The Mafia Boy In My Class

CHAPTER 4 , BLOOD ON HIS SHIRT

Ariana stayed late that Thursday, finishing a group project in the art room long after most of the school had cleared out. By the time she left, the hallways were empty, her footsteps echoing off the tile, afternoon light slanting gold through the windows.

She almost didn't see him.

Damon was sitting on the steps near the side entrance, half-hidden in the shadow of the doorway, one hand pressed against his side. His jacket was gone. His shirt , usually spotless , had a dark stain spreading across the fabric near his ribs.

"Damon?"

He looked up sharply, and something crossed his face, quick and sharp , like being caught somewhere he shouldn't have been seen.

"You should go home," he said.

"Is that blood?"

"It's nothing."

"That is very clearly not nothing." She was already crossing the hallway, dropping her bag beside the steps.

"Ariana,"

"Don't. Just let me look."

He didn't move away when she crouched in front of him. That told her more than anything he could have said , whatever this was, he didn't have the energy left to argue about it.

"What happened?" she asked, pulling the edge of his shirt back carefully. The cut wasn't deep, more of a graze along his side, but it had bled enough to soak through the fabric.

"I fell."

"You fell."

"Yes."

"On what? A knife?"

He didn't answer that. Ariana dug through her bag and pulled out the small first aid kit she carried out of habit , a leftover reflex from years of patching her own scraped knees with no one around to help , and got to work without waiting for permission.

"This is going to sting."

"I've had worse."

"That's not comforting."

She cleaned the wound as gently as she could, aware of how still he'd gone, like he was concentrating hard on not reacting. Up close, she saw a fading bruise along his jaw too, one he'd tried to cover with his collar.

"Who did this to you?" she asked quietly.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

He looked at her, something unreadable behind his eyes, like her answer had caught him off guard.

"Some people," he said finally. "From before I transferred here. It's complicated."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I can give you right now."

She finished taping the bandage and sat back on her heels. "You know, most people who get into fights don't casually say it's complicated like that's supposed to satisfy me."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly." She reached for the tape roll, then paused, studying the bruise along his jaw again. "How many times has this happened before? This isn't your first."

Damon didn't answer right away. His silence was answer enough.

"Damon."

"Enough times that I know how to handle it."

"That's not the same as it being okay."

He almost smiled at that, wincing slightly as he shifted his weight against the step. "You're very stubborn, you know that?"

"I've been told."

"By who?"

"Everyone. Constantly."

That got a short laugh out of him, quiet, surprised, like it had escaped before he could stop it. Ariana looked over and found herself smiling too.

"You should tell someone," she said after a moment. "About whoever's doing this."

His expression shifted, the ease gone as fast as it came. "It's already handled."

"Handled how?"

"Ariana."

"What? I'm allowed to ask."

He looked at her for a long moment, something working behind his eyes , like he was standing at the edge of telling her something and couldn't quite make himself step over it.

"There are things about my life," he said slowly, "that aren't simple. That I can't explain. Not yet."

"Try me."

"It's not that easy."

"Nothing ever is with you." Her voice went quieter, more careful now. "You know that, right? You're like a locked door everyone's curious about, and you never let anyone actually look inside."

He didn't answer right away. The light had shifted, gold sliding into gray along the empty hallway.

"There are people," he said finally, "who would use anyone I care about against me. That's the truth. That's as much as I can give you."

Ariana studied him carefully. It wasn't an explanation , not really , but it was more honest than anything he'd said before, and she could hear what it cost him to say it.

"Okay," she said quietly.

"Okay?"

"I'm not going to make you tell me everything. But Damon," She hesitated. "If people are hurting you, that's not something you handle alone forever."

Something in his face shifted, startled and soft, like he wasn't used to anyone worrying about him that way.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

She nodded slowly, packing the kit back into her bag and standing, brushing off her skirt. Damon rose too, a little stiffly, one hand still pressed lightly to his side.

"Thank you," he said. "For this."

"Don't get used to it. I don't make a habit of patching up mysterious boys who won't explain themselves."

"I'll try not to bleed on school property again."

"Please do."

They started walking together toward the exit, the quiet between them different now , less careful, something closer to trust settling in where suspicion had been. But as they reached the doors and the black car came into view at the curb, Ariana slowed, looking at him properly.

"Damon," she said. "Who are you really?"

He stopped walking.

For a second, he looked like he might actually answer , like the question had landed somewhere true, somewhere he'd been guarding a long time. Then his expression closed again, careful and calm, the door shutting before it had ever fully opened.

"Just a guy trying to get through school," he said. "Same as you."

She didn't believe him. Not entirely. But she let it go, watching him

walk toward the car, Elias already stepping forward to open the door, his eyes flicking briefly toward her before Damon disappeared inside.