Under the Westway

Chapter Fifteen

TRIGGER WARNINGS: vomit, graphic depictions of self harm.

Damon wakes up late the next morning to the sound of somebody being sick in the bathroom next to him. He shudders and heaves himself out of bed, his thighs sticky from the night before. He laughs silently to himself, pulling on some pants and shorts and borrowing an old shirt from a drawer. Graham comes in, half making a smile and getting changed, his whole body hurts. As Damon goes to kiss him he turns away slightly, shying from affection.
"What's up doll?" Damon sits on the bed and looks at him for an answer, "Last night was okay wasn't it?"
"I'm just hurting a lot."
"Mentally or physically?"
"Both? I don't know. My ass hurts and so does my head."
"Sad?"
Graham looks to be thinking for a second.
"Numb."

Damon takes his hand and takes him into the bathroom, running the round bathtub until it's full of water and making bubbles to make him happier. For somebody depressed, he knew how to help others not end up like him. He throws in a rubber duck that he assumes belongs to Graham's sister and allows it to bob about on the surface of the water.

"I'm getting in." Damon says nonchalantly, and strips off before immersing himself in the water, he smiles at Graham and beckons him in, who also removes his clothes and leaves his glasses on the side to join him, covering his body with his hands even though he had been so happy to be exposed last night.

Damon lets him rest his head on his chest and takes the nearest shampoo; it's strawberry scented with a picture of a cat on the front and rubs it into Graham's hair, twisting locks until he looks like he is about to fall asleep in the warmth. Damon cups water in his hands and pours it over Graham's hair quietly until it has no suds left and smells strongly of strawberry and his aunt's second house. He rubs some shower gel onto the bruises on both of their bodies and traces around the edge of each hickey left.

Graham speaks up after half an hour, his eyes still closed.
"Are we a secret? And if we are then what are we?"
"I don't know what we are, but if Liam finds out; I'm dead." He stutters, staring at the top of Graham's head.
"What do you call this?"
"This? Aftercare."
"No, I don't know what I meant, I meant this." He gestures at himself and Damon, seemingly questioning the point of their relationship and its meaning.
"I don't know." Damon half chokes out, "We can work it out."

*

Damon locks the door to his own room and paces between the end walls and pulling at his hair. Opening his makeshift medical cabinet (a stationary pot used to keep the remnants of gauze pads and plasters) over his desk, he pulls out a razor blade. It's darkened around the edges as the owner of so many scars. Tears are welling in his eyes and he presses the blade into the soft skin of his lower arm, dragging as hard as he can for a few seconds before remembering how stupid it is and patching that one up immediately, the blood seeps through the half hearted attempt at a bandage and stains it a solid crimson; yet he feels the need to continue. He takes the old blade and drags it from one side of his stomach to the other and makes a U shape in the process. He makes an incision lightly from his wrist to elbow, and the tears he lets fall into the open cuts makes them sting even more. The doorbell rings and he scrambles to look out the window.

It's Jamie. And he's bought a friend. Damon can't tell if it's Graham or a person he hasn't met yet. He grabs the last of the ace bandage and wraps his arm up tightly, hissing with the pain of the flesh being pressed back together. He throws on the nearest thing with long sleeves, a pink sweater his grandmother bought for him on his birthday. He tucks the front into his black jeans and starts hoping that they start to go away, there's not time for this right now. He dries his eyes and pulls his sleeves over his hands, dabbing at the splotches on his skin.

The doorbell rings again and his Mother calls from downstairs to open it. He groans and makes his way to the door to see who Jamie has bought along.

"Bran!" Jamie pulls him into a hug and introduces the boy he met at the fair, Ryan. Damon half smiles a hello and lets them in. He doesn't know why they're both here, and why Jamie responded to somebody hitting on him just a few days ago.

"Sorry about the state of the floor." Damon kicks half a basket of washing out of his way to the balcony. Ryan hums in acknowledgement and smiles when he's looked at. Knowing people like this isn't something new, but he does kind of regret dressing so effeminately this morning. He plays with the hem of his pink shirt and adjusts the clear choker he made a while ago out of PVC in a tech lesson.

The conversation goes quietly at first, both the boys getting to know Ryan and his cloud of pink hair and cool shoes until it hits on the subject of Graham. He shifts in his seat, visibly uncomfortable for little reason known to the others, and maybe little reason known to him too. He thinks about Alex a lot when he talks to Graham, about how he was so upset when Alex was bought up. Graham had confided in him that he was jealous of how much he loved Alex. Damon feels sick.