My heart felt like it was made of steel the next day. Thinking about Damian had made me feel depressed, and almost angry with Derek for making him hurt. I went from sad to fear instantaneously when Derek came in, not a word escaping his chapped lips as he dragged me to the cellar. I lay limply, for struggling would've made it worse. I was brought to the clammy feeling cellar, where Damian awaited us, his wrists and ankles bound to the wall with handcuffs. I was put next to him, the cuffs obviously custom made for me, since it fit my body size perfectly. I closed my eyes and titled my head backwards, waiting for the abuse that was expected to come my way.
"So you were hooking up with her. I thought you said you were waiting until you were married."
"I am. We weren't hooking up. I haven't spoken a word to her." Damian lied.
"We've spoken to each other before." I confessed. Damian's head turned to face me with a "What the hell have you done?" expression.
"Then if you know, why do you think we were hooking up? I respect Emily. I would never use her like that."
"It doesn't matter what I thought." Derek spoke bitterly. "But you've been punished enough." he said, grazing his fingers along all Damian's scars. "It's her turn." he grinned creepily at me. My stomach wrenched. I hated feeling any sort of pain or discomfort.
Derek unlocked Damian and handed him a knife.
"You can do whatever you want with her. She's our property. You can do whatever you'd like, Damian. Isn't that what you wanted? To have freedom? Independence?"
"No. I can't do that to her. To anyone. But especially not her."
"Do it." Derek encouraged.
"No! I'm not like you! I actually think about the consequences of my actions, and I feel awful if I cause people pain. You just enjoy it like some sort of sick pyschopath."
"Do it or the next place that knife will be is lodged in your esophagus."
"Just do it." I whispered. "He'll be happy if you do. I'll be okay, I promise. It's not your fault." I reassured. Damian looked at the knife, then back to me.
"I just can't."
"I'd rather me be hurt then you." I said, meaning every word. "I will be fine, Damian." Damian looked at me, hate filling his eyes. Hating the fact he had to do this. Hating the fact his father was a sick, twisted, psychopath. "I promise."
"Where?" Damian asked his father reluctantly.
"Anywhere you'd like." Damian paused, staring at the knife.
"I'll be okay." I repeated faintly.
Tears welled in his sorrowful blue eyes as he dragged the cold blade across my arm, biting his lip to keep from crying about the fact he was hurting me. The sting was faint and quite bearable.
"Deeper." Derek demanded. Damian lost it, ripping the metal across my arm in a sense of rage and sadness. He threw the knife away to the side, and sat down, burying his face in his knees, hating himself for what he had just done.
"Look." I whispered quietly enough that he'd hear me. His red face peered up from his knees. "I'm okay." I smiled gently, ignoring the intense pain in my forearm. Derek wasn't impressed, he was disgusted at how "gentle" Damian had been.
"Move." He demanded, picking up the knife. Before I even had the time to realize what he was doing, Derek was jabbing the knife into my collar bone, twisting it a few times to get the ultimate satisfaction. My tough barrier collapsed as I began to scream, my pleas filled with anguish and despair. Derek left, as if he didn't want to deal with me now that he had broken me. Damian searched for the handcuff key, and unlocked the cuffs, grabbing me as I nearly crumpled to the ground from weakness. He eased my body onto the ground and used his overshirt to wrap around my wound. My vision became fuzzy, Damian's constant pleas of "Don't die. Please don't die." became hollow echoes in my head.
"I need you. I need your help. I can't lose you." He gave up on the blood drenched shirt that was attempting desperately to stop my blood, and held his firm protective hands to my shoulder. All I could remember before I passed out was Damian muttering "Oh god." to himself over and over.
I woke up with my head in his lap, one hand of his on my shoulder, the other one holding a book to his face, as he carefully read the words of the page.
"Good morning." I croaked, smiling.
"Thank God you're alive." he whispered, helping me to sit up.
"Miss me?" I said, the smile still spread widely across my face.
"Yes." he admitted. "It got quiet for a few hours. It was weird." I giggled, happy to be alive, despite my constant wishing to be dead. "I assumed you'd be thirsty, so I brought you some water. It might be a bit warm, because I brought it about 15 minutes ago, but yeah, if you want it." He said, handing me a cup that had been sitting on his side table. I collected the cup, and began to bring it to my lips, but stopped midway.
"You're sure this is water, and not the cup you put your dentures in every night?" I teased, laughing as I sipped the water. Damian's face was red, but he was laughing.
"What makes you think I wear dentures?" he asked, pretending to be offended.
"No one's teeth are that perfect." I said, returning to being nice.
"That's the funny thing about you, you never know which personality is really you. Which side you are. Whether you're sweet or bitter." Damian observed.
"Guess you'll never know." I smiled. "So, anyways, I wanted to talk to you about something." I said, trying to ease my way into discussing his self harm.
"If you don't mind my asking, what are all those marks on your arms from?" He looked down to his forearms, trying to act casual.
"Well, they're from many rounds of abu-" I placed my index finger on his wrists, pointing to exactly what I meant.
"Not those. These."
Damian inhaled deeply, and covered his face.
"I'm so embarrassed." he muttered.
"There's no reason to be embarrassed, Damian. People do things for a reason, and clearly, you have them. But I would like to know, why did you? Like, specifically. What made you feel the need to do this?"
'I felt alone. Unloved. That's why pretty much all of people that cut do. Because they don't feel loved. I just feel numb." His voice began to break, his words stuttered and voice trembling.
"I'm here. You're not alone. I care about you, Damian. I don't want to see you hurt. I want you to just know that. I take care of you, you take care of me. We had a deal. Now, I'll hold up my end of the bargain."
"You already did when you took care of me after my dad stabbed me."
"But you just took care of me. Now it's my turn."
"I only did it a few times. It's not a severe problem. I promise though, I won't do it again. Now that I have you." He sniffled a few times, wiping stray tears from his watery blue eyes.
"Please don't cry." I said.
"You don't seem fine." I said, craweling over to hug him gently, minding both our injuries.
"You're a really great girl Emily. Thank you."
"Thank you, Damian. You're the toughest of the tough." Whatever sick sort of game Derek was playing with us, it needed to be over. Damian and I were going to win. There was no doubt in my heart now. It was game on.