![The Doll Palace Home
[Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://ww2.thedollpalace.com/images/tdp_banner.gif) |
|
| Every doll has a story behind... |
|
Want to try to make one or see what other people came up with?! Every story will participate in The Doll Palace ratings. Good stories will be awarded with Dollpoints.
|
|
|
|
All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
|
|
|
|
Hi, my name is Damien
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | [Two] Black Ice |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 5 with 6 vote(s)
|
|
| Created: 2009-06-05 16:13:46 |
|
|
|
Chapter two; Insanity’s breach
Damien’s room was an oddly tidy affair, impersonal with an atmosphere I have never again encountered in a youths’ bedroom, not that I spent much time in the bedroom of youths. It was a light colour, a subtle cream with dark mahogany furniture and wooden flooring. It was a spacious room really. When you walked in you were confronted with the large window on the opposite wall and the bed jutting out from the wall to the right, cutting into the floor space. On the left side of his bed, pressing into the window wall, was a long futon style sofa, with his school uniform and a few items of clothing sprawled carelessly across the dark fabric. On the other side was a small bedside table with a grey, rectangular alarm clock. His clothes were stored mainly in the draws fixed under his bed, and what needed to be hung up were so in the large, mirror fronted wardrobes in the spare room just down the hall. The two last pieces of furniture were opposite the bed, a strangely tidy mahogany desk with a single lamp and a smooth laptop sitting quietly on the table with a few school books and writing utensils. And finally beside that was a book case tucked into the corner on the left of the door, above which was a small silver coloured TV with a DVD player slotted over it like a slim hat and a pile of old black and white horror films, cult classics and the few martial art films that Damien had taken a liking to.
The cool wooden flooring was devoid of any mess, his clothes were, as aforementioned, mostly quarantined to the futon, and any spare paper was thrust into the draws of his desk absently, unceremoniously. He moved through the room towards said futon, grabbing a clean white shirt and pulling it over his slim shoulders. His eyes skimmed the area, abandoning the job of doing up his buttons for a moment and leaving his upper body in full view as he stared around his room. His bare feet padded on the wood as he ducked to check the drawers beneath his bed, before discovering that the object he was looking for, a navy and blue striped tie, had somehow slithered beneath the actual drawer, the tip poking out from under it like a tongue. With a sense of irritation, he yanked the slip of fabric from its hiding place and left it instead on the bed, before continuing with the duty of buttoning up his shirt.
Once fully dressed and presentable, Damien grabbed his rucksack and moved in front of his desk, sweeping the pile of books into the gaping mouth, and, as an afterthought, a few pens followed as a light dessert. He zipped it up before dropping it once again at the base of his desk. A quick glance at the fluorescent red of his alarm clock told him he was at least fifteen minutes early, so, grabbing his watch on the way out of his room, he ventured down the stairs. A twisting feeling of relish cloaked him as he stepped into the kitchen, a smirk colouring his features as his gaze fell upon our mother, sitting stiff and upright in the chair in front of the dinning table. Cupped in her hands was a mug of coffee, a beverage she had been nursing for quite some time now, unable to find peace in sleep.
“Would you like me to Irish that up for you?” he asked innocently, eyes wide and glittering with an amused malice as he tugged open the fridge. “It might sweeten that sour expression of yours.” His eyes slid to our mother, watching curiously to see her reaction, waiting patiently. He didn’t have to wait long.
“You make me sick,” she snarled, her words slurred with sleep. Her skin was still grey, her eyes glassy and her appearance unkempt. She still wore the dress she had squeezed into for the funeral. Damien took in her appearance with a disdainful smile. “I wish you had died in his place.” Her words were a wishful whisper, confirming my earlier thoughts on her desires for Damien. She would later deny saying such a thing, or, when she did admit it, she put it down to an intense depression and the fact that Damien seemed to be taking the loss as a pinch of salt. In the face of others, she would proclaim a deep love for her second son, a statement that could be the truth as much as it could be a lie.
Damien only smiled at the nasty comment, as if knowing it all along. “I know, Theresa, and it’s that knowledge that helps me to sleep at night,” he said genially, pulling out a cartoon of milk and drinking straight from it before plonking it back into place and lazily slamming the fridge door shut.
“Have a pleasant day,” he purred with a mocking smile, ducking to place a chaste kiss on her thin cheek and sauntering from the room. He shouldered his bag after returning up stairs to brush his teeth and was on his way to the hellhole they called school. Damien wasn’t one for school. He done okay in his lessons, managed to scrape grades that were better then most, but in his eyes it were little more then an irritant. It was a view shared by most teenagers I am sure. In that respect, Damien wasn’t as different from his peers as he liked to believe.
The day was warm, even in the early hours of the morning. May had promised a month of good weather at the beginning and it seemed intent to keep its word. The sun was weak in the flawless sky, but still warm, warm enough for Damien to tug his blazer from his shoulders and drag it instead along the floor, it barely hanging from his fingertips as he moved up the streets towards Mulberry High School. On the way, however, his quiet walk and the music of Debussy filling his ears was disrupted by the appearance of Lucinda, her pleated skirt shorter then was necessary and her shirt tight and fitted.
“Hi Damien,” she breezed happily, her proximity closer then society would usually allow. He eyed her with ill-concealed disgust. “How are you this morning?” Her hand had casually moved to rest on his bent arm as he flicked through the song on his iPod, her fingers lightly caressing. He stared at it with a raised eyebrow before his other hand grabbed it by the fingers and tossed it aside as if it were rubbish instead of a hand connected to a arm and further connected to a body and ignored her sulking, petulant look.
“I am fine thank you,” he answered curtly, not bothering to keep his voice the icily disdainful purr he could usually use just to confuse her and lead her on that there were a chance he liked her. Perhaps later he would play that game, but for the mean time he was just annoyed his time of quiet and thought had been interrupted by someone so obsolete and maddening.
She recovered quickly, smiling at him. “So am I,” she said even though Damien had expressed no desire to know. He ignored her. She didn’t quite take the hint. “Its great weather, I’m all for ditching last lesson today and hitting the park or pool. You in?” Her eyes were fixed on his face, wanting, I think for him to look up, dazzle her with his smile and agree wholeheartedly. Damien would never do such a thing.
“Lucinda,” he said, his eyes flicking up to glance at the approaching building. “I will never be ‘in’ with anything you suggest for you irritate me beyond belief and, should I spend anymore time with you constantly trying to seduce me in such a petty manner, I would have to slit my throat with a carving knife.” His hard eyes turned on her before he smirked almost genially and plugged his ears once more with smooth white headphones. Lucinda stared at him in a state of shock although I am sure it wasn’t the first time Damien had expressed such a strong dislike to her face. He was always good with words, our Damien, but his full eloquence wouldn’t come to play until he was older, when he fully realised the power of the spoken word.
The school was bustling with rowdy students. Damien paced through the crowds of boys, pushing right through the middle simply to disgruntle them a little and up towards the main building. The boys he shoved through were the same boys Lucinda would join moments later to console her bruised ego, but Damien didn’t know and nor would he care for such a useless snippet of information.
The school was large only due to the fact it had been broken into segments, the main building in the centre with various smaller buildings surrounding it, homing various subject rooms. Damien’s form was in the English building, a small squat building with two floors. The lines of windows reflected the sun, the brightness glinting in his eyes until he turned them away to the floor. Shoving open the door with his shoulder, Damien finally tugged his headphones from his ears and wound the thin wire around his iPod before hiding in his blazer pocket, the jacket still hanging loosely from his fingers as he walked. There were few people in the building, people not worth his notice as he moved through the coloured halls of the building and up the far staircase.
He met Martyn and Caitlyn outside his and Caitlyn’s form, leaning against the wall and laughing. Caitlyn was slow to notice Damien’s appearance, but Martyn glanced up and smiled his small smile in greeting, an expression Damien acknowledged with a slight nod of the head.
“Morning.”
“Hey Damien, how are you?” Caitlyn’s question seemed more probing then the surface voice of pleasantries. His eyes darkened as he noticed such needless concern, narrowed on her face with a hint of feline danger.
“I’m fine,” he said with a hard, pointed look. Caitlyn matched the glare for only a moment before she dropped her gaze apologetically, missing Damien’s satisfied smile at her submission. “And yourself?”
He eyes flicked up, searching his face for something but all she got was his brutally beautiful smirk and hooded eyes gazing back at her. They were challenging almost, daring her to continue with her subtle questioning and to ignore his equally subtle warning.
She didn’t test him. “I’m good,” she replied with a sigh. Martyn remained silent through the exchange, watching with knowing eyes. He concealed a smile. He knew. Damien would never admit it but Caitlyn was a good friend to him, the one that could see through him although fear kept her from questioning. She was the one to stick with him through everything and Martyn knew that long after he and the others had gone their separate and their influence and impact on his life had faded into dust, she would still be beside him, probing him before being shot down but not before reminding him that his mask isn’t always as opaque as he believes. And he was as glad as I am, because Damien needs someone to stick by him. Had I not have died, I would’ve been that person, but I am glad that he chose that person to be Caitlyn. She’s good for him, even now. And it’s because of that fact that Damien actually cares or her that he has never been truly brutal to her.
Not that she is ever to know.
“Good to hear,” he smiled, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes at that point. He then turned to Martyn, nodded his head once more, each respecting the others’ needs and pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against towards the classroom.
It was in second period English that the plans were concocted. Damien had sauntered into the class ten minutes late, having paused to irritate a boy by stealing his girl. It had taken less then a few minutes to entice the said girl, whose name was lost on Damien, and drag her astray. He had barely swept her around the corner before kissing her, pressing her back against the wall and making sure the boy, who stood agape in the empty hall, knew exactly what was going on. Even then Damien threw his séxuality around like it was nothing, doing what and who he pleased, uncaring of the potential consequences. He loved the attention.
He is a hugely egotistical man.
And so, he sauntered in late to lesson, his eyes skimming the room with a smile before he kicked the door closed behind him and made his way to his desk. The girl was a little dazed and staggered in after him, barely missing the door he had intentionally closed in her face. Mrs Bates, the eccentric teacher of a willowy figure and strange disposition regarded them with cool stares.
“Sorry Miss Bates,” Damien charmed a moment later, approaching her desk with a small smile. “Please forgive my rudeness at turning up late to your lesson.” The older woman blushed like a school girl.
“Well,” she beamed, fiddling with the papers on her desk, let’s just not have it happen… happen again shall we, Damien.”
Damien smiled once more. “Of course not,” he purred assuredly before turning his back and returning to his seat beside Caitlyn, who only shook her head in disbelief.
“You are shocking,” she hissed as he seated himself once more, lazily swinging back on his chair. He turned to look at her, still smiling the smile that could melt an iceberg. “That is a teacher,” she continued scandalised. “You can’t go and flirt with a teacher. You could get her in serious trouble.”
“It’s just a bit of fun,” he said, smirking. “Besides, it saved me from getting into trouble so I see no issue.”
“You’re a selfish bxstard, do you know that?”
“Of course I do, Caitlyn,” his voice was smooth caramel, delighting her ears despite her long term resolution to feel nothing more for the ice prince then friendship. His smile this time was real, one that reached the frozen blue of his eyes and made them glitter sinisterly. “It is something I take great pride in.” Ben snorted from across the isle before his gaze turned a little more serious.
“Here mate, what did you say to Luce?”
Damien returned the gaze coolly. “The truth.”
“She was pretty upset.” Ben’s tone was almost a challenge. Caitlyn chewed her lip, not wanting there to be a fight in the middle of English, especially when Damien’s anger knew no real bounds. But perhaps she would be lucky.
“Ben, she is no princess so quit trying to be the gallant prince,” Damien replied tiredly, bored and interested in the confrontation Ben threatened. “She obviously had no qualms in consoling herself in the arms of, now who was it…? James, I do believe…” Damien wasn’t even looking at Ben; he had the air around him that screamed Ben wasn’t worth the attention. His eyes instead were on the grassy area below, an area dotted with a few picnic benches and lined by pavement and little wooden fences.
Ben had no retort. Damien had calculated this. Of course he had. Ben was a player, but everyone knew his feelings for Lucinda were more real then any of the previous and present girls he had carnally ached for. Everyone, that was, except for Lucinda herself. It was a cruel display really, and due to its harsh nature, Damien couldn’t help but enjoy it. He chuckled darkly at the flicker of pain across Ben’s attractive features before returning his gaze to the window.
“Ahem… well…” Caitlyn was at a loss on how to alleviate the newly tense atmosphere clouding the two back tables. Luckily, Callum came to the rescue with a proposition I sincerely wish he had kept in his mind.
“Anyone wanna go out tonight? We can go to that club Damien always gets us into,” he suggested, his eyes stormy. Damien barely spared him a glance and nodded. Damien knew what was going on, Callum’s home life was worse then his own and would often prose outings when he didn’t want to return home. It was a sentiment Damien could relate to.
“Sure, we’ll make an evening out of it definitely,” Caitlyn agreed with a beaming smile, glad to have a distraction from Ben’s crestfallen expression. Damien was copying out some notes into his book, his scrawl neat and fancier then most would expect.
“You can invite Martyn if you wish, Callum,” Damien said in a voice that was inarguable. His eyes flickered to rest on Callum’s face for but a moment, before sliding to meet Ben’s. “You can invite Lucinda if you want Prince Charming; in fact I really think you should. Your pain makes my day.”
“Damien…” Caitlyn’s words were silently pleading with Damien to drop the subject and torment someone else, but it was only met with a dark smile of twisted pleasure.
“Yes?” he answered sweetly; his smile was one that warmed her heart embarrassingly. She flushed a little, her eyes darting away fro a safe refuge to compose her self.
“Nothing…” she muttered ashamedly, suddenly so very interesting in her notes. Damien chuckled, resting his chin on his palm.
“Oh, there must be something,” he purred seductively, his attention successfully drawn from tormenting Ben. Caitlyn knew that if she looked at him, his eyes would capture her and she would blurt out something humiliating that he wouldn’t let her live down. This was one of his many tests, tests she would only just pass. If she failed, he would deem her not worthy of holding his attention and she would become like Lucinda to him, an annoyance. She didn’t want that, because beneath all the blackness, Caitlyn was sure she caught something else, a glint of gold. And she was determined to pull it out.
I think she could’ve been successful too, had Gabriel not gotten to him first. But that is ahead of the time, so continue we shall.
The details on the evening where finalized in that same lesson, Damien leaving school that day with a sense of satisfaction. He didn’t want to be home right now. When he asked himself, he lied, told himself that mothers face was too pitiful to bear. The real reason, I to find out later, was that he didn’t want to be home because there was a distinct loneliness about it. There was always a certain amount of noise, he was to tell me a while later, drunk, it seemed, off the pain lacerating his body, and without said noise, the house was deafening in its silence. Deserted. For a man that craves solitude, Damien had never really been able to deal with loneliness that well. It is why he is constantly picking up a nightly doll, and venting his irritation at being so weak on them.
Instead of venturing back to the cold clutches of home, Damien went to work. He worked in a pub and restaurant as a waiter. He earned enough to keep up with his outgoings, his tips being plentiful due to his frighteningly contented smile and kind persona that he felt distinctly uncomfortable in. being kind and thoughtful felt odd to him, like he had stepped into someone else’s skin. He would make up for it by hassling the boss, both seducing and insulting her. He had a talent for mixing those two opposite together and making them irresistible.
He didn’t much like working, this wasn’t something he enjoyed. He didn’t want to be a waiter for the rest of his life. Back in those days, Damien was just beginning to discover his attraction towards photography. He possessed a camera and had been taking lazy shots for a little while, but it hadn’t yet developed into such a great liking that he wanted to make a profession out of it, but it would in time, as you all know.
He moved with the elegance and grace of a dancer, a devil in the guise of beauty. He had enraptured many with his movements and looks, and it was just the same this evening, with many a female eyes snidely following his form as he navigated the tables. He blessed each with a smile, and, or those more attractive, more intriguing, he spared a suggestive wink. He often counted himself lucky for looking older than he was. It helped him out in a lot of areas in his life.
Like getting him and his friends into Purgatory, the club located in the next city over. It was the only club he could properly stand, due to its ‘gxy bar’ origins, it had a light atmosphere and attracted people of all orientations, meaning Damien could find a male just as easily as a female if he fancied. In those teenage years, Damien had yet to develop his preference to gender, and instead saw them as equal game, depending on his mood.
You see the Damien back then was a little different to the Damien you see now. He wasn’t so controlling, so dominating therefore he often wouldn’t take the initiative in such situations. Instead he would pick out his prey for the evening, wait for them to come to him and make the first move. And, as long as he got an equal amount of say and control, he didn’t much care what went down.
And it was with a sense of anticipation that Damien left the Fox and Hound pub that evening. His ideals for the night to come were far from mild. Getting drunk and laid seemed like a very good idea to him at the time, something I regret for him. The walk home was long, yet Damien didn’t take the option of taking the bus. The night air was unmoving and still held the warmth of the day. He pushed his hair from his face, his fringe growing long and falling continuously into his eyes.
Just ahead of him were two figures, obviously male. They were strolling toward shim, here faces obscured by the shadows of the surrounding trees. Damien paid little attention until their faces came into view. The first, the one standing on the left by the road, was a tall man. He had a strong build with broad shoulders. He had a nice face with short brunette hair and dark eyes, with honey skin. Attractive yes, but not as attractive as the man beside him. He was a little shorter, about half an inch, which messy brunette hair and nice green eyes. He had a defined chin, a nose of a noble; he was in short, the classic English looker. He walked with a sense of confidence and ease, his jeans accentuating his long legs and backside. Hands in his pockets, the light breeze moved to rustle the open shirt about his shoulders, rippling the fabric of his white cotton tank top he wore beneath. Damien was close now, close enough to hear their conversation.
The second, smaller man was speaking, his voice like low, rumbling velvet. “…later, it should be fun.” Damien gazed at him with a small smile, liking what he saw. And, when those dazzling green eyes shifted from the face of his friend to meet Damien’s as he passed, Damien only chuckled, recognising a similar sentiment. He winked as he passed, still laughing softly as he sensed the mans’ continuing gaze on his retreating form.
The door slammed shut beside him and Damien didn’t bother kicking off his shoes.
“Damien?” The voice came drifting from the kitchen, a low, gruff bark. Damien rolled his eyes and ventured towards it, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. His fathers’ cold gaze wasn’t a match for Damien’s, but it had the same effect on most people.
“I do not appreciate your behaviour since your brother died,” he said stiffly. It seemed to be the only way people spoke t him these days. “You are making is needlessly difficult. If you can’t play nice get the fxck out of this house.”
“Don’t worry Jacob,” Damien said mockingly, “I am making it my business to be out of this house as much as possible. I’d hate to be trouble to the pair of you after all…” his smirk was back, perfectly placed.
“Don’t toy with me boy.”
“I’m not toying with you, that would be disgusting,” he replied with a shrug before deeming the conversation to be over and disappearing up the stairs to change into a pair of black skinny jeans that emphasized his lithe legs and slim waist, a white top and a black waist coat. It was an outfit that matched his snowy skin and dark hair perfectly, exaggerating the china blue of his eyes. To finish the look he spiked the back on his hair in what was an admittedly, ‘scene’ style but looked good on him.
He wandered into the bathroom, looking into the mirror, brushing his fringe from his eyes before returning to his room to grab his mobile, wages and his keys and jumping down the stairs and out the door without another word towards his parents lingering in the living room, watching TV.
And never before have I been so adamantly protested to Damien’s actions, never before have I wished so passionately that something did not occur like I do about that night. The reason for this is because that night wasn’t just the creation of truly raw, untainted loathing in Damien, but also the first time that Damien ever truly fell in raw, tainted love. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
© 2008 The Doll Palace. All rights reserved.
|
|
|
|
| |
