HAVEN’T TOLD THE NAME

Wilona's P.O.V

I don't bother adding on how long it took me to come up with the courage to ask him to eat pizza with me, or how it took even longer to come up with ordering food was a good solution for my previous concerns. That was embarrassing.

"It's not." He replies simply. I nod before slipping the phone back into my pocket.

"If I'm cooking, you're helping," I demand while crossing my arms.

"Because you helped with breakfast." He tosses back humorously.

"Next time I'll make sure to lend the helping hand."

"Thank you," Damon replies, head held high by stubbornness. "You get everything ready and I'll go feed Blaze."

"Because the fatass needs more food," I reply with a snort while he opens the door. He flips me off in response and lets the door close behind him.

I laugh to myself and unlock Sassy's leash, fixing her with some food and water. I throw off my jacket and jeans, slipping into shorts before placing a record to play softly in the background. Washing my hands, I glide around the kitchen, pulling the needed ingredients out from the various cupboards and fridge.

The door flicks open to reveal Damon in different clothes from earlier. I make out a white muscle t-shirt which favored his large biceps and loose sweatpants that hung perfectly from his waist, or at least I assumed that last part... couldn't necessarily see it.

"Terikayi chicken and noodles?" I ask watching him survey the table of food. He nods when he's done and looks to me. "What are you good at in the kitchen?"

"Anything with a knife." He says immediately.

I frown up at him. A pushed away a memory of him carrying a knife the night we met resurfacing. Was it normal for people to carry around knives? Especially one so large and peculiar.

"You can cut the chicken into small pieces and then the vegetables after," I say and he nods with eagerness. He makes his way to the opposite counter and selected a large knife from the rack and gets to work. "You seem to like knives," I state while filling a pot with water.

I let my eyes stretch to him, his back towards me as his arm tensed and twisted to produce the pressure to the exposed chicken.

"...I do." He replies skeptically as if expecting a certain reaction from me.

"Why?" I ask as I carefully set the pot onto the stove before turning the small knob to an acceptable temperature.

"Wilona," He says jolting me with the use of my full name. I turn to find him facing me, the knife spinning between his fingers.

"Y-Yeah?"

"If I share things about myself that I don't want to, can you do the same?" He asks with so much confidence and ease in his words, that 'yes' almost slipped off my tongue without thought.

"What makes you think there are things about myself I won't want to share?" I reply, after allowing my inevitable response and replying with another question instead.

Damon huffs. The spinning knife twirls speed up as he pushes off the counter allowing himself to stand tall above me, the height making something deep within pulse to life. I stifle the lust before it could build, tall men had always been a super turn-on for me but I didn't want that with Damon.

"Just because I haven't battered you with questions doesn't mean I'm dumb or that I don't have them. I have a lot but I've kept quiet because you clearly seem to hate questions." He says blatantly, reading me like a child's book. "I don't like questions either, but if I am going to share with you, then I want you to do the same."

"And why should I?" I retort, watching him carefully as he shrugs and turns back to the chicken.

"Because you clearly like this little friendship as much as I do," Damon replies before the rough clamping of the knife against the chicken continues.

I mindlessly pop open a pack of noodles before letting them sink into the boiling water. Mind scrambled with the straightforward responses and statements Damon offered, his honesty refreshing and alluring.

"And if there's something one of us absolutely doesn't want to answer?" I ask while he brings the chicken over to me in a small, purple bowl.

"Say banshee and it's off-limits." He says standing above me with a smirk while I frown.

"Banshee? Why banshee?" I ask but he shakes me off while washing his hands and the knife.

"Don't worry about it." He replies through a chuckle, eyes watching the water cascading off his knuckles and into the drain. Neither of us speaks while he steps to the other end of the island which held the vegetables and chopping block, him waiting for my agreement or decline to the offer.

"Why do you like knives?" I ask finally, the question carrying my agreement to his conditions with it.

"My old man taught me how to fight and I picked up on knives pretty quickly." He replies instantly, his voice straining with pain. "The feel of them grew on me."

I let his words settle in my mind, realizing for a shocking moment that this was the first time either of us talked about our families. I kept private for my own reasons; a bad father and counterfeit mother that weren't worth mentioning and a past that did more bad than good to mention.

I hadn't thought about someone having an equally horrible past, family or worse circumstances even, that would keep them hiding things as I did. But what if Damon was like me, in more ways than I originally believed. It seemed possible and the case that he too had things he didn't want to face or relive.

"So have more?" I ask and he looks my way in question. "You had one the night we met, do you have more?"

"Oh," He breathes before chuckling with a hum. "Yeah, I got a lot more. That one was just my favorite, that's why I had it."

"You have a favorite knife?" I question while dousing the chicken with different seasonings.

"Don't you?" He replies, his tone holding so much conviction that for a moment, I thought that I should. That was until he laughed and let his new knife rip against the poor vegetables, somehow not catching a finger between the vigours cutting. "What happened the night I found you?"

The word banshee presses against my lips, pleading to be released in order for the topic to be put to rest. But it didn't seem fair to say no on the first question, I could at least offer him a piece of the truth anything other than the truth and the bastard would call me Taylor.

"The shop owner, Blue, he was supposed to come when my shift end but something happened with his wife so I was stuck there waiting. By the time I got the sense to leave, it was dark out and I could barely see anything." I explain, useless eyes focused on the chicken I was mixing together. "I turned down the wrong road and it was like I closed my eyes, then these people were all around me and I freaked out."

"Did they hurt you?" He growls deep, stunning me for a moment as I look up to find him already looking at me.

"Did you just growl?" I ask with disbelief and slight fear.

"Did they hurt you?" Damon repeats slowly through clenched teeth, knife still in his hands as if waiting for the word to strike.

Not this time

"No," I reply watching him warily. "What would do if I said yes?"

"Doesn't matter now, you said no." He says, returning his attention to the peppers he was slicing into before.

"I could be lying." I offer but he snorts making me chuckle at the sound. I knew I did it a lot, but that was uncontrollable and I hated it. Yet somehow with Damon, it was almost cute.

"I thought by now you would've realized that I know whenever you're lying and whenever you're not," Damon replies as he reached for another pepper.

"It's creepy that you do and unfair that I can't do the same." I shoot back but he just laughs again.

"Not my fault your heart is so loud." He mumbles.

"What?" I ask as he places the pan I set out on the stove beside the now bubbling pasta.

"What song is this?" He diverts and succeeds when my ears pick up on one of my favorites. "You have to be joking, this is one of the greatest songs ever."

"It sounds weird." He comments despite the slight sway of his hips which were undeniably adorable. "Like sad people dying."

"That makes absolutely no sense." I protest through giggles as he douses the heating pan with oil while taking on the task of handling the noodles. I all but drool as I watch him weave around the kitchen without a spec of doubt.

"You still haven't told me the name." He replies taking me from my thirsty thoughts.