Good Enough Chapter 7
#8 of Good Enough
This will probably be my last upload for a while because I'm about to go on another short tour. Hope you enjoy
Chapter 7--By the Grave
Damien listened, enthralled by Thomas's new tone, one he had never heard before, the weak voice that spoke and the weird look on Thomas's face as he began to speak.
"It was years ago," Thomas began, "when I was a sophomore. My little brother, Theodore, was just starting out. I remember teasing him about the freshman hunt. But we didn't see each other much at school. I had always assumed he kept to his own group of friends, just like I kept to mine... but..." His eyes narrowed as the memories began to replay themselves in his mind.
"But...?" Damien prompted.
"I would see him in passing mostly," Thomas continued, "but I'd see him all the time at lunch. I would see him getting pushed around every now and then. At first I thought it was just him playing around with his friends, but I think I knew somewhere that it wasn't right. Even still, it was weeks before I actually got involved. I... Actually, my girlfriend at the time saw him crying in the cafeteria after getting bullied. I pulled him into the bathroom and that's when I noticed that he had"--he swallowed thickly--"blood on his shirt sleeve. He had been so miserable that he had actually started... cutting himself."
Thomas was crying now and Damien hurriedly handed him a small paper towel, their dormitory being devoid of tissues. He made a mental note to get some tissues after offering the paper towel to Thomas, who waved it away.
"No, I'm okay..."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," he said. "But I made him a promise that I'd always be there for him, to protect him, you know? Like I should've been doing the whole time. But it was the very next day, during the homecoming game that..." He paused, looking directly at Damien, though he seemed not to see him.
"Thomas?"
No reply.
"Thomas!"
Thomas gasped and rubbed his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to drift off like that..."
"Maybe this was a bad idea..."
"No, it's okay. It's been years... I just thought I'd be over it by now... But..." He sniffled before speaking again. "There was some gangster... Apparently, my dad had broken up a huge drug dealing group and this one wanted revenge. He took a shot and missed my dad but he hit..."
The effort of trying to prevent the tears was pointless now; he was sobbing, his entire body shaking madly. Without thinking, Damien walked over to him, offering a hug which he was surprised Thomas accepted. He could feel Thomas's body shaking, hear the strangled gasps before he pulled away.
"Fuck! I should be over this by now!" Thomas shouted.
"You can't expect to be over it just like that," Damien said. "This was your family..." Thomas shook his head and took a deep steadying breath. "Thomas... you don't have to--"
"Theo's funeral was a few days later," Thomas said rapidly, though very weakly. Damien didn't return to sitting on the bed, instead sitting on the floor. "I watched them close the casket and saw them lower it into the ground. That night, I heard the story from my dad and I realized I had the same razor that Theo had used to... you know... I wanted to know why he did it so I tried it myself. I only meant to do it once but... over the next few months I kept going." Thomas looked down at his arms. "Sometimes I felt like I needed it to face everything. Dad stopped coming home, Mom was going crazy and I just couldn't stand it. Eventually, Mom found someone else and broke up with Dad. I ended up living with my dad... I never spoke to her again after the divorce, but I found out later that she... passed away. We didn't find out until she was already buried so it was too late to go to the funeral."
"I'm sorry... I don't know what to say," Damien murmured.
"There's nothing to say," Thomas replied. "Don't worry about it." He cleared his throat. "Dad just became obsessed with his work. I almost never saw him and during my second semester, I fell in with a really bad group... Started doing some stuff..."
"... Drugs?"
"Nothing like crack or meth," Thomas said rapidly, "but just some weed between classes, sometimes between school and football practice. Sometimes just to take the edge off. When my dad found out, he started watching me, 24/7. He even had me tested every few days to see if I'd kicked the stuff. Sometimes I passed, sometimes I failed and every time I failed, he just flew into a rage. There were times when we just yelled but there were others times when we fought... I don't think I was ever so scared in my life... I never wanted to go home because I knew I'd have to face him every night..."
Thomas looked downward as he paused, his eyes narrowed as he started to drift into his own thoughts once more. Soon enough, he looked angry.
"What'd you do?"
"Most of the time, I stayed at Ozzy's house," he said in a biting, aggravated tone, "not that his parents were exactly supportive of my smoking, but they weren't as physical." Perhaps he noticed the way he was talking; when he continued, his voice became far softer, gentler. "I managed to kick the habit before my senior year, but I never could talk with my dad the same way. We don't even say much more to each other than 'hi' or 'bye'." His voice trailed off. "There's a lot that I wanted to tell him but I've never been able to."
"Like what?"
Thomas looked up at him and shook his head. "I think I've said enough tonight, Damien. Besides, I've still got some homework to finish and we've both got class in the morning. I think story time's over for now."
He reached for his paper, but Damien was quicker. He snatched the paper away, holding it just beyond Thomas's reach. However, much to his surprise, Thomas dived for it and they were wrestling on the floor over the paper which had fallen out of Damien's grasp in the tussle. With Thomas sitting on his back, now looking smug, Damien huffed.
"You win! Get off!"
"HEY! KEEP IT DOWN!" called a voice through the wall.
Thomas stood up and retrieved his homework, staring over the paper curiously. "Anyway, there's not much more to tell... The story's caught up to the present."
"Except you're still hiding something," Damien said, "otherwise you wouldn't have tried to dodge my question."
"I've told you what you wanted to know," Thomas replied, far more sternly. Inwardly, Damien noted his tone. "There's some stuff even the closest friends don't share."
September 13th, 20--
I finally got some answers out of Thomas. I think I know why he became so overprotective of me after the incident. It's because of his brother, Theodore (I hope I'm spelling that right). And I thought my family had issues, but nothing like what was going on in Thomas's family. With one bullet--one fucking bullet--his family was completely messed up. He lost his brother, his parents separated, his mother died and he just fell apart. I saw the scars on his arm. He did something I had thought about but was always to scared to do.
Face it, Damien--you were NEVER the martyr you pretended to be. You weren't as broken or damaged or anything as you said you were in your lyrics. Strong words that mean nothing when said with your spoiled mouth. Compared to Thomas, you had an easy life. It's time to get over your petty issues and it's time to grow up.
--Damien Jaime Blackwell
RIP: Theodore Martan. I promise I'll do my best to look after Thomas for you.
Damien found himself unable to compose his mind to sleep and looked disparagingly at his phone's clock. Undoubtedly, he'd be miserably tired when it came time to go to class and he considered skipping his morning class simply to get some sleep.
His thoughts were mainly focused on what Thomas had told him. He found himself dwelling on the idea of losing a brother and, more than once, he had imagined how he would react if he had heard that Nathan or Amy had been killed. The thought made his stomach turn, and he truly wondered how Thomas was dealing with that kind of misery.
He exhaled sharply; he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.
Despite the darkness of the room, he could still make out the silhouette of Thomas, currently faced away from him with his tail swishing lazily behind him as he dreamed. Damien grinned. What're you dreaming about?
_ _ He reached for his phone once more and thought carefully. Who would be awake right now to talk to? Or perhaps he should do something a bit less meaningful, maybe watch some stupid video. He had settled on downloading a novel to read. Although his eyes skimmed the words, he found he wasn't really reading them intently, merely just gazing over them as he scrolled through the chapters.
Nate, Amy. I wonder how you two are doing...
The sound of rustling made Damien look over--Thomas had rolled over again, his face facing towards him now and Damien smiled slightly. He looked peaceful, almost cute. But almost right away, Damien shook his head, trying to shake the thought away.
Cute? Where did that come from? Thomas wasn't cute. He was handsome.
No! Stop thinking about it like that. He's just your roommate. Just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Taking a deep breath, he returned his attention to the novel on his phone and, by the third chapter, he found his attention waning and his eyes drooping. Purposefully, he laid down facing away from Thomas as he tried, once more, to fall asleep.
Thomas had a habit of waking before Damien, leaving Damien surprised when he woke before Thomas the next morning, especially since he hadn't had much sleep at all. Yet as he steadily woke, he looked over to see that Thomas seemed to still be snoozing away. Curious, Damien double-checked his phone's clock.
"Hey, Thomas! Thomas!" Damien said loudly.
Thomas let out a grumble of acknowledgement. Perhaps he wasn't sleeping after all.
"Don't you have class in a few minutes?" Damien asked.
"Not going today. Got other plans."
"Meaning...?"
"..."
"Thomas?"
"...I'm planning on going back home for today," he said. "Talking last night got me thinking... I haven't been by Theo's grave in a while. Figured I owe him a visit."
"Can I go with you?" Thomas sat upright, looking at Damien curiously. Damien, who had spoken before he could even think through what he was saying, looked down. "I mean, if you don't mind."
"I don't really mind," Thomas answered, "but I'm just curious. Why do you want to go?"
"To pay my respects, if that's okay."
"Yeah. I... Sure. But don't you have class?"
"So do you."
"Don't you have rehearsal?"
"Don't you have practice?"
Thomas chortled. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I could use the company. But I can't promise we'll be back in time for class tomorrow."
"I'll take that chance."
After a quick explanation to Anna (who seemed to disapprove of skipping class on principle) and Torrie (who seemed angry at being informed after they'd left and being left behind), they were on their way and Damien couldn't shake the feeling of unease as the school disappeared in the distance, a feeling that only magnified as they got on the highway. The radio was playing some techno song which Thomas was bobbing his head to and the windows were down, wind blowing through their fur. They hadn't said much to each other since leaving and the silence was strangely irritating.
"So," Damien began uneasily, "how're you feeling about going back?"
Thomas shrugged. "I'm not feeling much right now. Kind of hungry, now that I think about it."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know. But I honestly don't know what to think," Thomas confessed. "I mean, thinking about it is kind of hard... but I feel like I owe it to him to visit his grave... It's been over a year since I was last there..." He looked wistful and Damien noticed his grip on the steering wheel starting to loosen, the car starting to drift. But before he could speak up, Thomas regained his senses and control of the vehicle. "Sorry. Didn't mean to space out like that."
"You have a habit of doing that. Should I drive?"
"You have a license?"
"Yes. Am I not supposed to?"
"You don't have a car... I just assumed you couldn't drive," Thomas admitted. "So... feel like stopping for breakfast? It'll be at least an hour and a half before we get there."
"Sure," Damien said. "Why not?"
"By the way, you wouldn't happen to have any of your old band's music, would you?"
"Uh, no, not on CD," Damien stated. "I didn't bring any with me, left them all at home. But I should have them on my phone. Why?"
Thomas turned off the radio. "Let's hear it. I've kind of been curious."
"Okay... if you're sure..."
"What's wrong? You don't sound too thrilled about having a new fan."
"No, it's just awkward," Damien confessed as he scrolled through the numerous songs saved on his phone. "Nate used to always say that it's snobby to play your own album for people."
Someone was already at the gravesite when they arrived and they parked behind a silvery four-door. Thomas's eyes scanned the license plate before studying who stood at the grave.
"I take it you know that old panther," Damien said, pointing.
"Yeah, stay here," Thomas ordered ominously as he got out, closing the door behind him as he walked around the car towards the grave. Damien stuck his head out of the window, eager to hear anything that was said. But the two panthers spoke in low voices, completely unintelligible to him.
"It's been a while," Thomas said as he approached. "How you doing?"
The old panther turned, eyes narrowing as he saw his son behind him. "Shouldn't you be at school right now, Thomas? I'm not paying for you to skip class, you know."
"You're hardly paying anything, Henry," Thomas countered. "I'm there on a scholarship."
"Then don't squander it," Henry Martan answered, turning his attention back to the headstone he had been staring at. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're here. It's so close to the anniversary, isn't it?" He stuck one of the cigarettes in his mouth and lit it, exhaling sharply.
"Those things'll kill you, you know."
"You used to always say I'm too stubborn to die," Henry chortled.
"You are and you're too old to learn a new trick," Thomas added. "How much grayer have you gotten?"
"Learn some respect," Henry snarled. "You're at a sacred site, the least you could do is watch your mouth." He pointed. "And who's the dog sticking his head out of the window."
Thomas looked over and almost laughed in amusement when Damien noticed he was being watched, hurriedly pulling his head back into the car. "Might as well come out, Damien! He's already seen you!"
Shyly, Damien came out, head tilted downward and ears flattened as he approached. He looked up into Henry's golden eyes and quickly looked away, unsure of what to say. Compared to the two tall, muscular panthers in front of him, he felt puny, out-of-place.
"Hello, sir," he said meekly.
"Damien, this is my dad, Henry. Henry, this is my roommate, Damien," Thomas said.
Damien could see Henry's brief look of aggravation, but made no comment as Henry started to talk.
"It's nice to meet you," Henry said. "Although, I'm sorry he dragged you away from your classes to be here."
"He_asked_ to come along," Thomas corrected, "and we'll be going back soon enough."
"You shouldn't have let him! He's got his own stuff to take care off!" Henry said. "And Damien, you ought to know better. Right now, your studies are the most important thing."
Damien looked downward, unable to think of a response, though Thomas apparently already had one.
"Hey, back off! We're old enough to take care of ourselves!" Thomas shouted.
"Lower your tone!"
Thomas snorted indignantly, his eyes looking down at the gravestone. His expression softened as he knelt down, feeling each of the engraved letters. Damien looked over his shoulder.
THEODORE HENRY MARTAN
"A brilliant light that will shine through time"
"I've missed you, Theo. I think about you everyday," Thomas said. "I wonder what you'd think of me now..."
"I'm sure he'd be proud of you," Henry said. "Without a doubt."
"How are you doing anyway?" Thomas asked. "You alright?"
"As well as could be expected," Henry answered. "I've actually considered retiring. Not sure if I can handle the stress anymore, especially since I don't have anyone to come home to now."
"... Sorry. Didn't think it'd be so hard on you..."
"Don't be... You needed to leave the nest sometime." Henry took another drag on his cigarette, which was nearly burned down completely. "I can't stick around for much longer. Still got a lot to do."
"Yeah. We should get back soon too," Thomas said. "Promise I'll be back soon, baby bro. Didn't mean to leave you alone for so long." A single teardrop fell on the stone as he stood, pausing to look at his father. "Take care of yourself. Don't keel over until I graduate, okay?"
Henry scoffed. "I've still got plenty more good years in me."
"Yeah. I'll see you later, Henry," Thomas murmured.
"Better bring home some damn good grades," Henry answered. "Take care, you two."
"Thank you, sir," Damien said quietly as Thomas said, "Let's go, Damien."
"You don't want to put anything on his grave?" Damien asked as he followed Thomas away. "I mean, when do you think you'll be back?"
"Not sure... But he was never one for flowers," Thomas said. "He'd probably be pissed if I left some daisies on his grave."
Damien was surprised when they made another stop--they hadn't gotten back on the road just yet, but instead had stopped at some fast food restaurant, now just waiting in the parking lot. Thomas had downed two burgers and was currently working on his two orders of fries all the while humming to whatever tune happened to play on the radio.
"Thanks for letting me come along," Damien said after a few minutes passed wordlessly. "But doesn't it bother you that you and your dad argue?"
"Not really," Thomas said. "It's just how we've communicated since... you know..."
"Do you love your dad?"
"... Yeah," Thomas said after a brief moment of thought. "I don't hate him."
"But do you love him?"
Thomas shrugged. "I think I do. I just don't like him too much. We can't even talk without arguing usually. But, I've learned to live with it. Oh, and before I forget..." He reached over and opened the glove compartment, withdrawing a small piece of paper, handing it over to Damien.
"What's this?" Damien asked.
"A ticket for Saturday's game," Thomas said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have you there."
Damien looked over the ticket. Honestly, he hadn't thought much of football. Without a doubt, school pride flowed far stronger here than it ever had in high school. With the first game of the season approaching, Damien could scarcely believe just how many students were eager to show their support for their team. Almost everyone had taken to showing some kind of support, be it with sweatshirts, jerseys or simply wearing the school colors of gold and sky blue. And Damien had considered joining in on the school pride and he had thought about going to the game, if only to support Thomas and Ozzy. But with Thomas looking at him so expectantly, he couldn't think of any excuse as to why he couldn't go.
"Alright. I'll go. Could be fun," Damien said. "After all, you went through all of the effort to get me a ticket."
"You're not so special," Thomas chuckled. "Got some for my other friends who aren't on the team."
"Thanks," Damien remarked in a deadpanned tone. "That really boosts my confidence." But he was smiling nonetheless. "You didn't want to give one to your dad?"
"He already has one," Thomas said. "But I doubt he'll show. Not such a big deal anyway."
"Are you--"
"We should get back on the road," Thomas said. "If we hurry, you might still make your band's rehearsal."
September 14th, 20--
First, let me say that not going to class today was just awkward. I felt like I was breaking so many rules and felt like I was going to get caught or something.
But, more importantly, Thomas and I went on a short road trip to his hometown down south. We visited his brother's grave and I actually met his father. I kind of feel bad for the two of them since they've both lost members of their family in such a bad way. But it was weird seeing the two of them talk to each other. I've never called my father by his first name because I knew it'd get me in trouble.
I can't help but wonder if they'll ever get along again, if they did in the past. And on top of that, I feel like someone should have left something on Theo's grave.
But Thomas gave me a ticket for his game Saturday. I wasn't sure if I'd go, but I said I would now. I don't really like football (or sports in general), but I suppose there are worse things to do on a Saturday night.
--Damien Jaime Blackwell