Tiny Dancer [EverlyxSterling]

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"I'm glad you like it," she said with a bit of a smile.

It was nice to cook for somebody. She cut into her own chicken, watching the stuffing plump up as the steam left the meat. It was not her first time making kiev, so she knew it was good, but it was never as good. Something about having a dish made by the first person who made it for you was simply better. It was a shame that it could not happen again. She took a bite and relaxed. Hot, juicy, tasty. It calmed her tense nerves and she stopped brooding on the oddness that existed between herself and Damien. That didn't matter. What did matter was dinner and not going batshit crazy.

"I think it's passable."
 
"I think you're too hard on yourself," Damien said with a lop-sided grin. He'd already devoured half the meal, and loved every bite he'd consumed. He was trying to be positive, because Damien had picked up on a strange new tension between himself and Natalia. He achieved a comfort with Natalia just a few minutes ago, and the easiness seemed mutual. Now, he wasn't so sure. But, Damien was a warrior well accustomed to invading potentially hostile territory with little more than his confidence. He felt Natalia was wavering for some reason, and decided to ride on the surf of his confidence toward her shores.

Damien finished his meal more quickly than expected. It was just that good. He rose from the couch and brought his plate to the sink and began washing the dishes.
 
Natalia blinked when Damien got up with his plate and went into the kitchen to wash it. Did he just..? He did. There was a man in her kitchen washing dishes. It was official - the world was ending, the sky was falling, and it was only a matter of time before the entire building fell down into a black abyss. She blinked a few times, then looked down at her own plate. Huh. She hesitated, then finished up her own dinner and took her dishes into the kitchen as well.

"You don't have to wash those, you know," she informed him, confused but rather pleased.
 
"You made dinner ... Fair's fair."

Damien chided himself for the obnoxious Western drawl to which he just subjected this cultured, Russian woman. Still, it came out on occasions he felt particularly at home. Air controllers, whether military or civilian, tended to speak curtly and in a lower tone, which was often confused with a curious southern dialect. Damien's native linguistic tendencies wove seamlessly within this expectation, but he, nevertheless, felt a touch self-conscience; it reminded him of his pauper origins.

He cocked another sidelong smile at Natalia, taking her plate from her grasp and cleaning it thoroughly. These plates were of a much higher quality than he was used to handling, and took great care in not letting them slip, chip, or break.

"I'm almost done," Damien said with an easy smile. "Besides, it's the least I can do for putting me up for the night."
 
"I don't mind. It's nice to have somebody else here for a change."

As soon as the words left her, she regretted them. Opening up to Damien more was not what she needed. She frowned a little and set her water glass down beside the sink, then went to his other side and pulled out a towel to begin drying the dishes. Without a word, she put them away where they went. He was too easy to talk to, she decided. That was her problem. If he was more of a dick, they wouldn't be speaking about things that were better left alone. She tried not to think about it, struggling to think of a topic that was better suited for the situation.

"Do you think the blanket I got out will be warm enough for you?"
 
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Damien replied. He was now occupied with wiping down the counter top. After discarding the crumbs in his hand in the garbage, he set the sponge to dry next to the sink and went back out near the couch. Damien opened up the blanket, assessed its overall size and rubbed the thickness of the blanket between his fingertips. Better blanket than I had overseas. Damien faced Natalia as she emerged from the kitchen, and nodded kindly.

"This is a better blanket than I have at home, and the pillow's great," he said. Damien sensed he was being banished to the couch, and felt a slight disappointment. He didn't necessary need to have sex, for the act of coitus brought with it a horde of unforeseeable revelations, connections, and impulses. Messy business, to be sure, but he wondered where the evening was going. He thought being deposited on the couch with a pillow and a stout blanket was premature.

Regardless, he prepared his bed and waited for Natalia to excuse herself - just as a gentleman should.
 
Natalia nodded and gave him a bit of a smile as he told her the things she had set out for him would be fine. That was good. She watched him make up a bed on the couch, feeling a bit out of place. How odd, to have a guest. He seemed comfortable enough, but still she lingered, uncertain.

"Goodnight, Damien. Let me know if you need anything," she finally said, smiling at him before wandering in her room without bothering to close the door behind her.

Honestly, it was still early for her. At this point she was normally still dancing her way around a pole and stuffing tips into her underwear. It would be hours before she normally crashed. The only thing she knew of that would make her tired enough to pass out was pills. She went over to her bed and reached in to her bag, pulling out a packet of them, but then she paused. Damien. Her desire vanished and she slowly put the drugs back into her bag. She didn't want to do that with him here. It felt.. wrong. She set her bag on the floor instead and climbed up on the bed, trying to feel tired.

It didn't work.

Instead she found her mind wandering, which was the main reason why she avoided being sober at all costs. She sat up and leaned over to the side of the bed furthest from the door, picking up a small picture on the table there. It was her mother and herself, both dressed in tights and leotards. They were standing in identical poses. It had always been Natalia's favorite picture, and later became the only one she had in her possession of her mother. She held it tight against her chest, tucking her head down and resting her forehead on her knees as she cried silently.

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The Kossack in the portrait was glaring at Damien as he laid upon Natalia's leather couch. It hung on the opposing wall, and bore a savage visage that haunted Damien as he sought the shelter of sleep. Damien had tried sleeping at the other end of the couch, but found an uncomfortable lump buried somewhere in the seat cushion. He couldn't afford a sore back with his schedule, and decided to stare down the nomadic barbarian.

Finally, Damien rose from the couch and walked to the painting. The face confronted his approach with a stern, unintimidated look that betrayed a soul as black as it was cruel. Damien carefully lifted the painting up and off its hook, and then he placed the portrait upon the ground. He took a step, turned, and then reversed the portrait to face the wall. The compression in his chest immediately released, and he stepped back toward his "bed".

Until, he heard Natalia weeping.

At first, he thought he was hearing a noise from the urban soundtrack just outside. Then, he began to quietly approach her door. It was set ajar, and he could see Natalia sitting upon her bed, chin to knees. She held a picture frame, and she grasped it as a drowning person would a lifeline. His heart opened fully for the damaged woman. She was imperfect, but he wanted her to be his. In spite of his silent plea, he wondered how dangerous it was to embark upon the course of action he intended. Natalia was a volatile person, with deep, torturous wounds. To make matters worse, she had adopted a more distant disposition toward Damien just before bedtime. He wanted to comfort her, but he realized that entering Natalia's room could be a colossal mistake.

Damien carefully swung the door open by a foot, and silently entered the ornate room. The room was decorated as grandly as the rest of the apartment, but Damien's eyes were glued on the woman spiraling into her own terrible darkness.

As Damien walked into the room, he thought the bag on the floor contained plastic. The contents reminded him of the neatly arranged stash in Andrei's desk. His eyes returned to Natalia, and his compassion flowed from him. The night can be lonely and cruel. Often, the mere presence of another tortured soul can ease the crushing burdens we carry within ourselves. Damien carefully sat on the edge of Natalia's bed, and began to gently rub her back.
 
Natalia was trying to grasp some sense of calm and logic, but she simply could not. Everything that had been crammed down deep inside was starting to come loose, creating an explosive effect that was not as therapeutic as some people liked to make it out to be. Instead of feeling relieved, she felt as if she were drowning. Her mind was flooded with old memories that she had refused to allow herself to think of for years. Her heart actually hurt, aching in her chest as she strained to remember what her mother's voice had sounded like. It was a failed effort. She could only remember the woman when she was dancing, a smile lighting up her face. No words, simply joy. Yet now the world was robbed of that. It was probably a good thing. The woman would have committed suicide if she saw what her precious daughter had become.

I'm so sorry..

She was still struggling when she felt something new. A hand. The caress was soft and gentle, easing her out of the whirlpool in her head. She slowly raised her forehead from her knees, her wet eyes taking a few moments to focus. Damien. She knew it was him, but somehow all she registered was that somebody was there. Somebody who didn't expect her to be something that she wasn't. A person who was still next to her despite her horrid inadequacies. She set the picture aside on the bed and crawled weakly into his lap, curling both of her skinny arms around him tight and crying against his shoulder. It was obvious that she just needed somebody to hold on to.
 
Damien sat and held Natalia tightly. His comforting hands still ran over her shoulder blade and upper back soothingly. Damien let Natalia convulse in her guilt-steeped sadness. He sat there upon her bed, simply holding her for what seemed like hours. When her head laid against his shoulder, he'd lower his head onto hers. Damien's lips would touch her blonde hair, and he could smell her perfume of her scent.

In this way, Damien comforted Natalia for as long as she needed - all night long, if necessary.
 
As it so often does, exhaustion began to overtake Natalia's sorrow. For about twenty minutes she cried against Damien, getting his shirt thoroughly damp with her streaming tears. However, that could not last forever. Fatigue began to set in and her tears slowed, her eyes drooping as she relaxed against him. His gentle massage of her back was lulling her into a more controlled rate of breathing, the hiccuping-style jerks fading away. Soon she was still in his arms, having drifted off to sleep sitting up without bothering to get under the blankets.
 
The last time Damien cared for a child was his baby brother. Damien was six years older than Joseph, but helped care for him when their mother worked extra shifts at the factory. Natalia was not an infant toddler, but the similarities at the moment were remarkable, along with the knowledge of what had to be done. Still holding Natalia upright, Damien pulled back the covers as far as his arms could reach. There were three layers different thicknesses, all silken to the touch. Damien checked to ensure Natalia wasn't wearing any shoes, then slowly rose himself. As he shifted his weight, he hoisted Natalia up and under the covers, taking care to support her limp head in the crux of his elbow.

Damien pulled the covers over Natalia. She looked so peaceful in that moment, free from worry and angst, free from the lashing from her own miserable hand. He decided he liked seeing her this way. Damien began to creep out of the room when he saw her bag on the floor once again. He bent down and lifted the plastic bag of pills from the pouch. The bag in his hand definitely came from Andrei, and Damian had a mind to flush each and everyone of those damn pills down the toilet.

No, he told himself.

Natalia needs to turn away from pills and other drugs of her own accord. Being told want to do seemed the surest way to get Natalia to do the exact opposite. Pride was a sin that Damien knew all too well, and felt Natalia suffered the same afflictions.

Damien closed Natalia's door as actually as he opened it. He laid down upon the couch, and thought of what he'd just done for some minutes before falling into a deep sleep.
 
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For once, Natalia had peaceful dreams. She was not plagued by the nightmares that so often accompanied being sober, and the blank emptiness that came with being high was gone as well. It was the first time she had gotten a true rest in a long time. When she woke up in the morning, she stretched in her bed, mildly confused. When had she gone to sleep? She sat up and glanced around, spotting the picture laying next to her. Oh.. She carefully picked it up and put it back on the table, slowly recalling the feeling of being held. It was faint and hard to place, but she was certain it had to be Damien. Nobody else would have been here. What must he think of her now? She had displayed weakness, something that she hated doing. It made her feel exposed.

She frowned and slid out of bed, wondering what to do. Her head was killing her, a migraine slowly working its claws into her temples. Eugh. She had been sober too long. Stumbling a bit, she went around to the other side of her bed and scooped up her bag, barely glancing inside as she curled her fingers around the pills she so desperately sought. Damien would just have to deal with it since she had nothing else, not even a cig. She swallowed them quickly, then grabbed a fresh set of clothes and made her way to the shower.

Half an hour later she came out feeling much better. She was more awake, plus she was clean and dressed. Of course, her version of dressed was a tight blank tank top so low it displayed her neon blue bra and a tiny black skirt with black stockings topped with blue bows... but still. She was dressed. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun for the moment, keeping it out of her face as she wandered into the kitchen to see about making something for breakfast. At the very least, she wanted tea.
 
Damien awoke with a slight start as he heard Natalia open the door to her bedroom. His eyes felt red and raw from the horrible sleep that he had gotten during the night. The world was out of focus for him, and he tried to breathe some fresh air to combat the feeling of fatigue from lack of sleep. Damian sat up on the couch just as Natalia was walking by on her way to the kitchen in her outfit and black stockings. Damien almost didn't register what he was seeing until Natalia rounded the corner and started making tea. Given the moment they shared last night, he was taken aback by her apparent coldness. Maybe she just didn't see me, he thought.

Damien stood up and stretched in place, then headed to the bathroom to clean up before heading out. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was grizzled and his eyes looked shot. I look like crap. A cold splash of water to the face helped banish the fatigue. He forgot how draining it was to be strong for someone else, to allow yourself to be used as a means for someone else to prop themselves up and stand again. Damien wasn't interested in much, but he hoped for some thawing in the detente between he and Natalia.

Damien took a deep breath, and walked out in the living room intent upon speaking with Natalia.
 
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"Good morning," she greeted as soon as he was in the living room. She handed him a cup of tea with sugar already in it, then went back to the kitchen since she was in the middle of cooking. It painted an odd picture to be sure - a woman dressed like a prostitute, standing in her kitchen and humming to herself as she cooked oladushki.

"You don't look too hot. Sorry if the couch was uncomfortable. You could have slept with me if you wanted," she offered after a moment, not knowing how to bring up the subject of what had happened the night before. It seemed odd to not mention it, but at the same time, she was not in favor of reopening herself to that weakness. People liked to find out what made others crumble. What if the niceness faded and he exploited her somehow? It wouldn't be the first time. She took the little pancakes off the stove, sliding a large pile of them on a plate before looking back up at Damien with a hesitant smile.

"Thank you.. for everything.."
 
Damien accepted the tea Natalia handed him, taking a quick sip to help clear his mind. He watched Natalia strut back into the kitchen like a lingerie model, and his heart sank. Damien knew why she was dressed so provocatively now, and realized where she'd be this evening. He imagined what she'd be doing for other men - for cash. The sinking feeling he felt wasn't from judgement, it was pain from knowing she really wasn't his. Not yet, anyway.

Natalia was cooking again. He insisted to himself that he wasn't very hungry, but his growling stomach protested otherwise. He swallowed nervously and stepped into the kitchen. The pancakes were unlike anything he had smelled before, and the obvious care taken into their culinary quality began to unhinge Damien. More than a simple man confronted with a ethnic meal, Natalia's apparent sweetness reminded Damien of his mother's devoted care. Damien glanced at the clock and realized he would normally be visiting with his mother then.

"You don't look too hot. Sorry if the couch was uncomfortable."

The only thing that felt uncomfortable to Damien was the knife's blade he was walking on. There were not many women in Damien's life, especially ones he felt close with. It wasn't deliberate on his part, it was simply a by-product of the hectic life he'd found himself leading. But, there was something about Natalia that brought comfort to Damien's soul, and shunted his natural, manic nervousness that allowed him to breath freely. On the other hand, Natalia stripped for a living, and brazenly flaunted her sexuality for attention and profit. How far did she go in plying her trade? Damien had been to strip joints with friends once or twice, and he knew what those back rooms were used for. The thought of Natalia leading some dickhead into a private room made him feel nauseous. But, this was the price he knew he'd have to pay last night when he realized what he wanted, who he wanted. Natalia approved of lesser men groping her marred innocence; in a few hours, more men would enjoy something over which he craved sole dominion.

"You could have slept with me if you wanted."

Damien's fogged mind blinked when he heard Natalia's statement, but he soon understood the platonic nature of the offer. If I could have crashed in your bed, why did you put me on the couch? The confusion and mixed signals ate at his mood in slight frustration. It didn't matter, he made his choice. Damien wondered if Natalia's grief was so profound last night that she didn't fully comprehend who she was holding. Damien realized he was becoming grumpy and petulant, and needed to leave very soon. And, then ...

"Thank you ... for everything."

The words sounded clear and bright to Damien's ears. They came on a zephyr of kindness that began to melt the turmoil beginning to brew within him. Damien solemnly entered the kitchen and helped himself to one of the prepared oladushki. He had to say something meaningful — if for nothing else, for his own sanity.

"Natalia ... I ... I have a habit of helping people out. Most of the time, it really doesn't matter who. That's what military folks do ... we serve. That doesn't turn off when we wear civilian clothes. When I help my friends, or Lily, it's because I need to. But, you're different. Natalia, I want to help you."

Damien's speech came in a soft, yet insistent metre. "It was killing me to hear you sufferin' last night. I didn't join you, 'cause I didn't think you wanted me, or appreciated me there. I know you got problems inside. I do, too. But, that doesn't matter to me. Natalia, I lo..."

Damien glanced at Natalia's outfit, and thought of the bag of pills he should have disposed of last night. It was ironic - in his imagination, he'd often fantasized about scantily-clad European women in stockings. Just then, however, he felt repulsed. Natalia was incredibly attractive, but, she was made up for someone else - for everyone else, and therefore not for him.

"I see you're ready for work ... I should probably go."
 
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Natalia listened curiously as Damien explained that helping people was simply something that he did all the time. It was comforting to know that he did not think anything of helping her the night before, but at the same time she felt as though it had been a big deal.. to her, anyway. But then he went on to say that helping her had been different. It was a desire, not a need. What did that even mean? She gazed at him, her expression uncertain as he went on to explain why he hadn't joined her in bed. They both had baggage. A lot of it. She knew there was more to Damien than he had told her, just as there was more to her story that she had withheld from him.

She nodded once and was about to say something, but then he commented on her outfit. On instinct alone, she glanced down, realizing a few things all at the same time. His expression came first. The only word she could think of to describe it was disgust. He was upset about something. Then came his tone. It was.. not the same as before. She felt dismissed. It hurt, and it hurt a lot. She had been open with him and told him what she did, and now it was as though he had decided to not approve several hours later.

"Yeah.. you probably should," she agreed quietly, not looking at him since she was still reeling as though he had slapped her.

This was stupid. Why did she feel as though she wanted his approval? He was just some stupid guy who disliked every part of her lifestyle. It made her ache. The pills were wearing off and she knew precisely what she was going to do when he left. She'd go find a dealer and get higher than a fucking kite. It didn't matter anyway since she was unlikely to see him again anytime soon, unless they crossed paths at the hospital. Who cared. She looked down and silently munched on one of the little oladushki. She did.. she cared.
 
Damien recoiled when Natalia heard him mention her choice of dress. He wounded her, and when he put the variables together he knew he should not have been surprised by her reaction. But, that's how he felt about her situation, but not about her. Before Damien left, he decided to make the distinction clear to the young and, seemingly, fragile dancer.

Damien gently slid his hand onto the side of Natalia's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I hurt you ... It's just that I want you for myself. I don't know what else to do." He cast a open glance toward her face, not knowing if her head would lift. "I'd like to see you again. Call me if you want."

Damien let his hand slide slowly down Natalia's shoulder and elbow, then reluctantly turned to leave.
 
Natalia expected him to leave, but he didn't. Instead, she felt his hand on her shoulder. She didn't look up at him, not wanting to see in his eyes again how much his disapproved of her life choices. As if that was any of his business! She was perfectly fine before he came around and she'd be perfectly fine without him now. Right? But then she heard what he was saying. He was apologizing, claiming he wanted her for himself. What? She blinked and looked up, her grey eyes meeting his with a look of stunned confusion. He wanted her? For what? He didn't strike her as the type to want a quick fuck, and if that's all he wanted, he could have already gotten it. How odd. He wasn't offering her cash either, so she was left with the strange feeling that he wanted something else. Something that she didn't know how to give.

"Okay. Bye," she murmured, watching him go as she tried to piece it all together.

An hour after he left, she left too, with her jacket on over her shirt and a pair of knee-high heeled boots on. She strolled down the sidewalk with purpose, having come to a few conclusions. The most important one was that Damien was somebody she should probably stay away from if at all possible. He was a nice guy, a military guy who needed somebody that wasn't.. what she was. Drugs, stripping, moodiness. That wasn't the sort of shit he needed to deal with. So he had a crush on her, so what? Lots of guys did. He needed.. what was her name? That woman he had been with.. Jenny. She seemed nice and normal. Clean. She frowned at the thought, glancing down at the napkin in her bag with his number on it. What if she was clean too? Then maybe he'd..

No, no.

She purchased all the drugs she needed, putting them in prescription pill bottles so that nobody looked twice when she went into the hospital. Two hours after Damien had left, Natalia was sitting at Lily's bedside. There was no change. Perhaps there wouldn't be, but she was going to keep hoping. That was all she could do. This was her mess. If Lily hadn't picked up those syringes... She sighed deeply, burying her face in her hands. The drugs were destroying her and she knew it, but she didn't know what else to do. Live sober? That was terrifying. She didn't want to deal with reality. But.. Reality had Damien. She frowned, pushing the thoughts away and struggling to regain her cocky attitude.
 
Damien left Natalia's apartment deflated. In reality, he's not sure why it would've been any different. His life until that point had been a series of disappointments against an undercurrent of extremely hard work. These disappointments, however, were general in nature and completely manageable. Situations had but two outcomes: changes for the better, and negative effects. It was not uncommon to experience both outcomes at once, and heralded fundamental change. Damien wasn't a fan of change, but did invite growth. It was simply the way the world worked. That's how he thought of Natalia; he did not want her to change, he wanted her to grow.

As he stepped past the door frame and out onto the stairs, Damien didn't notice the picture of the Kossack which he had placed on the floor the night before. It was still there facing inward when Damien past the bakery and hailed a cab. It was almost 9:00am, and he should be at Andrei's place working on his chops. He sighed. The price of deviating, even by a small margin, from his rigid schedule meant that much of his day would be jumbled.

Damien entered the cab and closed the door, instructing the driver to take him home. He flipped open his phone to call Andre, when he noticed that he had many messages from Jenny. Some were texts, some were voice-mail, all of them escalated in worry and concern over where Damien had been the previous night. He needed to find her, and wondered if she was still at her apartment. Jenny worked irregular hours, but was gone most of the day in the financial district. She mentioned doing some transactions from home, but Damien was never around enough to ascertain any pattern to her comings-and-goings. The cab glided to a halting stop in front of the four-flat. Damien paid the cabbie, then walked up the steps into the unknown.

Damien opened the inner glass door and padded softly toward his door. He froze, and turned to look at Jenny's door. He sighed deeply, then rapt his knuckles lightly on his neighbor's door. At first, a calming feeling settled over him when no sound could be heard. But then, there was a sudden rustling and he heard the door's multiple latches unlock. Jenny's tired and ragged face appeared around the door as it opened. She wore stylish black-rimmed glasses, and her hair was wrapped in a bun.

"Damien?" she asked.

"Hey, ... Hi Jenny." Damien was almost whispering, and Jenny opened her door more to assess Damien who looked at drawn out as she was.

"D-Damien, what happened last night? Where were you?" The tone of her voice was not accusational, nor was it demanding. It was laced with nothing but pure, affectionate concern. Christ, he thought. That made what he had to say that much harder.

"Well, it was a good thing you left when you did. This guy showed up harassing ladies. Seriously out of control ... he was armed."

"Oh, my God ..." Jenny covered her mouth. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Damien's understating manner normally glossed over real danger with a casualness that induced calm in whomever he spoke to. He knew he was being deceitful, and it killed him inside. "I had a hand in taking care of him, and I had to deal with things afterwards. It's no big deal."

Jenny smiled with a relief that had waited hours to be released. She reached out with both arms and embraced the young warrior. "Oh, ... I was so worried." Damien slowly brought his arms and lightly encircled Jenny's trim body. He wondered if this is what holding Natalia would feel like, and wondered if he'd seen the last of her. Natalia smoldered in displeasure when Damien left, and other than his phone number on a napkin (and possibly crossing paths at the hospital), he did not know how to contact her. Yes, he did know where she lived, but Damien was not about to stake out her apartment like some deranged stalker. It was some time before Damien realized neither of them had released. Damien let go slowly of a blushing Jenny, who smiled sweetly."I'm glad you're okay."

The conflict tore at Damien's insides. He could not deny that he wanted Natalia, he wanted to embrace her brokenness and love her because of her struggles. But, Natalia didn't seem quite interested in Damien, and was often withdrawn and moody. Damien guessed at the storm of emotions within Natalia, but was ultimately a practical man. Jenny was here, and she was very interested. And, Damien could not deny the energizing effects of being wanted and adored. Damien shelved his "talk" with Jenny, and decided to break her heart another day.

"Well, I need to head off to work now," Damien said.

"Can I buy you lunch somewhere?" Jenny asked hopefully.

"No, thanks, Sweetie. I need to hike up to Mid-Town."

"Well, I'll just drive us. We can grab something and I'll drop you off?" Jenny flashed an adorable smile. "Easy!"

"Okay. You win. Let me get my things." Damien felt like a heel, like he was taking advantage of Jenny's eagerness. He thought it was openly apparent that getting close to Damien was a useless endeavor. But, was he the delusional one? There was a curious high from being pampered that might not be so awful after all. Perhaps this is what normal was, and what normal felt like? So much of Damien's life consisted of some kind of struggle, that the sensation of relaxing acceptance was an awkward coat to wear. Damien soon emerged from his apartment with a bag of tools.

"Ready, Sweetie?" Damien asked. He walked first out to the street. Jenny locked her door and smiled happily at her new moniker.
 
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