Page 51 of In This Iron Ground
“It smells bad!”
Damien leaned over, breathing across Hakan’s face. For a few seconds, their lips were inches apart.
“Urgh!” Hakan pushed him away. Damien laughed, putting some distance between them before flopping onto his back.
“Yeah, you’re always on about purified water and organic everything, and then go and eat neon mac ’n cheese. I don’t think so.”
“What the hell? That stuff is good!”
“I’m not saying it’s not good, but it’s filled with preservatives! You can’t pick and choose.”
“Watch me.”
Damien shoved at Hakan, but the werewolf didn’t even budge.
“You’re the worst,” Damien said, sticking out his tongue.
Hakan just laughed.
Damien closed his eyes, but he could still see the afterimage of Hakan’s smile burnt right through the darkness.
*****
Summer burned away. Autumn. Winter. On the Yule run, Hakan sat resignedly for his picture. There was a lot of tinsel involved.
There was school. Weekends with Olive and Koko. Evenings with Hakan. Dee and Lallo seemed to grow by the day. Damien studied at the library with Nova and Mia. He gardened with Cameron.
Damien watched the petals of his life unfold.
**********
There was a group of thirtysomething year old men crowded around one of the machines, filling the arcade with noise. The sound of their cheers and groans, of thebleep, bleep-bleep-bleep-bleepof the game was oddly fitting. It filled the cracked hollows that Olive’s buzzing anger was leaving behind.
Damien didn’t want to think about what Olive had done to get out of her house. There was no doubt she was grounded after being suspended for calling one of the teachers a ‘whiny cunt’. He hadn’t hesitated to accept the invitation to the arcade, however, hiding in one of the booths that lined the walls, tucked beside a small food vendor selling American nostalgia in milkshake form.
Olive was curled defensively in a corner, knees and hoodie up, picking at the polish on her nails. Damien ran a finger through the condensation beading on his coke glass.
“Your foster carers…are they…angry?” Damien asked tentatively. He’d been watchful for any possible sign of abuse. He’d tucked subtle questions between topics of conversation when Olive was in a particularly open mood. He’d even asked Koko about Olive’s scent. There had never been any indication of anything more than an anger and hurt that could not be exorcized from Olive after a few kind words from adults whom, as a species, had shown little but a hand that harmed as easily as it fed.
“Like I give a fuck about what they think!” Olive snapped, glaring at Damien.
Damien managed not to flinch. “Okay.”
“What, you think I do?” Olive sat up, almost getting into Damien’s space. Damien felt the familiar prickle of someone else’s anger on his skin.
He remained silent, not wanting to either lie or anger her further. It didn’t work.
“Fuck you!” Olive’s voice was loud enough that a few people turned to look at them for a few seconds. “Just because you’ve got a fucking boner for your foster carers doesn’t mean I’m gonna get down on my knees every time those idiots tell me what to do,” she snarled.
Damien stared at his coke, at the way the drops changed colour as a nearby game flashed.
“Shit, Damien. Damien. I’m sorry,”
“It’s fine.” The black of the drink was almost translucent if you looked hard enough.
“Hey. D, come on. Don’t do that. I’m sorry.”
Damien turned to look at Olive. His fingers were cold where they had been pressed against the glass. He slid them across the table, damp with condensation.
