His Unperfect Lass.

|Chapter 12|

Damian

I see a boy. No, the ten-year-old me, standing in tears, watching as the consuming fire leaks around me. I'm strapped, with no other way out.

"Dad!" I scream on the top of my lungs. I can't see anything, the choking smoke obscuring my sight. I can feel the heat of the scorching flame burning through my skin.

"Damian!"

I see my Dad, running towards the fire and into it. He removes his shirt and wraps it around me, searching for a safe exit.

"Oh my God! Damian!" Mom screams, putting her hand over her mouth. Her eyes in tears. But she stands still, too afraid to come near the fire.

I hear an explosion, and the next second Dad and I is blown away, hitting my arm against the hot counter. My skin burns and I scream.

I shoot up, startled. Realizing where I am, I run my fingers through my sweaty hair. It's just another nightmare—memories.
I sit, placing my feet on the tile, giving myself extra seconds to recover from the tragic recollection.
I stand up, slip into my moccasin slippers and head out of my bedroom. It's Saturday morning, my day off at work. I wonder what the ludicrous cook is up to this time, I thought as I stand behind my door. Wait! It's Saturday. I look down the hallway, and I decided to go check if the unprofessional cook has left.

I stand behind her door. "Mina?" I call, but no response. Did she leave already? "Mina?" I knock this time, still no response. I grab the doorknob, twist it to the side and open it slightly, enough for me to peer in. She's still in bed.

I push the door wide enough for me to step through. I walk towards her bed and stand by the edge gazing down at her. She's sleeping face-down, snoring with her mouth open and I can see a dry drool at the corner of her lip.
I frown at her sleeping form, at how disheveled she looks. The bed cover is off her form, dangling over the bed. My eyes falls onto her blue panda shorts, with the face of the cartoon character grinning in-between her butt cheeks. I smile a little, it looks hilarious.

As she turns over to the other end with her back facing me, scratching her butt in the process, I hear her fart.

I backpedal, covering my nostrils. "That stinks. What has she been eating?" I mutter.

As if that wasn't disgusting enough, she releases another. This time I can almost taste the smell.

I wrinkle up my nose. "What's wrong with her? Does she have a hole in her gut or what? Oh that stinks."

She turns over to me and I see her starting to wake up. In two seconds her eyes are wide open, staring into mine.

She immediately sit up. "What're you doing here?" she asks.

"This is my house," I tell her.

"Yeah, but this is my room. You can't just barge in . . ." She trails off, her face contorting while sniffing the air. "Ugh, what's that awful smell?" She looks at me. "Did you . . . did you fart?"

My jaw drops, my eyes widens. Is she kidding me?

"Oh my God. You could've just gone outside. Don't mean to be rude, but that's so disgusting. Ugh."

What the heck? Am I being accused?

"How dare you accuse me of  that?" I walk up to her, glaring, hands on my waist.

She stands on her knees, on top of the mattress, hands on her waist as well while she returns the glare. "So what? Are you saying that I did?"

Is she trying to pick a fight? "We're the only ones in here," I state. "I didn't. Which means you did."

"I think you're just trying to cover up your disgusting act."

"Mind the way you speak to me Mina," I warn.

"My name is Nina. Is that so hard to pronounce?"

I move closer to her, up close, my head hovering above her face. She doesn't budge as I lift my hand pretending to strike. Hmm. Tough girl huh. I pause, taking a step back, her gaze following me. I outstretch my hand in front of her face, using my index finger, I push her forehead and she jerks backwards falling onto the bed.
She shoot up climbing off the bed, biting her bottom lip in annoyance.

"What's today?" I ask, ignoring the glare she has on.

"Friday," she answers.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "Really? Are you that dumb not to realize that today is Saturday?"

She opens her mouth to speak then pauses, trying to recall the date.

"I expect you to have left by now."

Her glare thaws. "Go . . . where?"

"How would I know? Wherever you came from. Today and tomorrow are your days off remember? So, I expect you to be back here by Monday morning."

She grab my hand as I turn to leave. I look down at her grip and she immediately let go.

"Please. You don't have to give me two days off. I'm okay with working all through the entire week." She grins.

"I'm not giving you the two days off just so you can rest or whatever. I'm giving you because I don't want to keep seeing your face around the house. Two days without having your presence here." I turn to leave but she tugs at my shirt.

"I can just lock myself up in here. Isn't that better?"

"For two days?" She nods. "No. I prefer you leave."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," she says as I reach the door.

I turn around to see her standing with her head down. Probably too embarrassed to look me in the eyes. "You don't have a house?" I pretend to ask something I already know.

She look up, and I see how melancholy her little face is. "No," she admits. "I was kicked out of my apartment."

If I hadn't changed my mind when I'd fired her the last time, where would she have stayed? I thought. And I decided to ask.

"A friend's," she answers, "which would be so embarrassing for me. Please. I'm begging you."

I watch as tears begin to pool in her eyes. Is she really going to cry? Is life really that tough for her?

I sigh. "Fine. No days off." Her face light up in seconds. "Don't make me regret it," I add.

"Of course not, sir Demon—Damian." She bite her lip.

I sigh shaking my head. Now I'm starting to regret it.