CHAPTER THREE: DAMIEN
1453 Words
Damien is NOT going to be happy when he sees what Elisa did to his car.
I stared at the scratches along the bumper, smirking a little as she stormed toward the porch, still yelling about how I was a “psychopath.”
She bit me. Literally. Like a rabid dog. And somehow I’m the villain here?
I held back the urge to bark at her.
The desperation in her eyes when she rang the bell was... unsettling. Like she couldn’t breathe until she saw Damien.
And yeah, I hated it.
Mom answered the door, still in her apron and clutching a mixing bowl like she was auditioning for The Great Family Bake-Off. And just like every time, she pulled Elisa into the kind of hug you'd reserve for a long-lost daughter. Even though they saw each other practically every damn day.
Not that I blamed her. Elisa had become a permanent fixture in this house–
whether I liked it or not.
Mom adored her.
Dad? Seemed Obsessed.
Stacey and little Emily? Worshipped her.
All because of Damien.
He picked her, and suddenly, everyone picked her too.
Except me.
But Damien? He's the worst. It's like Elisa cast a spell on him, one of those sickly-sweet ones that turn your brain to mush. He’s away at college with everything a guy could want: the looks, the popularity, the car (well, formerly flawless), and yet all he talks about is her.
"Look after Elisa."
"Check in on her."
"Make sure she’s okay."
It’s exhausting.
He didn’t even notice her for seventeeen years. Then one day, boom, he’s in love and she’s suddenly the center of the damn universe.
I exhaled, tearing my gaze from the car and walking inside.
Emily was at the table, doodling something furiously in crayon. She didn’t run to me, she never did. But at least she acknowledged me.
“Drakey!” she grinned, eyes still glued to her work.
Great. Another nickname I owe to Elisa.
“What’re you working on, Em?” I asked, walking over.
She slammed her hand over the paper. “You can’t see! It’s a surprise.”
“Got it.” I smiled, backing off. No point pushing.
Emily barely liked me. Used to call me a “meanie.” Still does, sometimes. I tried to connect with her-
fail.
But last year, when everything fell apart, she was the only one who sat with me. A five-year-old, of all people.
We’re still a little rocky. But we’re... something.
Unlike Damien.
Damien’s everyone’s favorite.
I found Mom in the kitchen, elbow-deep in dinner prep.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. How was school?” she asked without looking up, laser-focused on her masterpiece of a dinner. All for Damien.
I opened the fridge, took a swig of orange juice straight from the carton–
“Drake! Not from the carton!” she snapped, snatching it from my hands.
Oh. Now I get attention.
“Next time, use a cup,” she scolded.
“Cup?” I asked dramatically. “What’s a cup? Is that French?”
“Charming,” she muttered.
“Animal,” Elisa chimed from behind me.
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“Drake, not today.” Mom waved me off, shuffling pans and chopping something aggressively. Elisa handed her a spoon like she’d been born in this kitchen. So helpful. So sweet. So perfect.
Trying a little too hard to be daughter-in-law material, if you ask me.
“I’m hungry,” I muttered.
“Then go eat what you picked up earlier,” Mom said, not even glancing at me.
I pouted. “You knew I brought McDonald's?”
“You think I don’t notice things?”
Elisa smirked and i know she snitched. “Drakey, you’re being a pain. Get out. Can’t you see your mother’s busy?”
I glared at her. She smiled, all innocence and smugness rolled into one.
“Thank you, Elisa,” Mom said.
“You’re welcome,” she replied sweetly, while flashing me a look that made me want to toss a frying pan at the wall.
I moved closer, letting the aromas hit me. Garlic, pepper, something meaty. My stomach growled.
“All this for Damien,” I muttered.
“He deserves it,” Mom said quickly. “He’s been working so hard. And it’s for all of us, technically. A welcome home dinner, which you would know if you actually listened when I talk.”
“I do listen!” I defended.
But do you listen to me?
“Right,” Elisa scoffed.
“Nobody asked you,” I snapped.
“That reminds me,” Mom said, “I haven’t officially invited you yet–”
“Does she even need an invitation?” I cut in. “She basically lives here now.”
Elisa slapped my hand away as I reached for the stir-fry. Mom laughed like I’d told a joke.
It wasn’t a joke.
“Will your dad be joining us?”
“No,” Elisa said. “He’s pulling an all-nighter.”
Mom nodded but I could see the flicker of memory in her eyes. I could see when they both went quiet, thinking about the last “family dinner.” The one where everything exploded.
Finally, Mom spoke. “Things are different now.”
She looked between us. “Aren’t they?”
“They are,” Elisa said quickly.
“Not everything,” I muttered.
We stared at each other for a beat too long.
Mom changed the subject and left the kitchen. Elisa went back to stirring like nothing happened.
Her ponytail bounced as she moved. Sunlight spilled through the blinds and caught on her skin, casting gold across her cheekbones. Her eyes were fixed on the food, light brown. Holding the colour of warm autumn— flecks of golds hidden in stillness.
She fit in here. More than she should.
She liked it here.
Liked helping.
Liked sewing.
Liked Mom.
Liked being the daughter Stacey didn’t have time to be anymore.
And Mom lapped it up. Always joking about how Elisa would be next down the aisle. About how her and Damien’s babies would be beautiful because “the gene pool is perfect.”
It made me want to scream.
“You didn’t have to bring up that dinner,” Elisa said quietly, breaking my spiral.
“Why? Afraid Mom’ll remember how you almost broke her sons apart?”
“I’d just rather forget,” she said.
“And now that I know that, I’ll make sure you don’t.”
“Whatever.” She stirred the pan harder, then hesitated. “Hey... have you talked to Damien today?”
I clenched my jaw. “Is Damien the only thing you think about?”
She blinked. “D-Don’t say that–”
“Cut the bullsh*t, Elisa.”
She froze. That got her.
I forced my voice to soften. “Look, I know you’re obsessed with him, okay? No need to pretend. And yeah, I spoke to him. He’ll be here soon. In time for dinner.”
I didn’t wait for her reply. I grabbed a bottle of water and headed upstairs, slamming my door behind me.
---
I collapsed on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Damien this. Damien that.”
We get it.
He’s perfect. He’s the boyfriend of the year. The golden boy who swept her off her feet.
But none of this would’ve happened without me.
I was the one who knew her first.
I was the one who saw her when no one else did.
I was the one who encouraged her. Built her up. Protected her when people whispered she was cursed.
But Damien gets the credit. As usual.
I sighed.
She’s changed since last year.
Not just her hair, which she dyed lighter. Not just the new glow in her skin, or how she smells like lavender and roses now. Not just the fact that she’s prettier.
No.
It’s her fire.
She fights back now. She has comebacks. Confidence. She shows off her designs—my little secret from last year is now her whole future.
And sure, I’d like to think I helped. But no one remembers that.
Damien gets the praise. The love. The girl.
Still… I haven’t forgotten my promise.
I said I’d make her life a living hell.
And tonight?
I will.
Because Damien’s not coming home today. His flight got cancelled because of the weather.
All this food, this dress rehearsal for the perfect love story. It’s a lie.
She’s going to be crushed.
And if you think that makes me jealous?
Nah.
I’m just a man keeping his promises.
-
- Writer
