Pretty Things Bleed Too

Strawberry Milk

The whole school was losing its mind.

By the time lunch came around the next day, everyone was whispering about what Damian Valenti did to Marcus. Some people said Marcus was still in the hospital. Others said he was never coming back to Blackthorne. I kept my head down as I walked through the cafeteria, tray in my hands, trying to disappear like I always did. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode.

Because Damian was watching me again.

I could feel his eyes on me from across the room. That intense, dark stare that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t understand. Part of me wanted to run. The other part — the stupid, hopeless part — wanted to walk straight toward him.

I sat at my usual corner table, the one nobody ever wanted because it was too close to the trash cans. I poked at my food, not really hungry. My cheek still hurt from where Luca had slapped me this morning for “looking too pretty” when I left the house. I had extra concealer on. Extra gloss too. It was my armor. Even if it made people call me names.

Then the chair across from me scraped loudly against the floor.

I looked up, eyes wide.

Damian Valenti sat down like it was the most normal thing in the world. His black jacket was open, showing the crisp white shirt underneath. His knuckles were still bruised from yesterday, but he didn’t seem to care. He placed his tray down and… pushed something toward me.

A carton of strawberry milk.

The same kind from yesterday.

I stared at it like it was going to bite me. “W-what…?”

“Drink it,” he said. His voice was low, rough, like he wasn’t used to explaining himself. “You didn’t finish the one yesterday.”

My cheeks burned hot. I slowly picked up the carton, my fingers brushing against his for half a second. Electricity shot up my arm. I quickly pulled back and poked the straw in, taking a small sip. Sweet strawberry flavor filled my mouth. For some reason, my eyes got watery.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, not daring to look at him fully. “Everyone’s staring. They’re going to think… they’re going to say things about you. About me.”

Damian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He glared at a group of girls who were whispering and pointing at us. They shut up instantly and looked away. “Let them talk,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck.”

I sipped the milk again, trying to calm my racing heart. Being this close to him was scary. He was so tall. So intense. People called him the Devil of Blackthorne for a reason. There were rumors he’d put guys in the hospital. Rumors his family was dangerous. Mafia. Guns. Blood. Power. But right now, sitting across from me, he was just… buying me strawberry milk.

It didn’t make sense.

“You’re not eating,” he noticed, nodding at my untouched food.

“I’m not really hungry,” I mumbled. “Luca… he got mad this morning. I didn’t sleep much.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. His eyes got that scary dark look again. “Your brother?”

I nodded, biting my lip. I didn’t want to talk about home. If Damian knew how bad it was, he might think I was even more pathetic than everyone already did. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“It’s not fine.” His voice was sharper now. He reached across the table and gently tilted my chin up with two fingers so I had to look at him. My breath caught. His touch was surprisingly soft for someone who beat a senior unconscious yesterday. “Nobody gets to put marks on you. Not him. Not anyone.”

My heart did a painful flip. Nobody had ever said something like that to me. Ever. I felt tears prickling again and blinked fast. “Damian… you don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at me like he was trying to memorize my face. Like I was something precious he didn’t want to break. “Because I saw you,” he finally said. “Really saw you. With that ruined drawing. The way you looked so… soft. But still holding on. The world doesn’t deserve soft things like you. But I’m going to make sure it doesn’t destroy them either.”

I couldn’t breathe. My whole body felt warm and shaky. This dangerous, beautiful boy was looking at me like I mattered. Like I was worth protecting. It was terrifying. And addictive.

The rest of lunch, he sat there. Silent mostly. But every time someone stared too long or whispered too loud, he’d glare at them until they looked away. It was like having my own personal shadow. My own devil bodyguard.

When the bell rang, he stood up first. “I’m walking you to class.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m doing it.”

And he did. He walked right beside me through the crowded halls. People moved out of our way like we were royalty. Or maybe like we were dangerous. I kept my eyes on the floor, cheeks burning the whole time. But deep down… I felt safe. Safer than I had in years.

After last period, he was waiting by my locker again.

“I’m walking you home,” he said. No question. Just a statement.

My stomach dropped. “Damian, no. My house… it’s not safe. Luca might see. My dad—”

“I don’t care.” He took my bag from my shoulder without asking and slung it over his own. “Lead the way, pretty boy.”

I almost tripped over my own feet at the nickname. Pretty boy. The same words people used to hurt me… but coming from him, it sounded different. Softer. Like a secret.

We walked in silence for the first ten minutes. The afternoon sun was setting, painting everything in soft orange and pink. I kept stealing glances at him. He looked so out of place in my shitty neighborhood — tall, expensive clothes, that dangerous aura. But he didn’t seem bothered.

“You’re really quiet,” I said eventually, voice small.

“I don’t talk much.” He glanced down at me. “But I listen.”

I hugged my arms around myself. “I keep waiting for you to realize I’m not worth it. That I’m just some weak, weird kid who wears lip gloss and draws stupid clothes.”

Damian stopped walking. He turned to face me, stepping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. “Stop saying that s**t about yourself.” His hand came up and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His thumb lightly touched the corner of my lip where the gloss was. “You’re not weak. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”

My eyes filled with tears again. God, I cried so easily around him. “Damian…”

He bought me another strawberry milk from a corner store we passed. Paid for it without a word and handed it to me. I held it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

When we got closer to my house, I started getting nervous. Really nervous. “You should stop here,” I whispered. “Please. If Luca sees you with me…”

Damian’s eyes hardened. “He lays a hand on you again and I’ll end him.”

The way he said it — so calm, so serious — sent chills down my spine. I believed him. That’s what scared me the most.

We stopped at the corner, just out of sight of my house. Damian handed me back my bag. For a moment, we just stood there. The air felt thick. Heavy with things we weren’t saying.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For the milk. For… everything.”

He nodded once. Then, before I could overthink it, he leaned down and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to the top of my head. “Tomorrow. Same thing. I’ll be waiting.”

I stood there frozen as he walked away, hands in his pockets, looking like the devil himself disappearing into the shadows.

My legs felt weak the whole way home.

Luca was waiting inside, of course. He grabbed me by the hoodie the second I closed the door. “I heard s**t at school today. You and Valenti? The f**k is that about, princess?”

I didn’t fight back. I just let him shove me against the wall. But this time… something was different.

Inside my chest, that tiny spark of hope Damian had lit yesterday was growing. Even as Luca yelled and Dad called me disgusting from the couch, I held onto the taste of strawberry milk and the feeling of Damian’s lips on my hair.

I was terrified of him.

But I was starting to need him more.

That night, after I cried in the shower and cleaned up the new bruises, I opened my laptop with shaking hands. I logged into VelvetGhost and posted a new sketch.

It was a boy wrapped in black shadows, but the shadows had gentle hands. Strawberry milk cartons floated around him like stars. The caption read:

“the devil brings me strawberry milk and calls me pretty.

i think i’m falling for the danger.

pretty things bleed too… but maybe this time someone will catch the blood before it hits the ground.”

I hit post and closed the laptop, heart pounding.

I didn’t know it yet, but that post would catch the attention of someone very important.

Someone who would change everything.

Seraphina Devereux.

But for now, I fell asleep with the taste of strawberries on my tongue and the ghost of Damian’s touch on my skin.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel completely alone.

And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.