Hidden and Silent (SpyxFamily)

Chapter Twelve

        It was a lie, it was a lie, it was lie, Damian's thoughts raced. Demetrius had lied to him. He had looked straight at him and lied to him. He'd lied without batting an eye. He'd lied so effortlessly. Damian would have believed it if not for his pause.

Then what was the truth?

Damian swallowed a lump in his throat. His heart rate doubled and he didn't think he could grip his handle any tighter. His head swam through murky waters, muddled with no particular emotion, only it's power evident as it surged chaotically.

If it was a lie. . . then how did Demetrius know. . .?

Damian had never told a soul. He'd kept the shameful truth under lock and key. He had never admitted it out loud. He would never shame himself like that. He would never shame his family like that. Complaining that he'd rather live at home with his family? Admitting he would prefer that? How disgraceful. He was a Desmond. He could handle it. He was just as good as his older brother. He wasn't a weak link, he wasn't some second-rate son. He could handle it.

He had never told anyone.

He had never let it show.

So how. Could Demetrius possibly know?

But looking for any other explanation than the one he refused to see was fruitless and empty. It shouted and waved from the corner and he turned a blind eye to it. It made his heart race, it made him freeze when it called to him as he turned over every piece of furniture in the room that he searched; under each table, he threw a rug aside, he opened every drawer. But nothing he found was substantial. His frantic search yielded a handful of sand spilling between his fingers. There was nothing solid. No answers. Nothing logical. None it if made sense.

Another call from the corner of the room.

His chest shook with his next breath.

No! No! It wasn't true! It was ridiculous! It was impossible! It only existed in comic books and tall stories!

Damian blocked it out. There had to be some reasonable explanation! There was an explanation for everything! Maybe Damian was overreacting, maybe he was making something out of nothing. Maybe Demetrius was. . .maybe he was. . . maybe he paused because. . .

Agghhh! It didn't make sense!

Another call from the corner of the room.

No! That wasn't—it just wasn't that!

Damian franticly searched the room again, double checking he hadn't missed anything. He tore open the cushions and looked behind the curtains. The call from the corner seemed to follow him wherever he went and it had become louder, making it difficult to concentrate.

Demetrius was just intuitive! Damian repeated to himself, though it carried less and less weight every time he thought it and jitters tingled in his fingers. Demetrius and Damian may not have spent a whole lot of time together and Demetrius was able to read him like an open book, but he was just good at picking up on things!

You'd still be wishing to live at home with that monster.

The call had become a scream. It yelled in his ears, it waved wildly about for his attention. It had grown louder and larger and rampaged around the room. It threw the furniture to the walls, the rug, the drawers. Everything else was shoved aside until it stood alone in the centre, trying to force Damian's attention on it. Damian cringed at the noise and he couldn't shirk away from it. It infected every thought. It shadowed his line of reasonings like a looming, thundering cloud that he couldn't escape.

No! There had to be some other explanation! Demetrius was just intuitive. He couldn't—

His nightmare.

Like a kick to his chest, his memories were attacked. Poked and sliced, pieces dripped onto the floor. His unwanted guest dissected them to scatter their painfully obvious contents. It pointed out two little words in the mess. Damian didn't want to see them but they were screamed at him.

A hunch.

It was an affront to his ears. Two, little insignificant words that felt heavier than before. Two, little words that shouldn't have bothered him. Two little words that had faded quickly when Demetrius had originally spoken them. He'd said them as if it was normal and moved on so fast, so smoothly, that Damian had barely processed it had happened.

Demetrius had answered immediately.

When had that happened? Damian suddenly realized with another uptick in his heart. This innate feeling? The expected sound of his voice after Damian's? The certain amount of time between when he spoke and when Demetrius responded? Like the beating of two drums in perfect consistence?

The beat had missed this time. Demetrius had failed to hold it. He was never tripped up and the pause had felt so unnatural. Like trying to use one's fingers before remembering they were bandaged together, or forgetting a schoolbag.

The amusement park.

Damian had stopped breathing.

There had been a rhythm and it was so subtle and casual that he hadn't noticed. There had been expectations because Demetrius had put them there. Because he always had answers.

The ice cream.

Or were they lies?