Saturday Night Date Night

"Let me take you somewhere."

Looking up from my notepad, I find Damon staring at me, his laptop open to the word document he's been on for the past hour. We've finally gotten a chance to work on our assignment uninterrupted. Actually, we've been sitting in silence until now.

"What?"

"Let me take you out, somewhere nice," he says, his eyes scanning my face. For what, I don't know. Why would he take me out anywhere? Why does he want to spend more time with me than he has to? I pushed him away. I fought with him to leave me alone. Why would he want me back?

"Why?"

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I want to do something. I . . I don't know. I miss you, I guess," he says, his voice considerably quieter. He shouldn't like me, shouldn't miss me. Shouldn't be my friend. He'll get shit for it, from everyone. He'll get wrapped up in my shitty world. I'm just going to end up leaving him again.

"You're going to get shit for being my friend," I tell him, going back to doodling flowers in the margin of my page. There's no point sugar-coating it. It'll be better if he resents me anyway. Better than being attached.

"What if I want to be more than your friend?" I freeze. He's insane. He doesn't realize the consequences. Even if we could somehow surpass them, we couldn't. I can't. He'll want things that I'm too afraid and broken to give him. And Lily . . . And I can't let him get attached. God, how do I tell him without spilling anything . . . I've never been in this situation before. I shake my head. It can't happen, it won't. Some of the light in Damon's eyes dies out. It makes me feel even worse than I already do. Especially considering that I too want what he's proposing. I wasn't like Jake, I didn't want to push him away. I had to. I had no control over my magic, my emotions, or my thoughts. I couldn't let him get hurt.

"Give me a chance, Aya," he says, "let me take you somewhere. Give me a day, just a day. If it's a no afterward, I'll drop it. One chance."

I want to go. I want to spend the day with him. I want to kiss him. I want it all. But I don't want any more pain. I want to rest. I want silence.

Looking back up at Damon, at the sadness so clear in his eyes . . . I don't want to hurt him. My death will hurt him enough if what he is saying is true. He doesn't deserve for me to hurt him, not after everything.

"I can only do Saturday. I have work."

He beams at my acceptance of his proposal. Not a smile in sight but his eyes light up the room. I almost smile at him. Happy that I could see him like this before I die. Happy that I could make him so happy. Wishing that he still loved me as I do him.

"I'll make it work. Now, get back to your essay, young lady."

I shake my head and look down at my notebook, the urge to draw anything gone. I'm so thankful to have felt this kind of love. I can only hope that he feels the same at least once before he dies. I hope he goes peacefully.

*_*_*_*

I take off out of the drama room as fast as my fragile legs will take me, huffing and puffing as I go. I knew I couldn't trust him. I wouldn't let myself believe it, but I knew deep down. I refused to let myself think that the person I love was lying and wouldn't actually protect me. I should have stayed afraid. Have I learned nothing over the years?!

I taste the saltiness of my tears before I feel them coming down my face. Frantically looking around for the boy's bathroom, my heart is going off a million miles an hour. He won't look for me in the male bathroom. I might be planning my death but I don't want any more pain. I can hear him and his lackeys behind me, attempting to get out of the crowded classroom to get to me. Damon promised me he wouldn't leave me alone, that he would protect me at school at the very least. But he's not here. It's the end of the school day and he isn't here. He promised me. He lied.

Quickly, I duck into the boy's bathroom, dropping my bag on the floor and slumping against the wall. The room tilts as I bend over, heaving to catch my breath. Everything is so much effort. Walking, at this point, is more than I can handle. I have no clue how I was able to run. As I catch my breath I listen carefully. I hear a group of heavy feet run past but I know better than to come out already. I stay hidden and count down the minutes. Counting until I reach fifteen minutes before pushing off the wall. Throwing my body into the door to open it, I take a step out. As I do I see Joshua leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for me.

He smirks, uncrossing his arms, "You're not that slick, y'know. I saw you from a mile away. Get back in there." When I don't move, he starts forward and crosses the hall with ease, shoving me back into the bathroom. His hand meets my cheek, no doubt a move to disorient me. It works. Before I can regain my bearings his hand closes around my neck and he has me backed up against the wall. His eyes fixate on the blood now dripping from my nose, a bead of sweat dribbling down from his hairline as he quickly averts his gaze from it. The more that he and Jake have hung out, the worse he's gotten. I wouldn't be surprised if they exchange notes.

Joshua smirks and snarls in my face, "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you at the club, haven't seen you in a while." I don't answer him, and he snarls again, his hand traveling beneath my shirt.

"You've been a naughty girl, haven't you?"

He reaches my hair a moment later and pulls it, pushing me down to my knees. Then he unzips his jeans and pulls out his member.

"Come on, you dirty girl." Knowing there's no way I'm getting out of this, I close my lips around him. It barely takes him a minute to start moaning and pulling on my hair. He pulls hard enough that the back of my head hits the wall. My eyes squeeze shut and I choke briefly, the pain splintering through my head. He starts thrusting his hips in time with my moving mouth, balling his hands in my hair tighter.

"Oh yeah. Just like that, you dirty bitch. Agh . . fuck." It barely takes a few more minutes of his moaning and groaning and pulling until he finishes in my mouth. I don't swallow it. He pulls out of my mouth and I part my lips, letting the substance drip out of my mouth, onto my neck and hoodie. The salty taste coats my tongue like a glove. I can feel it all across my lips, still streaking down my neck and onto my hoodie. I stay sitting there as he turns to clean himself off with toilet paper from one of the stalls. As he's cleaning himself up I very quickly muster the strength to be able to run out of the bathroom. As long as I can get out of the bathroom I know he won't follow me, he got what he wanted.

So as he's buckling up his jeans I use the floor to propel myself to my feet and I leg it out of the bathroom. I force myself to keep running, hauling open the front doors of the building and forcing my legs to keep up their pace until I hit a singular tree outside the student car park. At the tree, my legs give out. I collapse onto the grass and as I collapse, I burst into tears. I lean back against the tree, heaving and panting and trying not to throw up what little food is in my tiny stomach. I want to scream. I want to scream and rage and punch and kick. I want the energy to do those things.

I glance around as I try desperately to stop sobbing. When I see Joshua waltz out the front door I pray to my Goddess that he does not see me. Once he's in his car I pull my hoodie over my face, resting my bead back against the tree trunk. I want to become invisible. I can do it. I'm just too much of a coward to do it. Too scared of Maxwell and Jake, and those people who used to hunt my father and me.

The smell of men's cologne and cookies stuffs up my nose not a second before hands are touching my face. Tears burst from my eyes like a tsunami. I don't have the energy to run from him. I don't have the energy to walk from him.

"Amaya?"

A sob wracks my body at the sound of his voice. Now he shows up? I wish he weren't here. I don't want him to see me like this, liar or no. Blood and cum all over me, all over my clothes. But I don't have the energy to fight him as he lifts my chin. A blank look crosses onto his face as he looks over my hoodie and face, fixating on my lips.

"Breathe," he says, "In and out. Can you walk?" Tears not stopping, I shake my head. I can't even get up. So he nods. He grips my underarm with one hand and my waist with the other. He lifts me with ease, unsurprisingly. The last time I looked at a scale it was in the forties. He walks at my pace, helping me take one step at a time. At his car, he opens the door for me and helps me sit in the passenger seat. He takes a full-blown hunting knife out of his car and cuts off his shirt sleeve at the elbow. Using that bit of shirt he wipes it against my neck, transferring most of the substances from my skin to the fabric. Then, using the clean side, he gently wipes my face and across my lips. Still silent, he takes the half-full bottle of water out of the passenger door and passes it to me, stepping back.

"Swish and spit." I do as he instructs, taking a long swig from it, cringing at the taste as it mixes with blood and cum. And spit. I do it until my mouth feels semi-clean and the bottle is empty. As Damon squats in front of me he chucks the bottle into the backseat.

"What did he do to you?" I shake my head, but he doesn't let this one go. Gently, he grasps my chin, guiding me to look at his face.

"I came to surprise my Kitten, only to find her crying with blood and that pigs seed all over her. Please tell me. What did he do to you?"

"You weren't there," I tell him, lips along with voice wobbling as I try to hold back from breaking down again.

"You promised." He grabs my face with both hands, his eyes ringed with silver.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," he apologizes, his breathing shaky.

I shake my head, trying to get his hands off me, "It's fine. It's not important."

He stares incredulously, "Never think that. You are . . . You're so important."

I laugh, not out of joy. I stare at his basil green eyes as I speak, "I'm dying, Damon. You know that."

He shakes his head, "No, I'm not gonna let that happen. Whatever . . Whoever is doing all this to you, I won't let them."

He wipes away my tears as fast as they come, as I start crying harder.

"It's not even them. I don't want to live anymore, Damon. I don't hold hope that I will miraculously survive or become happy. I just want to sleep and never wake up. I want to die."

Damon goes absolutely silent, a tear slipping down his face as I continue, "You don't get it. You couldn't possibly understand. My life isn't worth living anymore. I don't want to live it."

"Please," he begs me, his voice uneven, "Please tell me who is doing this. Please. Let me help you, Amaya!"

I look away. I can't bear to look at him, not now. I know he just wants to help, but he can't. No one can. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling it out of my face. Sensing he's about to continue, I shake my head.

"No one can help me."

He grabs my face again, rubbing his thumbs along my sharp cheekbones.

"Just . . Just stay at mine. At least. Tonight, just . . come home with me, spend the night. Please."

"After work."

He laughs, taking his hands away and wiping his own face, "Okay, good enough. I'll fucking take it. But I'll drive you home now. And I'll pick you up after work, okay?" I nod. There's a little late-night Thai food place next door to the club. I'll get him to pick me up from there. As he wipes his face I take a moment to look at him. Imprinting his face into my memory, wishing I could live until Saturday. Wondering what he's going to plan for it, he's amazing at planning dates. But knowing I won't live that long, I imprint his face into my memory, into my heart and soul. Praying to my Goddess that his face will remain with me in the afterlife.