new kind of tightness, one coiling itself up in my stomach, squeezing out my insides.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says. When I check to see if he's looking at me, I see he's not, but I still look away. "You're right. No reason I should be talking to you like that. There's no excuse. There's just a lot going on at home right now."

I like how he said 'there's no excuse' and then proceeded to give an excuse. Nice touch.

It's almost effective, honestly, but I'm not sold. Sure, he's got a troubled home life. I think most boys in these kinds of books do. But at a certain point, I don't know where it stops being an excuse and starts enabling problematic behaviors. I can recall the chapter where Daffy meets his alcoholic father, and Damien nearly crashes them into a tree afterwards. If it weren't for Daffy grabbing the steering wheel—

Fuck.

That tightness in my stomach is so wound tight that I feel like I'm about to explode. It's like I can hear car tires screeching. Screams in my ears. The crunch of metal. I don't think I'm breathing. My head feels floaty; my ears ring.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck.

"I–it's fine," I assure him, smiling as best I can, because I need to diffuse this tension. And I need to not think about whatever happened with Maiya last night, the probably how and why of my coming here. I keep my gaze turned out the window—well away from Damien and his brooding pout and his so-not-age-appropriate face—and I try to quell the shaking in my fingers.

I can feel him looking at me. A quick glance every few seconds or so. I don't dare turn back around to face him. There is simply nothing appealing about interacting with a toxic thirteen-year-old's male ideal, which gathered over three-million reads on Wattpad. (No offense to all the barely-pubescent Wattpad writers out there, I guess.) (Well. Maybe.)

Aw. I was hoping you guys would duke it out more :((((

I side-eye the blue screen till it disappears.

"What if we ditched first period?" I jump when Damien speaks. We've both been quiet for the past five or so minutes, as I've been watching an obscene amount of palm trees and giant houses with massive front gates fly by. Anything but look at him. He's playing classic rock on the radio, because Maiya and Daffy think that liking classic rock makes you quirky and/or different.

I finally look at him. He's staring back, his slight smile working its way across his face when I meet his gaze. He's so attractive, but so ... off-putting.

I just need to get to school. Like the threatening blue screen said. The sooner I get done with that, the sooner I might find out just what the hell is going on here.

Also, sorry, but I am not going to a second location with this ancient-ass man.

"It's the first day," I tell him, pouting. Other Sawyer seems like the kind of girl who pouts. Like Bolt begging for food in that trailer park. "I wanna see everybody ... baby."

Mentally, I am screaming, crying, throwing up. I hate everything about this. This is just so beyond gross. Ugh. Disgusting.

Damien pouts back, but his pout quickly turns into the smirk that I've read way too much about. "Fine, fine. But only because you look so cute when you make that face."

I don't know what else to do but smile awkwardly and turn my gaze back to the passenger-side window.

This had all better be worth it.

A/N -

Thanks for waiting patiently for chapter 2!!! I'd wanted to get this out sooner, but the universe has been kiiinda against me?? I've had a sinus infection (and now ear infection; I can barely hear) for over two months (which might stop me touring Poland/Germany with my choir next Saturday), I'm taking 19 credit hours (that one's on me), and I managed to spill WATER ON MY LAPTOP. LIKE AN IDIOT. so like there's been a lot of crying over here, but surprisingly not as i type this up on a loaner laptop from my university. 

Good things have been happening too though!! Got a CT scan done yesterday so hopefully we can figure out why I live in a constant state of sinus infection. I'm also interviewing a band tomorrow because they requested I come to the show??? Which slaps. I also just started an internship with Fable, a book community reading app, so I'm really excited!!!!

Anyways, might be a while till the next chapter is out. I'm kinda deceased but we're vibing.

If you're doing ONC, how are you doing???? -------------------------->

Okay, I'll see you guys next time!!!!!!!!!

Total WC: 3627