The air between us thickens with every passing second. We never talk since I woke up on his bed. I have no idea how I managed to doze off with Damien on the other side of the bed. I just know that I was biting my tongue the whole time last night so he wouldn't hear me crying.
This morning, we have breakfast in his dining room. No talking, just pure clanking sounds of our utensils. I can't look at him in the eyes because every time I recall what could have happened, I cringe. Despite everything, Damien still includes me in his breakfast. Never have I thought that he has some sense of obligation toward me. He could have kicked me out last night, but he didn't. I wonder why.
His car pulls over in the parking space of the school grounds.
"This is us," he says icily as he reaches for his bag from the back seat.
At the tip of my tongue is the question that might change everything again. I am thinking of asking him to try one more time tonight or tomorrow if he wants to. It's really crazy how desperate I am. I have no idea what got to me last night. We were there on his bed. He was so close to me. I was so close to my one million dollars then it just vaporized into thin air after I started crying.
Fear? Yes and no.
Doubt? Yes and no.
I don't know what it really was.
I was so determined last night that I thought my willpower would drive away all my fears. Perhaps it was because I am too smart to fool myself that it is an okay thing to do. Never will it be justifiable. Having sex with someone I don't even love isn't what my parents taught me growing up. I want my first time to be with the man I love not with the man who can pay for it. Call me the trying hard immaculate Angel Mohr but I never deemed myself doing it unless for procreation purposes. That's pretty much the reason. I am too dignified to stoop that low. It was my impulse that stopped me. It was my inner voice.
"Damien," I finally speak.
He turns to face me with those eyes, bombarding me with all the attention I cannot handle. I don't know what's happening to me, but after last night, I begin to feel really shy. It's like my tongue retreats when he looks at me like this. His eyes are smoldering like he wants to rip me out of my clothes again just like last night.
What is this I'm feeling? It's so new and strange, so intimidating and discomfiting. I want the feisty Angel back, the Angel who can readily answer in retaliation whatever this Damien fires at her. I want her back.
"Please don't tell others." I move my glare to my palms pressed onto my lap.
He nods.
I wish he will keep his promise. That serious look on his face shows pity for me. He might be thinking I am in dismay for not getting his money. Well, I am, and it shows on my face. Damien can't just shower me with money, not without getting his part of the share, and I failed big time there. Charity isn't his thing.
I gather my legs together, push the door open, and hop off. I feel his glare on my back, probably feeling bad for me. I don't look back, and I don't want to. If I do and see him feeling sorry for me, I might just blurt out what I have been thinking the whole time we were driving our way to school. He mustn't think I am this desperate. He mustn't know I am thinking of asking for a second try.
Looks like I'll have to find another way. Damien is officially stripped off the title 'my hope.' It's not like I'm going to look for another guy who is just like him, who has this big appetite for the thing financially desperate women can give. No, I'm not gearing toward that direction again. I'm going to find another ray of light.
I know I can do this. It's not the time to feel weak and hopeless. I have a family needing my strength.
I walk straight across the hallway when I see Ray running toward me looking so frenzied.
"Angel!" He gasps for air.
"What's wrong?" I ask, wondering over his rather odd state. He appears like he has been chasing a toddler in a children's party.
He pulls me to the corner where the bulletin boards are jammed with announcements.
"Where were you this morning?" His nose wrinkles and his clutch tighten. "I lied to Mr. Maxwell. I told him you were in the hospital taking care of your father. But obviously, you weren't in the hospital. Were you with Etheridge?"
I hurriedly cup his mouth with my hand which he quickly avoided.
"Oh my God, you were!"
"Hush, Ray!" I look around and see people watching us. I bet they became a little interested the moment they heard Etheridge's name.
I have no clue if I should tell him about last night. Ray is my friend, but last night is not something worth telling. It's embarrassing and even degrading. Besides, I promised not to do it, but I did. Ray will be frustrated to no end when he finds out.
"So you were really with him." His clutch loosens. "It's true what those third years were gossiping about in the cafeteria."
"What gossip, Ray?"
"They were talking about you coming out of Damien's car. I asked you to make sure it isn't true, but it looks like it is."
"Oh, God, Ray. I think I am on everyone's list now." My voice cracks. "It's not what they think."
"You are now, Angel. You are on top of their hate list. They are like piranhas, I tell you. Right now, I think they want to be in your shoes." His reproach is a bullet hitting straight into my heart. "Damien has never brought a girl to school. You're the first, Angel!"
"I am? Really?" My lips curve into a smile. It's quite shocking to hear that. I am the first girl he brought to school, and it amuses me in an unusual way. I don't know if I should rejoice, but I feel this little familiar discomfort in my tummy again, the same sensation I feel whenever Damien looks at me this morning.
Well, he is your first too, Angel! I thought to myself. He first touched you. He's the first guy to have seen you almost bare. He's got the firsts which you have been preserving for the man you'll love.
The smile wanes.
I am a bit surprised that Ray knows so many things about Damien. He sounds like he has been stalking him for quite a long time.
"Yes, you are, and it's a bad thing, Angel." Ray is so pissed. He transformed into that overprotective friend again. "Being near Damien isn't good for all the female species, I tell you. He gets every girl who comes to him, and it's written in his DNA. He exudes this and that... if you know what I mean. Believe me, I've been there. I was a victim of Etheridge's charm and all. I am not a girl, I wish I am, that's why I'll never be a candidate for heartbreak. Everyone who is linked to him falls in love, and Damien does what he's good atâ break hearts after breaking hymens. Get the picture? He's terribly dangerous."
I could only sigh with relief. I want to jump for joy, but Ray will be wondering about this extreme outburst of bliss. It's a respite to actually know this and know that nothing happened last night. It just means I am safe from his claws. Gone is regret for not having the million dollars he promised. I could call last night a nightmare turned blessing from which I learned a valuable lesson.
But if Damien is what Ray says he is, the extremely dangerous rich guy who makes all girls fall in love with him with the intention of only breaking their hearts and hymens, why didn't he do it last night? I was weak and dazed. He could have easily done it. I am too small to even resist him. What happened to the beast he ought to be?
"How sure are you that Damien is that kind of guy?" I say in a lowered my voice.
"It's a no-brainer, Angel. Remember Taylor Higgins?"
"The cheerleader who cut her wrist last summer? Why?"
"She's his nth victim." Ray sounds so sure. "Taylor isn't the only one. The others aren't accounted for, but I am sure they're pretty hurt. Oh, I feel so awful for even telling you to reconsider before. I'm such a bad friend."
"No, you aren't."
"So, why were you in his car?"
I thought he would just let me off
"We just talked," I lied through my teeth.
"Talk about what?" His eyebrow arches.
"De Vere. It's due next Friday." Now, my conscience is killing me. "Actually, Ray..."
"Angel, you have Haynes at ten thirty, right? It's ten thirty-five already," Ray says while looking at his watch.
"Damn it! I'm late. I'll see you later this afternoon, Ray!" I ran through the corridor, praying that Haynes hasn't arrived yet. Talking with Ray about Damien raised my curiosity. I even lose track of time. Maybe I'll tell him the truth later at the cafeteria.
When I get there, my world crashes. Haynes is already on the platform discussing Charles Dickens and his great expectations. He looks at me through his spectacles and says, "First time to be tardy, Mohr, eh?"
I feel the mortifying warmth across my cheeks as everyone's eyes zero in on me.
"Go to your seat now."
I hurriedly walked to my chair, but before I do, I catch a glimpse of Etheridge looking at me. He is seated a few chairs behind me. His lips are pressed on a thin line, and his gray eyes were still as icy as ever. I'm not sure if there is sympathy in them, but I hope he won't always see me as the poor Angel who knocked on his door for sex to have money. I have a deeper reason for doing it.
I open my notebook and start copying whatever is on the projected slides. With my thoughts of Damien behind me, I cannot concentrate on listening to Haynes. He is now talking about the scene where Pip suspected that Miss Havisham was his benefactor and was ready to give up the dream of becoming a blacksmith. All this doesn't sink into my brain. Fortunately, I have read the book two times and have watched several movie and drama series adaptions via the British channel, so I think it is okay to let my thoughts run around this time. I feel so feverish the whole time I sit, scribbling indecipherable patterns at the top of my notebook while Haynes explains.
My head is filled with Damien Etheridge! I hate it! I hate it so much! I want him to leave my mind, but as I force myself to close my eyes and pretend that I am interested in Pip and Estelle's love story, the electrifying memory of Damien touching me intimately continues to pop out.
Shit! What has he done to me?
I thought that the moment I walk out of his car would be the beginning of a life free of him, but it looks like I'm wrong. Maybe it won't be that fast. Maybe I would need time to fully recover from this traumatic experience. I am no good in psychology, but I can say that last night is a perfect example of an event that will produce looming change. Whatever it is, I fear it will take me a lot of common sense and resilience to adapt to it. I just wish it won't be long to get rid of it. It is very discomfiting really thinking about Mom and Dad, school and money, and Damien and last night's events at the same time. If this continues, I might find myself in a sanitarium before I get my hands on a college diploma.
"I am looking forward to your Shakespeare reports next week," Haynes' words break through my trance. "Monday and Wednesday will be your free day. I suggest you hit the library because it won't be a walk in the park defending your candidates. I say you take this seriously for this will be your ticket to graduation day. Godspeed!" Haynes picks up his pile of leather-bound books from his table and walks out of the room in the speed of light. He does this all the time. He wants to be the first to leave class. Reason? Unknown. People's hypothesis? Cenophobia or fear of empty rooms. From all the gossips about Haynes' living arrangement, it is quite easy to deduce his medical condition. He turned a rather large office all for himself into a crowded office which he gets to share with other staff. His house is crammed with relatives, and he never sleeps alone. I think this matter is no longer a secret. Haynes himself is not denying it, but neither is he admitting it.
Once he is gone, I quickly scamper out of the classroom before I can even detect Etheridge's breath.
I ran to the corridor, looking over my shoulder once in a while to see if he is following, then continue running until I reach the lobby. It's a relief to not see him around. The past few days with him tailing me wherever I am was really taxing on my part. I don't even know if I still have the gall to face him after what happened last night.
I have two hours for my next class, two longs hours of waiting and thinking of what to do with my problem. Why stay in one corner of the library or cafeteria when I can search the entire city for answers?
So I go to where I think is the fastest way to look for moneyâ the bank. Requesting for loans is not a new thing to me. It has become quite a routine practice for me.
Mrs. De Burg, the liaison officer for loan requests, has become my friend after all the years helping me acquire assistance funds. She's motherly, amiable, and caring. She always makes it easier for me. I just wish this time she won't turn me down.
"I'm sorry, Angel," she says apologetically, her hazel green eyes staring at me. "But it's protocol. We can't give loans to patrons who haven't paid their balance for the last two years. Your family has a huge debt to pay first before you can request for another loan. Have you received our letters?"
"Yes, Mrs. De Burg. I promise to pay them." I explain. "I just badly need the money this time. Dad is in the hospital again, and I have an exam coming up."
She rubs her head as though thinking.
"I really want to give this request form to you, but it will still be useless, Angel. The bank will check on your assets and liabilities. They will still find out."
"Is there a way for me to convince the head loan officer, Mrs. De Burg?"
"I'm afraid no, Angel. The bank is a private organization." Then her eyes light up. "Maybe you can try for the public fund. At the City Mayor's Office, they have a department that caters to loan requests for the impoverished." Her face reddens when she realizes it's a bit off-putting to call me impoverished. Though it hurts, I know it is true. Truth hurts anyway. "I mean, for the financially challenged."
"Thanks for the euphemism, Mrs. De Burg." I smile anyway.
"I'm so sorry, dear."
"It's okay. I think I'll go there. What's this office called?"
"The Etheridge Foundation."
Etheridge?
Why must it always be him? I would have asked if there are NGO's or other private organizations that might help me, but searching for NGOs all over the U.S. might take me a month which is way beyond my time frame.
"They don't only offer loans for mortgages and health but also scholastic financial assistance. Doesn't your father have health insurance?"
"He has, but he has used it all up for his last hospitalization. I don't think his insurance can handle all our expenses," I reply. "But I think I'll pass for that, Mrs. De Burg. I heard it would take weeks before they grant your request."
"Why don't you try, Angel? They might reconsider. You just don't know. There's no harm in trying."
I let out a heavy sigh.
"What do I need to do, Mrs. De Burg?"
She holds her index finger up and picks up her ringing phone. "Hold on a sec, Angel." She stands up from her chair and leaves her table.
I look around the bank. There are many people dressed in fine clothes. Obviously, they are the rich people whose hobby is to go bank-hopping. It is too easy for them to take out cash from their pockets. For a moment, I thought of begging or kneeling in front of them. Maybe I should camp outside the bank and ask for alms. With all the money they have, sparing me a few grand wouldn't hurt.
My eyes catch a glimpse of a tall, middle-aged woman, beautiful and sophisticated, enter the bank. Her dark brown hair was in a low bun, her ears, neck, and fingers adorned with large diamonds. She looks so majestic. A troop of men in expensive suits follows her though it seems like they are guarding the diamonds more than her.
I study her face intently. I think I have seen her somewhere, on the TV or a magazine perhaps, but I just don't remember who she is. A bald, round man meets her at the foot of the staircase, shakes her hand then leads her upstairs where guests are invited to discuss their financial status over a cup of tea. I have always dreamed of going up there and see what's inside those rooms. I heard from Ray that only the rich gets this special treatment of tea and a private financial accountant to go through their bank books. Well, what is there to account for in my savings? Whatever little savings I have is hardly a dime to these wealthy people. My eyes are still on the remarkably statuesque and beautiful woman when Mrs. De Burg comes out from the door. Strangely, she is smiling.
"I have good news for you, Angel. You just found yourself a guardian angel!"
"Huh?" I almost fall off my chair.
"Here, sign this request form, and I'll submit this directly to Mr. Eckert."
"Who's Mr. Eckert?"
Is he my guardian angel? I can't handle my excitement. Whoever this Mr. Eckert is, he's heaven sent.
"He's the head loan officer, and he's called me to take your request form."
"But I thought you said I can't request for loans anymore."
"Frankly, I don't know." Her face wrinkles. She seems clueless as to what is happening, but she looks truly happy for me. "But it doesn't matter. You can process your loan request now! It isn't sure yet, but let's see what happens."
o