I opened my eyes, the light of a lamp making me squint. I felt around my body, cotton sheets wrapped around me. I could feel the baggy clothes caress my skin. But something wasn't right. The sheets didn't feel familiar. They weren't mine. I opened my eyes all the way to find myself in a dimly lit room. The pale beige walls bare, untouched by anything personal or identifying other than a small TV. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was dreaming and in the room of a sociopathic serial killer in some Criminal Minds episode. I ran my hands over the coarse material of a gray duvet that was neatly laid across my body. There were a couple of boxes scattered around the floor, each marked with a "D". And while the obvious thoughts ran through my brain, I tried to ignore them, all I could focus on was the fact that I was not where I originated. And because my hair was damp, I knew it was real. I clutched the maroon sweatshirt that encompassed me, it was too big, but it was warm, as I sat up in the comfortable bed. I jumped as the doorknob turned and the door opened swiftly. My breathe caught in my throat for only a second as he walked through, recovering before he took another step.

"D-Damien..." I started, my voice faltering ever so slightly, "Where am I? And how did I get here? And why am I here? An-" He cut me off by holding up his hand.

"I'm not a monster, I wasn't going to leave you out there in the rain." He said, like it was obvious. "You're in my room, in my bed, I carried you here, and because I didn't want you to get hypothermia and die. Which is why you're in different clothes." He stated simply, not commenting on the fact that he hadn't mentioned who had dressed me, and if he had, not addressing the fact that I didn't have my bra on anymore.

"Where are my clothes?"

"I put them in the dryer, they'll be done in about half an hour. Now come here." He said demandingly, and I obeyed, sliding over to where he was gesturing to on the foot of the bed. He sat down behind me and grabbed ahold of some of my damp hair.

"What are you doing?" I asked turning my head, my hair slipping from his fingers. It was only then that I saw a hairbrush and some hair ties around his wrists that I relaxed. He took my non-verbal cues to continue without words. We sat in complete, but not awkward, silence as he gently brushed the tangles out of the rats nest that it had become from being wet and then sleeping on it, and then expertly braiding my long brown curls into two french pig tail braids. "How'd you learn to do that so well?" I asked quietly, running my fingers over the seemingly perfect braids.

"After my mom died, I learned how for my little sister." He said with a monotone voice. His face showed no emotion, as if it didn't even affect him at all. Maybe it was just the way that he coped.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered in guilt from bringing it up, as I placed my hand on his arm. He looked up at me. His face told his story for him. You could tell he wasn't sleeping, and that his hair was constantly messy from him running his fingers through it, probably from stress, and his eyes, oh his eyes. His gray eyes dappled with green and blue specks had a story of their own. Different than the other one. This story wasn't stress or anger. It was pain. A deep-rooted pain that you could tell he never let out. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe Celia was right and he was a sociopath. Incapable of feeling emotion, and that's why he didn't seem phased by bringing up his mother. Or maybe I'm reading too far into it. Either way I was determined to figure out what else he was hiding in those eyes.

"No need to be, it's not your fault." He shrugged. His facial expression quickly changed as he opened his mother to speak again. "Vanilla or chocolate?" He asked.

"Both?" I said hesitantly.

"Good choice, we can share." He said grabbing two pint sized tubs of Ben and Jerry's ice cream off of the ground next to the bed, and two spoons. He moved up to the head of the bed and motioned for me to follow. He grabbed a remote and put on Criminal Minds handing me a spoon.

"Hey, how did you know I loved this show?" I asked confused.

"I've sat behind you in Forensics the past week Dottie. I hear you talking to Celia about it all the time. Besides, I happen to enjoy it as well." He remarked, unfazed by my sudden questioning. Nevertheless, who am I to turn down ice cream and my favorite show?

A/N~ AH this chapter is so short! I just needed to get through it and i've had such terrible writers block, and Ive had this idea stuck in my head, so now that i've written it (though shïttly in my opinion) I can move on to another chapter and another idea. anyways, ily!

xoxo Gossip Girl

~Delaney <3