Chapter 16

Zonked out in front of the television as the movie credits rolled, the name 'Damien' travelled down the screen, breaking her trance.

She looked away from the TV to her issue of Kerrang magazine. The singer slashed across the front cover had piercing blue eyes, dark hair, and facial piercings.

'He looks a little like...'

"Damien!" Belle cried, swiping the magazine from the coffee table and making her roommate jump. "He's everywhere I look."

"Erm... who is Damien?" Kalpna asked.

Belle wondered how she was going to explain the Damien situation. Coming up empty, she shook her head and told her roommate and friend that it didn't matter.

"I'm here if you need to talk about anything," Kalpna offered, her pretty face creased with concern.

The reason for her concern became clear when Belle caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace. She looked a mess. It wasn't like Belle to leave her room without a full face of make-up, and even though she chose a gothic style with dark lips and pale skin, her flesh looked more pallid than usual. Blue tinges, spots and dark circles marked her usually flawless complexion.

"Did you pull an all-nighter?" Kalpna asked.

"Hmm," Belle nodded. She thought skipping the nightly round of horrifying dreams might help shift the gloom cloud above her head.

It hadn't.

If anything, she felt worse than yesterday.

With each passing day, the morbid, creeping feelings of guilt and sorrow grew stronger. She couldn't concentrate on her university work, her job or even something as simple as a kid’s movie.

A night of online stalking had provided her with an address for Damien, whose full name she now knew was Damien Cross. A one-time payment to the phone directory website later and she had the addresses of everyone in the area with the surname Cross. All she had to do to find the correct one was ring them in turn and ask for Damien.

The search narrowed to the Cross residence on Victoria Avenue when the woman on the end of the line informed her Damien was at school.

From a logical standpoint, she knew her actions were those of a crazed lunatic. What person in their right mind stayed up all night to stalk a schoolboy?

He was going to freak out when she showed up at his house without explanation. What was she seriously planning to say? Sorry, but I needed to see you so badly I went full Veronica Mars mode.

'I'll wait till five and see if he's at the skatepark again,' she decided.

After staying up all night, the next eight hours felt like an eternity. Normally when overtired Belle would zone out in front of a movie, but when she tried something odd happened. For whatever reason, she couldn't connect to the narrative. The scenes felt like disconnected fragments, the previous forgotten as soon as the next appeared. Trying to watch her favorite movie filled her with dread rather than comfort.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was her favorite series of all time. She picked an episode at random, but the same thing happened. She simply couldn't immerse herself in the plot. Every time she began to drift away, Damien's face would pop up like a roadblock, redirecting all her thoughts and attention.

Tears of panic wracked her small form as she curled up on the floor. The inside of her mind was torture and crying did nothing to alleviate the grief. If anything, the heat and movement of her emotional outpouring made the situation worse, triggering a full-blown panic attack.

'What if I'm stuck like this forever?'

The thought made her cry harder.

When two-thirty rolled around, Belle decided to get dressed and linger about Damien's school. That way, she could follow him home or to the park and he wouldn't be aware of the extent of her stalking. There was only one high school in the area—the one she'd attended two years ago before moving up to Uni.

She covered her puffy, tear-stained face with concealer and fixing powder before making herself up as usual. Selecting a short skirt and tight top was a tactical move. The boy was more likely to take pity on her if she was attractive to him. She knew he liked her. He wouldn't have asked her out otherwise. He probably didn't like her quite so much after she'd laughed in his face, but he might still find her beautiful.

Lurking outside the school gates made her feel like a dirty old pervert. She had to keep reminding herself she was only a couple of years older than these guys.

As the student body piled out into the street, filling it with their inane chatter, it occurred to Belle that her choice of outfit may not have been the right move. She suffered through stares, wolf whistles and crude comments before being spotted by one of Damien's friends.

"Hey Damien," the guy shouted. "Lookie who we have here."

His cat-like crystal green eyes looked through her instead of at her. There was something odd about him, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what.

The rush of relief when Damien appeared was profound and so sudden it almost knocked her off her feet.

Damien looked at his mate and made a scoffing noise and walked past her, ignoring her completely.

"I need to talk to you," Belle cried, rushing after him.

"And what if I don't want to talk?" he asked without looking at her.

"Please, Damien. It's important," she said.

"Important to you," he scoffed.

"Please, please, please," Belle persisted. He didn't reply, but he also didn't tell her to get lost, so she took this as permission to follow.

Situated at the end of Victoria Avenue, his house was one of the larger ones in the row. Unlike new estates, each house on the Avenue had a distinct look, a personality of its own. They certainly didn't build them like this anymore.

When he arrived at his front door, Damien turned back to Belle with a questioning look.

"Oh, you're still there," he snarked. "That's nice."

He paused as if waiting for her to leave.

She couldn't leave.

What else was there to do but return home, ball up on the floor and sob.

"Please can I come in?"

"No," he uttered, turning his back to her.

"Oh please, Damien," she begged, grabbing a fistful of his coat. "Please!"

"Okay, okay," he muttered angrily, looking about to ensure her outburst hadn't noted by the neighbors. An elderly man watched from his front garden while haphazardly chopping at his privet bush.

"He's going to chop his damn hand off one of these days," Damien huffed as he bundled her into the door and up the stairs.

He ushered her along a corridor lined with family portraits, hand sliding along the ornate wooden bannister as he moved toward his bedroom. It was everything she'd expected—littered with gothic ornaments, witchcraft paraphernalia, and the obligatory stack of dirty plates. The stereotypical black walls featured band posters, Victoria Frances artwork and one Rhonda Rousey picture that seemed a little out of place.

Damien dropped heavily onto his bed, making the springs groan under his weight. He looked up at Belle with a humorless smile.

"Well? I'm assuming there's a reason you followed me home like a lost dog."

"Yes," Belle breathed. She took another deep breath but found it hard to fill her lungs.

'I don't think I've ever felt so nervous before,' she thought. 'I'm going to have a panic attack.'

"No?" Damien asked. He didn't look impressed.

Unable to do anything else, she had planned her apology down to the letter; gone over it again and again, perfecting every word.

Now, as she stood before him, her brain was vacant. If she could open up her skull, tumbleweed would come drifting out.

'At least that horrid feeling has subsided.'

"Please help me," Belle spoke at last. She took a couple of steps toward him and knelt by the bed. For some reason, sitting next to him felt too forward. She wasn't his girlfriend or even his friend.

'I'm not anything to him. This is crazy. Have I completely lost my marbles?'

"With?" he asked.

'Good question.'

"I... I can't stop thinking about you. I feel so guilty all the time. It never goes away." Belle did her best to explain herself. "I think, if you forgive me, it might stop."

He made a con-comital noise, looking down at her with his lip curled in disdain.

"Please will you forgive me?" she asked finally.

"No," he said.

"Oh, please forgive me. I know what I did was wrong and I'm sorry. Please can you find it in your heart to forgive me?" Belle begged as the memory of her speech returned.

"Why should I?" Damien asked. "You're only making this apology because of the negative effects of the guilt you feel. You don't give a shit about my feelings."

"Isn't that what guilt is?" Belle asked. "I feel bad for hurting you, hence the guilt."

"Under normal circumstances, yes." Damien nodded. "Let me ask you this... did you feel any pangs of guilt before last week?"

Belle thought about it. She hadn't. Not even a little. That was the strangest thing about this mystery.

"What happened a week ago?" Belle asked, dreading the answer.

"Oh." Damien chuckled. "Now that would be telling."

Looking about the room, Belle could hazard a guess. An insanely unlikely one.

'Magic spells only work in fiction,' she thought.

Still... what other explanation was there? If she were crazy, surely she wouldn't be aware of her condition. Crazy people don't know they are crazy.

"Whatever you've done, please make it stop," she asked, staring at him with pleading, tear-filled eyes.

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself.

"You should probably go," he said, getting up from the bed.

'Go?' Belle felt her heart rate quicken. 'I can't go!'

"Please can I stay?" she asked. In his presence, Belle felt almost human, just as she had in the park. If leaving the park had worsened her condition to this point, what would going home now do to her?

"Seriously? You want to hang out with a pathetic little wannabe goth like me?" Damien snickered.

"Yes," Belle nodded so enthusiastically she cricked her neck.

"And why would I want to hang out with someone like you?" he spat.

"Please. I'm begging you. Please, Damien. I beg you to let me stay. I beg you, please. I'll do anything you want. Anything. Just please let me stay."

Tears streamed down her face as she begged at his feet, praying that he would show her the tiniest bit of mercy.

"Anything?" he asked, smirking at her.

...

"Hmm. Well, I guess that might be fun."