Re: In person: Misha B/Damian W
I ken! [What did he ken? He did not know. But he felt he did ken, whatever it was. If only to be contrary, if only because Misha said it and it gave him something to say back.] I will fight my battles. I will—I will—I—[Whatever he was going to say, Damian seemed to realize the words had been as fed to him as the nonsense had been fed to him by Alyssa. Everything he knew seemed to be tied, backward, under pounds of heavy red clay, to someone else. His words were spoken first by others, echoed into the cavern of his mouth. Everything he was was for someone else. Tonight had only proven this, confirmed it, reaffirmed that what he was meant to be was not a person, but a thing.
He was crying once more, his anger having unstoppered, rather than stoppered tears. And it was only his confusion and surprise that shut him up when Misha said the freedom comment was for himself. Damian did not fully understand, but he had an idea of what was meant. He just did not know how that was better.] But I did not go for—But I—[He groped for words, for the names of emotions that welled inside of him.] She touched my—she touched my forehead and called me 'baby,' and before I could even think, I was not there. I am sorry. I am sorry this hurt you. If I could I would cut the skin from my forehead or the memory from time or I would—I would break her fingers or—anything, so you knew I did not want that. I did not solely endure as I wished for answers and I would let her do anything to me to receive them. I just—She reminded me of Mother. She touched my forehead. I looked at her, feeling skeptical, and then it was done. I do not need latitude or freedom and I do not wish for you to require me to have such to buffer your—so that it does not—I—[His words were jumbling together. He was too earnest and distracted to notice the glass bottles in the walls had ceased to be mouths moving.] You say it as if you expect it to happen again, as if you will need... protection from your feelings for me, as I—...and I won't. [This was all impressively coherent. Damian would have been proud, if he had been aware.
Instead, his hand was taken by Misha's and he pressed the bandaged one over top of the boy's.] I am sorry, [was all he said. And he did go then. His hand was yanked and, naked, he came up to where Misha was beneath the blankets. He was hot, but he got under regardless. He did not allow the poor angel even an inch of breathing room. He laid against Misha's side, an arm and leg over the boy's body, his chin to shoulder, nose to cheek.] You are more meaningful to me than any answers to any questions, habibi, and I know—I know it—I know I failed to show that tonight. I am sorry.