Damned but mine

Chapter 1

Like a myth, I couldn’t grasp her.

She was far from perfect. She was complex. Wounded.

Her pain. Her past. Her guilt… I wanted to mend it all.

With just a touch, I felt her take hold of me.

Through ways and means.

Through heart and soul.

… She had me.

NICK

Moving to a new place, whether it’s a town, city, or an entirely different country, always comes with the promise of a fresh start. But I don’t want a fresh start. Not when the old one was ripped away from me. Not when the people I loved, the ones I imagined growing old with, are still back there, laughing, living, moving on without me.

The sound of footsteps pounding against the hallway walls drags me out of sleep. Doors slam open, and my name echoes like an alarm I never asked for.

“Nick! Nicholas!”

My mother’s voice. Persistent. Irritating. Relentless.

I groan and bury my head under a pillow, pressing it against my ears as if that can shut the world out. But her voice slices through anyway, sweet and sharp, like glass against skin.

I roll over with a grunt, the blanket falling off my body. My arm tingles, numb from sleeping on it too long. I sit up slowly, rubbing the sensation back into my skin. My foot knocks against something. Books. Old belongings. Piled messily across the floor. The leftovers of last night’s lecture from him, my father. I pretended to listen, but in truth his voice blurred into the background.

Dragging myself to the window, I yank the curtain open.

“f**k!”

The sunlight stabs my eyes, and I flinch, cursing under my breath.

By the time I’m out of the shower, I’m already irritated. Staring into my closet, I feel that same heaviness pressing down on my chest. I grab a plain black T-shirt and jeans, clothes that match my mood. I’ve never cared about fashion anyway. My reputation speaks louder than whatever I wear.

Bag slung over one shoulder, I leave the room. The house is smaller than the one we had in California, another downgrade in a long list of sacrifices for his job. The promise of a “better house soon” is as empty as every other promise he’s made.

Descending the stairs, the smell of waffles hits me. My stomach betrays me with a growl.

“Good morning, sweetie,” my mom beams, pressing a kiss to my cheek. Her warmth is disarming, but I don’t smile. I can’t.

“Smile,” she teases, ruffling my hair.

“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter, grabbing her wrist to stop her hand.

She hisses playfully and walks away, still cheerful, like she doesn’t notice the storm inside me.

My eyes shift to him. My father. Sitting at the head of the table, coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other. He doesn’t even glance at me.

Figures.

I drop into my chair, throwing my bag to the floor.

Mom slides waffles and chicken in front of me. My chest tightens instantly. Rosé. Her food. Her obsession. Her laugh, her smile, her lips when she teased me about never making it as good as she could.

The ache in my chest spreads like wildfire.

“I’ll just have bread,” I mutter, pushing the plate away.

Her brows furrow. “But, Nick, you love—”

“I said bread.”

Confusion flickers in her eyes, but she nods and obeys, quickly swapping the plate. She offers eggs too, still trying to please me.

And then his voice cuts through.

“So, son,” he begins, finally looking at me, “how do you feel about your first day?”

I shove bread into my mouth just to avoid answering.

“For what it’s worth,” Mom tries, ever the peacemaker, “I think you’ll have a great day.”

Something inside me snaps.

I laugh. A bitter, empty laugh that doesn’t sound like me anymore.

“A great day?” I repeat, shaking my head. “And who exactly is going to be having a great day? Because it’s not f*****g me.”

“Nicholas!” Mom scolds, her voice soft but sharp.

“This is a disaster,” I explode, shoving my chair back. “Everything’s been a wreck since the day we landed here. Do you even remember Rosé? Do you care? I loved her, damn it! But we broke up. Why? Because I had to follow a man who was never there for me, who’s never been part of my life, to another f*****g country.”

“Nick,” Mom whispers, reaching for me, tears already filling her eyes.

I pull back. “Don’t. I’m not finished.”

I glare at him, the so-called father. My voice rises. “Do you even know who I was back there? Captain of my team. My friends. My life. And you ripped it all away, just like that.” I snap my fingers. “For work. For yourself. You could’ve left me there. I didn’t need you then, and I sure as hell don’t need you now.”

Mom is crying now, begging softly for me to stop, but her tears only fuel my rage.

And then he speaks again. His tone calm. Detached.

“Who knows, you might find someone better than her here.”

The words hit me like gasoline on open fire.

I freeze. My fists clench, my jaw tightens. I turn my head slowly, eyes locked on him.

“What…did you just say?”

He shrugs. “You’re young. You’ll move on. You’ll find someone else.”

“Stop.” My voice is calm, deadly. “Stop talking.”

“I’m just saying—”

“That’s enough!” Mom’s voice slices through the tension. “Both of you! I’m tired. I won’t watch this family tear itself apart.”

Silence. The air is heavy, suffocating.

I drop back into my chair, but my body is still buzzing with anger. My hands tremble. My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

The silence at the table is suffocating. The scrape of cutlery against plates feels louder than gunfire. We all eat without speaking, but it isn’t peace. It is just restraint, thin and fragile, ready to snap the second anyone breathes wrong.

This isn’t a family. Not really. My mom tries to pretend we are, but my dad has never been part of us. He is a stranger with the same last name and nothing more.

Two weeks in this country and nothing has changed my mind. The only constant has been his colleagues, middle-aged men with greasy smiles, parading into our home to congratulate him on his promotion. Last Thursday the house was crawling with them. Their laughter was too loud, their handshakes too firm, their jokes too fake. I hated every second of it.

Now I am sitting beside my mom in the passenger seat of her car, the morning sunlight spilling through the windows as she drives me to school. She insisted on this after the fight earlier, claiming it was the only way she would forgive me. And honestly, I couldn’t refuse her. She is the only one I have left.

I glance at her. Strong. Gentle. Exhausted. She has carried me through every storm, even when she was breaking inside. I remember nights when she doubted him, his constant trips, the cold distance in his voice, the way he treated her like background noise. She once called one of his colleagues, begging for honesty, only to be mocked like she was paranoid.

It was always just me and her against the world. It still is.

And now here I am, letting her drive me to this new school, when a year ago things were so different. Back then I had my dad’s car, one of the few useful things he left behind during his endless absences. I would pick up Rosé, sometimes our friends, and we would blast music, laughing all the way to school.

Rosé.

The name alone tightens something in my chest. We argued the week before I left. She wanted me to fight harder, to stay, but how? I had no choice. When she ended things, it gutted me. She said she couldn’t do long distance, that she wouldn’t wait around for someone who wasn’t sure when he would return.

I have called her. Texted her. Begged her. She hasn’t answered once. Maybe she blocked me. Maybe she has already erased me. The thought burns.

“Earth to Nick,” my mom teases, tapping my leg. Her voice pulls me back from the spiral. “You look like you’re plotting something serious.”

I force a weak smile, but I can’t bring myself to answer.

“Anyway, we’re here,” she says, pulling into the driveway.

I finally look up.

The school looms in front of us, modern, sprawling, almost intimidating. The gates open, and instinctively I lift a hand to shield my face from curious stares. My mom greets the security man with that effortless warmth of hers, but I’m not listening.

I am staring at the place that is about to become my battlefield.

“Oh, goodness, it’s so beautiful,” she gushes, her voice full of awe. She is more excited than I will ever be.

But all I feel is dread.

Because somewhere inside those walls, my life is about to change.

Finally, she parks the car and I step out quickly, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll go get—” My words freeze when I notice her getting out too.

“What… what are you doing?” I stutter, already dreading her answer.

She adjusts her purse. “What do you mean? I’m following you, of course.”

“f**k no!” The words escape before I can stop them. Her eyes widen and I exhale sharply, forcing out an apology. “Sorry. But, Mum—” I walk around to her side of the car, lowering my voice. “You’ve already driven me here. I can handle the rest myself. Trust me.” I rake a hand through my hair, nerves twisting my insides, praying she’ll let it go.

“I know you can. I trust you,” she says, gentle but firm. “But it’s necessary for a parent to be there on their child’s first day.”

“Is it though?” I mutter, rubbing at my temple. “I mean…”

“Yes,” she cuts in. “I received a message that it’s compulsory.” And with that, she turns and starts walking toward the school.

I resist the urge to slam my forehead into the nearest wall. Could this day get any worse? Now I’m officially the guy with his mum trailing him to school.

I follow, but at a safe distance. The place is buzzing with students, laughter, gossip, greetings spilling across the wide double doors. My mother, ever punctual, keeps a fast pace, which saves me from looking like a pathetic mummy’s boy.

Inside, the sound is almost unbearable. Loud voices bouncing off the walls, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, laughter echoing from every corner. Eyes glance my way, some quick, some lingering. Maybe it’s the black-on-black I’m wearing. Or maybe it’s just me.

I spot her scarf ahead, bright green against the crowd, easy to find. She’s talking to a student, clearly asking for directions. Good. Maybe I can slip away, pretend I know where I’m going.

But the noise gnaws at me. Every shout, every giggle feels like an assault. And then I hear them–boisterous, cocky, too loud to miss. I don’t even need to turn around to know. The football team. And right on their heels, the cheerleaders.

For a second, my chest tightens. Rosé flashes in my head…her voice, her laugh, the way she used to beam from the sidelines. We were fire back then. Captain and cheer captain. A f*****g duo.

I push the thought down and keep moving.

Catching up to Mum, I see the student she’s speaking with, a thin guy with freckles, sharp blue eyes, and a strange mix of eagerness and irritation in his expression. He offers me his hand. I hesitate.

Mum fills the silence with her awkward laugh, smoothing things over while he gives directions.

“We’re here,” he says finally, gesturing toward the door with Principal Malcom carved in bold letters.

“Thank you so much for your time,” Mum says, patting his shoulder.

“No problem. My pleasure,” he replies, smiling before glancing at me. “I hope you enjoy our school.” Then he walks off.

I frown, watching him leave. Something about him didn’t sit right.

“The least you could do was smile,” Mum scolds, clicking her tongue. “That young man went out of his way to help, and you can’t even manage a simple thank you.”

“Thanks,” I mutter with a shrug. “There, I said it.”

“As if he’s here to hear it,” she sighs, rolling her eyes.

I smirk faintly. “Fine. I’ll find him later and thank him properly.” A lie, of course, but it shuts her up.

“That’s my good boy,” she says with a proud smile, hand lifting toward my hair.

“Mum.” I dodge her touch.

She sighs dramatically. “This is what happens when your kids grow up. They don’t want to play with you anymore.” She shakes her head, muttering under her breath as she knocks on the door.

“Come in!” a voice calls from inside.

She pushes the door open, and we step into the office.

“Good morning,” they both say at the same time, covering the awkwardness with a laugh.

I don’t laugh. My eyes are already scanning the space. The shelves, the polished desk, the expensive rug underfoot. The design is clean, almost sterile. And then I notice him.

Principal Malcom. A soon-to-be bald man with a smile that’s far too wide for comfort. His eyes lock on me instantly, sizing me up.

He gestures to the seats in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

“Good morning, Principal Malcom,” my mother says warmly, extending her hand. “I’m Mrs. West, Nick’s mother. And this is my son.”

“Ah, yes. Mrs. West, a pleasure,” he replies, shaking her hand firmly before turning to me. “And you must be Nick. Welcome to our school.”

I nod once, offering the smallest of polite smiles, though inside, I already feel the weight of his stare.

A conversation starts between them, but it’s just background noise to me. Their voices blend into the hum of the air conditioner, the ticking of the clock on the wall. I don’t bother listening. My eyes catch the principal smiling while flipping through my records. Grades. My grades.

I’ve always done well in school. Top of every class except math, which seemed to surprise people back in Florida. Captain of the team, popular, but still that kid who somehow scored A’s in English, History, and Science. People used to whisper that I was fake, two-faced even. Rosé was the only one who knew the truth—that I wasn’t pretending. That I just pushed myself harder than anyone else realized.

The thought of her twists in my chest. I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. I don’t want to think about her today, but she’s everywhere. She’s in the food I refused this morning. She’s in every memory of school back home. She’s in me, like a f*****g ghost.

I pull my phone out beneath the desk, keeping it low. The last thing I need is a lecture about being disrespectful. Our old chatroom stares back at me. My messages are still there. I love you. I miss you. Forgive me. We can make this work. Sent. Delivered. Ignored.

I chew the inside of my cheek. Maybe she blocked me. Maybe she’s just moved on. Either way, I’m screaming into a void.

“Nicholas!”

My head jerks up so fast it hurts. A dull headache starts pounding right behind my eyes. I shove my phone into my pocket like it burned me.

“Yea—yeah,” I mutter, forcing a laugh that sounds pathetic. “What’s up?” My mother’s gaze flicks toward the principal, and I realize I’ve just been called out.

“Mr. West,” Principal Malcom says smoothly, holding his hand out. His palm is dry and firm when I take it, my fingers twitching to pull back. “We’re thrilled to have you here.”

I nod, stretching my lips into the fakest smile I can manage. “Yeah. Thanks.” My voice comes out flat.

“And you’ll be starting classes today,” he continues, as if it’s some kind of surprise gift.

Under the table, I feel Mum’s shoe nudge mine, and she lets out this awkward little laugh. I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from cursing.

“Yeah,” I say again, this time plastering on a wide grin so forced it almost hurts.

“I’ll send for your class teacher now,” Malcom adds, finally releasing my hand. Relief rushes through me, like coming up for air after being held under water.

The silence stretches until a knock interrupts it.

“Come in,” the principal calls.

I lean back, smirking to myself. Please let it be a she. My mind drifts for a second, picturing curves, a pretty face, something—anything—that can pull me out of this miserable day. My finger brushes my lower lip without me thinking about it. A hot she, I add to the fantasy, already half amused at myself.

The knob turns. The door creaks.

And then my smirk dies.

A man walks in. Mid-thirties maybe. Plain. Forgettable.

“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, stifling a yawn.

“You asked for me, sir?” the man says.

“Yes. We have a new student,” Malcom replies, nodding at me. “Nick West. He’ll be in your class.”

I glance at him and almost laugh. The glare bouncing off his shiny bald head is too much. I clamp my jaw shut, forcing the laughter down. No need to f**k up my first day by insulting a teacher before I’ve even set foot in class.

I stand. “Good morning,” I say, polite but clipped. Mum echoes me.

“Good morning,” he replies with a smile. “Well, shall we?”

I hesitate, then nod.

“See you later, sweetie,” Mum says softly.

“If you want me to pick you up—”

“No.” I cut her off gently but firmly. “I can get home on my own.”

“Are you sure? You know the directions? You didn’t exactly look like you were paying attention this morning…”

“I did.” A lie, smooth and easy. “I’ll be fine.”

Before she can argue, I lean down and kiss her cheek. She beams at me, and I know I’ve won. Sweet gestures always get her to back off.

I follow my teacher into the hallway. It’s empty now, quiet except for our footsteps echoing off the tiles. I’ve walked hallways like this before, but this one feels different. Heavy. Like it knows I don’t belong.

When we reach the classroom door, my teacher pushes it open and raises his voice. “Class, settle down, shall we?”

The noise dies almost instantly. Desks scrape, chatter fades, and every pair of eyes turns forward.

I inhale slowly, shoulders squaring. I’ve never been shy about attention. I’ve always been the guy who takes the spotlight, even when I didn’t ask for it. But today? Today it feels like a stage I don’t want to be on.

And still, I walk in.

“Okay, class, today we have a new student with us,” the teacher announces, stepping aside as if he’s unveiling some grand prize. Suddenly, all eyes are on me.

I shove my hands into my pockets and let out a breath. “I’m Nick,” I say flatly. That’s it.

The silence lasts only a second before whispers ripple across the room.

“I don’t think there’s anything else,” I add with a shrug, making it clear I’m not about to perform some autobiography for their entertainment.

“Is… that’s all?” the teacher asks, blinking like he expected a speech.

“Yeah.” My tone doesn’t change. A few muffled laughs scatter through the room. I flick my gaze toward them, and that’s when I see her—dimples flashing, eyes down as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She bites her lip, almost like she knows I’m watching.

Interesting.

“Oh.” The teacher clears his throat awkwardly, dragging me back. “Normally we, uh… share where we transferred from, maybe a bit about ourselves, you know?”

I sigh. “We just moved here. From Florida. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss it.” The honesty slips out sharper than I intended, but I don’t care.

He nods slowly, clearly not sure how to handle me. “Well… we hope you enjoy your time here in California, and at our school.”

Yeah. Sure.

“There’s an empty seat on the right,” he says, pointing.

I give a small nod and start walking. The whispers rise behind me like a tide, but I don’t bother listening. Let them talk. I’ve dealt with it before. My focus is on the chair, on blending into this place as much as I can…or maybe on that girl with the dimples who still hasn’t stopped glancing at me.

“Okay, class, quiet down,” the teacher says as soon as I drop into the empty seat. “And for the sake of our new student, my name is—”

“Teacher!” someone interrupts with an exaggerated groan. I glance over and it’s the same girl from earlier, the one with the dimples. “We’ve heard your name so many times it’s practically echoing in our heads,” she says, and the whole room bursts into laughter.

The teacher chuckles too, shaking his head as he scribbles on the board. “Good one, Diana,” he says. So that’s her name. Either she owns this classroom or he’s just too easygoing. Maybe both.

He turns back around, chalk still in hand. “As you can see, Nick, my name is…”

“Teacher Eric!” the entire class shouts in unison before he can finish, and the laughter explodes again. Even Eric himself can’t help laughing along.

I blink, deadpan. What the hell is going on? Did I just transfer into some alternate dimension where the teacher’s everyone’s best friend?

Before I can process the absurdity, the door slams open and the class goes silent.

“f**k,” a voice mutters, low but sharp. “Sorry I’m late.”

Every head in the room turns toward the door, including mine.