Delicate

Chapter 6

If Damon says pop, pops or old man he's talking about Aiden and if he says dad, he's talking about Julian. Hopefully not too confusing

Song for the entire chapter is Hurt for me - SYML (replay if you have to)

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Damon's P.O.V

I lift my feet slowly to carry me up the steps to the front door, my muscles tight with exhaustion. The sound of the blood that drenched me hitting the floor with every step, a periodic reminder of what I'd lost.

I didn't really lose anything though did I, can't lose something you never had.

I close the door behind me and lock it. The house was dark, the space still with a deafening silence I wanted to break, to stop the torment. I make my way through the halls and up the stairs to my room, content with dealing with my inevitable lecture tomorrow.

I had entertained the thought of erasing any evidence of the massacre which laid beyond the border. I could go back and bury them, then the only proof left would be me.  But I didn't have to think for long to know that it didn't make much sense to wash away the proof.

I couldn't wash away myself, the stain on me would never fade.

"Damon," Dad calls from the office and I sigh.

"I don't want to talk right now." I manage, continuing my journey to my room.

"Damon, we need to talk." Comes another voice, heavier and much angrier. 

I keep walking despite the sound of their steps chasing me, their calls getting louder as they get closer. I leave the door open for them, knowing they wouldn't leave me alone and stumble into my room.

It didn't really feel like my room, all my eyes showed me were things Amelia gave me, things she'd left behind in her visits and the pictures she'd hung up without my permission. The only thing that stood out as mine was Blaze, his eyes wide as he stared up at me with my shorts in his mouth.

"Damon, where were you..." Dad's words fade slowly when they enter my room and see me. The hairs stood again but I ignored it, the storm had gone and passed, there was nothing else to fear.

So I turn around to face them, lifting my chin to deflect the horror in their eyes as they looked at me.

I let them take me in.

My hair was still wet with blood, I'd pushed it back yet the cold liquid still ran down my neck and the edges of my face. My clothes were covered in more dirt than blood, a weird mixture of the two that stuck to me like a second skin.
Dry blood covered my arms like an elastic glove, moving all the way to my elbows, exposing the way I'd dug inside some of the bodies with my hands.

They had their usual look plastered on their faces; horror, anger, and disappointment their founding features. I was used to it at this stage in my life, so I just stood there and waited for the inevitable.

"What did you do?" Pops asks, breaking the silence first, his voice strained with discontent.

"I don't think it's very hard to guess," I reply and look down when I feel Blaze at my foot, rubbing there as if showing his support. 

"Don't joke about this." Dad snaps and I let my eyes drift to his, blue like mine and filled with almost as much agony as my own. "You are soaked in blood! What the hell did you do?"

"I killed some things," I reply looking at them with heavy eyes that glanced between them. "Can we do this tomorrow? I'm tired."

"Tomorrow?" Dad huffs sounding defeated, he chuckles but not with joy.