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Hi, my name is Damien
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 | [Five] Black Ice |
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 5 with 5 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-07-23 11:06:27 |
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Chapter five: The Devil’s Marks
Shrouded by the moonlight streaming in through the curtains he had purposefully left open, Gabriel gazed down at the younger teen in his bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, his face turned towards him, bathed in the silver glow. It was very aesthetic, the milky glow of the younger mans’ skin against the fiery red of the lacerations on his back. The boy had asked for pain and Gabriel had willingly complied.
But, for that night, I cannot fault Gabriel. Damien had asked, and he had delivered. He had given Damien whatever he had needed at the time, had given him the twisted punishment Damien perceived he needed for being human, and for that, and only that, I am grateful for.
A contented smile was drawn across his obscured face as he gazed down at his handy work, at the fifteen year old, his slight winces as he shifted and the soft hisses that would escape his lips even in sleep. He was beautiful like that. Even now the blood had been washed asunder; the angry scores across his back were decadent and fed the hungry ache in his mind. Pain was like a drug to him, he loved to cause others’ pain. And Damien had been a treat. Having never been treated so roughly before, Damien’s body was unused to the onslaught of pleasure laced agony and therefore his reactions were decidedly sweet.
Upon the bed, the boy in question shifted positions onto his side. His brows furrowed momentarily at the movement, before the expression slackened and he continued to slumber peacefully.
Gabriel’s approving gaze didn’t relent its scrutiny however and his eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on a forming bruise encircling Damien’s upper arm. It was a bruise that had not been created by his hand. He detested bruises. They were ugly things of dirty colour. He wouldn’t bruise, only cut and shred and whip. So who had marked his possession? Who had dared to lay a hand on what he already considered his?
His eyes narrowed into sinister slits. Whoever it was was soon to get a little visit and a subtly dangerous warning about manhandling objects that weren’t theirs to touch. And he would find out whom, because Damien would talk.
Gabriel wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
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Damien slowly eased himself from sleep, blinking in the sunlight that cloaked the room from the open curtains. He winced as his back muscles twinged, and a sharp hiss escaped his throat without his permission. Ignoring the sharp throbbing of his back as best he could, Damien lifted himself up onto his palms and turned so that he was sitting upright on the unfamiliar sheets of the unfamiliar room.
Where was he?
Last night was a bit of a blur. He remembered the argument with his father and recoiled from the memory of his disgusting display of weakness. He remembered marching from the house and down the road. He remembered gazing at his phone and something stirring within him as he gazed at a certain name that filled the screen. And he remembered blinding headlights casting shocking yellow light on him, and him sliding into the smooth sleekness of leather seats and gazing at the person and requesting one hollow request.
The rest was a blur, a blur of pleasure and pain, of blood and excitement. But he liked the blur; he didn’t want to specifically remember what it was like willingly offer the control to another. He didn’t want to remember how it felt to be submissive. He didn’t like to remember. He winced again, a groan of pain catching his throat before he cut it off sharply.
He looked around the room, studying the detail. He found it was like his in the way that it was impersonal. He found very few artefacts or photographs, no ornaments or annoying little things one collects over the years. It was a dark room, as well. Sensual, would be the word. The walls were a dark crimson, oppressive in some lights and unattainably sexy in others. Beneath and over him were satiny sheets of black, they slid against his skin pleasantly and he found himself a little thankful for that. In comparison, the heavy coarseness of cotton would serve only to irritate and suffocate him.
He moved tensely, his muscles stiff and aching from exertion. Even his fingers ached from gripping the sheets a little too tightly, too desperately. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, relocating his jeans and underwear and slipping them back over lean legs awkwardly. His back seared, stung like a bxtch. So Damien abandoned his top in favour of keeping it exposed and lessen the irritation.
Then he went to move across the room, to locate the stairs and descend to the lower floor, but his body lurched, his knees gave away and he was crashing forward before he could stop himself. Staggering, he barrelled into something a little less hard and sturdy as the floor he had been absently expecting.
His palms were flat against cotton, he realised some time after, and he was being supported by two strong arms. He pushed away, vaguely confused before what had happened slapped him in the face and demanded his attention.
“Shxt…” it was a word barely registered by Gabriel who was holding him, but Damien’s abrupt shoving him away was. Damien’s cheeks were faintly flushed rose, and his eyes were hard. Gabriel’s eyebrow curved elegantly as he observed the topless, silently fuming boy in front of him.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” Damien spat, his venomous gaze fixating on Gabriel. The harsh reaction had been expected, and Damien had not disappointed. Proud to a fault, this one, Gabriel mused silently. Proud to a dxmn fault. The thought delighted him.
But before his silent observation could continue, Damien was pushing past him out into the cool hallway. His snarl of displeasure and pain was acute in Gabriel’s ear as the younger boy passed, and he let Damien know it.
“Does it hurt?” he asked slyly, enjoying the way Damien’s back tensed despite the obvious pain he was in. After a nanosecond delay, Damien simply shrugged.
“I’ve had worse.” The nonchalance was too natural to actually be natural. That was a blatant lie, Gabriel noted with amusement. He very much doubted Damien had experienced worse then last night. The boy hadn’t even the slightest notion of ‘rough sex’ until last night, Gabriel was sure of it.
“Lying is a very unattractive trait,” Gabriel commented snidely, awaiting the reaction he received. Anticipating it almost. Damien turned fully, eyebrow raised in a perfectly schooled look of disdain.
“Who said I was lying?” he returned coolly and Gabriel grinned.
“You,” he answered, stepping towards the younger boy, recognising the flash of panic in Damien’s eyes. The boy was afraid of being boxed in, this much he had discovered. And, as was expected, Damien took an instinctive step back. Or, at least, he tried. Gabriel’s hands were on him before his foot could once again connect with the carpet. “Your body language,” Gabriel whispered in Damien’s ear as he felt the boy tense under his hold.
Gabriel continued to smile against the shell of Damien’s ear. And Damien waited. He didn’t like to admit it, but were Gabriel was concerned, he felt a little lost. It was a feeling that initiated nothing but pure hatred and anger within himself, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t read Gabriel like he could everyone else. He was an obscure enigma that Damien couldn’t solve.
There was a thick silence of waiting. It settled around them like a night time fog, choking almost. Damien shifted slightly, distinctly uncomfortable with being so caged in. But he couldn’t move as Gabriel’s grip was digging into his arms and he wasn’t all that sure he could fully trust his legs after what had happened earlier.
“You like to think you’re in control, Damien,” Gabriel continued idly, as if the long pause had never happened. “But after last night, it becomes ever more apparent that you are not. How does that feel?” Damien closed his eyes, determined to not fall into the trap but unable to quell the shiver that rolled down his spine at the warm breath that skimmed his neck. “How does it feel?” Gabriel repeated, punctuating his inquiry by raking his finger nails across Damien’s long scabs across his back.
“Ah!” The pained hiss turned groan had leapt from his throat in alarm before Damien could have even thought to contain it. His finger nails gripped at the cotton as he felt flesh tear away from dried blood and bit his lip harshly to capture anymore whimpering noises.
Gabriel only smirked. “Had worse, have you?” he taunted, only now releasing Damien and pushing him away slightly. “Lying is a very nasty habit.” Damien glared at him, refusing to let the older man know that he had such increased the agony levels. “The bathroom is down that way. Get ready and I’ll drop you off back home.”
Damien swallowed something nasty. “School.”
“Excuse me?”
“You will drop me off at school,” Damien corrected.
Gabriel quirked an eyebrow skyward, recognising this as Damien’s attempt to regain some of his footing. “Will I now?”
“Yes.” The pair stared at each other, desiring the other to back down first. But both were also stubborn as mules. Gabriel smiled, knowing when to let victories slide and when to force submission.
“School it is,” he agrees and turned to descend the stairs before Damien could say another word.
The car journey was taken in silence, just as coffee in the kitchen had. Damien was sitting a little stiffly in last nights clothes. Gabriel had commented on this earlier, about Damien’s lack of a uniform, only to get the frosty reply that he had some a shirt in his locker and could borrow a friends tie if need be. The boys’ cold demeanour was amusing to Gabriel. His defence mechanism was to be fierce and cold, and it had shuttered down immediately this morning. He was cautious and wary, beneath all that frosty façade of lofty indifference.
His pretence of a cold ice bxtch was fitting for his appearance, but Gabriel knew that beneath he was far from it. He was too young to have truly captured the art of coldness to any real talent. But he was good, more than good for his age. He was vaguely impressed. His talent in this act only made Gabriel’s goal ever sweeter.
Damien’s gaze was fixed on the sweeping landscape, the weak morning sun gleaming overhead like a dull coin. The sky was an off-blue, shrinking more towards a more dismal grey then any vibrancy of blue. It hinted at a long day of rain, and as Damien stepped form the car he almost expected to feel the heavy weights of rain descent upon him. His mood was murderous this morning. The pain of his back and the ache of his muscles were unforgiving, dampening his mood somewhat.
His eyes swept to meet Gabriel’s. He uttered his thanks before swiftly moving off into the direction of the school building. He walked purposefully, his usual feline grace perhaps a little more exaggerated to conceal the fact he was in pain.
He heard the luxurious car of Gabriel rev and purr beautifully before the scream of tyres told him Gabriel had roared home. He paused, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if too ease some tension before he continued on his way, only slightly thankful that the corridors weren’t so packed.
He sauntered into his form room after changing his top and stuffing it into his locker, the glower on his face discouraging most human contact as those he called ‘classmates’ shrank away from him. Even Mr. Gables said little of his tardiness and lack of a tie as he passed the desk and prowled towards his seat. Dropping in it, Damien was careful not to nudge the sensitive wound son his back without allowing such an action to be overt. He didn’t want questions.
Caitlyn however was ever watchful and her eyes were locked onto him, equal parts worried and curious. She noticed everything about Damien and had known him long enough to realise when things had changed. His walk was a little off, his back too straight and his poise to perfect. His expression was a mask, concealing the truth beneath its impure beauty. He was a walking lie, a personification of a falsehood, but she knew for a fact she would never be privy to such a secret as whatever he harboured now.
So she resisted the urge to question him as the day melted away. She resisted the urge to usher him away into the corner and she resisted the urge to voice her concerns over his wellbeing. She resisted the urge to inquire to the occasional winces she caught when he thought he was no longer being watched so carefully. She resisted the urge to ask about the blood that seemed stain his shirt and the fact he disappeared to the toilets for longer than was necessary and return with a dark grimace of hate and irritation. She refused to give in to the need to prod him about the venture to the nurses office and his returning with a few bandages, or a throw-away comment about how he had not slept in his own bed last night. She ignored the desire to take care of him, to covet him and to make sure his was safe.
He was a big boy, he could look after himself. In fact, he made a point of it. He made of a point of letting everyone else know it to. He was not a child and detested being treated like one. So Caitlyn kept her mouth shut about her observations, resolving to try to tactfully rouse the subject if things appeared to get worse.
I wish she had the bravery and courage to voice her concerns at that point, although I know for a fact Damien would rip her throat out and clamp down hard about himself and his secrets. Those who breathed life would never be privy to such intensely dark and sinister things as those secrets and worries that found a nice little niche in Damien’s mind.
No one.
Unfortunately, others did not have such tact.
“Hey, Damien, what’s up with you?” Ben inquired, “you’re bxtchier than usual.” Those blue eyes flashed dangerously as they sized Ben up. But Caitlyn caught something else there, something so subtle none other would’ve been able to spot it.
Fear.
There was fear within that shocking blue, fear that he had been discovered. Caitlyn blinked, her eyes fixated on that rare sighting of Damien feeling fear, but the moment passed as soon as t had came and his eyes died into their usual dark coldness.
“Whatever do you mean?” he replied, his voice and words stiff and dripping with frost. Caitlyn observed silently, catching an exchange of knowing looks between Martyn and Callum. Those two often stayed quiet in the group, their only source of communication usually a series of looks thrown to one another, their meanings unknown to everyone except each other. Caitlyn admired that sort of deep understanding normally, but today it only annoyed her. What was she not getting that they, boys who had only known Damien a few years in comparison, were?
“Well, come on,” Ben scoffed. “You’re good but not that good. We have all noticed there’s something a little off. It’s not that noticeable, but we have known you a long time. Besides, I heard Kate say something to Martyn earlier.” Damien’s cool eyes swept the faces until he located Caitlyn’s flushing face.
His eyes were stormy. Unreadable. They were frightening. Caitlyn shivered unpleasantly under their scrutiny, desiring to apologise but unable to string a sentence together.
“Did you now?” Damien said, his gaze still locked on Caitlyn’s. “And when, Ben, did you come to the assumption that you knew me well enough to be able to when there is ‘something wrong’? As I recall, you didn’t even realise someone close had even died.”
His eyes released her and Caitlyn heaved in a long breath. Had she not just been under the intense gaze of Damien she would’ve realised he avoided saying my name, or our relation. Most would’ve said their brother had died, or used the name, but Damien avoided both of these. It was his attempt to detach himself from the event.
“Well, Kate said so there has to be something wrong. She knows you best.”
“Caitlyn knows little more than you do,” Damien dismissed coldly. “Caitlyn does not know what she is talking about. If there was something wrong don’t you think I would be taking out my anger on one of you by now? If you knew me all that well, you would know my anger is often acted outwards towards those who irritate me…” He raised a curved eyebrow to punctuate his point, and Ben blanched just a little as the insinuation settled over him like a weighted cloud.
“Right… well, I was only saying, you know? If you’re fine, you’re fine.”
Damien smirked. “Good boy,” he mocked condescendingly. The silence that fell over the group was pregnant with the spawn of anticipation, each member awaiting something. Perhaps a huge climax to the issue, or a fiery response from Ben that would set everything in motion. But there was nothing. The conversation ended on that awkward tone and the group shuffled. Callum coughed; turning to Martyn to engage him in conversation about his new computer game and slowly the other three roused them from the silence and spoke softly to one another. Ben, Lucinda and Caitlyn began gossiping, Lucinda’s words gushing from her mouth in that annoying octave of hers and the other two listening. Ben was rapt, adoring and drinking up every word Lucinda spoke in a sickening display of adoration that Damien couldn’t stand. When he glanced at Caitlyn, he saw with a smile that she was listening with less grace. Her eyes were unfocused and hazy, telling him she was lost in her own thoughts, and her chin resting on her palm.
Gazing at her, he wondered just how easy she found him to read. It was true that they had known each other for years due to the fact she lived on his street. She knew him when he was a sadistic five year old pulling the wings and legs of insects with morbid curiosity and a sick grin of twisted pleasure. He wondered just how much she had gleaned from him, just how much she could notice. In another situation, if he were a different person, a more human person who believed in attachments and friendships, he would’ve probably called her his best friend. But he didn’t. Things like that were only shackles. They only held you back when you most needed to go forward.
Was it true? Had she noticed something? The thought almost scared him. Was he losing his touch already? He had been so apt at acting like this. Was he loosing it already? His mind flicked back to the scene with his father the evening before and his arm twitched as if to involuntarily touch the bruising on his arm.
But he surpassed the reflex, and sat back as gently as he could without it being picked up on. The food in front of him was untouched, but that was normal. Damien wasn’t one to eat all that regularly. This was shown in his weight, which would scare a doctor if he ever went. But he ignored it easily, the low mumblings of his friends barely even touching his ears.
He felt… he couldn’t really explain it without admitting things he loathed to admit. He was afraid, beneath it all, afraid he was loosing his touch. He didn’t want to be in touch with his emotional side. He didn’t want it to show. By nature he had been closed off, he had been born that way, but as a child he had always shown some emotion, whether joy or displeasure. It was in his older years that he started to become that closed and cold. He didn’t like emotions, how they could twist and deform people and their views. It irritated him.
So he suppressed them. And when the occasion occurred that he had to admit he was feeling something, it did not make him happy.
He stood, leaving the table wordlessly. This was not new either. As he left he could feel Caitlyn’s eyes burning into his back. She knew this game. He would leave and she would make up excuses later. Not because he wanted her to, not because he had asked, but because looking out for he was Caitlyn’s self-appointed duty. Beneath it all, Caitlyn had come to the conclusion that Damien was more vulnerable then them all despite the bravado. And she sought to take care of the boy she had been quietly infatuated with since they first met, cruel tendencies and coldness aside.
So Damien walked out of the gates of the school that afternoon during lunch break, confident that he would have a sufficient enough excuse that Caitlyn would inform him about later. He stalked around the corner, knowing where he was going without actually acknowledging it. He didn’t want to admit that this was the place he most wanted to be right now, didn’t like to admit that he felt any kind of attachment or felt the need to know there was someone there. The fact that that person was dead didn’t matter. I could always listen, now I was dead, and I could never judge. I could never berate him, advise him or offer condolences. I could not do all those things he hated. And, most of all, I could not tell.
Secrets are safe in the ears of a dead man. |
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