All in Your Head

Bygones

Bygones

Moonchild
"AN EYE FOR AN EYE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD BLIND"
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Edith finally took a long drag of her cigarette after it sat, dwindling in her fingers, ash falling onto the pavement. She picked up the nasty habit not too long after the incident, it was a way to cope with all the turmoil, she supposed, her parents knew nothing of the sort and it would stay that way. She sat, knees to her chest, on the steps of her porch, it was midday, around the time she usually got up due to the graveyard shift. She looked out aimlessly in front of her, at cars passing, people walking, trees swaying. A sudden buzz in her pocket had her reaching in to pull out her phone to see there was an incoming call. She stubs out the cigarette and tosses it into a makeshift ashtray beside her, a clay bowl made by her eight-year-old self for a grade school project.

“Hey, mom.” She answers the phone, speaking softly.

“Hi Edie. Have you thought about what me and your father talked about? You haven’t been answering our calls, hun.” Her mother replies, easy with her words.

“Yeah I--” Edith glances at bills and eviction notices stacked in a disheveled pile next to her door, “I did, mom. I thought about it. I’m going back to school, i’ll pick up where I left off, I'll get that internship and, everything….will be normal again.” It had been a rough couple months, she didn’t even feel like the same girl from last spring.

“I’m glad to hear it, Edie. It sounds like Dr. Ingram has you in better spirits? Have you been taking the medication he prescribed you?”

“Yeah, he’s great...yeah, the pills are making me feel a lot better…” Edith didn’t know when she got so good at lying through her teeth, she hadn’t been to a single session with her therapist in weeks and flushed those pills down her toilet the day she got them.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me to hear that. I know it’s been hard, but it’s time to move on, you can’t be stuck on this one little accident... I love you, talk to me later, okay?” It wasn’t just a ‘little’ accident, and for her mother to call it as such, just added salt to her wound.

Edith had already put in her letter of resignation and quit her gas station job a few days ago, and was on day twenty-eight of her thirty day notice to be evicted from her apartment-- it was time to go. But she couldn’t help but think about what her and Dr. Ingram talked about the last time they met.

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No...last time I saw him was in the hospital, his parents couldn’t even look me in the eye…”

“But you know he’s doing well, now, right?”

“What is well? Because...from what I've heard, he woke up not even the same person anymore...they said he opened his eyes and just started screaming, like he was still in the middle of the crash.” Edie recalled the night; the sound of screeching tires and broken glass is all she could really remember, everything else was a blur. She always played it so safe, and the one time she stepped out of line, she’d regret it forever.

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but you are taking way too much fault for this. If you don’t forgive yourself, it will continue to eat you whole. Why not try to reach out to him now? You really think that he thinks you did this on purpose?”

“No…I don’t know.. He could think anything! His brain is probably in shambles, what if he remembers it differently?”

“Well, I think you need to ask him and find out for yourself.”

Edie missed school and home and Damien, and everyone she shut out during this state of dejection, she missed how everything used to be. She wanted to go home.

It didn’t take long for her to move out all of her things, she didn’t have much to begin with. She rented a truck for the bigger appliances that her parents had bought for her dorm and the rest fit into the back of her car. Her plan was to stay with her parents for a bit until the fall semester began and she’d move back into a dorm. She knew it was going to feel weird walking back onto campus after all of this, Damien’s tragedy was on all local broadcast networks and word spread rather quickly in a smaller town. And that wasn’t even the worst of it, her biggest hurdle was going to be reaching out to Damien, she felt like such a coward for retreating into a shell because of her own ‘burdens’ that were nothing compared to his.

She could feel her teeth clenching and palms tightening against the steering wheel as she neared the neighborhood of his parents’ home, she assumed that maybe he was staying there since he was discharged from the hospital, if not, maybe they would be kind enough to direct him to where he was. Edie almost passed their street until she made a sharp turn into it at the last second, taking a deep breath, she parked outside of the home. She sat in her car for a while, hand on the keys in the ignition, debating whether she should turn the key and hightail it out of there or man up and walk up those steps to the door. She chose the latter, ripping the key away and jumping out of the car before she could reconsider. Up the steps she went and found herself faced with the tall, wooden front doors. And she knocked.
 
The door opened, and a trim, perfectly put-together woman answered the door. She would not have been out of place in a 50's TV show. Her dark hair gleamed from its tight bun pulled back sharply, and her red - but not too red - lipstick stood out brightly in a manicured face. She looked at Edith pleasantly until she realized who was standing on her porch, and her brown eyes darkened.

"Ah, Ms. Cromwell," she greeted in a tone that was almost cautious. "I had not expected to see you here. How may I help you?" One slender hand rested on the door as if deciding whether to open it farther or close it in Edith's face.

~~~~

It wasn't right. None of this was right! He'd made a mistake somewhere. This outcome hadn't been right! It couldn't be right. Then again, was he trying to force an outcome he wanted instead of letting the right outcome present itself? It was possible, he supposed. He grit his teeth in frustration as his eraser dashed across the greenish colored blackboard, banishing the white chalk lines that decorated its entire wall-length surface. He had to get it right! He needed to prove this theory. If he could just prove this, then so much else would fall into place.
 
The door opened, and before her were those same cold eyes that gave harsh glares her way when she visited Damien in the hospital. She did not look too happy to see Edith on her doorstep this evening, and it put a pit in Ediths stomach. She wanted to turn and march back down those steps and into her car where she belonged, and run, like she always did, but she couldn’t run from her problems anymore.

Edith gulped hard, mustering up a smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Richards. I know I--” She let out a shaky sigh before continuing, “may...be the last person you’d like to see right now, but, I've come to make amends. I thought it’d give it time for Damien, for all of you, to heal, but that was so selfish of me to assume that, that was for the best. I give all of you my sincerest regards. If you could just tell Damien that he is in my thoughts, that’s all I ask.” Edies face began to flush, embarrassed, ashamed, she was on this poor woman's doorstep, begging and pleading to her, when she owed Edith nothing.
 
Mrs. Richards studied Edith for an agonizing moment of silence. Then she seemed to reach an internal decision and stepped back, opening the door wider. "You may come see him," she said stiffly. "It may do him some good to see a friend. Follow me, please, and wipe your feet."

The inside of the Richards' house was just as well manicured as the front lawn, as elegant as the mistress that ruled every inch with the flick of a finger, and as cold as the money that had bought and furnished it. There were a lot of warm colors and carefully placed decorative pillows, yet none of that could displace the chill in the air. Mrs. Richards' heels clicked on the polished hardwood floor as she led the way to a door and opened it, revealing the stairs to the basement.

"Go on down," she told Edith. "There is another door at the bottom of the stairs. Knock before entering, of course."
 
The silence was unbearable. Edith was so sure that she was going to spit at her and send Edith on her way to never come back, and Edith would have tucked her tail between her legs and done so if that is what she pleased. Edie did not expect the reply that was given to her, and as she was ushered into the Richards’ distinguished home, she tried to exhale all the pent up air in her lungs in relief. But she knew she was on thin ice, she was doing Damien a favor, not the other way around. Edith made sure to wipe her feet of any debris and started to feel more embarrassed when she realized she didn’t have a gift or anything to give them after all of this, even if she wasn’t expecting to be here in the first place. She followed Mrs. Richards closely, her hands behind her back as she walked so she wouldn’t fidget with them in her nervousness. As they approached the stairs leading to the basement below, Edith's face formed into a frown.

“The..basement?” She said under her breath, in complete disbelief. She cleared her throat and nodded to Mrs. Richards, “Thank you, I will make sure I do.” Edith descended slowly down the steps and once she was met with the door at the very bottom, she hesitated before knocking.

“D-Damien? It’s um, it’s me...Edie...can I come in?” Her heart began to race in anticipation, she swore she could hear him muttering from within.
 
He froze, the chalk hovering above the blackboard. His hand trembled slightly. Who? No. It couldn't be! Could it? It sounded like... but not quite. He set the chalk piece down and crept slowly to the door. He hesitated a moment then turned off the overhead light so nothing on the other side standing in the light could see into his sheltered darkness. Even so, he hesitated even longer before touching the doorknob. The knob creaked in the silence as he turned it then opened the door just enough to peer out with one bloodshot eye.

"Who is it?" he demanded suspiciously. He took in the girl (or was it woman? he was never clear on which was proper when) standing on the other side of the door in the pool of light from the stairwell. Black hair around her shoulders, dark eyes, pale skin, brows almost too heavy for her face that somehow accented her eyes, cute chin... it looked like her, but there was something different about her. Her carriage was all wrong! And her expression was... he didn't have a word for it, but it was like looking at a dark shadow through a window at what was once a bright landscape.
 
There was scuffling then silence, then finally the sudden rattle of the doorknob before it slowly creaked open. She could just barely see the one side of his face and his right, strained eye, puffy most likely from days without sleep. It was too dark to really make out anything else, but when his voice abruptly broke the silence between them that made her jump in surprise at its harshness, it confirmed that it was really him. It was him, but it seemed he wasn’t entirely all there, it was like encroaching on a ghost. Damien would never greet anyone like this. He would never answer a door like this, all disordered and unkempt, he was too pompous for that, he cared too much about his appearance. And she still could not understand why he was being kept in the basement, like he was a monster. Edith was frightened at all of this, to say the least. She tried to speak but the words got choked up in her dry throat, she could feel her eyes start to water but was unaware that she was on the verge of tears until just now. That one red, coarse eye studied her like he was a wolf making the decision whether or not to pounce on its prey.

Who was looking back at her? Because it certainly wasn’t Damien Richards.

“Damien…” She finally choked out, her voice hoarse. “It’s Edith. Y-You remember me, right?” A tear streamed down her cheek and she quickly went to wipe it away with the sleeve of her sweater. “Please, let come in, let me talk to you. I’ve missed you.” She pleaded.
 
He stared at the tear. They surely couldn't pull up emotions like this. Could they? Oh, they could likely act to make any human jealous, but this was genuine. Miserable, even. Edith. It really was Edith! He didn't think he'd ever see her again. He hadn't seen her since...

He jerked back abruptly, reacting to the memory. NO! He was not going to allow it! Not that memory. Not now, not ever. He jerked his head in a half shake then straightened, taking a deep breath. Guest. He had a guest down here for the first time.

He flicked the light on then opened the door all the way. "Hi," he mumbled uncertainly. "You can... you can come in." He glanced down at himself and realized what he looked like. A grey cotton tee-shirt that a year ago he wouldn't have been caught dead in and a pair of old jeans so worn the fabric was practically as soft as cotten. A fine layer of chalk covered him from tousled black hair to bare feet. He ran a self-conscious hand over his chin, feeling the uneven stubble. His chin had never been able to get the hang of growing facial hair - something he used to curse but now found to be a blessing. Three days without shaving, and it still didn't look like much more than a 5 O'clock shadow in uneven patches. He was a mess. Ugh.

"There's a couch over there," he said as he dragged his hand through his hair, trying to make it look at least somewhat presentable. Two white patches marred the blackness of his hair, one about the size of a half dollar on the right side just above his ear and the other just off center in the front in a near perfect rectangle.

The basement wasn't bad. The ceiling was a little lower than a ground floor would be, and one wall was still unfinished concrete, but it was a huge, open space he could do with as he liked. In one corner stood the furnace and the water heater, but they were hidden behind a couple of rolling blackboards. A decent couch sat cattywampus a couple of feet from the doorway, and an unmade bed took up another random spot nearby. No attempt at an exact bedroom had been made. The rest of the room was filled with bullitain boards, blackboards, and file cabinants. Three computers of various ages stood against one wall humming away. Papers hung everywhere, and one board was so covered in string it looked like an arts and crafts project. It was more like an office gone insane then a bedroom, but the dirty dishes and take out containers stacked at the end of the couch said it was used as a living space.

The strangest thing about the room, though, was the tinfoil. Boxes of tinfoil littered the floor, and sheets of the shiny material covered the windows and random patches on the wall. The windows were renforced, and the door sported three bolts. The place was an underground fortress of solitude for one person.

Nothing about this space reflected the once proud, orginized, cocky boy that had gone to collage a year ahead of schedule and boasted surprisingly mature tastes in style.
 
His erratic movements made her stiff and uneasy. The light was suddenly snapped on and she squinted for a moment before adjusting to the brightness, and once they did, her eyes widened at his appearance and the overall air of him. First it was the attire, she’d never seen him look so casual, especially the fact that he wore clothes that were not “in season” or “100% cashmere”, clothes that she recalls he criticized so rudely being worn by someone else. Then the white scuffs all over said attire, he’s always been such a perfectionist and obsessive over the slightest stains and imperfections. Then...the hair, oh the hair! The hair that he combed and maintained with every slight blow of the wind or bang falling out of place, sure it was a rat nest at the moment, but what really piqued her interest was the white streaks. She was sure that he didn’t just decide to get highlights during all of this, this, this was something that happened beyond his control. And just below his twitchy mouth, was a slight stubble. How did this boy go from a cute, little, imperious trust-fund baby-- to a man? A disturbed man, to be frank.

All he could make of as a response was a slight grunt and agreeing to let her in, which was something at least.

“O-Okay.” Edith sniffled, trying to compose herself as she slowly followed him in. Her movements continued to be careful and measured, afraid to make the wrong move around him during this state. She looked over at the couch he mentioned, which she grimaced at once seeing all the dirty dishes and food boxes swarmed around it. A messy bed that looked hardly even slept in was nearby the couch, sadly not the most out of place looking thing down here. It was so dark and damp, all due to the bolted windows and doors, you’d figure this was his underground bunker during the apocalypse.

At this point, her feet were glued in place, she didn’t want to move much farther. As she stepped in place, something scatters beneath her foot, making a scratchy noise against the cold floor. Tinfoil. And so, so much of it.

Oh god, he really has gone mad..

Straight ahead were papers and pins scattered upon the wall, as if he was trying to crack down on a homicide or something, beside it a blackboard so filled with chalk markings, she could hardly see the black beneath it all.

This was a lot to take in. Where would she even begin?

She made a nervous scratch at her neck, gulping hard. Edith tried to make sense of it all and relate it to her own little episode of depression, but she simply could not compare it to...this.

Edith finally unstuck herself from the spot she glued herself in, pushing past lines of tinfoil and disheveled piles of paper. The place would honestly be kind of charming if it didn’t have this ‘mad scientist’ flair to it. She found herself examining the filled blackboards and documents laid everywhere, trying to decipher the hastily made scriptures upon them.

“Sooo, uh,” Edith cleared her throat, “this is what you have been doing down here? Uh, what is it exactly?” She tried to be as polite as she could, but she couldn’t hide her obvious concern.
 
Damien fussed with his hair a little more then dropped his hands. Only to start trying to brush the dust off his clothes. Why was she here? After all this time, why was she here? In his house? In his room? Well, basement thing. Why? Was this something that stupid shrink had set up? Or one of the shrinks... he'd been to three so far, and earlier today his mother had said she'd arranged a meeting with a new one.

Oh, right, questions, not thoughts. Thoughts were for when you were alone. "i'm just working on a, uh, project," he said evasively. He shoved at the dishes with his foot. "Sorry it's a mess. I haven't had... anyone over since... ever. Um." He fussed with his shirt again. "So, um, you... you're here. I thought you'd be... at school? Or something."

This was going so bad. So very bad. He was out of practice and out of touch. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't even remember what day it was. He looked sidelong at Edith, taking in her disgusted look. To be expected.
 
“Right..” She nodded to his response and turned away from the board, looking to him with a pitiful smile. He quickly changed the subject.

“School? Well, um, we’re out right now, for summer break.”

Does he even know that the sun is shining outside right now?

“But-uh, i’ll be going back in the fall. Won’t you? Or, um, oh..” She immediately felt stupid for asking such a question.

“Look-- I know, it’s shitty of me to just show up here all of the sudden unannounced, but I've been going through some stuff, too, you know? And I came here today to make sure that, maybe, just maybe, you had come through it all, like you always do. But,” Edith looks around, “i’m sorely mistaken.” She plops herself onto the couch, holding her face in her palm now.

“What happened that night, Damien? What happened to you? I don’t understand, how did we all come out of that just fine...and, you..” She makes a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry, Damien. Please, forgive me.” Edith had never broken down like this before, especially not in front of someone like Damien.
 
She was falling apart right before his eyes, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. First it was about school (Of course they were on summer break, stupid! That was such a stupid slip.) and then about getting through things, and now that night... His head was starting to hurt. It was all too much all at once.

Damien shoved his hands into his pockets and fidgetted. "I don't understand," he admitted reluctantly. "Why... Why are you so upset?" He looked at her sidelong again, anxiously trying to understand.
 
She drew her hand away and looked up at him, he was serious. He really did not know?

“Do...do you not remember?” Her eyes were watery and filled with guilt and confusion, trying desperately to get a hold of this situation that had no bearing in the first place. She remained quiet.

“I should go.” She whispered, though it would kill her just to leave him here like this. She stood and faced the door. “I..I don’t really know what I was thinking coming here. I’ve only done more harm.” Edith makes her way to the door and gently places a hand on the knob.
 
"Wait!"

It took Damien a second to realize he'd blurted the word. He bit his lip and looked down. Nervous fingers twitched then ran through his hair. What should he say? How should he say this? Whatever "this" was. Maybe he should figure that out then talk. But by then she'd leave.

He groaned and crossed the room to slump onto the couch. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, making it harder to think than it already was. "Edie, I... I'd like you to stay... if you can," he mumbled to the floor, huddled in on himself like a child. "Please?"
 
Her brows furrowed and her hand dropped to her side. She turned and sighed.

“I have all the time in the world right now, Damien.” She shuffled slowly back over to him.

“You know, you don’t look half bad like this, D. Though, if you looked in the mirror, a couple weeks ago, I'm sure you’d flip.” Edith smirked, it was the first time she genuinely smiled all day.

“Got any games or something? What do you do for fun around here?” She began rummaging through the clutter, looking for something other than a roll of tinfoil. She'd offer to go outside, but he looked content in his little fortress here, she didn't want to push him any further out of his comfort zone right now.
 
"Um, I haven't really got anything... I don't play much anymore," Damien admitted. He shifted to look at her, but still couldn't seem to be able to bring himself to look at her directly. He looked at her sideways or just a little to the left, never straight at her. Then he looked down at himself. "Thanks. I think. It's comfy, and there's no one to judge, not even me. I got rid of the mirrors except the one in the bathroom because... Never mind."

He rubbed his hands on his thighs. "You, uh, you look really different. Not that good, though. Sorry. You said you were going through some stuff?"

He sounded like one of those robots trying to pass as a human on one of those dumb kid shows. He remembered smiling confidently, remembered charming people, remembered people grudgingly following him even while he was nothing but an arrogant bastard. None of that was here anymore, and maybe that was a good thing. He couldn't get distracted! He had to find the solution! But... maybe he could talk to Edith. Just for a minute.
 
Edith couldn’t decide if Damien hit his head so hard that he became this way, or if it was because his doctors had him on some serious meds, he was just completely off. It continued to scare her in new ways, but she tried to remain calm because freaking out and crying was only stressing him out more. She couldn’t help but be emotional, she was an expressive person, but Damien isn’t, he never was, rich kids have to keep their feelings on tight lock and egos on high capacity.

Edith laughed at his comment. “Thanks, jackass. I know I’m lookin’ a little rough these days, but at least I'm not the only one. Why’d you get rid of the mirrors? Couldn’t stand that you’re starting to look like one of these washed up celebrities?” Edie tried to humor him to lighten the mood, he seemed more tense than before.

“Whatever i’m going through doesn't really compare to all this…” She gestured to the mess.
 
Damien actually managed a smile when she laughed, but his smile faded again when she asked about the mirrors. He didn't dare tell her the whole truth, but he knew nothing was worse in the human brain than an unanswered question. He should know.

"I don't like being watched," he explained a bit moodily. "Not even me. I've been watched too much. I don't like it." He started to shake his head then stopped. That hurt. Instead, he waved a hand. "What's wrong with all this? I mean, it's not the cream of the crop, but it's quiet down here and safe. I like it. It let's me concentrate on my work."

He looked at her again, well, looked at her ear at any rate, and mumbled, "but it's okay. You don't look okay, and you said sorry, but I'm not sure why. I don't think I have anything to forgive you for. Do I? Or do you still owe me those ten dollars I lent you for the Uber?"
 
His slight smile gave a little comfort to her, even if it disappeared as fast it had come. She could see him processing something up in that head of his, whatever the hell was going on in there right now. His answer to her joke was not what she expected but she felt like she should have expected it, she had to accept the fact that she was talking to someone who had literally lost their marbles. Her heart sank more and more at this realization, but she tried to be in better spirits for him.

“Who is watching you?” She wondered if this was maybe PTSD and from all the doctors that swarmed around him those four days, and then most likely psychiatric doctors who kept tabs on him since then, maybe he really just wanted to be alone after being poked and prodded for so long, that’s what she hoped was the case at least.

He tried to justify that this place may have not been ideal, but it was sufficient for him, which was absurd. “Would you at least let me help clean up a little?” Edie doubted he wanted her messing with...whatever exactly he had going here, but it was worth a try to ask.

She made a nervous laugh at him asking for what exactly she should be forgiven for, she didn’t owe him ten dollars, she owed him a lot more than that.

“No...no, I pay back all my debts, D. I’m not sorry any more, I'm more just glad that I was even able to see you today.” She made a short smile. Edie’s phone makes a chime in her pocket, alerting that she had just received a text. She pulls it out from the pocket of her jeans and just checks to see who it was from. Dr. Ingram. Normally she wouldn’t bother to answer a text until she wasn’t busy or unless it was an emergency but she was curious to see what he said, most likely he was trying to coerce her into coming into a session again, her parents paid good money for his services.

Dr. Ingram
I'd like for you to make an appointment with me...say, tomorrow at 3? Want to check in on your progress.

She rolled her eyes, just as she expected. She stuffs her phone back into her pocket without replying.
 
Damien rubbed his damp palms along his pants. This was getting harder... He wasn't used to conversations that didn't revolve around whether or not he was taking his pills or if he wanted to return to school. Most of them to the first and no to the second. Edith just seemed concerned for him. It was really nice. He had no clue how to properly respond to it, but it was nice.

He ignored the question about who was watching him for now and instead said, "It's okay. Thank you for the offer, but, um, you know, I don't want to put you out. Plus... the mess keeps Mother out." He glanced at her and almost smiled again. "It's better than a locked door that way." He looked down again. "But I should clean. Probably."

He lapsed into a moment of silence and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's been nice to see you, Edith. Really nice. I thought about you sometimes. I thought maybe you'd been hurt or something, but, um, they said everyone was fine. Just... me. I'm glad to see you are okay. Sorry I'm not..." He heaved a sigh. "I'm not what you were expecting or wanted."
 
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