“When do you find you do it more? Like, do you do it when you’re kicking back watching TV, or when you’re around people, or when you’re thinking about something in particular…?”
Damien twitched. Answering that question was like peering into the darkness, like squinting your eyes and straining your ears and focusing all your body to reveal what was hidden in the depths.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, but silence stretched after him, expecting. “When…when I feel…it’s like I don’t want to be in my head anymore. Like, there’s too much in there and it’s all bad and my skin will start itching. I want to get out but I, I can’t and it’s, it’s like there’s this one thing keeping me tied, that keeps me from, like, from disappearing inside, where all that stuff is,” Damien blurted out in almost one breath. There was a silence.
“That sounds very difficult, Damien. It’s understandable why you would want to scratch your arms, feeling like that. It’s not good for you, in more ways than you realize, but that doesn’t mean you should be ashamed of trying to find a way to keep yourself from…disappearing,” Sam said.
Damien couldn’t meet her eyes. He shrugged.
“Thank you for telling me. You mentioned that you haven’t done it as much since you met Mia. Does that mean that you haven’t felt like that as much since you met her?”
Damien stopped, actually giving the question thought. Mia’s hand felt secure around his.
“I…I still feel that way but…” Damien trailed off, thinking of a way to explain it. “It’s like a pressure cooker, or something. I still feel that way, but when I’m at Mia’s, with Hakan and Koko and everybody, it’s like the pressure goes down, so even when that happens, when everything gets all loud and fast inside, it’s not as bad so I don’t have to…I don’t feel as itchy,” Damien finished lamely, but Sam made a noise of understanding.
“Have you ever done anything else when you’re feeling like that? Have you ever hurt yourself or thought of hurting yourself?”
“No,” Damien said quickly. Probably too quickly by the look on Sam’s face when he glanced at her. “Seriously. No, I haven’t,” he said, more firmly this time. He turned momentarily to Mia, as if she could verify the truthfulness of the statement, but she just smiled and squeezed his hand.
“I believe you Damien, don’t worry,” Sam said. Then, with the same straightforwardness, “And about suicide? Had you thought about it before?”
The words fell like an anvil on Damien. Suicide. He hadn’t even remotely applied that term to himself. Suicide was what other people did. Heads in ovens and freefalls from bridges. Women in bathtubs with a cigarette in their mouth, goodbye cruel world.
It hit Damien, then. What he had done, or tried to do. It spun around him in panoramic view. He had tried to kill himself. It wasn’t sleep, it wasn’t a rest, or a solution. It wasn’t anything better, wasn’t even nothingness. It was death.
Damien could feel his chest compress. He ripped his hand from Mia’s, covering his face with both of them, spiralling.
“No.” The word was ripped out of him slowly, not a response, but a plea.
Someone was holding his wrists, then, below where his raw skin was, and then Mia’s voice from beyond the wall of his forearms, “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, Damien. Breathe. I’m with you. I’m with you,” the voice was saying, kept saying. It washed over him, filled his lungs to capacity.
Slowly, he sunk back into his body. It was shaking. His hands were still pressed against his face. He lowered them. The light behind his eyelids was orange and harsh. He breathed. He breathed. When he opened his eyes, Mia was there. There were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Damien whispered wetly, but she shook her head, her smile sad, collapsing at the sides.
“We are the ones who are sorry. You’re thirteen, Damien, and we love you. It’s our duty to protect you.”
Damien closed his eyes at the word love, the sudden press of ice on fevered skin.
When Damien had calmed down, gulping half a cup of water and returning his hand to Mia’s, Sam picked up the thread again.
“I can see the last question was quite upsetting. Should we skip that for now, come back to it later?”
Damien shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never even—it didn’t feel real. I’d think about running away. Disappearing.” The last word came out cracked, his throat closing between vowels.
“Did you ever make any plans. To disappear?” Sam asked. Damien shook his head.
“I don’t want to die,” Damien said, his voice small and collapsing into itself. It might have been a strange thing to say, after taking all those pills and running into the forest, but he knew there would be no scent of insincerity about him. What Damien had wanted was too large and abstract to be sought after in reality.
He was so powerless. Over his past, his life, his emotions, his thoughts. It had been too unbearable, waiting for it to change, to get better, to…what, what? Fix itself? When things had only gone from bad to worse? It had been too big. He couldn’t imagine a reality in which that bad-apple darkness was gone and he was still himself. And that was the crux of it, really.
He hated himself but was too afraid of losing himself to change.
“Did you plan what happened today? Like, did you think about it, maybe before you went to sleep, or…?”
“No. It just—happened. I just, I just wanted it to stop.”
“It sounds like that pressure you were talking about before was really high. Did something happen today?”
“Not really.”
“Not really? Is that a solid no or did something small happen, or…?”
“No. Nothing happened.”
“What about yesterday?” Sam asked.
Damien paused. “It was my birthday yesterday,” he said, his voice coming out quiet. There was a moment of silence. Mia’s hand twitched, squeezing his momentarily.
“Ah. Did…okay. Did someone—did you do anything?”
Damien shrugged, and the movement ended with Damien folded over himself slightly, his free arm wrapping around his stomach.
“No. No one…no one remembered,” he said and, even to his surprise, a harsh laugh burst out of him after the revelation because—how pathetic was that? Trying to kill himself because of some Sixteen Candles bullshit?
“I can see how that could be very upsetting, Damien. Celebrating birthdays is something that people take for granted. And I can see how having everybody forget could make you feel…alone?” Sam said, her voice earnest. Damien had his eyes closed. He wasn’t sobbing, but tears were falling down his cheeks, his jaw clenched and trembling.
“Damien,” Mia said, a soft, cracking sound in the dark, and she pulled him toward her in another embrace. He buried his head into her shoulder again, breathing through a wet mouth thick with tears.
That storm passed too, and Damien eventually sat back against the headboard. Every time he cried he felt empty. He didn’t know how much more he had to give, but when offered to take a break, he turned it down. He wanted it to be over.
“Okay, Damien. I know this is tough, but you’re doing amazing,” Sam said. Damien scrunched up his face. “I know it doesn’t feel that way, but you are. Right…I know after all this, this might sound like a silly question, but how have you been feeling lately? Like, if we were to put your mood on a one to ten scale, one being the lowest of the low, where would you place yourself? Not now, but usually.”
Damien gave it thought. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“I don’t know. On where I am, I guess.”
“Okay, let’s go through the main places you’re at then. I’m guessing, home, school…”
“Mia’s”
“Mia’s. Anywhere else?”
“Not really.”
“Right, so what number would you give each place? And I’m completely aware of how ridiculous this question can be, but don’t worry too much about getting the sca
le ‘right’. It’s all about putting it in context for you,” Sam said.
Damien nodded. He concentrated on Mia’s hand, once again around his. “School…a five? I guess. Or like…a four. Or…I don’t know.”
“Sometimes lower?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Sometimes higher than five?”
“Um…maybe.”
“Not really, huh?” Sam said with a slight smile.
“Yeah. Not really.”
“Okay. Where else?”
“Um…Mia’s…like an eight, I guess, most of the time.”
“That’s quite a difference,” Sam smiled. “Any time when it gets to below a five at Mia’s?”
“No. Not really,” Damien said quickly. Mia squeezed his hand. When he glanced at her, she was smiling slightly, her face open. “I mean…maybe, like, tiny moments. Like, it won’t be their fault—it won’t be because anything happens, it just…it’s more in here,” Damien stumbled, pressing his free hand to his forehead.
“Okay. So, and jump in if any of this is wrong. At school, your mood is consistently below five. Averaging at three to four, maybe, but it can definitely get lower than that. At Mia’s, on the other hand, your mood is mostly at an eight, although it can slip momentarily when you think something not-so-nice. Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. How about home, then?”
“Huh?” Damien asked, looking up at her with a frown before it clicked. He looked away. “Oh. The McKenzies’. Erm…” He felt that familiar tightening in lungs. He opened his mouth, but his throat was stuck. He tried to push through it, but only a croak came out. He shook his head, curling into himself.
“It’s okay. Take a moment. How about we don’t go into specifics. Can you tell me, below, or above five?” Sam asked, gentle. Damien breathed.
“Below,” he whispered. He was going to get into trouble for this. His chest tightened.
“Okay. Let’s take a little break. Just a few seconds—have a drink,” Sam offered. Damien forced a sip down. A charged silence followed.
“Okay. Damien. I know I’m putting you through the wringer, but there’s one thing we have to ask, okay? Again, if you need a break you tell me. Okay?”
Damien nodded stiffly, the reassurances only making him tenser.
“Okay. The doctor found some bruising on your wrists and ankles.” At that, Damien jerked as if electrocuted. He looked at Sam, eyes wide.
“No,” he denied.
“Damien, the markings are consistent with ligature marks, like from ropes or something similar,” Sam went on, but Damien was already shaking his head. He tried to jerk his hand away from Mia’s, but this time she held on, gentle but firm. Suddenly, a soft hand was cupping his cheek. Damien froze, trembling.
“Damien,” Mia’s voice said through his closed eyes. “Hey, come on. You can open your eyes,” she said softly. Damien blinked them open. Mia’s face was close to his, blocking the rest of the world out.
“Hey, kid,” she said, as if she were greeting him from a long trip away. Her thumb stroked under his eye, still damp with tears. His lip trembled. “You’re right, you know. This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for us to be asking this, for us to be putting it on you to tell us what’s happening. It was us who should have protected you and still…here I am. Asking you to trust me. It’s you and me, Damien, we’re—we’re a team. Let me fight for you. But we need to know, okay? Who put those ropes on you?” Her eyes, both kind and intense, were pulling at the end of the knot keeping Damien together.
“The McKenzies,” Damien said on a shuddering breath. The relief that hit him was equal to the fear he felt at the revelation. Mia kissed his forehead. Her hand carded through his hair before dropping, letting Damien sit back again.
“Thank you for telling us,” she said.
“A few more questions, okay? Full disclosure—I don’t want you finding out later and thinking we tricked you—Nicola did go into your room on the pretext of getting you some clothes and found the markings on the bed, so we were pretty sure it was them, but we needed it confirmed by you. Which is also why we let Mia in the room—but that’s beside the point. I need to ask—how many times did the McKenzies tie you to something?” Sam asked.
Damien shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know.”
“Okay…when was the last time?”
“Last night.”
“The night of your birthday.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. How about the first time? When was that?”
“Um…I don’t know. To the chair or to the bed?” he asked.
A slight pause followed.
“To anything,” Sam clarified.
“Uh…the start of the school year, so…like eight months ago.”
“Okay. And how often does it happen? Would you say.”
“Erm…for the last, like, five months more or less, they…” Damien paused.
There was a crow in his chest, hopping from rib to rib, nipping at shrieking flesh. He tried to breathe. Mia’s hand squeezed. He closed his eyes. He opened them.
“Four days a week, after school when I’m not at Hakan’s—I mean Mia’s—they tie me to, to the chair, from when I get there until I finish my homework, but most of the time until I go to bed. And then…to the bed. For the night.” Damien stared downwards, trying to take long breaths, even if they felt shallow.
“And on the weekends?”
“I get more free time.”
“So, they still tie you. To the chair?”
“To do homework.”
“To the bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. So…every day you’re at the McKenzies’—wait, how often are you at Mia’s?”
“Once a week.”
“Sleepovers?”
“No.”
“Okay. So, every day you’re at the McKenzies’, meaning six days a week, they tie you during the day to the chair, on the pretext of you doing homework, and then tie you to the bed at night, every night. Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“What about if you need to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom?” Sam asked.
Damien blushed, shifting uncomfortably. “That doesn’t happen anymore. I’m good now—I don’t eat or drink anything in the evenings past, like, four. It helps.”
Another silence followed.
“I see.” A pause. “Did they ever touch you, Damien? In any way? Especially whilst you were tied down?” Sam asked.
Damien shook his head vehemently. “No. No way. They don’t even like looking at me.”
“They never hit you?”
“No. I mean…not really. A few slaps and grabs but, like, nothing I couldn’t handle,” Damien replied.
“What you can handle,” Mia said, sounding angry for the first time. Damien looked at her in surprise whilst Sam lifted a staying hand. Mia breathed out slowly. “Sorry. I just…you shouldn’t be having to handle anything like that, Damien.”
Damien shrugged. “They do it cause I’m bad,” Damien explained, as if Mia didn’t already know, but she looked back at him with pure incomprehension on her face.
“What do you mean? Bad?” she asked.
Damien took a breath and it was like a dam breaking. “They do it because I’m bad. I can’t sit still—school knows as well. I can’t do my homework and at night I’ll have nightmares and wake them up so I need to be tied down. It’s for my own good,” Damien said harshly. Mia stared at him, mouth opened slightly before she closed her eyes as if in pain.
“Damien,” she said slowly, opening her eyes. “I need you to listen, okay? What they did was wrong. There is no good enough reason to tie someone, a child, down. Think—if I told you that was happening to Koko, would you think it’s okay?”
“But she’s not bad.”
“Damien, you aren’t bad!” Mia said.
Damien shook his head. Mia opened her mouth, but Sam cut in first.
“Damien,
it’s safe to say that you are never going to see the McKenzies again. That you are never going to be tied down, or slapped, or go unfed ever again,” Sam said firmly.
Damien turned to look her. The words percolated slowly through the thick soil crushing him. “What?”
“We’ll have someone get your things. You’re not seeing them again. Ever.”
Damien started crying. It was too much. It was too much.
Mia held him. Nicola, who was still in the room, explained about where he would be moved to. Sam asked him about how his mood would be after all these changes were made, if Damien was at risk of trying to commit suicide again. No, Damien said, feeling sure in Mia’s arms of the truth of that statement.
He would still be bad, he would still be punished, somehow, or worthy of it, but the immenseness of what he had tried to do was crashing over him.
“Okay,” Sam said. “And if things do get too much, do you have someone to go to, to talk to?”
“Hakan,” Damien said immediately. Even though he didn’t, normally, Hakan’s silence and calm offered the option.
“Good. And is there an adult you feel you can go to?”
“Mia. Cameron. Nicola…”
“Okay. Good. And I’m going to leave the crisis number with you as well, in case you need us again, okay? To use if you suddenly feel like things are getting too much and you’re at risk of hurting yourself in any way. Okay?” Sam explained.
Damien nodded. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. For everything.
“I know, Damien. But you don’t need to be. Use it. That, that anger, that sadness, everything that is going on inside—grab it by the horns and use it. But don’t do it alone. It’s gonna be step by step, but you can get there, okay?” she said.
Damien closed his eyes, feeling like he had swum a hundred miles, the thrashing sea still salty on his tongue.
“Okay. We’ll have a follow-up session in a week to make sure that you’re safe. That okay?” Sam asked. Damien nodded. “Is there anything else you need, Damien?”
Damien shuddered in Mia’s arms. “I miss my dad. I miss my mom,” he whispered, his diaphragm jolting with the force of the sob that followed.
What would they say if they could see him? They had been fighters and Damien was—pathetic.
In This Iron Ground (Natural Magic) Page 9
