Page 29 of In This Iron Ground
“Mia’s”
“Mia’s. Anywhere else?”
“Not really.”
“Right, so what number would you give each place? And I’m completely aware of how ridiculous this question can be, but don’t worry too much about getting the scale ‘right’. It’s all about putting it in context for you,” Sam said.
Damien nodded. He concentrated on Mia’s hand, once again around his. “School…a five? I guess. Or like…a four. Or…I don’t know.”
“Sometimes lower?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Sometimes higher than five?”
“Um…maybe.”
“Not really, huh?” Sam said with a slight smile.
“Yeah. Not really.”
“Okay. Where else?”
“Um…Mia’s…like an eight, I guess, most of the time.”
“That’s quite a difference,” Sam smiled. “Any time when it gets to below a five at Mia’s?”
“No. Not really,” Damien said quickly. Mia squeezed his hand. When he glanced at her, she was smiling slightly, her face open. “I mean…maybe, like, tiny moments. Like, it won’t be their fault—it won’t be because anythinghappens, it just…it’s more in here,” Damien stumbled, pressing his free hand to his forehead.
“Okay. So, and jump in if any of this is wrong. At school, your mood is consistently below five. Averaging at three to four, maybe, but it can definitely get lower than that. At Mia’s, on the other hand, your mood is mostly at an eight, although it can slip momentarily when you think something not-so-nice. Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. How about home, then?”
“Huh?” Damien asked, looking up at her with a frown before it clicked. He looked away. “Oh. The McKenzies’. Erm…” He felt that familiar tightening in lungs. He opened his mouth, but his throat was stuck. He tried to push through it, but only a croak came out. He shook his head, curling into himself.
“It’s okay. Take a moment. How about we don’t go into specifics. Can you tell me, below, or above five?” Sam asked, gentle. Damien breathed.
“Below,” he whispered. He was going to get into trouble for this. His chest tightened.
“Okay. Let’s take a little break. Just a few seconds—have a drink,” Sam offered. Damien forced a sip down. A charged silence followed.
“Okay. Damien. I know I’m putting you through the wringer, but there’s one thing we have to ask, okay? Again, if you need a break you tell me. Okay?”
Damien nodded stiffly, the reassurances only making him tenser.
“Okay. The doctor found some bruising on your wrists and ankles.” At that, Damien jerked as if electrocuted. He looked at Sam, eyes wide.
“No,” he denied.
“Damien, the markings are consistent with ligature marks, like from ropes or something similar,” Sam went on, but Damien was already shaking his head. He tried to jerk his hand away from Mia’s, but this time she held on, gentle but firm. Suddenly, a soft hand was cupping his cheek. Damien froze, trembling.
“Damien,” Mia’s voice said through his closed eyes. “Hey, come on. You can open your eyes,” she said softly. Damien blinked them open. Mia’s face was close to his, blocking the rest of the world out.
“Hey, kid,” she said, as if she were greeting him from a long trip away. Her thumb stroked under his eye, still damp with tears. His lip trembled. “You’re right, you know. This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for us to be asking this, for us to be putting it on you to tell us what’s happening. It wasuswho should have protected you and still…here I am. Asking you to trust me. It’s you and me, Damien, we’re—we’re a team. Let me fight for you. But we need to know, okay? Who put those ropes on you?” Her eyes, both kind and intense, were pulling at the end of the knot keeping Damien together.
“The McKenzies,” Damien said on a shuddering breath. The relief that hit him was equal to the fear he felt at the revelation. Mia kissed his forehead. Her hand carded through his hair before dropping, letting Damien sit back again.
