"Damon, do you want to go to the bowling alley with me?" Stefan asks just as he steps into my room.
"You want me to go along?"
"Duh! Would I have asked if I hadn't?"
Tightening my lips, I stare at him for a moment. "Why?"
"You're my brother and I guess we should get to know each other better," he replies. I can't help but think he has some ulterior motive. He has been anything but welcoming since I got home. Deciding to give it a whirl, I nod my head, stand up and grab my jacket before following him down the stairs and outside. After he tells our mom where we're going, we start walking downtown to the bowling alley. He's not much for conversation as we walk down the sidewalk, preferring to look straight ahead as opposed to actually looking at me from time to time.
"Are you sure you want me to go with you, Stefan?" I ask him, perplexed at how his behavior can change from one moment to the next.
"I'm sure. It's right there," he says pointing to a building just up the street. "Mystic Falls Lanes" was flashing in neon even though it was just late afternoon. Once we get inside, Stefan looks around then waves to the group of kids he runs around with at school. Suddenly feeling uneasy about all of this, I shove my hands in my jeans pockets so he can't see how nervous this is making me feel. I don't move when Stefan starts to walk over towards them. When he notices I'm not beside him, he turns around to stare at me.
"You coming?" Taking a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves, I just nod my head and follow behind him. Not really knowing any of his friends, I just take a seat while he yaps it up with them.
I can't help but feel a bit wary of Stefan's sudden sense of companionship since he's been so hostile to me since I got home.
"Damon, go to the counter and get yourself a pair of bowling shoes so you can join us," Stefan says, yelling loud enough so I'll hear him. Although grimacing, I nevertheless go to grab a pair of shoes in my size. Once I slip them on, Stefan hands me a bowling ball and gestures for me to take my turn to try to knock down the pins. Having never bowled before, I know I'm going to make an absolute fool of myself and giving him more ammunition in the process. However, on the slight chance that this could be legitimate, I don't want my own brother to hate me forever. I take a moment to close my eyes. After having watched the guys take their turns, I do my best. Of course it goes in the gutter. How can they expect me to be an expert the very first time I try this game.
"That's okay, Damon. Most all of us hit the gutter the first time we try to bowl. You'll get the hang of it," he tells me, giving me a little pat on the arm. Nodding, I take my seat and watch the rest of them till it's my turn again. The next time I manage to knock over a couple of the pins. As expected, by the time the evening is over, I have the lowest score but I did enjoy myself. After Stefan tells his friends goodbye, we walk home.
"You're home," dad mentions as we step inside the house. "Did you have a good time, Damon?" he asks.
"I did. Thank you for inviting me, Stefan."
"No problem. I'm going to bed. Goodnight dad," he says with a yawn before turning around and walking up the stairs. Just as I'm ready to follow him upstairs, dad gently grabs onto my shoulder. I involuntarily stiffen up and suddenly I'm transported back in time.
"Danny, what were you doing out of your room? You were specifically forbidden to come out here! Explain yourself?"
"I...I was hungry," I stutter, my voice quivering with fear.
"You're always hungry. You practically eat us out of house and home as is!" she yells, throwing her glass of bourbon down her throat and slamming the glass on the counter top.
"Wh.. why do you hate me so much? You're my mom..." She focuses her gaze in on me for several moments before breaking out with a Cheshire cat like grin. Without any warning, she backhands me, sending me sprawling across the floor. Feeling something trickling down my forehead, I reach up, grimacing when I feel my blood and the sting of my splayed open flesh when my fingers ghost along the gash in my hairline. When I see the blood on my fingers, I can't help the tears that prick at my eyes knowing how much my parents hate me.
"Why did you pick me when all you do is hurt me?" I ask her, my voice choked with tears.
"Damon?"
"Please don't hurt me anymore," I beg, my voice tone hushed. In my mind I'm still laying on that cold kitchen floor while she slaps me silly.
"Son," my dad says softly, loosening his grip on my shoulders. Turning me around so I'm facing him, he reaches up, tentatively stroking my cheek. "Damon, I'll never hurt you," he reassures me.
"What?" I ask, looking around confused to my surrounding for just a few moments.
"Damon, did you just have a flashback?"
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice panicked as I look everywhere but at him.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You have nothing to apologize for." When I finally focus my eyes on him, I see understanding dawning in them.
"Let's go into the kitchen. I'll make you some hot chocolate. That might help you sleep okay?"
"Um... I.. I just... I just don't know what to do," I sputter, my eyes beginning to prick with moisture. I don't want him to see me in this state so I quickly back away and run up the stairs. I step into my room and push the door closed before I collapse onto the floor, panting as I struggle to catch my breath. The enormity of everything weighing me down like a ton of bricks.
Joe: Damon's father
"Is everything okay?" Millie asks when I step into our bedroom to get ready for bed. Sighing heavily, I run my fingers through my hair before unbutton my shirt.
"I'm going to take a quick shower then we'll talk." Although she looks at me curiously, I step into our en suite bathroom. Suddenly feeling the weight of the world, I press my hands against the bathroom sink, gripping it firmly. I'm torn up inside at the thought of my son being abused during his formative years. No wonder he's plagued by nightmares, I think to myself, unconsciously squeezing the sink's edge so tightly that my fingertips and knuckles are white. Shaking my head, I release my grip, turn on the shower and step in. I can't even enjoy the hot water pummeling my body after what I've inadvertently learned about Damon. Maybe we are going to need family counseling. Knowing that Millie and I need to find a way to help our son recover, I step out, wrap a towel around my waist and walk back into our bedroom.
"What's wrong Joe?" she asks.
"It's Damon. I think he had a flashback a little while ago. He spaced out for a little bit then he practically begged me not to hurt him anymore. He was absolutely mortified when he realized what happened. I think those people, the Parkers, inflicted far more than emotional damage," I explain, looking into her suddenly tear filled eyes.
"I think the two of us should talk to Dr. Mikaelson. We need to know how we can help him. Is it any wonder he keeps to himself?" I utter, shaking my head in sheer hatred at the monsters who stole my son.
Wrapping her in my arms, she looks up at me. "Yes..," she stutters out through her tears.
"Oh God, Joe. What all did they do to him?" she burbles out, her voice still choked with tears. "I mean, he was just a baby when they took him. He's probably too ashamed to talk about it or open up to us."
"I'm sure you're right," I whisper, caressing her back to try to comfort her. "We'll call Dr. Mikaelson tomorrow and set up an appointment." Looking down at her, she nods her head. Reaching over to the nightstand, I turn out the light. Laying down, I pull her against my chest, needing the anchor that my wife has always provided to me. Even through our darkest days when Damon first disappeared, we were always able to give each other strength.
Things like this often tear families apart or so we were told. Thank God, Millie and I have been able to navigate our way through the once troubled waters. Now we're going to have to get the oars wet again as we work our way through this revelation. We have to find a way to help our son recover, I will do everything humanly possible to make that happen. Closing my eyes, I drift into an uneasy sleep, my mind conjuring all kinds of things that may have happened to my child, things that I shudder to thing about.
Damon:
Fisting my shirt, he pulls me close so he's right in my face, the stench of alcohol heavy. "You little fool. Did you really think you would get away with sneaking out?" he sneers, his putrid breath causing my eyes to water.
"Um, I just wanted to get some fresh air," I whisper, goose bumps erupting on my skin.
"Why didn't you open a fucking window if you wanted fresh air?"
"I...I don't know. I came back. I didn't talk to anyone, I swear," I whisper, my voice tremulous as fear surges through my body. His fist is entwined so tightly in my shirt that I can't even look away when the first blow comes to my mid section. I can't even speak, let alone cry as the force of his punch knocks all the wind out of me.
"Please stop," I yell, flying upright in bed. Reaching up, I wipe off the beads of sweat that fall into my eyes as I struggle to gather my bearings. I exhale heavily when I realize I'm safe. Shaking off my fear, I grab one of my pills realizing I hadn't taken one. I was so humiliated with the fact that my dad witnessed a flashback that I forgot to take one. Rather than breaking one in half, I take a whole pill. I'm having flashbacks and nightmares again so the half a tablet isn't enough. Maybe Dr. Mikaelson can recommend something else for me to take. I don't want the nightmares but I don't like being so fatigued all the time either. Suddenly I hear a light tap on my bedroom door.
"Damon?" she asks, peaking through the crack in the door as she pushes it open ever so slowly.
"Um.. Caroline, I'm so sorry if I woke you."
"It's okay," she says sadly, clutching her blanket to her chest.
"Come here," I whisper. Nodding she walks over to the bed and climbs in, sitting next to me.
"Did you have another bad dream?" she asks, her soulful blue eyes staring into mine.
"Yeah," I tell her honestly. Tipping her head slightly as if deep in thought, she scoots over and wraps her little arms around me, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
"Do you want me to stay with you? I'll chase your dreams away," she whispers in my ear.
"I would like that a lot but I don't know if mom and dad would?"
"They won't care."
"How do you know?"
"Because they knows I'm taking care of you," she says confidently.
"How about if you sleep on the bed and I'll sleep on the floor?" I compromise with her. Grabbing one of the pillows and a blanket I make myself a bed on the floor and settle down.
"Goodnight Caroline," I whisper.
"Night night Damon. I love you."
Closing my eyes, I swallow thickly. Chill bumps erupt on my body as I struggle to speak clearly. "I love you too."
Joe:
"Come in Mr. and Mrs. Salvatore." We look up to see Dr. Mikaelson motioning for us to come into his office and take a seat. Once we do, he turns to us, "How can I help you two today?"
"It's Damon. He's still having flashbacks and nightmares. I actually witnessed one of his flashbacks. He begged me not to hurt him before he was catapulted back to the here and now for lack of a better word," I explain to him.
"Dr. Mikaelson, has Damon told you anything about his life with those animals that took him away from us?" Millie asks, her voice distraught.
"Yes, he has mentioned a little about his life but I'm not at liberty to tell you. I promised him that what he said in here would be kept confidential. I can't betray his trust otherwise our relationship will cease to exist. If he doesn't trust me, he won't talk to me. Please understand that."
"We do, Dr. I guess the reason we're really here is that we need to know what we can do to help him move beyond this. I want him to have a good and happy life. I know he'll carry some of these scars with him forever but I don't want him to be weighed down by them. I want him to be able to thrive and prosper," I tell him, my voice full of emotion.
"I expected nothing less to be perfectly honest. You've taken the necessary steps to get him into counseling. I can tell you that I believe he's suffering from PTSD, that's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The medication that he taking is not only to help him sleep but to also help with his flashbacks and hallucinations."
"Hallucinations?"
"Yes, hallucinations are encompassed in a PTSD diagnosis."
Reaching into her handbag, Millie grabs a tissue to dab her eyes. "How can we help him, Dr. Mikaelson?"
Tenting his fingers, he looks from me to Millie before beginning. "Trauma alters the way a person sees the world, making it seem like a perpetually dangerous and frightening place. It also damages people's ability to trust others and themselves. Anything you can do to rebuild Damon's sense of security will contribute to recovery. This means cultivating a safe environment, acting in a dependable and reassuring way, and stepping in to help when needed," he explains to us.
"But it also means finding ways to empower him. Smothering someone with PTSD or doing things for them that they're capable of doing for themselves is counterproductive. Better to build their confidence and self-trust by giving them more choices and control."
"Can you tell us a little about it? Other than being familiar with the term 'PTSD', we really don't know anything about it?" I express.
"People suffering from PTSD live in a constant state of physical and emotional stress. To make matters worse, they usually have trouble sleeping. They are exhausted, on edge, and physically strung out—which increases the likelihood that they'll overreact to situations and stressors in their day-to-day life. Many but not all of the people with PTSD, anger can also be a cover for other feelings or a defense against grief, helplessness, guilt, or shame. They'd rather be mad than sad. Anger makes them feel powerful, instead of weak and vulnerable. For others, their anger is so intense that they're afraid of letting it out. Instead, they try to suppress it. But it simmers under the surface, like an active volcano, and can erupt when you least expect it."
"Dr. Mikaelson, that's the thing, we really haven't seen him angry. So if he is, he's not exhibiting it to us," Millie mentions.
"While you shouldn't push him to talk about his experiences, you absolutely can let him know that you're available if he chooses to share. If he does, try to listen without expectations or judgments. Make it clear that you are interested and that you care, but don't worry about giving advice. Leave that to me as the professional here," he tells us before continuing.
"Instead do your best to simply take in what he's saying to you. Never underestimate how much just empathetic listening can help him. A person with PTSD may need to talk about the traumatic event or events repeatedly. This is part of the healing process so try to avoid telling him to stop and move on. Instead, offer to talk as many times as he needs to. And remember, it's okay to dislike what he's telling you. Some things may be very hard to hear. However, it's very important to respect his feelings and reactions. He may tell you things that are horrifying to hear but you if you come across as disapproving, judgmental and yes, even horrified, it's unlikely he'd open up to you a second time," Dr. Mikaelson explains knowledgably.
"Is there anything we can do to make him feel safe enough that he would confide in us?"
"Yes. Tell him that you're not going to let him push you away, that you two are invested for the long haul. Structure and predictable schedules can and often do enhance the afflicted person's sense of security. You can help create a safe place for him by being aware of things that make him feel edgy and afraid. For example, he probably feels fear when he's thrown into new situations, crowds and chaos. Try to minimize stressors at home and make sure he takes the time for rest and relaxation."
I look first to Millie and then back to Dr. Mikaelson. "He seems the most comfortable with our daughter Caroline. She's five. The morning after his flashback, I went to get him up for school. Caroline was sound asleep in his bed while he was sleeping on the floor. She accepts him completely whereas our boy, Stefan is having some difficulty adjusting to Damon being home. Although in the last couple of weeks, he's made an effort to include Damon in some of his activities. I think maybe Stefan is starting to come around too."
"That good. He has mentioned that he doesn't think his brother likes him very much."
"Oh no," Millie says sadly.
"Be consistent with him. Keep your promises so he will learn that you are trustworthy. Tell him that you believe he can get well. Emphasize his strengths and help him as well as your other son and daughter to see his positive qualities and successes. And lastly for now, you need to take care of yourselves too. Looking after your own well-being isn't selfish, it's necessary. Letting his PTSD dominate your life while ignoring your own needs is a guarantee of burnout. In order for you to have the strength to be there for Damon over the long haul, you also have to nurture and care for yourselves," he explains, eyeing us both with scrutiny.
Standing up, I extend my arm to shake his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us. It's been enlightening."
"Yes, thank you," Millie says, dropping her tear soaked tissues in the waste basket.
"Please feel free to come to see me anytime if I can be of anymore assistance," he states, walking us to the door. "Goodbye now," he states as Millie gathers her purse. Turning around, I nod my head before urging Millie out with the nudge of my hand to her back.
Damon:
"Damon, can you help me with my bike?" Caroline asks.
"Um.. sure. I haven't ever been on a bike but I guess I can make sure you don't fall."
"No bike?"
"I don't think so anyway unless I had one before...," I stutter, taking in a breath.
"I sorry, Damon," she says softly.
"It's not your fault. Come on, let's go outside." As I start to walk to the door, she reaches up to take my hand. Inhaling sharply, I give her hand a gentle squeeze as we're walking out of the door.
Cautiously, she gets on her bike while I hold it steady on the sidewalk. I don't want her to go onto the street and get hit by a bad driver or something. As she starts peddling, I hang on while walking beside her. Carefully, I let go and she manages to stay upright for several feet. When she slows down the bike starts to teeter a bit. I run to catch her before it tips over and manage to grab ahold of her just in time. The momentum causes me to stumble to the ground, her on top of me. For a moment she looks like she's going to start crying but instead surprises me when she starts giggling.
"That was fun," she squeals.
"You think so do you?" I ask her. With a wink, I roll her off of me and start tickling her. Soon we're both rolling with laughter. So much so that we don't even hear Elena walk up to us from her house across the street.
"What are you two doing?" Elena laughs.
"Damon was helping me to ride my bike," Caroline giggles.
"Oh really! It doesn't look much like bike riding to me," she teases.
"Does so," Caroline retorts, playfully sticking her tongue out at Elena.
Sticking her own tongue out at Caroline, Elena replies, "I can do that too." Caroline breaks out in more giggles when Elena stoops over and starts tickling her too.
Once we all stop laughing, I turn to Elena. "Um.. The dance Friday night, are we going to walk?"
"No, Jeremy is coming home this weekend. He's going to give us a ride. Ric will be chaperoning so he has to leave early to help set things up. Is that okay?"
"Yeah," I answer, smiling.
"I suppose I should go back in and do my homework. I'll see you tomorrow, Damon. Bye Caroline," she tells her, waving goodbye as she walks across the street.
"You're going to the dance with Elena?" Caroline squeaks.
"Yes." I answer, wondering what's churning in that precocious little mind of hers. Jumping on my belly, she leans down to whisper something in my ear.
"Can I help you to get ready?"
"Do you even know how to help me to get ready?"
Crossing her arms over chest, she pouts, "I know how."
Knowing I may regret this, I still can't help but smile at her. "Okay, you can help me then." Jumping off of me, she grabs onto my hand to try to pull me up. I help her out yet pretend that she's the one doing all the work.
"Do you want to try getting on the bike again?" Stooping over, I lift up her bike, holding it steady as she climbs on. "You ready?"
"Ah ha," she utters, her lips tight in concentration. She starts peddling while I hold on and start to speed up a little to keep up with her. This time when I let her go, I have to run to keep up with her.
"Look at me, Damon," she squeals excitedly.
"I see. Can you stop now?" I ask, getting closer to her when she slows down a bit. Just as I catch up with her, she manages to push on the brakes and stop without falling over.
"You did it!" I yelp, wrapping an arm around her shoulder so I can give her a light squeeze.
"I did do it!" she screams, jumping up and down hysterically. I can't help but laugh.
"You ready to go back to the house now?"
Smiling happily, she nods, walking alongside me as I push the bike. Once we put her bike in the garage, she grabs on again, leading me into the house and up the stairs. I can't help the sense of both fear and awe at what I feel when I'm with both Caroline and Elena. A shiver runs up my spine causing my mouth to drop open as realization dawns on me that this must be what 'normal' feels like.
A big thanks to Eva. Thank you all for your reviews, follows and favorites. They really do stir the muse. I am working on a new story. I'll give you a tease when it's closer to being done. I'm 10 chapters in and still haven't gotten to the meaty parts so it'll be long I think.
'The Unforgiven' and 'Shatter Me' will update tomorrow. Please give them a look.
Have a safe and fabulous weekend. Remember to click that *REVIEW BUTTON*... Until next time...