by C P Harris
He dropped his head down, anger banked behind his eyes. He was resorting to hiding behind his rage.
“Fine. Love you.” Damon’s breathing grew hard; a slight tremble rode down his arm and to his hand. He snatched it out of my grasp, but I still held the other one over my heart.
“Do you feel what those words do to me, Damon?”
His eyes shifted restlessly around the room, but no way could he escape the ramping speed of my pulse under his touch. “Yes, I feel it.” He didn’t seem pleased.
“That’s what those words do to me. I love you, Damon, with everything that I am.”
“This isn’t going to work.” He broke free, backing up until he hit the wall. “It’s too hard.”
“No one said it wouldn’t be.”
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he said, trying to stave off a panic attack.
“Ok, we can do that. Can I ask you something?”
He scrutinized me through squinted eyes like one would an enemy.
“You were okay until I asked you to tell me you loved me. Why is that?”
“That required something... more.” His breathing remained choppy, but the trembling stopped soon after he put some distance between us.
“Can you tell me how it made you feel?”
He took a deep breath, stretching his neck. The veins stood out as he tried to remain in control of himself.
“Damon?”
“Exposed.” Rolling his shoulders, he picked up a steady pace. Never a good sign. “Turn off these bright lights. They aren’t helping. And I’m fucking naked!”
Nowhere for him to hide. Would pushing him further backfire? God, I wished I’d asked Julie more questions. Deciding to take the training wheels off, I said, “I love you, Damon.”
“Damn you!” He charged me like a bull. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
His forward momentum sent me backwards until the back of my knees met the bed and I fell onto it. His raging disposition set off my body's trigger for love. But I was stronger than my parts, and I wouldn’t continue to define my relationship through sex and drama. We were going to love each other in a different way even if it killed me.
Damon came over me, snarling. His fists punched into the mattress on either side of my head. He sniffed the air, then looked down at my straining, leaking cock before piercing me with those hard, black eyes. “You don’t deserve my cum in you,” he said. “You’re not worthy.”
He made me lay there while he got himself off, venom spewing from his mouth as he treated his cock roughly. His face so close to mine, I felt his poisoned words brush against my lips: you’re nothing; you’ll be lucky if I ever touch you again; you can be replaced... The words played on a loop through the whole ordeal along with the hateful others. I laid there crippled by them, trying my best not to let them sink in. Not wanting them to stick. So cruel, they were.
Damon had never before been outright mean or spiteful toward me. But he wanted me punished for making him feel. It debilitated me. At first. Then it made me mad.
Once finished, he staggered to his corner on the opposite side of the room. Damon watched me with a vulnerability that bordered on dangerous.
Sitting up, my feet planted on the floor and my hands digging into the edge of the mattress, I lifted my head and pinned him with my glare. “Is this how it’s going to be, Damon?” My husky voice deeper now, my words almost intelligible. “You turn into a coward, and then you take your self-hate for being so weak out on me?” I asked, too pissed to care whether or not I was causing irreparable damage. “All I do is love you, and this is how you repay me?” I yelled.
“You wouldn’t stop talking!” He yanked fistfuls of his hair. “You won’t stop talking now!”
Typical.
“Damon... what have you done?” My voice trembled. “What have you done to us tonight?” I aggressively wiped at my eyes. His body shuddered as my question made an impact. I was so turned around and overwhelmed that I honestly didn’t know what we were anymore. But the things he’d just said to me changed something. Something fundamental to who we were to each other. To the trust over my body that I placed in his hands. A chill nestled into my bones.
Damon’s expression caught between shock and terror.
“I need Blake,” I told him.
He shook his head slowly, “I can’t... can’t find him.”
“Please.” I begged.
“Where are you?” he shouted into the room.
Damon stepped toward me, then back. He did this dance a few times before storming out of the room. He screamed, and something shattered in the distance. I dragged myself to the bathroom and got into the shower, needing to be cleansed and warmed to the bone. I flipped the lever for the hot water before wrapping my arms around myself. I don’t know how long I stood there like that, but when I felt a hand tentatively touch my shoulder from behind, I turned to hug him to me. “Blake.” I sighed with relief.
“No. It’s me,” he croaked.
I held my breath, scared to move, to say anything. Damon’s arms came around me, and he rubbed my back—stiffly. A rogue tear slipped free from me. The awkwardness faded in increments, and he pulled me tighter to him. His hands began to move fluidly across the rear of me, as his touch turned nurturing. “I... love...” he whispered.
We descended to the floor together.
After the shower, Damon went to sleep. His body shut down from the chaos of the night. I, on the other hand, knew sleep wasn’t in the cards for me. All the lights were off in the apartment, and I sat in the dining room, on my second glass of scotch. I needed someone to talk to, so I dialed Julie.
“I’m sorry to call you so late,” I said into the receiver.
“It’s quite alright, dear,” she whispered. “I meant it when I said you could call me, anytime.”
I blew out a long breath. “Why does love require pain and trauma in order to just be?” I was in a particularly dark mood. The alcohol wasn’t helping.
The sound of movement and a door closing came through the line.
“I happen to believe that true love, a love between lovers, lives on the other side of pain. What we experience beforehand is simply a test of our worthiness.”
“Are you saying that if I walk away, that means I’m not deserving of love?”
“No. I think being born qualifies us for love. However, the love of a significant other is very different than that of a parent, sibling, or even friend. How can you truly know how much you love Damon if you are never tested? How can you say your love for them is unconditional if you’ve never had to go through some tough conditions?”
“I think I’ve already passed more than a few tests, Julie. Why does it have to be so hard?”
“Nothing easy is worth fighting for, and nothing worth fighting for is ever easy, Justin. Believe me, I know.”
“I suppose you do.”
“Tell me what happened tonight.”
I removed nothing from my retelling, absently rubbing a hand over my chest. Easing the phantom pain around my shackled heart.
“He hated me, Julie. That’s how it felt.”
“He hated the place you brought him to, and he needed to retrieve whatever he thought he’d lost while there, from the person that he perceived took it away from him.”
“That would be his mother, and I’m not her. Yet I’m paying for what she did to him.” That came out harsher than intended. “It can be so unbearable.” I managed to get the words out around the anger that choked me.
“How did you feel when you discovered it was Damon that came to you in the shower?”
I held the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could pour another drink. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really feeling much of anything at that point,” I lied.
She sighed. “You know what, you might be right—this might all be too much. You’re having to suffer through all this, and they’ve made no sacrifices for you.” She sounded fatalistic.
The bottle slipped fro
m my upturned hand, and alcohol splashed onto the table. “That’s not true. Damon left a whole life behind in order to give me a chance at a life that he thought he couldn’t give me. If our roles were reversed, I couldn’t have done it.”
“Yes, but none of this would have happened if Blake hadn’t orchestrated the events that took place in their dorm room that night,” she countered.
“Who’s to say where I would be right now if I hadn’t been forced to survive the unimaginable? Blake’s more than made up for what he did.”
“But why should you be forced to stand by them through this? You have your own life to live.”
“It’s not a life without them, and Damon’s been fighting every day to get better. You know this—” I cut myself off. “You know this.”
“And it sounds like you do, too.” Her voice smiled.
Slumping in my chair, I said after a brief pause, “It was worth it.”
“What was, dear?”
“That’s what I thought when Damon held me in the shower. That what happened right before was worth it.”
“And are they still worth it, Justin?”
Downing my drink and enjoying the burn, I answered with conviction, “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lovely Lane was the cul-de-sac that Damon and Ash lived on throughout high school. Damon wouldn’t be particularly happy I was there. Not if he knew why. But it was something I needed to do for the both of us.
I parked the car in front of Ashton’s mother’s house, which sat adjacent to Damon’s old house. Outside, Ms. Jackson waited for me by her mailbox. Getting out, I walked around the car with open arms. “How are you, Ms. Jackson?”
“I keep telling you, you’re not a kid anymore. It’s all right to call me Paula. Ms. Jackson makes me feel old. I hear it enough from the children all day.” She patted my cheek and asked, “How you doing, baby?”
“I’m doing well.”
“Now, don’t you lie to me. A mother always knows.”
“Some days are better than others,” I conceded.
“Damon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Uh-huh, I knew it.” She ambled up the driveway, expecting me to follow. “Come on in and get you some food before Ashton eats it all.”
My gaze landed on the house next door. So many bad memories it held for Damon. No wonder he found it hard to visit Paula. I wanted to take a wrecking ball to it.
“You coming, Sugar?” she called out, holding the screen door open for me.
I tore my eyes away and moved forward.
“What’d you end up with in the divorce?” she asked as we crossed through the front door.
“I’m the majority shareholder. Can you believe it?”
“Sounds about right. Ashton’s in the kitchen, I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. You’re family.” She kissed my cheek.
Ash sat at the table, practically licking his plate. “Did you leave any for me?”
“You, my friend, were supposed to be here an hour ago. You snooze, you lose,” he said, in between licking his fingers.
“I was stuck in traffic.” I served myself and took the seat across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”
He turned serious. “I’d do anything for you guys, you know that. What do you need my help with?”
Eager to help as always. I’d forever be indebted to Ash for being there for Damon when he needed someone the most. Paula too for being a surrogate mother to him.
“I want to take Damon to Benji and Emilia’s grave, but I wanted to get your thoughts on it. You were there during that time. You witnessed the aftermath. Hell, you might have more insight than Blake does. Do you think it’s a bad idea?”
He leaned back and entwined his hands over his midsection. His gray eyes searched mine. “What are you hoping to accomplish?”
“We had sort of a breakthrough a few weeks ago, and then another one yesterday. I think he needs to face what happened to him and Benji at the hands of their mother. We’ll keep hitting brick walls until he does.”
“Benji’s grave?” he asked carefully. “What do you know about Benji’s death and what happened after?”
“Only what Blake’s told me. Not much. Damon never wanted to talk about it. He’s cold and indifferent when it comes to the subject. I never pushed.”
“And now you want to push? Have you spoken to Dr. Hayes about this?”
“She’s not positive that doing it now is what’s best. But she’s no stranger to taking matters into her own hands.”
He smirked, his white teeth striking against his dark skin. “In other words, you’re going rogue?”
“I’m following my gut.”
He pursed his lips, nodded once, and got up, leaving the room. He returned holding a small silver urn. Sitting it on the table and pushing it in my direction.
“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up to examine it.
“That”—he pointed to the object in my hand—“is Benji.”
I released the urn as if it were on fire. “Wait, what?”
“There’s a headstone in the cemetery with his name on it. Mom thought it was important. She handled all the arrangements. Damon never spoke a word about what happened after he woke up in the hospital. Didn’t even attend Benji’s memorial.”
“Does he know that this exists? That it’s here?”
“Yes and yes. He’s never seen it or spoken about it, though. Take it if you think it will help.” He shrugged.
I planned to do exactly that. “Ash, can you tell me about it? About how Damon reacted?”
Ash moved to lean against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “She was evil. The most beautiful monster I’d ever seen.
“Damon has always been loveable. Even with all his aggression. Even with his DID. A big ball of child and love. When you got sick of him, Blake would save the day.” He smiled at the memory. “Damon didn’t deserve her. No one did. He swore he would protect Benji. We both swore it, and so did Mom.
“But we wanted to be boys, so we went to the game, choosing ourselves over protecting him…”
Ash wouldn’t appreciate me telling him it wasn’t his fault. So I didn’t.
“We got back from the game, and the plan was for Damon to get Benjamin and come to my house for a sleepover. After about twenty minutes, I decided to find out what was taking them so long. The front door was ajar, and a cold dread ran down my spine. The atmosphere felt off.
“I pushed it open, and there was so much blood. I didn’t stop to think—I charged in and slipped on a pool of it. That’s when I saw Damon in the living room on his hands and knees. His back was to me, and he was covered from head to toe in blood. He was deathly quiet, but his body made jerky movements, arms moving rapidly. I got up and called his name. I was so afraid, I thought I’d puke. It took me three attempts to actually put sound to words. Damon didn’t answer me; he started moving faster. Like time was running out. He knelt in a puddle of blood, and when I walked around him…”
Ash’s vacant stare told me that he was back in that room.
“When I walked around him, he was putting Benji back together. There were so many pieces and so much blood. I couldn’t tell a leg from an arm. Damon silently worked. He believed that if he got the pieces right, Benji would be fixed.
“Benji still clutched this little bear that Damon had won for him at the school fair a few weeks prior, and I remember thinking, oh, that’s his hand.
“That was all I could identify. I knew I couldn’t touch Damon or try to get him away from the body. Behind the silence lurked nothing good, Justin.
“I followed a second blood trail down the hall and into Emilia’s room.”
Ash shook his head, not going any further. But I knew what he found.
“I could hear my mom pulling up. I ran and got her, and she called it in.
“He was such a good baby. He was my brother too.”
<
br /> “I know, Ash.”
“He had hair like Emilia and Damon. Black and curly. His pale skin and green eyes he got from his father.”
“Blake said he looked like a porcelain doll,” I said.
“Yeah, he was pretty. Much like you are.” He nodded toward the urn. “Be careful, Justin.”
“I will.”
I decided to place the urn on the mantel at the Chadwick house and not mention it. If he noticed and wanted to address it, we could deal with it then. If he chose to ignore its existence—well, we could do that too. Or maybe he’d come to it when I wasn’t around. When he could be alone with Benji and work out whatever he needed to.
Either way it played out, I was positive that having it there would do more good than harm. Benji was our family; he deserved to have a place in our lives.
Sunset came and went. I’d been out back dancing, thinking it strange I hadn’t heard from Damon all day. We hadn’t spoken since those few whispered words in the shower last night. After the incident. I’d left the condo for Chadwick before he woke up.
I wrapped things up with the intention to call, but before I stepped outside the studio, I saw Damon inside the house staring at the mantel. I knew it was him from the deer-caught-in-headlights look on his face. He moved away a fraction, but Blake didn’t come forth. Damon planned to deal with it on his own.
This is good. I tried to convince myself. I held my breath, watching him for a while, but I’d rather not be caught, so I went to him.
“Hi. I wondered where you were,” I said, wishing I had something to do with my hands.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Ah, yeah.” Nothing else.
“I’m going to grab a quick shower and call it a night. There’s takeout in the fridge. Come up when you’re ready.”
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be up soon.” His voice was hoarse.
“Soon” turned into two hours. Laying there in the dark, I listened to him remove his clothing before climbing into bed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, yanking me onto his chest and suffocating me with his brawny arms.
“It’s okay,” I responded, kissing that soft thatch of skin under his jaw.