Damien’s girl

The city lights of Los Angeles blurred past the car window as I leaned my head against the glass, headphones in but no music playing. It had been three hours since I left Washington D.C., and every mile that pulled me farther from home only reminded me of what I had lost. My father thought moving here would give me a fresh start. He called it “a new chapter.” But to me, it felt more like an erasure—like if we packed up our lives and planted them somewhere else, the memories of my mother and brother wouldn’t ache so much. I used to love D.C. I grew up on quiet streets lined with brick houses, the kind where neighbors waved across their porches and Sunday dinners were sacred. Back then, my father was just “Dad,” not Senator Blackwell, who spent more time in meetings than at home. Back then, my brother—four years older, brilliant, stubborn, already on his way to becoming a surgeon—still teased me over breakfast. And my mother still laughed in the kitchen. All of that ended two years ago with one red light ignored, one crash that stole two of the people I loved most. The man who caused it died instantly. My mother too. My brother held on for months, trapped in a coma that doctors said would never end well. My father and I clung to hope until it slipped through our fingers. That was when everything changed. He buried himself in work, then in politics, and now here we were—starting over in a city that never slept. The car slowed as we turned into a gated driveway. The house loomed at the end of it—white walls, tall windows, palm trees swaying in the warm California breeze. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like mine. It didn’t feel like us. I stepped out of the car and pulled my backpack tighter on my shoulder. The air was heavier here, warmer, carrying the scent of flowers I didn’t recognize. The front door swung open before I even reached it. A petite woman with warm brown eyes and a sky-blue dress appeared, smiling as though she’d been waiting all day just for me. “Elena,” she said softly, wrapping me in a hug before I could react. “I’m Clara. Welcome home.” I already knew who she was—Father had told me she’d be waiting. “Nice to meet you,” I said with a polite smile. “Come in, dear. You look exhausted,” Clara replied warmly, taking my small backpack from my shoulder as she guided me inside. The house opened up into a wide foyer that led into a space that was both elegant and comfortable. Soft lighting, pale walls, and framed art gave it a modern charm, but there was a warmth to it that reminded me faintly of home. “We don’t have time for a full tour tonight,” Clara continued as I followed her deeper inside, “but after school tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’ll show you around.” She glanced back at me with a smile before adding, “Your driver, Marcus, will be here at 7:30. It’s about a half-hour to your new school.” I just nodded, letting her words settle. Clara led me into a dining room where a plate of food was waiting on the long wooden table. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since the plane. “Thank you,” I murmured, sliding into a chair. She excused herself to give me space, and I ate quietly, finishing in less than ten minutes. Almost as if she had timed it, Clara reappeared just as I set my fork down. She looked at my empty plate and smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” “It was really good. Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “You’re welcome, dear.” I followed her into the kitchen, waiting for her to lead the way upstairs. “Come on,” she said softly, “let’s get you to bed.” I hadn’t even noticed the sweeping staircase earlier, but now I climbed it behind her. She stopped at a door painted a pale blush pink. I already knew this was my room. Clara opened it to reveal my belongings neatly arranged. My boxes sat stacked in one corner, untouched. “We arranged your clothes, but we didn’t want to go through the boxes,” she said gently. I understood—some of those boxes carried pieces of my mother. “Thank you, Clara,” I whispered. She gave me a kind smile, hesitated, then quietly left. I closed the door behind her and turned to face my new bedroom. It was larger than the one I had in D.C., with tall windows and a bed that looked impossibly soft. As I walked closer, I noticed a small box resting on the duvet with an envelope tucked beneath it. My chest tightened. I knew it was from Father. I lifted the box—it was from Pandora. Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm: a butterfly. I unfolded the note beneath it, my throat closing as I read the words written in his sharp handwriting: Sorry for not being there. Love, Dad. Tears blurred my vision. I wasn’t angry at him—I understood he had responsibilities, that work pulled him away. But the emptiness still hurt. Clutching the bracelet and the letter, I curled onto the bed. Silent sobs escaped until sleep finally claimed me. The sound of my alarm jarred me awake. I smacked the clock on my nightstand before realizing I had fallen asleep in yesterday’s clothes. My phone lit up on the desk across the room. No missed calls from Dad. A glance at the screen made my heart drop—7:00 a.m. Shit. Thirty minutes to be ready. I stripped as fast as I could and sprinted into the bathroom. A quick shower, teeth brushed, and I was out again in under ten minutes. Staring at my closet, panic set in. First day at a new school—I couldn’t show up looking like a complete disaster. Luckily, Clara had organized everything. I grabbed a crisp white shirt, threw on a thin cream sweater that hit mid-thigh, cinched my waist with a Gucci belt, and pulled on white boots. My hair was still wavy from yesterday, so I brushed it through, sprayed a little hairspray, and called it good. Makeup? No time. Just a little blush, mascara, and pink lip gloss to look alive. My freckles were on full display, but honestly, I didn’t care. I tossed my things into my red velvet mini backpack and glanced at the clock—one minute to spare. Grabbing my phone, I bolted out of the room, down the staircase. Clara was already waiting at the door with a paper bag and a to-go cup in her hands. “Morning!” I called as I sped past. “Wait, Elena! Your breakfast and coffee!” she said, holding them out. I slowed just enough to snatch them from her hands. “Thanks!” Outside, Marcus stood beside the sleek white Bentley that had picked me up yesterday. “Morning, Marcus,” I said, sliding into the back seat. “Morning, Miss,” he replied simply before closing the door. The ride was quiet. I ate my breakfast, texted Dad to let him know I was on my way, and got a quick reply back wishing me luck. For the last few minutes, I scrolled through my schedule, memorizing class locations. The car slowed in front of a sprawling brick building buzzing with students. Some hugged, others shouted across the parking lot, and every car looked like it belonged in a luxury showroom. “Miss,” Marcus said, turning slightly. “I’ll be here at four to pick you up.” “Got it. Thanks, Marcus.” I stepped out, sunlight immediately hitting my eyes. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I tried not to notice the stares. Of course people noticed the new kid. Please God, just one friend, I begged silently. Inside was even more chaotic. Students crowded hallways, laughing and catching up I followed the signs to the front office, where a woman with thick glasses barely glanced up from her computer. “Hi, I’m here for my schedule,” I said with a polite smile. “Name,” she asked flatly. “Elena—” “Here it is.” She shoved a stack of papers toward me before I could finish. “Your locker combination is there. Have a good year,” she said, eyes already back on her screen. “Right… thanks,” I muttered, walking out. My schedule read: Homeroom, Biology, Lunch, History, and—ugh—Gym. On the first day? Really? Building B, locker on the second floor. I hustled down the hall, was surprised to see it already stocked with books and gym clothes. This school was fancy. I grabbed my biology book, swung my bag shut, and turned—straight into someone. I stumbled back, heart leaping, but before I could hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught me. “Hey, watch where you’re going,” a low voice said. The hallway fell quiet. My eyes squeezed shut, cheeks burning, until I forced myself to look. First thing I noticed was the solid black shirt stretched across broad shoulders. Then the arms—yeah, they were ridiculous. Finally, I looked up into a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, pink lips curled into a smirk, and the kind of green eyes that could ruin a girl’s focus for an entire semester. Oh no. He was gorgeous. And he knew it. The bell rang, snapping me out of my trance. I tried to slip past him, but he and his group of equally huge friends blocked the way. “Dude, she’s hot,” one of them muttered, and my face instantly went red. “Sorry,” I blurted. “I didn’t see you—I mean obviously I saw you, you’re not small, you’re… big. Not big like fat, just tall—” God, kill me now. He chuckled, clearly amused, and plucked the schedule from my hand before I could protest. “Second floor, third door on the left,” he said smoothly, handing it back. “Thanks,” I whispered, clutching the paper like it was a lifeline. He walked off with his friends, ignoring their teasing. “Man, she’s hot,You’re lucky.” Followed by his low, annoyed, “Shut up.” I stood there, cheeks burning, praying the floor would swallow me. If all the guys here look like him, I’m never going to survive. Or concentrate. Maybe… just maybe… this year wouldn’t be so boring after all.