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Hi, my name is Damien
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 | [Intro] Black Ice |
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 4.5 with 8 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-06-01 13:37:35 |
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A/N: Prequel to Black Widow
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Introduction; Who knew?
Within the murky depths of his secret past, lies a Damien none of you were ever meant to know. He hadn’t always been so… demanding and manipulative. Of course, before the man was the boy. And that boy was so similar and yet so very different from his present persona. So different in fact, that I wonder if you should recognise him as the same person. His icy beauty and grace were in place long before he ever learnt the terms, as opulent and distracting as they are today. His eyes became practised in cool indifference at an early age, and the smirk that coloured his face in cruelty was also learned with quick ease. And yet despite these similarities that ring through into the present, there are some subtle difference that seep through the surface of his past self, differences I doubt you’d expect.
And it is I, your narrator so to speak, that knows this the most. Of course I would, I was the only one he ever confided in. Even Caitlyn, his supposed best friend, is devoid of the intricate details I know about his life. But do not misunderstand me, in reality I am nothing to him, just dust within the dirt. A bodiless soul drifting between worlds, determined to keep an eye on him. I am but a literal ghost of his past, and perhaps the last straw that broke the camels back, however indirectly.
I hesitate to introduce myself. I am well aware that to all that know him, I do not exist. Damien does not talk of me. This I know. I have never expected him to. It is within his nature to keep things secret, to hide information about himself that may reveal a deeper, less detached side of him self in darkness, left to fade into the cobwebs of the past. But it is impolite to keep my own identity and relationship with the man in question a secret from you. I am, in short, Jackson Hart, Damien’s brother and his senior by six years.
Not that that connection means he felt it safe enough to confide in me. No. Only when I had died did he open up, speaking in soft tones no other has ever heard as he relayed his secrets and fears to the heavy tombstone that marked my final resting place. Only when speaking to an inanimate object, that was obsolete in all other areas except the meaning behind the words inscribed, could Damien truly find enough comfort to show his true humanity.
And that saddens me. A fact that as never changed about Damien is that he has never been good at conveying his emotions, even back when he was young, he couldn’t properly communicate what he felt. He hated the feeling of being studied he received afterwards. He disliked being watched and studied like a specimen; he preferred to be the reader rather than the book.
But this is beginning to drift off topic. I speak to you now not of the young toddler that sat in the corner, large, piercing gaze staring out at the world and observing with an eerie silence, nor the young boy who held his tongue and simply glared, who kept his secrets padlocked within his mind and vented frustrations on pulling the wings and legs off innocent creatures with a morbid curiosity. I speak to you now of the young adult, barely free of the awkward clutches of puberty and fully realising the barbarism of the world. I speak to you now of the naïve fifteen-year-old and the passage of time that shaped Damien into the man he is today. I speak to you now of the creation of the beautiful cruelty that Damien personifies, and all he had to endure to become who he is today.
For me to say I am proud of him would be a lie. I do not condone, nor do I approve of how he acts, but I have to admire his inner strength, because that was what it took to drag him self out of such a place and to rebuild his life. No, I am not proud of my younger sibling; his actions are unredeemable for the time being. But, as I said, I respect his strength during that singular most turbulent time in his young life.
But enough has been said, and I have continued for too long. I shall dawn the beginning of this chaotic chapter in Damien’s story on the morning of my funeral, where –– and forgive me if I appear presumptuous –– I have come to believe Damien’s rebellious attitude came into full swing, but two days before that fateful meeting with the one man I would most like to throttle… |
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