Chapter Thirteen
Authors Note: Hey guys! So glad to be back! Sorry for the wait, I didn't like it either. Someone asked me if I had a schedule for updates, and I will continue to try and update once a week.
Twilight smacked the steering wheel.
Another dead lead. Only his and Yor's drinks were poisoned and the restaurant owner may or may not have done it. Was it one of the other kitchen staff? Had Twilight been chasing the wrong person? Lucy led no clues to herself and nothing eluded guilt to any of the others. Of course the poison could have been handed off or discarded afterwards, so it's absence didn't exonerate them anyway.
How did Twilight continue? He couldn't waste time looking into every single worker at that restaurant. Though, he might have to.
Twilight believed Donovan was behind all this. Who else would be interested in killing the Forgers? Donovan mostly likely knew Anya was a telepath and Demetrius had said they were supposed to go to war. If Demetrius was right, was Donovan trying to take away Anya's protection? What other reason did he have to target Twilight and Yor? He very much doubted Donovan knew their secret identities and it made the most sense. Were the director's and Donovan's plans connected? Did they have the same goals? How much did their plans coincide? The director had tried to kill him and Yor at the lab and now it seemed Donovan was trying to assassinate them. Which brought him back to the problem at hand.
Who had poisoned him and Yor?
And were they working for Donovan? Twilight had his theory, but it wasn't confirmed. He had to look at this from all angles. At first he had hoped to find the source of the poison, though Spotted Hemlock was a common plant and anyone could have collected it. It didn't take much of it to kill a person.
Twilight tossed the documents he had stolen about Lucy aside and started up his car.
She was as normal as they came. He had gleaned nothing useful.
Twilight sighed dejectedly and turned onto the road thinly laid with early morning mist, heading for the highway.
Twilight was a spy, he thought frustratedly. He was good at his job. He was the best there was. Very rarely did he have such trouble—
No. He shook the doubt from his head. Sometimes this happened. Some missions were longer, some targets were more clever than others, but Twilight always completed the job. He was just more worked up than usual. He was personally invested in this mission and it was messing with his head. He couldn't get discouraged. Dead leads were bound to happen and he would find the right one like he always did.
Twilight let the thought settle in his brain and took a right turn.
And dodged the bullet that shot through his window.
The sound of glass shattering over his head was deafening. Tiny shards sprayed against his hunched back and a bullet whizzed straight through to the passenger window. Multiple vehicle attacks had trained his hands to keep steady and firm on the wheel, and he managed not to veer. His left hand smoothly slid from the leathery surface of the steering wheel and his gun was in hand before he sat upright.
Bang! Another shot rang from the car driving parallel to Twilight. He dodged.
Bang! Twilight returned fire and missed. He laid on the gas.
Giving his assailant equal opportunities for attack was ill-advised and he jerked his car directly in front of the other. He risked driving with one hand, reached his right hand towards the back of the car, and used the rearview mirror to aim. Bang!
Screeeeeech!
Tires squealed horribly as a dead body slumped over their wheel. Black marks on the pavement followed the wheels that veered sharply to the right and the car busted through the safety rail. Crash! The vehicle became nothing more than a smoking, flaming junk pile on the ground twenty metres below.
Twilight kept going. He'd let the cops deal with it.
—
"Our parents shouldn't get to decide how we live."
Anya had stumbled through school that day. Her notes were bare. Her pencil hadn't dulled. She'd heard very little of the teachers' lectures. Demetrius had shocked her system and though his words played on an infinite loop, she heard it faintly, as if her memories were stuck inside a watery bubble. She watched them obsessively, listened to them, and she couldn't quite absorb them. It quaked her foundation of reasoning and beliefs, pieces crumbling to dust, and she looked on in stunned confusion. She did nothing about it. She couldn't. It had started with one tower collapsing and it had been impossible to hold together. Her world shook and she could only watch, numbed into passive and increasing disquiet and nerves that coiled tight in her stomach. It went against everything her father had told her and two opposing beliefs floated around constantly.
Anya hadn't thought to consider if Demetrius was right or wrong. He had spoken something new, something that defied her father's ideals and her attempt to understand it resulted in a slow and incoherent muddle to untangle. Her attention was held hostage by it and she jumped when something bony nudged into her ribs.
"Anya!" Becky whispered. "Homework!"
This had been happening since yesterday. Anya was unaware when class had started. She was unaware when she had sat down or when she had taken out her notebook she hadn't touched since. Becky scratched homework assignments in a specially designated notebook, signalling that class would soon end as well.
Pulling her own from her bag, Anya was detached from the motion. The sounds of chalk on the board felt far away. Her hands didn't feel like her own. The reality outside of her head was surreal, holding her halfway out of her consuming thoughts. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy around her pencil and her letters were hard to focus on, feeling the pull to return to her head.
The professor finished writing and turned to the class. "You are dismissed once you've copied this down." He stated.
Becky was done much faster than Anya and she was vaguely aware when Becky packed her bag.
Multi-tasking was hard. Anya's words tended to slip in and out of it's predetermined line and her split focus veered repeatedly back to yesterday morning with Demetrius.
It was strange hearing him speak it. Words and ideas that could cancel out everything her father had taught her. How was it that it could so easily shake what her father had ground deep into her brain? Demetrius was so different from her. They had the same abilities and somehow he found his way to his own beliefs. A different way of life. And he had offered it to Anya. Was it really so simple that she could take it? She didn't know how to accept it. The idea was a fantasy that lived like an unrealistic fairy tail in her head. Demetrius' insistence he was right, that Anya could do what she wanted, was a sharp thrill that ached with suppressed hope and it peered down at her like a castle up on a hill. Unattainable, and yet so close.
Anya had been staring at it. The towers standing tall like a beacon and the white, perfectly chiseled stones that had magically appeared overnight. It was straight out of a story book, crowded with trees filled with birds. At the bottom of the hill where Anya peeked through a new crack of the building she currently occupied, it was an unreachable paradise.
"Are you coming?" Becky prodded her from the other side of the desk. Ewen and Emile had joined her as they had become accustomed to doing after class. Damian was missing as he had been since school started.
Becky marched up to Anya and shoved her books into her school bag. "You can copy the assignment from my notebook later. We're gonna be late for the next class." She took her hand and led them out.
Becky's hand. Anya's eyes were pulled to it. Wrapped around her own and pulling her along. She wasn't supposed to have it. She wasn't supposed to want it. But here Becky was and Anya let it happen. They held hands and her knots squirmed, confused if they should be tightening or loosening.
Becky was inside that castle up the hill.
Anya was afraid to believe it was real. An illusion that would vanish as soon as she put faith in it. It sparkled in the sun and gleamed deceptively welcoming. It was the most beautiful thing Anya had ever seen. Too beautiful to be real. She was afraid to feel anything when she looked at it, to let herself think she could live there, and yet the thought of the relief that it would afford her, fought to rush over her and wash out her eyes in a tsunami of tears and broken emotions. It pressed at her chest and she choked on her throat.
No. She couldn't live there. If it was the wrong decision, she couldn't go through the grief all over again.
But Becky was there. Her parents were there.
Her parents were there.
Since she had met them, losing them had always been the worst, possible outcome. Wether they died or were taken away from her, Anya couldn't bear the thought. Though she'd stayed with them even knowing it could hurt them, her selfish desires had kept them beside her at arm's length.
Her parents were in that castle.
If Anya joined them, how much easier would it be to be with them?
Maybe the grief would be worth it, she reconsidered. Another moment. One more try. Anya could always turn back.
For the first time since the castle appeared, Anya stepped away from the crack and looked to the door. The heavy slab of thick wood was rough and full of knots. The scratchy surface offered splinters and hiding spots for spiders, as if warning Anya not to come near.
She did and put a hand on the knob.
Anya hadn't thought to leave before. She hadn't thought she could. Her father had built this house around her, plank by plank, and he had been the only one with the key. Until Demetrius stole it from him.
Now Anya had the key.
She flung it open.
Standing in the door of this dark, familiar place she had come to accept as her home, she stamped down a shudder as fresh, clean air blew in. Light spilled into every nook, invading warmth into the cold, soulless space and sent flickering shadows up the walls where they previously could not be seen. Musty air stirred in the corners and Anya gladly forsook it for the blessed, open breezes greeting her face.
It smelled good. Anya had longed for it. The room to breathe and to let it ease her anxiety, to sate her need for oxygen, and the fragrance pulled her to the edge of the threshold, wanting for more.
Just one more step and she'd be outside.
Anya stared at the ground at her feet. Just one step. Why couldn't she drag her foot forward and take that one step?
"Aren't you hungry?" Becky asked and Anya jolted, dropping her fork. A plate of untouched omelette rice sat in front of her. "You haven't taken a bite since we sat down." Becky commented and Anya noticed the others were more than halfway done. When had lunch started?
Anya managed an "Mm." And stuck her fork in her egg which had lost most of it's warmth. She took a few absentminded bites, hardly noticing when the food entered her mouth.
Just one step.
She glanced at Becky. Her friend who was still here despite everything.
Just one step.
Anya stared her food down. At the grains of rice spilling from it's cocoon and the elegantly laid ketchup perfectly drizzled overtop. It was easier to study it then to confront how much Demetrius had flipped everything upside-down. As beautiful as that castle was, as alluring as it was, she had become so used to living here. In this dark building with no light or windows. As much as she hated it, it was difficult to turn away from what had felt so concretely absolute. A building constructed of thick, thick wood and embedded deep in the ground. She should close and lock the door.
But the fresh air. Her parents.
Just one step.
'Telepath.'
Anya full-body flinched and gasped, her fork hand ramming down on the edge of her plate and flipping it over.
In an instant, the last day and a half were wiped from her thoughts. Her concerns fled in the wake of something worse and her body seized with fear, cramped her stomach, and they held as tight as her breath caught in the back of her throat.
Telepathy was a rare thing to hear in someone's thoughts. It did not exist in the real world. The notion was widely considered fiction, an absurd result of someone's imagination that even the word, a conversation about it, hardly ever made an appearance in society. The few times Anya had heard it, other thoughts accompanied it. Comic book. Superhero. Revenge. Wistful thoughts in passing to know what someone was thinking.
This wasn't like that and her veins shuddered with adrenaline-fuelled blood as if she'd jumped from an airplane. Icy terror glazed every piece of bone and cartilage in her ridged spine with chills and drove pins of icicles in her back and shoulders. The small shiver of a breath she managed through her nose did nothing to calm her as her panicked eyes flicked up to search the room.
And found Damian.
Her heart stopped. Just metres away, he had halted in the middle of the aisle with his tray and Anya developed a cold sweat. Her mouth was sandpaper, dried like a fish in the desert, and her chest tightened with the air trapped inside.
It was Damian.
He looked away before their eyes could meet.
It was Damian, it was Damian, and Anya was petrified. Nauseous in her seat as she watched him near.
She didn't just hear that. He didn't just think it. Damian didn't know, he didn't, he didn't, he didn't. She had imagined it.
"Hey, Boss. You feeling better?" Ewen greeted as Damian joined with his lunch.
"Yeah." Damian didn't even glance in Anya's direction.
A lump didn't allow her to swallow. She was afraid to let her gaze fall from Damian as if watching him was a plausible plan of defence. As if it could erase what she'd heard. It couldn't be true.
Damian ate like nothing was wrong. His thoughts were empty of Anya or anything about her. His thoughts consisted of homework, classes, and his friends. . . a little too exclusively. No matter what was on his mind, there was always hints and traces of something else. But he stuck to one train of thought like a bike riding strictly on the curb and it wobbled, struggling to maintain balance. Anya wanted to believe she was mistaken and Damian made it very difficult to deny it.
He knew.
The blood drained from Anya's face. Her left hand clamped her seat's edge as if it could steady her skyrocketing heart rate.
"Anya!"
She jolted again, whipping her head to Becky who flinched back in turn. "What's up with you? I said your name four times." Becky said, glancing between Anya's upset dish and Damian.
Anya had been staring at him and it had to be a bad thing when Becky made no comment on it. Her friend sighed. "Hang on, I'll ask for someone to come clean it up." She got down and left.
Damian glanced innocently between Anya and his friends as if he didn't know what was going on. His seemingly genuine ignorance might have given Anya pause, but she could hear it. The tiny, muffled voices hidden in the back of his head like they'd been shoved in a box. Anya couldn't clearly make them out, but she knew Damian didn't want them to escape. He was hiding them. From Anya.
"Um. . .are you okay?" Emile gave her a funny look.
Anya could hardly breathe and she inhaled shakily through her nose. Again. Her chest hurt. It was collapsing in on itself and her heart was trying to escape through her throat. Was this what a heart attack felt like? It certainly felt like it was attacking her. Her ribcage rattled from the shake in her chest as it was crushed underneath ten tons of hot coals, burning her skin and pulverizing her ribs. It cut off her air and she gasped desperately as her near useless, slow, heavy limbs clumsily fumbled her down from her seat.
"Forger?" Damian rose to his knees and leaned over the table.
Anya ignored him. She couldn't focus. She couldn't calm herself down. She couldn't believe this was happening and her lungs felt about ready to burst. Her emotions filled them with sharp, wet gravel and pressed at the back of her throat, unsuccessfully attempting to escape and blocking airflow. Using the bench to steady herself, she walked along it, heaving periodically as she lost more and more breath. Her awkward, disobedient limbs would let her fall on her face if she tried to run.
"Wait! Forger!" Unfortunately, Damian got down too and ran around the table to her side.
No, no, no, she shuddered. She couldn't deal with this. She couldn't deal with him. Her biggest secret—
She dropped to her knees before Damian could reach her and crawled under the table. Her chest heaved faster with empty, useless air, splashed with a spurt of inadequate relief that left far too quickly. She focused on the dusty tiles beneath her fingers, though she still felt wobbly and her eyes began to leak.
"Wh—Forger!" Damian had caught up and kept pace with her from the outside.
How could this happen?! Anya thought to herself. She had been so careful and people were always dumb enough to never figure it out!
But Damian didn't bother to lock his thoughts down anymore and she heard glimpses of what had happened.
It was Demetrius' fault.
The floor became blurry as droplets hit Anya's hands. Her head was fuzzy and her sapping strength slowed her mission to exit the cafeteria. Her muddled senses made it hard to think straight and her muscles draggled along painfully sluggishly. The air didn't seem to exist in her immediate area and her lungs cried for it, her chest ached for it.
Damian knew.
He knew, he knew, he knew, and everything was over! She'd have to flee the country and change her name! Her parents would be looked into and she'd have to leave them to protect their secret identities!
Her focus that remained on movement was subverted to the dizziness in her head and the cracking pain in her chest. She found herself stopping to lean back on her heels, braced her hands on the floor, and suddenly Damian was in front of her like a bad dream that wouldn't leave her alone. Anya avoided his gaze and dazedly looked side to side for a way out. She was gonna throw up.
"Hey!" He whispered and caught her arm. She barely felt it. "It's fine! It's fine! It's fine" He said frantically. "Calm down! Everything's fine!"
Anya shook her head, searching for escape, though she didn't think she could make herself move any further.
"Hey—no! Look everything's fine! I won't tell anyone! I swear!"
Anya wasn't registering much of anything he said and absentmindedly tried to pull out of his grasp. She was lightheaded and her attempts were halfhearted against someone that had more or less become a distant blob of colour and sound.
Damian let go to take hold of her face and made her look at him. "Tch." He didn't like the next words out of his mouth. "Read my mind then!" He hissed through his teeth. "I'm not lying! Everything's fine!"
It was startling to hear him say that, like cotton being pulled from her ears, and he suddenly felt more real. As if he had only existed in the background before he came into focus.
She didn't know what was worse—that he was here forcing her to confront the thing she was trying to escape, or that he had said it out loud. That he knew. Hearing him speak it like opening the thickest, securest box in the world and emptying the valuable treasures inside. This couldn't be real. He didn't just say it. He didn't just manifest her worst fears into audible, real, awful words that seemed to mock her as they fled the box they had been trapped in.
Her breath quickened even more. The razing sear in her ribs paled in comparison to the clamp on her throat and the heavy, hazy pressure in her head that smeared her vision and awareness. She lost sense of Damian in front of her, her surroundings, the floor at her fingers where she vaguely understood there was something hard beneath them.
The soft heat on her face swiftly disappeared and some other quick, frantic movements with rushed sounds followed. Something hovered hesitantly near her, more sounds, though her attention was otherwise preoccupied to care.
She was suffocating. The pressure built and hurt her head. She had no air left and it was getting harder to hold herself up as her supporting limbs shook like a leaf. Anya was only in that moment, feeling each breath that didn't make it past her mouth and every pounding beat of her burning heart on the gong of her skull. A lump that extended into her stomach ached at the back of her throat and though she cried, the sound was unable to find it's way out, only making the stinging and drowning that vibrated in her lungs worse. Then the pounding, the rattle in her ribs, the voices in her head slowly drifted to something more quiet as a blackness crowded the edges of her consciousness.
And so, she startled when Damian hugged her.
Like a lawn sprinkler that had abruptly stopping spinning, her thoughts were impeded with a hiccupped breath. The jarring touch of his arms around her and the new view of his uniform in her face snatched a few gasps, disturbing the consistency of her failed attempts to breathe. It took her off guard, seizing her muscles, and forcing some amount of alertness on her.
It wasn't a proper hug. Damian had risen on his knees to hold her bowed head to his chest, but suddenly her rapid heaving was interrupted, if only a little. When she inhaled, it lined her lungs and her head hurt a bit less. Her chest shook with the air it had needed and the hair-framed vision of Damian's knees in front of her hands had become clearer. The blackness began to retreat and her skull was less loud.
It had taken her aback, freezing her at the contact, and she had tensed in shocked bewilderment. Damian kept holding her anyway and Anya didn't even have the bandwidth to know how to react. All of a sudden he was hugging her and her thoughts had gone still. Her tears splashed down by his knees and his sleeves were rustling by her ears. His lack of speech was deafening in how he opted to embrace her instead and the way his arms circled her head and reduced her eye-line to what was immediately in front of her felt like a barricade from the rest of the world. The distant chatter of lingering students, the open floor of the cafeteria, and the bright lights she was shielded from. Here, under the table where Damian blocked her sight, he kept her inside a small moment where nothing else mattered.
He breathed deep and slow—slower than Anya anyway—and her forehead rose and fell with it. The rhythmic motion contrasted with her own and listening to Damian's instead had a strange hold on her attention. Though her blood raced and her stunned brain made her breathing erratic, she was hyper aware of the steady beat of Damian's heart against her forehead. The crisp fabric on her skin and the freshly laundered scent of his uniform that laced the air she breathed. His quiet stillness that kept his hands on the back of her head from moving and getting tangled in her hair.
Anya was absorbed into that moment, taken captive by the present and held there where she didn't know how to move forward or go back. To slip out of this state of inaction and as if she'd nearly drowned from staying underwater too long, Anya filled her lungs with a gulp of air and nerves shuddered over her shoulders. She was a little cold, but the warmth on her neck and head made it seem minor.
What was he doing? Why was he hugging her? Holding her? Despite what he knew? He was so stiff. He so carefully avoided pulling her hair or holding her too tight, and even his body language wasn't angry. He wasn't scared of her. Damian had no ill intentions or feelings towards her and the truth of it confused her. One of the reasons she was scared to expose her secret was the fear and hate that would follow, and it didn't seem to apply to Damian.
What. . .what was wrong with him? She wondered and her tensed body couldn't stop the fragile way her chest seemed to open and rattle. Why was he—she hiccuped. How was he so calm? Why wasn't he—
Another hiccup and Anya noticed how much slower her chest rose. It shuddered and quaked, but it was deeper. Fuller.
He wouldn't tell anyone. She was sure of it. She knew it and Anya didn't understand why. This didn't make sense at all and she shivered on the cold floor.
Anya had no answer. Damian was simply here and she didn't know how to take it. He simply accepted the situation and Anya wasn't prepared for that. The anger, the fear, the disgust, that was what she was prepared for. But Damian just kept holding her and somehow his arms felt warmer and unexpectedly. . .safe. His chest supporting her head had become strangely comforting and it was almost unsettling how it felt okay to rest there. Like she'd been lured into a safe-house to take refuge, though she felt she should keep moving. It wasn't her intention to stay here, and yet it gave her walls to hide behind.
"Ar-are you okay now?" Damian mumbled and Anya breathed shakily through her nose. His arms slid away, taking his warmth with him, and sat back on his heels. He crossed his arms and looked somewhere off to the side. He must have been super hot because his grumpy face was beet red.
With another deep, unsteady breath, Anya exhaled heavily and her body seemed to vibrate with it. Her hands and shoulders spasmed with every exhalation and though her breathing was more or less under control, she remained anxious and tight with stress.
She swiped the wetness from her cheeks and avoided each nervous flicker of Damian's eyes that came her way.
She didn't want to be here. Around him. She felt outrageously vulnerable like her secret had been cut out of her with a chainsaw and locked inside a display case she couldn't break into. It was reassuring to know he'd keep this to himself, though it was as if every wall she'd ever built was decimated with one, easy strike and even if she rebuilt them, they wouldn't be able to keep him out ever again. He was already inside.
Damian knew.
"A bomb."
"Um. . . " He muttered an awkward attempt to ease the awkward situation and that was Anya's cue.
In a burst of panicked movement, she crawled out from under the table and ran away to the bathroom.
—-
That had gone way worse than Damian had hoped.
He thought for the tenth time and chewed on his thumbnail. He shifted in his seat again, waiting for class to begin.
His conversation with Demetrius made him think Forger would react the same way, and boy was he wrong. Was she okay? Was their relationship ruined forever? Where had she gone? He hadn't seen her since lunch and she had skipped class. Blackbell didn't know where she was either by the way she'd been on lookout for her friend.
Demetrius had said Forger wouldn't be happy about this, but was it really that big a deal? Did she not trust Damian even when reading his mind? Damian didn't want her in his head and now it felt more difficult than ever to bring it up. If he could even find and get Forger to talk to him in the first place. . .
It bugged him how avoidant Forger was being. It wasn't hard to understand why, but so much had happened and they should be past this already. . .
. . .
He supposed it was those same things that drove her away. . .
But still! He. Damian Desmond. Had gone out of his way to make friends with her and get along and Forger had ignored, avoided, and rejected him at every turn! It was infuriating! And now this! Of all people, shouldn't Damian learning she was an esper be fine? He already knew about the lab and stuff, knowing about this just made sense, didn't it? Was it really that horrible?
. . .
. . .
Damian sighed, leaning on his desk to hold his face. He suddenly felt ridiculous for thinking such things. Forger had broken down under a table, it was obviously a big deal. She was a freakin' telepath, of course it would affect her that he found out. If Demetrius was any indication, this was a tightly held secret that no one was ever supposed to find out. It was messed up, and he saw the issue with it, especially when he had some idea of how Forger got her abilities, but Damian didn't like how much this incident trumped any frustration or anger he had with her.
He wished she would just talk to him. He could be fine with it.
. . .
. . .
Could be? Was he not fine with it now? Damian considered. Forger was his friend and he didn't want this to hurt their relationship, but. . .was he fine with it?
Damian hadn't given it a lot of thought. He had automatically assumed a position of acceptance when he saw how stressed out it made Demetrius and tried not to think about it beyond that. It was freaky to think they could be in his thoughts all the time and he refrained from thinking about it because there was nothing he could do and what else could he do?! His brother was a telepath and it hurt more to think about losing him than simply accepting he might be in his thoughts. Forger was a telepath and they'd been through too much together for him to be bothered over this. She'd been through too much for him to be bothered over this. It seemed shallow.
Demetrius was an esper. Forger was an esper.
Damian didn't like it.
But maybe he could adjust. He would. Something wriggled uncomfortably in his gut to think that he was entitled to some sort of opinion on the matter. As if he should be anything other than accepting.
This was his brother and his friend after all.
His friend.
He had wondered how she'd take it. Damian had opted to skip morning classes just to avoid the conversation or. . .thoughts? A little longer. Despite his stubbornness to make light of the situation and his frivolous anger, Damian was all too aware of the heavy implications involved. It was simpler to be angry or upset rather than consider them. Or rather than fail to believe everything would be okay after this. How could it be when Forger had run away? She had run away from him. She'd heard him think that stupid word and ran away from him. How would things be okay after this!? Forger would never be comfortable around him again!
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did he think that word! He had been so determined not to think that stupid word and give himself away!
And then he saw her and immediately failed.
Damian hated seeing her so scared. He hated to be the one to cause it. He never wanted her to experience it ever again. Not since the lab when she screamed her throat raw as they took her away. It was the most blood curdling thing he'd ever heard. Just the idea that it was because she knew what would happen gave Damian goosebumps and he still couldn't think about it without breaking out in a cold sweat and shaking hands. They were jittery now and he sat on them.
Forger had been so scared that she'd had a panic attack. She'd been so scared that she'd crawled under the table to get away from him. He'd hugged her and it had calmed her down, but he had a feeling it didn't change the situation much.
She had still run.
And he couldn't even be mad about it.
As time ticked closer to the start of class, Damian dug out a textbook from his bag in preparation and found a fresh page in his spiral notebook. He folded the two covers neatly back to back and placed it next to his textbook and pencil. He stared at it.
His face flushed hot.
Damian covered it.
He'd hugged her!
He'd hugged her, he'd hugged her, he'd hugged her! What was he thinking!? It had worked, it had seemed to help, but what was he thinking?! It was so awkward AND HE'D HUGGED HER! Wasn't that a little weird?! Why would he hug her?! What a stupid thing to do! No, but it helped. She'd needed it—But no! Why did he do that?!
But he knew why and he would've done it again. Being scared and alone was the worst and Damian didn't want Forger to feel the way he had. When he'd had that nightmare and his mother wasn't around to make it better.
He groaned and gripped his hair, plunking his head on his desk. He couldn't believe he did that!
"Boss?" Ewen said. Damian ignored him.
No! They're friends! Damian amended. He was trying to make her feel better! That's normal isn't it?! He really was only trying to help her calm down! It was instinctive and he just. . .did it! They're friends and she. . .needed him. . .
"Ugggghhhh." Damian groaned into his textbook. It was just a hug! She was freaking out and it helped! So there!
Damian sighed wearily and picked his head off his book. Leaning on his desk, he held his face in his hands.
Everything was a mess.
Was Forger going to be like this forever? Ignoring him? Avoiding him? Was any part of their friendship even salvageable at this point? Forger had never felt so unreachable, like she'd set sail to live on some uncharted island and Damian didn't know the way there.
Damian let his right hand fall to grab his pencil, feeling rather defeated, and continued to gnaw on his opposite thumbnail. The orange stick of led twirled distractedly between his fingers.
"Tch." His face scrunched and teeth clenched on his nail in annoyance. He didn't like this. Things were even worse than before and he didn't know what to do. Forger wouldn't give him a chance to speak with her and trying to have that conversation alone would be near impossible with Blackbell and Damian's friends around.
His face relaxed and his posture sagged with a disheartened sigh. Was there a point in trying anymore? Damian was out of his depth. Nothing seemed to work. Even Demetrius had spoken to her and Forger was about the same. Sorta. She'd been really spaced out lately.
What could Damian do? He knew Forger's secret and it felt less like he was included in the loop, and more like he'd closed a door on himself. Like knowing was the final straw and he was officially and forever banned from reentering her world with no possibility to sneak back in. Forger didn't want him to. She seemed to want nothing more to do with him. The connection Damian had gained from their shared experience at the lab wasn't enough it seemed to make Forger trust him. Or feel comfortable around him.
. . .
. . .
. . .Or no. . .that wasn't right. . .Damian reevaluated and the depressing weight in his chest lightened a little.
Damian had hugged her. And it had worked. She had calmed down. That had to mean something right? That she found him at least a little comforting?
Damian sincerely hoped so. What was left to salvage without it?
"Um. . .do you need an exorcist or something?" Emile drew Damian's attention back to the present.
". . .What?" He asked, but it was quickly forgotten when a pink head came through the door only moments before class would start and the pencil stilled in Damian's hand. He wouldn't have been surprised if she was missing for the rest of the day and he chewed harder on his nail. His pencil twirled again twice as fast. Was she okay? Was she angry? Did she hate him? Forger appeared calmer now, though her gaze flicked warily to him several times on the way to her seat as if he was the telepath.
Damian had to find a way to talk to her. Leaving things the way they were made him antsy and anxious. He wondered if she was reading his mind right now. How much was she hearing? Did she know he wanted to talk? Damian questioned if he could think at her, but that wasn't a proper conversation, they needed to speak face to face. Would she let that happen? How bad was the situation? It was bad, but how bad. Really bad? Really, really bad?
. . .
Was she reading his mind now?
Damian had to stop asking himself that. He was going to drive himself crazy.
What did he do?! He was so out of his depth. Maybe Demetrius would know. But Damian would have to wait 'til after school to talk to him and he couldn't wait that long. The longer this went on, the more uneasy he became.
Damian distractedly listened to the teacher when he came in and started class. He caught Forger stopping herself from looking back at him several times and he had to wonder once more if she was reading his mind. Was it on all the time? Did she pick and choose who she listened to? Damian wished he knew so he could stop obsessing over it.
He needed to talk to her.