The First Fight
1142 Words
Valentina was in her studio, elbow-deep in a new painting, when her phone buzzed for the third time that morning. She ignored it again, focusing instead on the messy, vibrant strokes of red and gold spreading across the canvas.
Whoever was calling could wait.
The knock on her door five minutes later, however, couldn’t.
She groaned, wiping her hands on a rag as she opened the door. “If this is another delivery—”
“It’s me,” Damien said, standing in her doorway with his usual air of confidence.
Valentina blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t answering your phone,” he said, stepping inside uninvited.
“Maybe that’s because I was busy,” she replied, shutting the door behind him.
“Busy ignoring the fact that reporters are camping outside your building again?” Damien asked, his tone sharp.
Valentina froze. “They’re back?”
“They’ve been back since this morning,” Damien said, crossing his arms. “You didn’t notice?”
“No,” she admitted, her stomach twisting. “I’ve been working.”
Damien sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Valentina, you can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?” she snapped, turning away from him. “Move? Hide? Stop living my life because people won’t leave me alone?”
“I want you to be safe,” Damien said, his voice low.
“I am safe,” she said, her frustration mounting. “I don’t need you swooping in and trying to fix everything for me.”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “I’m not trying to fix everything. I’m trying to help.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want your help,” she shot back.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the heater. Damien stared at her, his gray eyes flashing with something she couldn’t quite name—anger, maybe, or hurt.
“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” he asked finally.
“Because I’m not some damsel in distress,” Valentina said, crossing her arms. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Damien. I don’t need you to do it for me.”
“I know that,” he said, his voice softening. “But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unfamiliar.
Valentina hesitated, her defenses wavering. Part of her wanted to believe him—to let herself lean on someone for the first time in years. But the other part of her, the part that had built walls so high even she couldn’t see over them, wasn’t ready to let him in.
“I can handle this,” she said finally, turning back to her painting.
“Valentina—”
“Damien,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “I appreciate the concern. I do. But this is my life, and I need to handle it my way.”
Damien stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“Fine,” he said finally, his voice clipped. “But don’t expect me to just stand by and do nothing.”
And with that, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of frustration and guilt.
Valentina tried to focus on her painting, but Damien’s words kept replaying in her mind. She hated fighting with him—hated the way his voice had hardened, the way he’d looked at her before he left.
But she also hated the way he made her feel—like she wasn’t strong enough to handle her own problems.
By the time the sun set, she was too restless to stay in the studio. She grabbed her coat and headed out, determined to clear her head.
The reporters were still there, clustered on the sidewalk like vultures.
“Valentina! Over here!” one of them shouted as soon as she stepped outside.
She kept her head down, walking quickly past the cameras and microphones. Her heart pounded, but she refused to let them see her panic.
When she turned the corner, a sleek black car pulled up beside her. The window rolled down, and Damien leaned out.
“Get in,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Damien, I told you—”
“Please,” he said, his voice softer now. “Just get in the car.”
Valentina hesitated for a moment before climbing in.
“Where are we going?” she asked as Damien pulled away from the curb.
“Somewhere they can’t bother you,” he said.
“Damien, you can’t just—”
“Valentina,” he interrupted, glancing at her. “Let me do this. Just this once.”
She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Fine.”
They drove in silence for a while, the tension between them thick and uncomfortable.
Finally, Damien spoke. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “But you can’t keep showing up and trying to control everything.”
“I’m not trying to control you,” Damien said. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“Everyone needs someone to look out for them,” Damien said. “Even you.”
Valentina didn’t respond, but she felt a lump forming in her throat.
They ended up at a quiet café on the edge of the city, far from the chaos of the reporters.
Over steaming cups of coffee, the tension between them began to ease.
“I’m sorry,” Damien said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t trust you to handle things. I just... care about you. More than I expected to.”
Valentina looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
He smiled faintly. “I’m not used to this. To... us.”
“Neither am I,” she admitted.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them softening.
“I’ll try to back off,” Damien said. “But you have to promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If you ever need help, you’ll ask me.”
Valentina hesitated before nodding. “Deal.”
“Good,” Damien said, his smile widening. “Because I’m terrible at staying away from you.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re irresistible,” he countered.
Valentina rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.
- Writer
