Warnings ⚠: Child Abuse, Rape, Violence, Religion, Drug Use, Alcohol Use, Use of Slurs, Homophobia, Bullying, Mention of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Actions, Gun Use
Damien's P.O.V.
-Monday, October 18th-
I wake up with Josiah sleeping soundly in my arms. We must have fallen asleep while we were...studying.
God, I could get used to this. I think I already have.
I lay there for a moment and just enjoy him being here with me.
My phone rings and I slip off the couch beside him, being careful not to wake him up, and quietly answer my phone across the room.
"Hello?" I answer softly.
"Do you have friends over?" My mom asks quickly.
"Yeah, you could say that." I say, looking at his sleeping figure all alone, and I want to pull him back into my arms.
It seems so relaxing compared to the past hell of a month...or two...
"Well, they need to leave. Business emergency is headed home."
I panic. I have a sleeping boy in my room. I'm fucked.
"When will you be here?" I ask, trying to calm my voice.
"Five minutes, max."
Shit, shit, shit!
"Okay they'll be gone..."
I hang up and shake him awake.
"We need to go. Now."
He wakes up in a groggy panic.
"What?! W-Why?"
He rubs his eyes and puts his glasses on when I hand them to him, as I quickly toss some boots and my jacket on.
"Get your shoes on. My parents will be here in a few minutes."
He freaks out and gets up so quickly that he almost falls over.
He throws his shoes on, and we run down to the motorcycle.
He pulls his helmet on and we quickly drive out of there. Josiah is still half asleep, but in a panicked state of disarray.
We get him to his house, but when I park, he just stays sitting and hugging my back.
"Are you okay? Sorry for such the abrupt wakeup call. My parents are on their way home...Stock market emergency."
He just nods and rubs his eyes. "Yeah. I understand."
I help him off of the motorcycle.
"Sorry that we couldn't hang out today. But I'll text you as soon as I can."
He nods, rubbing his eyes under his big glasses, the left side of his hair sticking up. He looks so precious, I want to just scoop him up and take him back to my house.
I never want to leave...
I climb back on my motorcycle.
"I'm really sorry, for what it's worth." I smile at him.
"You better get home now."
I nod. "I need to know if you can get in first."
I didn't get to feed him or anything like I normally do before he goes home.
"Here." I say, giving him a ten out of my wallet. "Go get McDonald's, or something... It's better than nothing."
I don't like the idea of him wandering around the city alone, but I don't like him eating nothing all day even more.
He'll be okay. I worry too much.
He just stares at the ten dollars I'm holding out to him.
"Take it, or I won't leave."
He takes it and waves goodbye. I watch him go inside and as soon as the door shuts behind him, I speed home as quickly as I can. As soon as I pull into the driveway, I see my parents' car coming down the street.
I pull into the garage and I quickly run upstairs.
Whenever they have their meetings, they always want me in my room and out of the way.
I close my bedroom door behind me then I peek out of my bedroom window. I see them entering the front entrance with a few men in suits. I can't recognize anyone from here.
I decide to hop in the shower because I'm trapped up here all day anyway. But before I can move away from the window, there's a knock on the door.
I open the door to see my mother, holding dress pants and a button up shirt and tie. She's dressed up in a blue cocktail dress that contrasts nicely with her red hair.
"Put this on and clean yourself up quickly. Your father and I decided you're finally ready to start joining in on meetings."
Shit.
This is what I get for leaving the other day.
"Be down in ten."
I sit my phone on my bed. I don't want it going off during the meeting.
I nod and she leaves. I quickly pull the red button down shirt on and slip into the pants.
I'm so fucking nervous. Who knows what this meeting is about?
The fact that they want me to start attending meetings...scares me.
That's a lot more serious than everything else we've done.
I quickly brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair before looking for my dress shoes. They're nowhere to be found, so I quickly pull my black converses on.
Whatever. It's better than nothing.
I tighten my tie and walk downstairs to the meeting.
To my surprise, more people have shown up since I saw my parents walking in. It's a weird mix of people who are dressed up like me and my parents, and people who look like common street thugs. My dad sits at the head of the table, as if he's some fucking king, my mother at his right side.
Jesus Christ, they're so fucking theatrical.
I see they've made Pierre into a bartender for the night, and I grab myself a drink before approaching the king and queen.
For fuck's sake...
I take a drink. I see my dad left me an empty seat beside him.
"Damien, nice of you to join us."
I sit down and he smiles.
"All of these people work for you?"
He nods. "I figured I would start you off easy with a business meeting. Nothing too...violent. Your mother wanted you to come on a job with her first thing but I decided we didn't want to scare you off," He laughs, putting a hand on my shoulder, "Get you ready for Puerto Rico."
I smile back, pretending it's not a fucking Monday afternoon and people are dressed up like it's some cocktail party and drinking drinks like it's 9:00 p.m.
My dad calls the meeting to order, and the seats at the table quickly get taken.
To be honest, it's really fucking boring. It's all numbers talk and jobs that need pulled and supplies that need to go out. One guy even has fucking handouts. It is the most boring side of crime I have ever seen in my life. Not enough guns and shit.
I'm kind of glad, to be honest.
After the meeting, my dad forces me to meet people, and by meet people, I think he has me meet literally everyone. And each time, he jokes that I'm the heir to the throne or that I'm in training.
That scares me.
I had a plan.
As soon as I graduate this summer, I was going to leave and not contact them again until I knew they were not going to ask me to stay. I've been saving back money. I've been withdrawing from their accounts ever since I was twelve and I snuck downstairs during a much different...scarier meeting.
...
By the time all of dad's business associates leave the house, I check my watch. It's 7:00 p.m. now....
Jesus Christ.
As soon as my parents dismiss me for the evening, making sure to tell me how good of a job I did, I go upstairs to my room and I lay on my bed, exhausted. I would rather die than go back to school tomorrow.
I roll onto my stomach and check my phone.
Thirty seven missed messages and twelve missed calls from Josiah.
I sit upright.
I start reading through some of the texts quickly.
Josiah: I know you just left but I need you
something happened
please comeback
damien ineed you now
its really seroous please
are you okay? youre not responding..
olease message me as soon asyou cab
I try to call him back but his phone goes straight to voicemail. It must be dead.
I stand up and pace, having a mild freak out.
I need to go to him now. It's better than not at all.
I slip my phone in my pocket and just slip my leather jacket on over my dress clothes, before running out the door. I pull my sunglasses out of my pocket before I start up my bike and I speed the entire way to Josiah's house, going 85 the whole time.
I pull into his driveway and try calling him again but it went straight to voicemail just like last time.
I quickly run up to the door, putting my sunglasses in my pocket. I knock loudly and quickly.
If his aunt is home, she's going to be pissed.
I keep knocking until she opens the door, a look of fury on her face.
"Who the hell are you? Stop banging on my door!"
"Is Josiah here?!"
"You're that friend of his, aren't you? The good-for-nothing bitch isn't here right now."
"Do you have any idea where he went?"
"Fuck, no. Go away." She slams the door in my face.
What an asshole.
I begin to get really worried. I remember the other day when he was talking about how I would be better off without him and my heart drops into my stomach...
He wouldn't...
Would he?
I freak out and get on my bike again.
I'm going to search this whole fucking city if I have to.
I start by driving down his road.
Then the next one.
And the next.
How the FUCK am I supposed to search the entire fucking city?!
I pull over in a vacant parking lot and try desperately to call him again, leaning against the abandoned brick building, feeling like I'm having a panic attack. I can hardly breathe or think straight.
It goes to voicemail again, and I drop down into a crouched position, my breathing getting heavy.
Oh my God. I can't do this without him.
What if he's dead? I punch the wall behind me and it clears my head a little.
So I punch it again.
And again.
And again...
Until my knuckles are dripping blood and my brain has quieted down enough for me to think.
Don't panic. You can't help if you're panicking.
I stand up and pace. It helps me think.
I think back fervently to our last conversation. He seemed okay. He seemed tired, but perfectly fine.
What the hell happened? The last thing I know, I was giving him a ten to...
Oh my God.
I hop on my bike and speed to the McDonald's only a few blocks away from his house.
I park and literally run into the store, out of breath from my panic attack only moments ago.
My eyes glance quickly across the room until I see a familiar figure in a booth all the way in the corner by a window.
I run over and people stare at me, but for once, I don't care.
"Josiah?" I let out a panicked, strangled cry.
He looks up toward me, and I pull him out of the booth and into the biggest hug.
"Oh my God, when you left all the messages and didn't respond, I..." I feel tears form in my eyes, "I thought I lost you." I say, hugging him even tighter.
He doesn't hug me back.
I let him go and ask him softly, with a hand on his arm, "What is it?"
He just shakes his head no, and I see tears fall down his face.
"How long have you been here?"
He doesn't answer. But I see a completely untouched melted Mcflurry sitting on the table where he was.
"Let's go back to my house, huh?"
He doesn't respond at all, so I take his hand and start to walk him outside.
When we get out there, a cold breeze sends shivers through me.
I look back and see he's only in jeans and my shirt from earlier.
I take my jacket off and slip it onto him.
He doesn't act like I've done anything at all, standing completely still.
I just zip it onto him then take his hand again. Not caring if someone sees us.
I'm just so glad he's not dead.
Well, not physically dead. The no speaking is freaking me out. A LOT.
But he's here. So that's something.
I get on the motorcycle and say, "C'mon."
He sits down behind me and I tell him to hold on. He does, linking his arms around me, and I quickly drive him home.
...
I park my motorcycle in the garage, and, what a surprise, my parents are gone again. I take his hand and bring him back up to my bedroom.
He looks so...blank.
I sit him down on the couch and unzip my jacket off of him, tossing onto the bed.
I then sit beside him and ask softly, "Do you want some water, or a Pop-Tart? We should still have some cookies? Or...?"
He acts as if he didn't even hear me.
I sigh and say, "Take your time."
He begins shivering, so I wrap a blanket around his shoulders. I'm afraid to touch him.
I leave him on the couch, knowing he will open up when he can, and I try my best not to openly freak the fuck out in the meantime.
I need to relax. I can't help him and be losing my mind, too.
I grab my guitar.
I sit down on the bed and focus on practicing some soft melodies I've been teaching myself by ear, most of them slow bittersweet Taylor Swift songs.
I stay silent, knowing there's nothing I can do, and I just try my best to relax.
Relax.
Breathe.
I strum the strings lightly.
Focusing on the fact that Josiah isn't dead.
Finally, after what seems like hours, Josiah finally cracks.
"My father is at my house."
I sit my guitar aside and go sit beside him on the couch.
"I thought he was in jail. How the fuck is he home again?"
He says, "Doesn't matter."
"Can I hug you?"
He hesitates, but nods, and I hug him against me tightly as soon as he does.
"I don't know what I can do." I pull away enough to see him. He's not even crying, or anything.
I would rather him cry than this. I've seen him cry before. I haven't seen him like this before.
This scares me so much more.
"Tell me what I can do to help."
"Nothing. There is n-nothing we can do. I-I just want you with me..." He tells me.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't with you earlier. I shouldn't have left my phone... I'm so, so sorry."
He doesn't give any sort of response.
I just hold him to me in silence until I ask him, "Have you eaten anything today?"
He shakes his head.
"I'm going to go get you some food, okay?"
I get up and he grabs my hand quickly.
"P-Please don't go." His voice cracks.
"Do you want to go with me?"
He nods and I pull him up. He keeps the grey throw blanket over his shoulders as he follows behind me like a lost puppy.
I keep a hold of his hand, terrified my parents could come home and see us at any moment.
We go into the kitchen, and Pierre is there, washing up leftover cups from the meeting.
He turns and smiles at us and I smile back.
He sees our intertwined hands and I panic. But I can't let go of Josiah.
Pierre just smiles and says, "I know nothing."
I give him a smile of relief as he asks, "What can I get for you guys?"
I shake my head. "I can get it. You have plenty to do, I'm sure."
He laughs, "Trust me. I could use a break from all of these dishes."
My parents normally hire extra help on meeting days, but when one is as impromptu as this one, they can't do anything, and it leaves poor Pierre with a lot of work.
He looks over at Josiah and smiles kindly.
"You don't look very well. Why don't I make you some soup? And I know you're the reason we now keep Pop-Tarts in stock. I'll make you a strawberry Pop-Tart for dessert, how about that?"
Josiah nods and steps behind me slightly, as if he's done talking to people for today.
I make polite small talk as Pierre heats him up some sort of chicken broth soup and a Pop-Tart.
I fill him up a glass of water and hand it to him.
He sips it slowly.
When the food is done, he puts it on a tray and hands it to me.
I have to let go to Josiah's hand.
He panics and grabs the back of my shirt in his tiny fist, holding on to me tightly.
"Thank you so much."
Pierre smiles at us and says, "I hope you feel better." to Josiah, who manages a weak smile at him before we head upstairs.
Josiah is clutching his water tight in one hand and is holding onto the back of my dress shirt with the other. I lead him upstairs and we sit on my loveseat. I keep the tray on my lap so that he doesn't drop anything, and I hand him the soup first.
He scowls, "I want the Pop-Tart."
"If you eat half of your soup first, then you can have the Pop-Tart." I know it's been at least since yesterday since he has eaten... I mean, same here, but... I can wait.
He whines, but finishes most of his soup before he gives me back the bowl.
I then hand him the Pop-Tart, and he eats that, too.
Good. I was getting worried.
Once he's done, I hand him his water and set the tray down onto the floor, out of the way. I'll get it later.
Josiah drinks some water then puts it onto the table, beside my couch.
I lean back and put my arm around his shoulder.
He looks a bit surprised, but he curls up beside me, pulling his feet up and nuzzling into my arm and chest. I just hold him close, and very quickly, he's asleep against me. I make sure his blanket is covering him up.
Once I'm satisfied, I lean my head over and rest it on his.
I fall asleep as soon as I shut my eyes.
...
I wake to a piercing scream.
My eyes snap open and I look over at Josiah, who's curled into a ball, his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth and sobbing.
I look around, and once I know there's not a real threat, I panic. A robber, I could deal with. But when it's stuff like this... I'm not nearly as useful.
Unsure if I should touch him, or if it will throw him even farther into panic, I hold a hand out, ready to put it on his back. I stop myself and sit it on my lap.
It's like there's an invisible wall between us again and I have to figure out how to make it to the other side.
"Hey," I say in the most soothing voice I can muster. I glance at the clock on my wall. It's 4:45.
He continues to rock back and forth and sob.
Oh my God, I am so not equipped for this!
"What's wrong?"
Stupid. Obviously, it's his dad. I'm a dumb-ass.
"How can I help you? What's going on?" I ask, trying to keep the panic from my voice.
"...I c-can't g-get away from him. H-He's here..." He seems to have had a bad dream.
"He's not here. He's far away from here right now. It's only us; You and me. He can't hurt you. I won't let him."
"You can't stop him." He states.
"I won't let him hurt you." I repeat, the anger seeping through my voice.
"What could you do?!" He questions me.
His tearful eyes open. He looks toward me, eyes wide and unfocused.
"I..." I stop. "I don't know. I'll figure it out. It doesn't matter, because I'm going to help you. I will. I promise."
"Damien, I-I want to go h-home, and I can't even g-go home, bec...cause it has never been s-safe there. There's n-nothing you can do to fix that."
"Can't I be your home?" I ask softly, "I mean, I know you can't stay here permanently...b-but I'm here. Permanently. I love you." I say again, for the second time.
"I love you, too."
"Can I touch you?"
I see him nod, and I pull him to me, holding him as close as humanly possible.
I still can't shake how terrified I was last night.
"How can I help?" I ask again, quietly, just in case he has managed to fall asleep somehow, "I don't know what to do to help."
"I don't think you can..." He mumbles, burying his face against my chest.
"I'm so, so sorry." I say resting my head on the top of his. All I can do is hold onto him and not let go. That's it. And hopefully that's enough.
"Thank you." His fingers clutch on to my collar, holding so tight.
"What was your dream about? If you don't want to say, you don't have to..."
He pulls on me a bit, as if I could get any closer. "My dad was here, at your house. And you were there, but you didn't do anything and he kept throwing me and squeezing my neck."
I feel one of his hands let go. I look down at him and watch him wrap his own fingers around his throat.
"Hey, hey... It's okay. It didn't really happen. He isn't here." I promise, gently taking his hand away from his throat.
"He could...c-could be here, though. Eventually. If h-he knows I'm here, then...then he might try to come and get me! H-He c-could get in here..." He panics endlessly.
"We have security guards. And we have security cameras and systems. It's harder to get in here than Fort Knox without a key. And I wouldn't just do nothing."
"What if someone left the garage open?"
"No one left the garage open." I promise.
He rubs his face against my chest, taking in a shuddering breath.
"You don't know that."
"I can go check. I don't mind. It will only take a second."
"You can't leave me."
"Do you want me to check, or not?"
"P-Please check... Let me come with you."
"Okay." I say, getting up and flipping the light on. I'm still in my dress shirt that's long since been untucked and my dress pants.
I was too exhausted to change. I opened my closet and grab the baseball bat I keep hidden.
I hold the bat in my right ha, I keep the other hand in Josiah's, who hides behind me the entire time.
We walk down the stairs, using my phone flashlight to hopefully not trip and die.
We go out to the garage and nothing is there, and the doors are all closed and locked. He then proceeds to make me walk the entire house with him in tow.
It's risky, because my parents could be getting up to leave anytime now, but I know Josiah won't calm down if we don't do this.
By the time we make it back upstairs, it's past five.
He sits back down on the couch and I grab us each a blanket.
"Are you satisfied we're alone?" I sit down and curl up in my blanket.
"I-I guess so... You're sure no one c-can get in?"
"Positive." I say, yawning. I'm so tired.
He snuggles up to me again and I wrap my arms around him.
I pull his glasses off his face and put them on the coffee table.
I turn to face him again and the light from the moon from the window lights up his face enough that I catch sight of the scar on his head.
I gently run my finger over it and he closes his eyes.
"I know you said your dad did that...but what did he do? Again, if you don't feel comfortable ..."
He opens his eyes again and looks as if he's in another place.
"All the s-scars come from sharp objects that he got h-his hands on. If he had access t-to something that c-could be used to hurt someone, he would do it to m-me. I-I don't remember specifics, but...I remember that it h-hurt."
"I'm sorry." I manage for the millionth time.
"You apologize t-too much, especially for things that you c-can't control."
"Sorry." I say jokingly, and he almost smiles.
"What do you remember about him?" I say, curious to keep him talking if he's willing to.
"Besides the s-scary things that are j-just a blur of pain... I remember that he had a...a scrapbook that was m-made by my m-mom about our family. He always s-sat me down and made me look through it, and he would tell me about her... I liked that. I only got that s-side of h-him when I was being really, really g-good." He describes.
"You know that him hurting you had nothing to do with you being good or bad. No matter how horrible a kid is, you can't justify throwing shit at them." I explain.
"Your parents aren't the s-same. That's why you think that. They d-don't punish... My dad does. S-So, it's all about whether I-I'm good or not."
I haven't told him yet about them wanting me to continue the business or how disgustingly prejudiced they are against anyone or anything that's different than them. But they're not anywhere near that bad. But if he thinks they don't punish, then he is very wrong.
"Well, it shouldn't be." I say simply.
All of that is for another day...
"It always h-has been. If I-I did s-something wrong, then he would h-hit me. Even when I d-didn't know what I did, it s-still taught me to be c-careful to not break the rules."
"That's why you are how you are." I say matter of factly. "You know I would never hurt you, right?"
"I think...that if I do anything wrong, you have the right to hurt me for it. But I... I don't want you to. So please don't..."
I hug him tighter, my fingers playing in his soft hair. "I won't. Not now, not ever."
"Thank you..." He sighs, "I like it when you play with my hair."
I smile and hold him closer. I silently vow that no matter what, I'm never letting him go.
End