Good Enough Chapter 1
#2 of Good Enough
College is always a hard transition, especially when you don't know what you're walking into or, worse, who you are going into it. And you never know how you'll come out of it.
A continuation of my first upload. I wanted to wait for my friend who was going to do a drawing of Thomas (introduced later in the chapter), but he bailed. So, anyone interested in doing the sketch, let me know.
Chapter One--Moving In
Waking up was harder to do than he thought it'd be. Sunlight was starting to spill into his now bare-walled room, his clothing and most precious belonging already packed away. He opened one eye, then the other, and wished he could've just gone back in time. Or at the very least, to hold onto this moment so that he wouldn't have to go.
A heavy hand started knocking on the door, rousing him from his half-dreaming state. He looked over at the door, just as it opened to reveal his elder brother. Nathan looked down at Damien, who was scowling up at him.
"Good, you're awake," Nathan said. "Better get breakfast before I eat it all." "You asshole, you better save some for me," Damien replied groggily.
With a strange, limp-like gait, Nathan walked over and seated himself on the edge of Damien bed. He fiddled nervously with his hands before speaking.
"I'm proud of you, just so you know," he said. "Well, I mean, I'm glad you're going to college. And I know Dad might not say it, but he's proud of you too. Just do me a favor and keep playing music, okay? It's one of the few things that I really want you to do."
"Why are you talking so seriously? It's not like you and it's making me nervous."
"Because he's worried about you," said another, female voice. They looked up at the door where the middle child, Amy, was standing, leaning on the door frame. "He'll never say it out loud."
"Aw, thanks, Nate," Damien said, gently nudging his brother with his foot. "Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"Fuck you, midget," Nathan scoffed, jumping to his feet. He stomped out and Amy laughed.
"Come on, Damien. Dad wants to 'talk' to you."
Damien frowned. "What'd I do?"
They shrugged and walked out, leaving Damien to ponder what his father could want now. He sighed heavily and dressed quickly before walking into the living room where his father was seated on the couch, exactly where they had talked the previous night. Marcus looked up for a brief second before nodding at the television, tuned to the news.
"It's supposed to be a bit chilly today... Wear a jacket."
A pause followed this statement. From where he stood, Damien could see the tension in his father, as though he was... angry? No, not the right word. Afraid...
"Son," Marcus continued after a minute had elapsed, "you are a strange one... I had always worried about you going away to college or even if you'd make it through high school. But you've put yourself on the right path... I'm proud of you... Don't disappoint me."
The sharpness of the last sentence stung. Damien winced slightly. "Were those compliments?"
"Observations," Marcus answered. He turned off the television. "That music stuff you do... It's cute and all, but what're your goals in life, Damien?" Damien bit his lip. How should he answer? But, to his amazement, Marcus didn't wait for an answer. Marcus stood, stretched and pointed towards the kitchen. "Your mother's made your favorite for breakfast. Go eat."
Breakfast was silent, solemn. His shower was thoughtful. And packing the car was strangely difficult to do. By the time he had finished packing the car, he could see he'd taken a bit too long. He smiled as he glanced at his cell phone. His father had drilled into him the importance of timing. Now, he was ten minutes behind and, somehow, it bothered him.
"That's it, right?" Nathan asked. Damien nodded and Nathan closed the trunk before letting out a loud whistle. On the porch, Marcus waved absently, but his wife and daughter charged down from the porch, nearly knocking over Damien in their attempt to embrace him. He choked slightly and they pulled away.
"I'll be back, you know," Damien assured them. "With a series of A's."
Nathan scoffed. "Yeah, right."
"Nate," their mother, Selene, interjected. She was smiling widely, but small tears were visible in her bright eyes...
She's actually crying, Damien thought. She's happy, but she's crying. I've never seen her cry before...
_ _ "Damien, I can't wait to see you on the holidays," she said emphatically. "Thanksgiving, Christmas, Halloween, even. You'd better be here. I can't lose my baby." Off to the side, Damien could hear his siblings' amusement. He ignored them as his mother continued to speak. "And every time you come back, I'll make whatever you want. Just name it and I'll have it on the table when you get back."
"Bit overdramatic, Ma," Damien said. "I'll miss you and all but we don't need all that. I'm not going off to war."
"Might as well be," Amy laughed. "For someone like you, it'll be like war... Or hell... Or torture or--"
"Shut it," Damien chortled. Amy moved forward and hugged him, kissing his forehead. "I'll miss you too."
"I'm cutting this ponytail when you get back. Detracts from the handsome face."
"Touch my hair," Damien said, moving away, "and I'll cut off yours."
They shared a small laugh. From the porch, Marcus spoke, no louder than any other times he talked. Yet his voice carried remarkably well in its usual, detached tones.
"Get on the road. Call me when you get there, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Marcus, give him a hug," Selene insisted. "He's about to leave and you won't see him for--"
"He's a young adult. I'm not going to coddle him anymore."
"It's fine..." Damien said. "I wasn't expecting him to anyway."
"Well, is this it?" Nathan asked curiously as they approached one of the doors in the dormitory.
Damien double-checked the paper in his hands before reading the door once more. Yep, this was "his" dormitory, at least the one he'd be sharing with some unknown person for the next six months. Already, his performance with Malachite seemed so long ago, and it was as though his departure from his family almost like a distant memory.
"Yeah," Damien answered finally. "This is it."
Apprehensively, Damien reached up and knocked on the heavy, oaken door. There was no answer. Pulling the small key from his pocket, Damien unlocked the door and stepped inside to find it empty apart from a set of dressers, beds, and desks. He walked over to one bed and hefted his luggage onto the bed before shrugging his guitar from his back, propping it against the wall.
Nathan lugged in one more piece of luggage and set it beside the bed. He surveyed the room and shrugged lazily. "Well, it's not that bad, bro," he said. "Could be much worse."
"I guess."
"Are you going to be okay? I know you're not really good with the whole... _change_thing."
Damien rounded on Nathan. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Nathan held up his hands defensively. "I'm just saying you don't handle change too well. I mean, it's not like living at home. Mom's not here to pick up after you and I won't be around to save your ass when you piss off the wrong people."
"I don't need a bodyguard, Nate," Damien scoffed. "I'm not that much of an ass... Am I?"
"You can be," Nathan said, petting Damien's head. Despite the swell of indignation that welled inside of him, Damien enjoyed the feeling. He'd miss it greatly. "I guess this is it. I'll catch you later, Damien."
"Will you at least visit or call or something?"
Nathan nodded. "Yeah, I promise."
Damien watched Nathan walk out of the room and hearing the heavy door close was one of the worst sounds he could think of. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to ask Nathan to come back, to take him back to their parents. At the very least, he wanted to be able to say a proper goodbye.
"Well, my new home," he sighed, unzipping his bag. He started to unpack, so many thoughts rushing through his head. He thought of how he'd miss the back-and-forth teasing with his brother, the fun times he had with his sister, and the family dinners, where his father would grumble while his mother would tell stories of her latest catering job (he'd miss her cooking just as much).
Then he thought about Malachite, about Ed and his bandmates. Would they call or text him? Would they move on to other bands, go solo, or just abandon music altogether? Just as the thoughts started to pass through his head, he reached over for his guitar, pulling it out of its case. He started to play, a song he had never had the time to show them. Then, he jerked upright, his finger catching on a string and creating an odd note, when the door swung open once more.
"...right back! Just got to finish moving in!"
Damien looked up. A black panther was walking in, his body hulking with musculature and his frame imposing. More than anything, this panther was handsome, dressed in a violet football jersey and beige cargo pants. The panther entered the room and turned, pausing when his eyes beheld Damien. For a brief moment, they were both quiet.
"Who the hell are you?" the panther asked abruptly.
"Damien. Damien Blackwell."
"You're my roommate?" the panther scoffed. He threw his Duffel bag onto the empty bed and walked forward, scrutinizing Damien with discerning, heterochromic eyes. Damien felt as though he was being x-rayed, as though he staring down his father once more. "Dude, do you even eat? Why the hell are you so scrawny?"
A familiar wave of annoyance, mingled with a sense of embarrassment, welled up in Damien almost immediately. "I'm not scrawny!" he countered in a strangely whiny tone that embarrassed him highly. He felt his face burn with embarrassment as the panther threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh.
"Yeah, whatever," the panther answered. "Look, friend, I'm Thomas Martan and you'd be smart to stay out of my way." Thomas walked back to his bed and rummaged through his bag. "I've got some pretty simple rules, brat; don't fuck me with me and I don't fuck you up. Get it?"
"Got it."
"Good."
Thomas pulled out a football from his bag. "You know how to toss a pigskin?"
"A what?"
For a brief moment, time seemed to slow as though the time itself needed a moment to process the question that Damien had just asked. Thomas regarded him with his right eye (the green eye) twitching awkwardly. Thomas covered his face with his paw, temporarily taken aback by the inquiry.
"You actually just asked that question! Damn," Thomas huffed. "That's it, you're coming with me. Every guy should know what a football is."
"Why didn't you just say football?" Damien asked, but Thomas had already started pushing him out of the dormitory and into the hallway. Just outside, Damien found himself surrounded by large, imposing people, many of them dressed very similarly to Thomas. He had never before wished he could shrink to the point where he would vanish completely. He tried to back into his dorm, but Thomas pushed him forward.
"New tackling dummy," Thomas said, putting his hand on Damien's shoulder. "Basically begged to learn how to play."
"Dude, he looks scrawny," said a brown bear, snorting laughter.
"No way he'll last longer than a second," added a white rabbit, his ears pulled back by a thick rubber band. "Five bucks says he'll break down crying."
"Kid looks like that faggot you're rooming with, Ozzy," the bear announced, giving the rabbit a playful shove.
Damien found himself unable to look up at any of them, silently cursing his own misfortune. Did they know or was this just banter? No, he told himself. _You're not gay. You just haven't found the right girl yet. And what could they know about me? We just met..._Nodding numbly, he spoke, his voice strangely weak.
"I'm not gay."
For a moment, they looked as though they'd forgotten he was there. Then, another voice, a girl's, chimed in, piercing the brief silence.
"TOMMY!"
Dashing towards them in an admittedly skimpy tank top and skirt was an attractive lioness, her eyes bright and golden, matching the color of her fur and her braided ponytail. She rushed up to Thomas, pushing Damien aside, and wrapped her arms around his neck as she leaned up for a kiss. Damien rolled his eyes, looking away.
"Hey, where are you guys going so soon?" she asked. "There's no way tryouts are today."
"No, not going for tryouts," Thomas chortled. "Just going to play a quick game. Going to teach my new friend here"--Thomas reached over and pulled Damien closer by the collar of his shirt--"how to play football."
"Looks a bit scrawny to play, though..."
"I'm not scrawny!" Damien shouted.
"We'll see," Thomas remarked, starting to usher him down the hallway and back downstairs.
"Wait, can't I--?"
"No."
"But--"
"Nope."
"My guitar--"
"Can wait."
What was he doing? How the hell did he get swept into this awkwardness, holding the football with so many of Thomas's friends watching him, despite every attempt to escape and every complaint he'd made on the way here? Thomas was standing beside him, speaking lowly in an explanation that Damien had stopped listening to.
"Back off," he said finally. "I know how to throw a football."
Thomas stepped back and Damien brought his arms back, silently praying that he had picked up on any of his brother's skills. At least how to throw...
He didn't. The ball had barely gone anywhere before it dropped like a strangely shaped stone. Even passerby had stopped to watch and Damien felt his heart sink lower than the ball. Laughter echoed in his ears, and before he knew it, he was stomping away, back towards the dormitory. He hadn't gotten far when a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.
"Hey, it's okay," Thomas said. "Nobody's perfect."
"I told you I didn't want to do this," Damien snapped. "Everyone's laughing at me because of you."
"Hey, if I knew it'd be this bad, I'd have let you stay in the dorm," Thomas replied, holding his hands up defensively. "Look, if you want to go back, go ahead. But, I just figured it'd be a way to get to be friends with your awesome new roommate."
Damien scoffed. "I'm sure you're a good person and all, but--"
Thomas's girlfriend, the lioness named Torrie, came over, hooking her arms with Thomas's. "Are you okay?" she asked and Damien was taken aback by her concern. She sounded genuine.
"Yeah, I'll live," Damien muttered. He turned to walk away. "Just got to go hide for a bit."
"Don't hide," she said. She reached out and grabbed Damien's arm, pulling him back. "At least watch. You can sit with me on the sidelines."
"I don't really feel like being a cheerleader."
"Well, go get your guitar," Torrie suggested. "You said you had one, right?"
"Yeah, but--"
"Let's go get it." She started to walk off with a hurried pace, pulling Damien along by the hand. Damien's heart started to race. Soft... Warm...
When the returned to the field about ten minutes later, Thomas and his friends had drawn a crowd of spectators, many of whom didn't even seem to realize that they'd come back. Torrie led Damien to a bench and sat down, playfully plucking at one of Damien's strings.
"Play something for me."
"Like what?"
"Surprise me."
Damien thought for a moment. "I do have this new song I was working on... It's kind of... unfinished. But it's something."
"Play it."
Damien nodded and started to play. Absentmindedly, he closed his eyes, focusing only on the music, the notes that resonated through the air. The world around him seemed to fade away and he felt as though he was alone, just himself, the guitar, and the music. Without meaning to, he began to sing.
"You let me fall apart without letting go
Pick up the pieces and make me whole
Drifting blindly through the dark
Waiting for you to walk me back home
I never wanted to get away from you
Sweet dreamer, my dear lover
Will we wait for much longer?
Sweet angel, shining halo
I've been waiting so long just to have you
What more can I do? When all I really want here is you"
A deafening cheering shattered Damien's peaceful state of mind and he jumped backward, falling off the bench and landing unceremoniously on his back. His tail curled in a painful way, and he winced, quickly jumping back up, only to see the crowd which had gathered, attracted by... the football game? No, the game had ceased. Thomas was in the crowd, watching with a stunned expression as Torrie dusted Damien's clothes off.
"Was that really necessary?" she hissed at him.
"No, but I was just surprised."
"Well, do an encore," she insisted. "They want to hear one. Right?" she called to the crowd, who cheered.
"Um... I don't think--"
"Encore!" called a voice from the crowd that Damien recognized as Thomas's friend, Ozzy. Even from where he stood, he could see the rabbit starting to chant, followed by Torrie. Suddenly, the crowd was alive with the word, demanding an encore.
For a brief moment, Damien was overwhelmed. His heart started to race, his breathing ragged. The air seemed heavier, yet somehow seemed to thin. What was he supposed to do? Encore? What song? Could he do one? Was it...?
"KID!" Thomas called before all went black.
He was aware that he was moving. But he wasn't walking... No, his feet weren't touching the ground or a floor. No, he was he moving, but... He could feel someone's fur against his face and without realizing it, he was nestling into it, enjoying the feeling, the scent of someone else (even though it smelled of cheap cologne) and the muscles he could feel beneath the jet-black fur...
He hesitated then immediately tried to move backwards. Almost at once, he started to fall, but a strong hand reached out, catching him quickly.
"Stop doing that, kid," Thomas snapped. "It's embarrassing."
"Why were you carrying me?" Damien asked.
"Because you fainted," Ozzy said. Damien looked over his shoulder to see Ozzy and Torrie, Ozzy holding his guitar. "The fuck happened?"
"I don't know... I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."
"Eh, no worries," Thomas chortled. "I could use the exercise. Might start using you as my dumbbell."
"Not funny, Tommy," Torrie reprimanded.
Thomas shrugged and continued walking down the hallway, soon coming to his and Damien's dorm. He paused before opening it. "Shouldn't you go pick up the pizza?" he asked Ozzy, who nodded. He shoved the guitar into Torrie's hands and took off down the hallway.
"Pizza?" Damien questioned.
"Yep, I'm hungry, so I'm getting food," Thomas said simply, unlocking the door. He stepped inside, holding the door open for Damien and Torrie. He stopped Torrie before she stepped in. "Hey, baby, can you do me a favor and give me just a bit of space. I want to talk to the kid alone."
"I can hear you," Damien grumbled, but his voice was overridden by Torrie's own, louder voice.
"I'll be back when the pizza gets here. You'd better save some for me," she ordered, poking Thomas's chest playfully.
She left and Thomas closed the door before rounding on Damien, who was inspecting his guitar.
"Are you gay?"
Damien paused, looking up at Thomas curiously. There was a strange seriousness in his tone that almost didn't seem to fit him, an accusatory gaze that was unsettling.
"No... Why?"
"Who's Ed?"
"He's just a friend from--How do you know about Ed?"
"You talk in your sleep," Thomas said, sitting on his own bed. Damien tried his hardest to appear calm, but his heart was racing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought of his journal... He had to keep it hidden. "Look, not trying to be mean here, but I don't think I can room with a"--he swallowed awkwardly--"homosexual. It'd just be... awkward for me."
"Why?"
"Just... reasons."
"Well, I'm not so--"
"Really?"
"Really."
"Okay..." For a moment, they were both silent. Then, Thomas said, "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something."
"It's fine," Damien replied calmly. "Just forget it."
Another pause...
"So, where are you from, kid? What's your family like?"
The questions caught Damien off guard and he hesitated before answering. "Well, I'm from the Midwest. I was born here, but my dad's Australian."
"You don't have much of an accent."
"Of course I don't, I was raised here, in America," Damien snorted. "Although, if you hear my big brother, Nate, speak, he's got an accent. Not a really strong one, but he's got one. But my sister, Amy, she's got it even thicker accent than him."
"My dad's got a New Yorker accent, but my mom's from Texas," Thomas chuckled. "It's weird. I mean, I don't think I have an accent, but people say I do. Do I?"
"Not really," Damien answered.
They were silent again. Damien looked down at his guitar and Thomas, following his gaze, spoke once more. "You going to play that encore?"
"I can... but I don't think you really want to hear it..."
"I think one song's enough. Just until Ozzy gets back with the pizza."
Damien picked up his guitar and strummed once, twice, before saying. "Promise you won't laugh?"
"Nope."
Damien rolled his eyes. "You're just like Nate," he muttered as he started to play.
August 20th, 20--
Hey, MJ. It's only been a day and so much has changed already
Well, I've officially moved into my dorm. It's not so bad, though I already miss my family. I even miss my asshole brother and arrogant dad. Didn't think it'd be this hard to be away from them.
But it's not so bad. I've got a new group of friends. Well, they're mostly my roommate's friends. We "played" football (if it can be called that) and they pretty much demanded me to play my guitar. We went to the movies, ate pizza, and just had fun today. As if we'd always been friends. It's a weird feeling. But my roommate pretty much threw me into it.
He's pretty cool, I think. His name's Thomas and he kind of reminds me of Nate, only a bit smarter. More likable. He's really kind of cute in a strange way. His eyes are two different colors, but somehow, they fit. He's big and muscular and an all-around good guy, I think. I mean, he carried me from the field where I passed out (I DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!).
Not that I like him or anything, MJ. You know I'm not like that.
--Damien Jaime Blackwell