Waking
He awoke slowly, his limbs stiff. The reek of alcohol assaulted his nostrils. His hangover was slight, thanks to the miracle of two tablets of Advil. Life, to him, was a meaningless cohesion of death and joy, hope and pain. The pain seemed the clearest. It seemed he could only see in darkness. Only black gave color to life.
"Damien! Get up and go to school!" his mother shouted from her room. She didn't really care if he went or not. She just wanted him out of the house so she could hook up in peace.
He grabbed a black T-shirt and jeans from the floor. He yanked them under the covers since his room was likely to be freezing. If his mother paid the heat bill then they were being ripped off. He somehow doubted she did though.
He donned a silver pentagram necklace and adjusted the seven steel rings in his left ear. As he did this, he regarded himself in the mirror. Blue eyes, long black dyed hair, a smirk constantly plastered on his face, and a decent build, if a little scrawny. Too tall, too pale, slightly angular features accented by a patrician's nose and prominent cheekbones. He supposed he was handsome, in a gothic, teenage angst sort of way. Whatever, he was a 'metal dude' and 'metal dudes' didn't care how they looked. He grabbed a black eye pencil and outlined his eyes, making slight curls at the edges. Grabbing his black trench coat, he left, not bothering to say good-bye.
He closed the dingy wooden door behind him and slid down the banister of the apartment building. He exited quickly onto the street and instantly regretted getting out of bed. It was bitterly cold, more so than it should have been in October. He pulled his coat tighter around his body and shivered. He could see the bus in the distance. He'd never catch it. He cursed the prospect of walking a mile to school in 40-degree chill. The sky, as if it took offense, opened up and began to pour. Damien swore again and pressed himself into the alcove before the door. "Screw school," he said, "I ain't walkin' in this!" He couldn't go back upstairs. His mother would go ballistic. He huddled closer to the door and looked at his watch. 6:43....if he ran he could probably catch the Angel and the Devil over at the Dew Drop. Every other Tuesday they met for breakfast. He shouldered his backpack, took one more look at the rain, and ran.
The Angel and The Devil, nee Angela and Alyssa, were opposite yet alike in every way. A good illustration of this is their choices for their bi-weekly morning meal. They got the same thing every time; a hot dog each, mustard for Angel, ketchup for Devil, a donut, chocolate for Angel, vanilla for Devil, and a hot drink, coffee for Angel, tea for Devil. The same things, but each with their own individual twist.
The Devil smiled, showing white teeth and porcelain fangs. "I'd better get going. I'll be late," she said, pooping the last bit of donut in her mouth. She wiped her black claws on a paper napkin.
The Angel nodded, her blonde hair shimmering in the harsh incandescent light. She adjusted her white dress and stood, about the same height as Devil. "You know, you look like Marilyn Monroe in that dress," commented the Devil. Angel smiled sweetly. Her white dress was an exact replica of the dress from 'the Seven Year Itch'. "Speak for yourself, Elivra!" she laughed. This comparison was also warranted. The Devil wore a long black dress with a black velvet bodice laced over it. The neckline was low enough to remind one of the Mistress of the Night. The Devil grinned. "Ah well. Perhaps I do," she said. They each paid their half of the tab and gathered their coats. Black leather jackets each, but fashionable and biker styles, respectively.
Damien burst through the door of the Dew Drop Donut Shop and bumped into a crowd of little old ladies. They glared at him as he muttered an apology. He sloshed inside, his clothing soaked, his makeup running in streaks down his face. He pushed his dripping black hair out of his eyes and stalked over to where the Angel and Devil stood, slack jawed at his appearance.
"I can NOT go to school today!" he yelled. The entire coffee shop turned and stared at him. The silence was deafening. Damien blushed hotly and let his damp hair fall over his face. People glared at him disapprovingly. Normally, he would have smiled at them in a "damn-your-eyes" way and continued nonchalantly. But a quarter mile run, with nasty memories cavorting about in his mind, has shattered his composure and made his tough guy act an impossibility.
He turned, snarling at the crowd. He looked like he wanted to kill and cry, but not necessarily in that order. The Devil lightly placed a hand on his arm. He jumped. "How about if we go out to the car, hmm?" she said softly. He nodded jerkily, his head staying hung after the second bob. She guided him gently out the door. Angel grabbed the Devil's abandoned backpack and coat.
As she did this she noticed Damien had dropped something. She picked up a folded piece of paper from a boot shaped puddle on the floor. She unfolded it as she walked out to the parking lot. It was a picture of the three of them, his older brother, and his parents. It was taken on Cape Cod about three years ago, right before his parents divorced and his brother left. It was the last time they had all been together. Judging from the creases in the photo, he must have had it with him constantly. She refolded it and placed it in her pocket.
The Devil opened the little white car and Damien crawled into the back seat. He slumped against the window, an angry scowl on his face. "Dami?" whispered the Devil. He looked farther away, out across the parking lot and the strip mall outside. The rain on the car had a sharp metallic sound, like bullets. He began to cry. "Dami," the Devil moved closer and embraced him. He leaned his head against her chest and wept bitterly.
The Devil stroked his hair in what she hoped to be a comforting manner. His
clothes were wet and freezing, but she could feel the heat of his skin beneath
them. He probably had a fever. "Shhh...." she whispered. "It'll
be ok. Baby, there. Shhh. Hey Dami. It's ok....." she murmured. Angel opened
the door to the front seat and slid in. Silently, she pressed a hand against
Damien's shoulder and met Devil's concerned eyes. Damien continued crying, shaking
the Devil with the force of his tears. They stayed this way until Damien fell
asleep.
Copyright Me 1998