Insanity (Asylum 1)

~BEFORE~

My relationship with Damien progressed quickly.

That surprised me. I never defied, Daddy. My unrelenting obedience came mostly from my fear of him and his actions, but I found out that when it came to Damien, everything I used to be didn’t matter anymore. As the weeks passed, I’d fallen so deeply and hopelessly in love with him that I didn’t give a damn about Daddy or the punishments I knew I’d receive if I got caught.

Daddy used to tell me when I was little that I wasn’t allowed to date unless he met the boy and he approved. “My beautiful little girl deserves an honorable young man who is going to treat her with respect,” he’d said a few times with a smile.

Daddy used to be so handsome. I could see why Mommy liked him. I also knew why she left him. She’d told me once. “Daddy’s three friends are going to be his undoing,” she’d said.

I know, Mommy. I know.

Now, the only thing I hope for is that they undo him a little faster. I know that’s a terrible thought to have, but I don’t know how much more of his violent temper my bones can take.

My window creaks open and a soft gust of air creeps in and tousles my pale yellow curtains. Damien smiles at me through the darkness and inside I’m elated to the point where I think my love for him might burst out of me if he doesn’t touch me. “Come on,” he whispers into the darkness. “What are you waiting for?”

I place a finger against my lips. “Shhh.”

Daddy’s snores penetrate through the walls and I remain frozen in my spot for another minute. I always like to give myself a few minutes before sneaking out just to make sure Daddy’s is in a deep sleep. I’ve learned how to tell the difference between Daddy’s deep sleeping and his dozing through the years.

That also has to do with which friend he had over for the day. He had Jack today and when Jack comes over, Daddy sleeps like a mummy in a sarcophagus. He’s wrapped up and dead to the world.

My eyes flit over to Damien’s. His blue eyes cut into the darkness, a needy hungry look in them. At the same time I feel like my skin is itching for his touch. After a few more seconds, I’m at the window and Damien has me by the waist, lifting me out of the window and lowering me to the ground. We don’t even make it a step before he tugs on my lower lip with his teeth and presses into my body, pinning me against the side of my house. My hands are in his hair and his tongue slips between my lips and I breathe softly into his mou

th.

I cherish these secretive trysts. They mean more to me than life. I think about them all day long, all night long, and even dream about them. In the past I had nothing to look forward to. Nothing pleasant to think about. No hope for my future. I simply existed and felt a part of me die a little more every day.

Then Damien came along in his cherry red Cadillac and taught me how to hope and feel and love. Damien is the only person who loves me. Me. Me. Me. Of all people. He could have any girl he wanted and he wants me. He chose me. He loves me. I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.

I once asked him why he chose to pursue me and he answered me with a radiant smile. “You’re not only beautiful, but enigmatic. I find that fascinating.” It was one of those situations where I really didn’t care why because he had chosen to love me, but out of curiosity, I wanted to know.

Damien pulls away from me and tucks wisps of my hair behind my ears. He smiles and I touch the dimples I love so much on his cheeks. “My beautiful rebellious love,” he muses and places his forehead against mine. “Remind me again where I’d be without you?”

I laugh. “Probably dating some gorgeous socialite or maybe one of the other pretty girls in town.”

Damien tugs on my hand and pulls me away from the house. “Why would I need one of them when I have the most beautiful girl in the world right here?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, but a deep unwavering sincerity in his eyes.

Why does he always tell me that? I know it’s far from the truth.

Don’t misunderstand me, I do think I’m attractive in a Plain Jane sort of way. But not like some of the other girls I go to school with. The type of beautiful girls someone like Damien belongs with. I make a joke out of him calling me beautiful. “Apparently, I’m not beautiful at all. Apparently, I look just like a whore.” My whore of a mother to be exact.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure that I know what a whore looks like. Daddy doesn’t let me watch television. I’m not allowed to buy any of the latest books or magazines. But I assume that most women people call whores dress in scantily clad outfits and have multiple sexual partners.

Damien comes to a stop, faces me and releases my hand, an electric spark of anger present in his pools of blue. I almost slam my body into his chest, but he snakes his fingers around my wrist, gripping tightly before I do. “Where the hell did you hear that? Did he tell you that?” Hate drips from his voice like grease from a frying vat and my body stiffens in response to the harsh edge in his tone.

He meaning, Daddy. “Yes,” I say, but I don’t go any further than that. I want to tell him that Daddy tells me that at least once a day. Sometimes more. I also want to tell him that sometimes he hits me even when I’ve done nothing wrong and then tells me it’s because I look just like her .

But I don’t. He’s already so angry. I don’t want to add more criteria to fuel his rage further.

It’s during those times that I wish I knew where Mommy was, and why she didn’t take me with her. Daddy tells me it’s because she didn’t want to be a mother anymore. I don’t know if that’s the complete truth. More than anything, I think that’s something he tells himself so he doesn’t have to live with the guilt of knowing that his inability to control his drinking is what drove her away.

Damien has reached the point where he’s breathing so hard, that his throat rasps. He’s let go of my wrist and paces in front of me, his lean muscled body tenses. I reach out to him, but he shoos me away. I tell him, “Calm down.” But he ignores me.

Now I’m angry. And flustered. And emotional. I fold my arms across my chest, suck back my oncoming tears and stalk back toward the house.

Damien is at my side in a nanosecond. He touches my shoulder and I shrug him off with a harrumph. He reaches for my bicep and clutches it. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Back inside,” I snap. “Now let go of me.”