CHAPTER 93: 93 - GO HOME

~93

Lisa’s POV

I swallowed the pills slowly, grimacing at the bitter taste they left behind. Damon sat on the edge of the bed beside me, holding the cup of tea like he was guarding it with his life.

"Done," I muttered, pushing the cup back toward him.

He nodded and stood up, reaching for the bowl of hot water Naomi had left on the table. I watched him quietly, confused. He dipped a small towel into the water, wrung it out, and walked back to me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"You’re burning up," he said. "Just let me do this."

"I don’t need you to."

He ignored me, sitting again and gently placing the warm towel on my forehead. The sensation made me flinch.

"Damon, stop..."

"Lisa," he said, cutting me off. His voice was calm but firm. "You treated me when I had bruises, remember?"

I blinked at him. "That was different."

He met my eyes. "How?"

I didn’t have an answer. I just stared at him, feeling too weak to argue. Finally, I let out a soft breath and lay back down, turning my face slightly away from him.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, pressing the cloth gently to my skin.

It was quiet for a few minutes. The towel moved slowly across my forehead, wiping off the sweat that had started to gather. I closed my eyes and let myself breathe. I was too tired to keep up the fight.

The last thing I remembered was his warm hand resting against my cheek, and then everything went dark.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been asleep. Maybe hours. Maybe the whole night. But I woke up slowly, like I was swimming through thick fog. My head still throbbed, but the burning in my body had lessened. I opened my eyes a little and saw Damon sitting beside me again, his arms crossed and his head tilted slightly.

"You’re awake," he said, voice low.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. "You’re still here?"

"I told you I would be."

I tried to sit up, but he quickly placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don’t," he said. "Just lie down."

"You didn’t have to stay," I whispered.

"I wanted to."

I looked at him, unsure of what to say. He’d never said things like that to me before. Damon had always been cold, distant, and careful. This, this version of him was something new.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I think so. I’m just... tired."

"Your fever broke, which is good," he said, dipping the towel again and gently dabbing the sides of my neck. "You scared me, you know."

I stared at him. "Scared you?"

"Yeah." He gave a short laugh.

I heard myself whisper, "I hate this place."

"I know," he said gently.

"It’s cold."

He stood up quietly, walked across the room, and returned with a thicker blanket. He draped it over me without a word, then sat back down and resumed wiping my forehead.

"You don’t talk much," I murmured.

"There’s not much to say."

"You’re always watching."

"Because you do stupid things."

I closed my eyes. "Like what?"

"Like skipping meals. Taking everyone’s insults and pretending it doesn’t get to you. Fainting and acting like it’s no big deal."

I didn’t respond.

A few seconds passed before I whispered, "I’m used to it."

"That’s not something to be proud of," he said flatly.

My lips trembled. I swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "Then stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you care."

He didn’t answer. He just dipped the towel again, then gently pressed it to my cheek.

I felt myself getting sleepier. My body was too tired to fight. My chest hurt, my head ached, and the warmth of the blanket made me want to curl up and disappear.

"I hate being weak," I muttered.

"You’re not weak, Grumps."

"I want to ask you something," I said quietly, my voice still hoarse from being sick.

Damon was sitting by my side, not saying much, just occasionally glancing at me while he scrolled through something on his tablet. He didn’t answer immediately, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly. That always happened when he sensed I was about to say something serious.

He finally looked at me, brows raised. "What is it?"

I hesitated. "Can I... can I go home for a while? I miss my dad."

He blinked, confused. "Home?"

I nodded slowly. "Just for a few days. Two or three. I just want to see my father."

Damon’s expression tightened, and I could already see the ’no’ forming on his lips.

"I’m not trying to run away," I said quickly, lifting a hand. "If that’s what you’re thinking."

He crossed his arms, giving me that look, the one that said he didn’t believe me fully. "Lisa, do you know how suspicious that sounds? You suddenly asking to leave after being unconscious for almost a full day?"

"I know," I murmured. "But I just... I miss him. I didn’t even say goodbye properly when I left. Everything happened so fast."

Damon exhaled and leaned back in the chair. "Even if you wanted to run," he said, a small scoff escaping his lips, "there are guards stationed in every direction. You wouldn’t get far."

"I’m not trying to run!" I snapped, then winced as my head pounded a bit.

He glanced at me and let out another breath. "Fine."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"I said fine," he repeated. "You can go. Spend a week if you want."

I sat up a little, stunned. "Wait... seriously?"

Damon shrugged. "A week. But only because you look like crap and maybe being with your dad will make you look less miserable."

I didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful.

"I... thank you," I said softly.

"You’re still sick," he reminded me, standing. "You’re not leaving until the physician says you’re strong enough."

"Okay," I nodded. "That’s fair."

"And," he added, pausing by the door, "if I find out you’re planning anything..."

"I’m not!" I cut in.

He gave me a pointed look. "Good. Because if you disappear, Lisa, I’ll be the one to come after you."

I swallowed, unsure if that was a threat or a promise.

"Get some rest," he muttered before walking out.

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling. My heart felt a little lighter, just knowing I’d be able to see my father again.