He’d stayed at Lucas’ dorm that night. When he awoke, Lucas was nowhere to be seen. Shaken, Damien checked his phone and he saw that there was a text.
‘Hey, grabbing us breakfast.’ Relieved, Damien lay back down.
Even when he was going through something this tough, Lucas put others first. Guilt absorbed Damien regarding Lucas’ troubles.
His family had seen their texts, and found out about his sexuality. As was clear to see, they had not taken it well.
Damien had no idea if they’d eventually come around and accept him, but nonetheless, he wanted to help Lucas move forward from this.
The door opened, and Lucas wandered back inside.
Damien got out of bed, and they seated themselves at the table. Damien thanked Lucas, to which his boyfriend just shrugged and set everything out.
The pair drove back to Damien’s place later that day, and Damien left Lucas alone whilst he went to the town hall talk things out with his mother. Luckily, Lucas’ last year was paid off – and all he needed to ask of his mother, was a few months’ pay to tide Lucas over while he searched for a job.
They’d gone through everything together before Damien had left, Lucas had seemed dismissive for the most part – but Damien supposed that was because of the events of the day previous.
He opted not to take his car, because the snow had begun to fall heavily. He wrapped himself up warmly in his thick winter coat, and covered his nose with his bulky wool scarf.
Regretfully, after making the trek – he realised that explaining their situation to his mother had been a giant waste of his time.
“And?” She disregarded all of her son’s worries. It took all of Damien’s strength to stop himself from throwing a fit.
He raised his voice. “I don’t care what I have to do, mum!” He paused, trying to come up with anything he could say, that had the tiniest possibility of making her care. “Please, please help him while he looks for a job!” Lori was quiet, she’d not seen anything bother her son this much for years.
She clasped her hands together before speaking again. “He’ll find a way to cope without financial help.”
Rage consumed Damien at that point, he gritted his teeth painfully and slammed the doorframe with his fist.
“Fuck you, mother.” Venom dripped from his lips, and he left - knowing he would get nowhere. He shut the door behind him mightily, leaving Lori genuinely staggered at her son’s outburst.
It had been a very long while, since Lori had just sat and pondered about her actions.
She got up out of her chair, and walked to her shelf. On one of the shelves, there was a thick leatherbound book. She stood and flicked through the pages – revealing various photos of the three of them as a family.
She’d taken a lot of photos of Damien as a baby, and to her surprise – she was smiling in them. And... so was Maynard.
Lori had saved many photos from when they had first met in 1984. Three years later, Damien was born. The old photographs stirred up emotions in Lori which she hadn’t felt (or hadn’t allowed herself to feel) for years.
She still hadn’t told Damien about his father’s passing, or about who his father actually was. She wasn’t sure that she’d withheld that information entirely because she didn’t care to tell him, either.
Lori’s eyes lingered on a photo of the three of them as a family. Damien would have been five; it was just before she’d had to fly to Britain from Australia, and take over Angel’s Light after her dad had died.
They’d been separated from one another after that, with Maynard busy with his work, and Lori having a city to run.
Lori hadn’t thought herself capable of being upset anymore, not after her efforts with the necklace had been thwarted. She wasn’t even good enough to fulfil her family’s goal that had been one-hundred-years in the making! Now, she was stuck running a city which had not a single bit of value to them!
Deep inside of her, she was aware that she hadn’t done a good job with... anything. Looking at that photo though, those feelings of inadequacy came closer to the surface. Tears dripped onto the glossy picture from her eyes, and for a short while, she was resolved to change something about herself.
Although, that didn’t last.
The snow was picking up briskly, and Damien suspected that by the time he was home, he’d be fighting off a blizzard.
He walked, and walked, and walked. Eventually taking to hugging himself to keep warm. The motivation he required to continue, consisted entirely of the promise that he would be curling up with Lucas in front of the fireplace, once he was inside.
At long last, whilst the snow continued to pelt him, he arrived at his door. Damien patted himself down, and realised in shock horror that he’d forgotten his keys. He tried the handle to the door, and it became apparent that Lucas must have locked it after he’d left; probably assuming that Damien had taken his own set of keys with him.
Damien knocked on. “Lucas?”
Guessing that Lucas hadn’t heard him, Damien banged on the door harder. “It’s me.” he stood for a minute, shivering.
Befuddled, Damien walked to the side of his home and wiped the snow from the window.
At first, he noticed a spoon, and a syringe on the floor.
Panic engulfed him, and his eyes darted around his living room, looking for his boyfriend.
On the sofa, Lucas was splayed, vomit dripping from his mouth.
Damien swore, shaking as he ran around, looking for something to use to break in.
His hands were frozen, but he reached for a brick on the ground that was coated in snow, throwing it through the window and climbing inside.
He scraped any bare skin he had on the glass shards, and some pieces cut through his trouser legs. Damien was bleeding and in pain, but he couldn’t feel any of it with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Damien shook Lucas, trying to get any kind of response.
He cried out his name repeatedly, but it became apparent that he was talking to himself.
Damien couldn’t bring himself to let go of Lucas; he held him tightly – wailing as any remaining life that he had tricked himself into thinking was there, left Lucas’ eyes.
It was his mother who called the police originally. She’d tried to call Damien on and off for four hours.
One perk of being the mayor, was that her requests were always answered - regardless of the time of year.
When they arrived, they had to forcefully separate Damien from Lucas.
An ambulance was called, and Damien watched as they wheeled off Lucas in a body bag. Damien fought against the people holding him back desperately, a pitiful ploy to cling on to anything that remained of Lucas.
He was livid, not letting the paramedics remove the glass that had gotten wedged into various places on his body. They’d had to sedate him; even then, Damien had been uncooperative.
They treated his wounds, and drove away once he was cognisant again. Some police officers remained: they assessed the damages, and took one last look at the scene.
Damien could no longer cry; the snow had ceased, and it had taken his sorrow with it.
He perched on his doorstep; the night sky shone down on him.
If he’d been able to say one more thing to Lucas, if he’d probed him more about his whereabouts that morning... Would he have been able to stop any of this?
That ‘would’ question ate at him more than anything else.
He was curled up and so entrenched in his own musings, that he hadn’t witnessed his mother pull up.
Lori reached out her hand, startling Damien.
He couldn’t quite believe it. His mother’s features exuded care, despite being marred by her obvious annoyance at the situation.
Going against his better judgement, Damien took her hand.
“Come on.” Solemnly, she led him to her car. “You need a drink.”
Not arguing, he got in; he leaned his head against the window, as she drove him to her place.
Damien now peered upwards at that same night sky. The moon was just barely visible, being in its waning crescent phase. In the distance, he set his eyes upon the city – illuminated by the usual lighting, along with various festive illuminations.
Damien had never been a superstitious person, nor had he ever cared for religion. However, as he gazed from that window, and saw a shooting star – he wondered if that was Lucas saying goodbye to him.
His reflection stared back at him, and he looked a wreck. He shed one last tear, before his mother placed her hand on his shoulder.
“You’re a man.” She stated, sternly. “You’ll tough it out.”
She removed her hand to change gears, and moved it back onto the steering wheel.
“Yeah.” Damien noted, not truly believing her.
He sighted some of his mother’s cigarettes in the glove box; without asking, he reached for one, grabbing the purple lighter which lay next to them as well. Damien rolled down the window all the way, letting the cold winter air fumigate Lori’s car.
Against his better judgement, he lit it.
The nicotine hit his system like a bullet to the brain, and he let his mind go blank for the remainder of the night.
The day of Lucas’ funeral, it rained lightly.
Damien showed up after the proceedings had finished. He wore a plain black suit, a dress shirt, and he held an unwilted red rose in his right hand.
Lucas’ family had not wanted him anywhere near the funeral, and Damien was well aware that it was best not to mess with somebody’s mourning relatives.
The rain lightly coated him, droplets of it dampening his hair and clothing. Some droplets clung to the rose, only falling away once another larger droplet forced them to.
He stood above Lucas’ grave; the gravedigger had yet to pile dirt atop of the oak wood coffin which lay six feet below the ground. Damien had believed all of his sorrow had abated, that he couldn’t feel anything but an all-encompassing numbness about it all.
When he towered over where his boyfriend had been laid to rest, though – every bit of despair he’d been keeping locked away, burst through the gates like a tidal wave.
He wanted to fall to his knees; he wanted to climb down there, and let himself be buried alive with Lucas.
The dramatic nature of such a thought pulled him out of his musings, and Damien scoffed. Lucas wouldn’t want that for him.
Damien was silent. He let the rain pitter patter onto the ground, the gravestones, and himself for what might as well have been an eternity.
Although this moment wasn’t pleasant, he wanted it to stick in his mind in the same way that his first meeting with Lucas had. Whether that was for some sense of closure, or as a way to torture himself, Damien supposed he’d never be sure.
“Hey.” He uttered, alone. The sun had begun to set, although it wasn’t easy to tell with how dreary the day had been.
Damien pricked himself on one of the thorns of the rose as he fiddled with it. It was nowhere near as painful as the end of a sewing needle, so he made no sound.
“I wish that this could have ended any other way.” He knelt down at last, longing for one final chance to be close with Lucas. “You did so much for me.”
When Damien could hold back his tears no longer, he thought it had been the rain at first - before he realised the truth.
“I only hope that...” He paused, his feelings of culpability making his words catch in his throat. “I only hope that I returned the favour.”
Damien did nothing to stop the stream of tears which ran down his cheeks.
He held the rose close to himself, and kissed it.
“I love you.”
The falling rain became a torrent; he took one last tender look at the rose through his tears, before throwing it down onto Lucas’ coffin.
Damien wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and walked home slowly – letting the freezing rain remind him that he was alive.
The sun shone brightly; it was a beautiful day at the end of the Summer.
The wind rustled the leaves of the trees, which cast their shadows across the graveyard. A short, blonde-haired man in a turtleneck walked through the grassy plain, along with a taller, brunette man. Both of them battled the wind, which was blowing their long hair into their faces annoyingly.
“Huh?” The short man spoke, quizzically. “First an empty lot, and now a graveyard?”
The man he was with smiled, and led him towards the back of the churchyard. “There’s somebody you should meet.” They stopped in front of a specific grave, which had its marker made from slightly eroded limestone. Signs of wear were apparent upon it; years of weathering, and moss growth defaced the once pristine surface.
The smaller man took a quick look at the date engraved upon it: August 1st 1984 – December 24th 2008. “Lucas Zoloto?” They frowned, waiting for their companion to elaborate.
“Yes. He was...” The taller man paused, tinkering with the buttons on his shirt. “My first love.” The man peered over the blades of grass blowing in the wind. “He overdosed.”
Sympathetically, the shorter man placed their hand over their heart. “Damien, I’m-″
Damien interjected before he could be shown any pity.
“Please, Jagger; don’t be sorry for me.” He stared up to the sky, reminiscing about something which Jagger hadn’t a chance in hell of figuring out.
“It’s about time that I made this city better.” Damien asserted. “If not for anyone else...” He closed his eyes. “Then, at the very least, for him.”
Jagger regarded the determination which Damien exuded. He took this chance to stare at Damien, before he opened his eyes again. Jagger was taken aback by how majestic Damien was as the light hit his features: how the sun made his skin glow, how it allowed his hair to become a lovely shade of light brown... Truly, Jagger hadn’t been enamoured by anyone for a very long time now – and Damien was the last person he’d expected to give him butterflies.
Jagger caught himself with his eyes half-lidded, and his lips slightly upturned.
He began to consider the notion that, perhaps, Damien was being genuine.
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