Chapter Seven
That evening, Damian was looking much healthier and he seemed to be recovering swiftly, although his limbs were stiff and very sore.
Mark's Dad made sure there was enough stew and potatoes for two sittings, and more to spare. After dinner, Damian's eyes were already drooping.
"Come on, I'll show you the guest room."
Mark led the way up the narrow stairs and into the guest room. There was a single bed, with fresh sheets. The old drawers and wardrobe were in the room, making it seem a lot smaller than it was.
"The bathroom's down the hall. Is there anything else you need?" Mark asked.
Damian sat down on the small bed, the frame creaking as he did so. "No, I'm good."
"Well, good night."
"Mark..." Damian called out, as he reached the door. "I wanted to thank you, for today. I have no idea how you found me, but I'm under no illusion as to what would have happened if you hadn't."
Mark held onto the door as Damian spoke, did he sound disappointed that he'd been rescued? Mark sighed and closed the door in case his parents came upstairs; then turned back to Damian. "Why were you out there?"
Damian shrugged, crawling under the duvet, as though that would put an end to the conversation.
"Come on, Damian. You owe me an answer, I risked everything going out there today."
Damian propped himself up on an elbow, his blue eyes meeting Mark's. "You'll think I'm over-reacting, or crazy, but I'm cursed."
Mark moved around the bedposts and perched on the foot of the bed, making it creak anew. "I've told you that I'm a witch, and you think you're the crazy one? Why do you think you're cursed?"
"I don't think, I know. In the last few months, I've lost everyone I've been close to."
"That isn't proof-"
"My parents died in a car crash. My best friend was mugged and beaten, and left in a coma. I moved in with my grandma and she died of a heart attack two weeks later. Don't tell me that isn't proof, and don't you dare say that it's coincidence."
Mark stared at Damian, as he saw the perfect façade crack. He saw pain, immense pain. "I'm sorry, I knew about your parents, but I didn't have any idea..."
"This afternoon, my aunt was in the kitchen cooking and the pan caught on fire. She shouted at me to get out. She got it under control, but I couldn't go back in. It was a warning to me, I know it. If I stayed much longer, she would die." Damian took a shaky breath. "I just started walking, and when the snow started, I wanted it to smother me and clear away all the problems."
"You shouldn't say that. Even if there is a curse, as long as you're alive, we can find a solution." Mark replied.
"We." Damian smiled at the word.
Mark scooted closer, making the bed creak again. "So why only the last few months? What has changed?"
Damian thought for a while, then shook his head. "Nothing, I did nothing. I turned sixteen and life suddenly became hell."
Mark sighed, it wasn't much to go on. "We'll do everything we can, I promise."
"I'm finally having some good luck in my life." Damian said quietly. "I must have been meant to meet you."
Mark suddenly became aware of how close they were, in the privacy of the bedroom. Mark nervously licked his dry lips. Was it his imagination, or was Damian leaning closer?
Mark leant in, sliding his hand closer until the tips of his fingers brushed the skin of Damian's arm, he was sure he was on fire.
The bed creaked again, and Mark pulled back. What was he doing? Damian had nearly died today, he wasn't thinking straight, and he was in no fit state for any sort of romantic intentions. He jumped off the bed, suddenly awkward, running a hand through his dark hair. "Sorry. G'night."
Mark hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"Mark?"
Mark jumped at the sound of his Dad's voice behind him and spun round guiltily. "Night, Dad."
"Uh huh." He stood at the top of the stairs, watching until his son was in his own bedroom, with the door firmly shut.
*****
The following morning, Mark went downstairs to find his Mum and Dad already serving out breakfast to Damian, who sat at the small kitchen table.
"You can borrow more of Mark's clothes for today, Damian." Dad said as he dished out some fried eggs.
Mark's Mum was relegated to getting the hot drinks ready again, which Mark was relieved to see. The last thing he wanted was for Damian to experience his Mum's attempt at cooking.
"I've told work I'll be in late," Mark's Mum said, smiling at Damian, "I can take you to the doctors and drop you off home. I don't think you should go to school today."
Mark looked up from his breakfast, "Do I get the day off, too?"
"Not a chance." His Mum replied quickly.
"But-"
"You stole a tractor yesterday; you're going to school, and then straight home."
"I didn't steal it, I just commandeered it for a couple of hours."
Mark saw the warning signs that his parents' patience was running thin, and sat tight-lipped for the rest of breakfast.
Afterwards, he pulled on his generic school uniform, while Damian got some jeans and one of his nice jumpers. It worried Mark that Damian hadn't said two words to him this morning, and whenever he caught his eye, there was a new wariness in his gaze.
Before Mark left to walk for the bus, he cornered Damian in the living room. "Look, what I said last night about helping you – I meant it. And if you meant what you said about being willing to die, I want you to call me anytime you feel like that again."