Page 65 of Ruining Vanessa

16

VANESSA

I’ve been so exhausted these past few days that I’m not surprised that I managed to nap. I’m more shocked that Damien allowed me to nap undisturbed, and that he fell asleep next to me, with his clothes on.

“Damien?” I whisper, testing to see if he’s awake. He doesn’t stir though, just like that night at Giulio’s. Damien is a heavy sleeper.

I’m hesitant about getting out of bed without him, but my stomach is grumbling softly. Surely he won’t get upset if I find something to eat? He seems the most reasonable of them in a lot of ways, even if it’s his fault I’m in this predicament in the first place.

But the cuts on my chest and thighs remind me of just how reasonable the three of them really are—or aren’t, rather.

I lie there for another long moment, but my stomach makes another displeased sound. I’ve barely eaten the past few days, and I’m absolutely starving. Maybe Damien has something I can fix for both of us, so it doesn’t seem so bad when he wakes up and finds me out of bed.

I slowly slide out of the bed, relieved when he doesn’t wake up, and glance around the room. The clothes I’d been wearing are still in the bathroom, but they’re dirty, and I’m not eager to expose any of my injuries to dusty and dirty clothes. Instead, I go to his closet and pick out one of his shirts. I’m used to wearing them, after all, and this one is soft and casual.

It smells just like him, and that’s something I don’t really know how to feel about.

I shrug it on and head out to the kitchen. The layout is exactly like Giulio’s condo, and my eyes flick to the closed door where the reptiles live in Giulio’s. I shudder at the thought, but I can’t help but wonder what’s behind the door here. Will it be more snakes and things? What does Damien do for fun?

Giulio has his pets, Slayer apparently has trains, for all that I don’t know what’s going on with those still, and Damien has… What?

I hesitate, not wanting to get myself in trouble. But Damien’s still sleeping soundly, and I just want to peek inside. I carefully open the door, intending to just get a glance and head to the kitchen, but instead, I pause as my eyes take in the sight of a nursery.

It’s a beautiful room, all soft greens and yellows, furnished with a large crib, a rocking chair, a changing table, a dresser…

Perfectly ready for a child. My child.

I wrap my arms around my belly. My eyes prickle strangely, and I don’t know why.

I’m not ready for this, but at the same time, there’s something inside of me that yearns for it. I’ve always wanted a family, a real family. My sister had been the only one I’d had growing up. My father had been a horrible person, my mother is an alcoholic who’d practically pushed me into Damien’s arms to guarantee her own freedom, and I’ve never had contact with many other family members. They’ve all been jerks.

Not that this family wouldn’t be comprised of jerks, either.

I sigh and back up, carefully closing the door to the room. Staring into this room isn’t going to help, and I don’t want to be in there when Damien wakes up. I don’t really want him to know I was snooping.

I go to the kitchen and open the fridge. It’s not as well-stocked as Giulio’s, although one entire shelf on the door is filled with hot sauces. The half-empty jar of dip is labeled extra hot.

I spot a bag of tortillas and grab that along with the eggs, cheese, and tomatoes. I can make a quick breakfast burrito. The pantry reveals a can of beans, and that’s everything I need.

I’m in the middle of frying up my burrito when Damien wanders out, bleary eyed. He’d removed his shirt before coming out here, showing off his hairy chest and belly.

“Does Giulio joke about shaving you?” I blurt out, and I immediately regret it. “Sorry. Um, I was hungry. I’ll make you one too, if you want one?”

Damien sits down at the breakfast counter and nods. “Yes. Thank you. And Giulio did try to shave me once. The razor blade went blunt before he finished.”

For some reason, that makes me smile. Just a little, and not for long, but it’s a funny thought, too.

I put the burrito on a plate and start a second in the pan, bringing the first one over to Damien. “You can pick your own hot sauce,” I say, unable to keep that little smile from coming back. “I wouldn’t know where to start to pick one of yours.”

There’s a little mesh container with utensils in the middle of the breakfast counter, and he takes a fork and knife from it.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says. Two seconds after the first bite, he scrunches up his nose and goes to the fridge to fish out one of the hot sauces.

I finish cooking my own burrito and sit down at the counter as well—with one chair between our spots. I take a bite, and it tastes fine to me. The only cheese Damien had was one with jalapeños in it, so it has a bit of a kick just from that. “Do you ever eat anything that isn’t ultra hot?”

Damien comes back and thankfully doesn’t attempt to sit directly next to me. “Sometimes. Ice cream? Most places don’t serve spicy ice cream. Not a lot of spicy desserts in general.”

“I’m not that bad of a cook,” I say as he practically covers the burrito in hot sauce, a little offended. I might not have much experience, but I can make the basics, and there was nothing wrong with this.

---