Page 17 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I clear my throat and he doesn’t react. Figures.

“Damon,” I say loudly this time and his head snaps up. Those familiar green eyes narrow as they land on me and he pulls out an earbud and takes the cigarette from his lips, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

“Roman,” he says, clearly looking unimpressed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can we talk?”

He raises an eyebrow. “About what?”

“You know what,” I say, then nodding towards the sketchpad. “Nice work by the way.”

He follows my gaze and shrugs. “Thanks. Didn’t know you were into art.”

“I’m not,” I admit, stepping closer and leaning with my hip against the stone table. “But I know frustration when I see it.”

He snorts and sets the charcoal down before taking a drag of his cigarette. “So what’s this about? If you’re here to critique my work—”

“You said to come to you if I need a hit,” I blurt out and I watch as his lips twitch in a barely there smirk.

“I did, didn’t I?”

I wonder if he’s smirking because he’s thinking back to that night in the alley. “Yeah, and I’m taking you up on it.”

Damon leans back on the bench, his cigarette balanced between the tips of his fingers as he studies me. “You’re serious.”

“As a fucking heart attack.”

He stubs out his cigarette on the stone table and setting his sketchpad aside. “Alright, Hotshot,” he says, getting to his feet and brushing off the charcoal dust. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist but I don’t back down. I’ve come this far and I’ll be damned if I’ll let him see me sweat.

“Right here?” I ask, glancing around the handful of students still milling about.

He smirks. “What’s wrong? Scared someone’s gonna see?”

“Not scared,” I say, stepping closer to him. “Just making sure you’ve got the balls to follow through.”

Damon’s smirk widens and before I can register what he’s doing, his hand shoots out, grabbing the front of my hoodie and pulling me close. “You want a hit, Hotshot? You’ve got one.”

My pulse kicks up and Damon doesn’t hesitate. He pushes me back and his fist connects with my jaw before I even have time to brace for it. The force snaps my head to the side and for a second, the world tilts.

Pain explodes across my face, but instead of knocking me out, it does the complete opposite. My knees buckle and I drop to the ground, but a rush of heat follows—a blissful, all-consuming daze that leaves me grinning like an idiot.

The metallic taste of blood spreads across my tongue, but I don’t care. My head lols back and for a second, I don’t think, I just close my eyes and breathe, the pain grounding me in a way nothing ever has.

“You’re fucking insane,” Damon says from somewhere above me.

I open my eyes and look up at him, grinning. “You think so?”

“Without a doubt,” he says, then he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. Jeez, how fucking strong is this guy? I’m not exactly light. “You look like you just got laid, not punched in the face.”

I laugh and wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “Guess you’ve got the magic touch,” I say and fucking wink at him.

What the hell. Is punchdrunk a thing?

He narrows his eyes at me, his grip on my bicep tightening before he pushes me away. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“Probably,” I admit, still smiling and he shakes his head as he starts packing up his shit and shoving it into his backpack.

---