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Damian Came Home

Damon

I had three boxes to pack into Rogers’ and then I could finally be with him. My day sucked without being able to see his face and hear his adorable voice. Usually I’m not the super feminine gay guy, but right now I just miss Roger more than anything. The box holding a gold band in my pocket got heavier and heavier the closer I go to the door. I know Roger loves me but what if he doesn’t say yes when I propose? What if he met someone else? What if he doesn’t want me to move in anymore? This is a disaster, I should just go back to my place and leave him alone. I started to turn back but quick grabbed a hold of my self. What the heck was I doing? It was Roger in there waiting for me! Not some stranger that I didn’t know, Roger would be torn to pieces if I didn’t show up. I would never hurt him. I stormed through the door. “Roger! Honey! I need to talk to you about something!” Silence greeted me. I set the boxes down and looked at my watch. It wasn’t late, only ten, he might have gone to bed early though. I loped up the stairs and into the bedroom. Ah, there he was, laying in bed, waiting for me to get home. A smile spread across my lips and I walked to him.

“I’m home, baby. And I brought boxes.” I sat next to him, he was motionless. He must be a sleep. I chuckled adoringly, he was so cute. Pulling the covers down to wake him up I felt something warm and wet. I looked down in horror at the dark stain on his shirt, spreading into a huge puddle in the blankets. “Roger!” I lifted his shirt exposing a ghastly stab in his stomach. His eyes fluttered and a moan was ripped from his tender lips. “Roger! Oh god, Roger! Don’t die on me! Please, baby, please don’t die on me!” Tears ran in fast rivulets down my cheeks and splattered on to my shirt.

“Damon…” He mumbled and then chocked on his own blood.

“I’m here, angel. I’m right here, I’m going to get you help. You hang on and don’t you dare leave me! Do you understand me? You don’t leave!” Another moan. I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1, keeping pressure on his wound. When someone answered I barked harshly into the phone, barely being able to get the words out as I choked on my own fear. “This is detective Vaschuer, I need an ambulance at 2996 Cardinal Lane! Now! There has been an attempted murder. Knife through the stomach, hit a liver or kidney. He’s bleeding out! Send someone now!”
I threw the phone across the room and gently as I could brought Roger onto my lap. I sheltered his small helpless body with mine as we waited. He held on, gazing deep into my eyes, so far I swear he could see my soul. His eyes were so dim and were only growing dimmer as the clock ticked. I could hear the sirens now, “They’re coming, Roger. They’re going to save you, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay, I promise. I got you, I got you. I’ll never let you go. It’s okay.” I murmured into his powder soft hair; gently rocking and not knowing who for sure I was trying to convince more, him or myself. His body was weightless and cold against my own and I pressed him closer, blood gushed morbidly against my hand. I couldn’t let go, I wouldn’t. I would give him my life, anything for my sweet boy.
I can’t lose him now, he’s so precious, so sweet, so gentle and caring, why would anyone want to kill him? The EMTs came through the house and up the stairs, I didn’t hear anything that they were saying but I felt someone try to take him out of my arms. A god awful growl released itself from between my lips. They backed off immediately and instead grabbed my arm and tugged me down the stairs to gently set Roger on the gurney provided. As they wheeled him away I felt every ounce of my body drain of life, the tears came harder, and my breathes fought a losing battle to cycle through my lungs.
The world was falling apart around me, I was losing everything that ever meant anything to me. I will revenge Roger, even if he survives this, the person who did this will suffer. Other detectives, I didn’t pay any attention to their faces, came in and started a normal search of the house and set up crime scene tape.

“Damon! I need you up here, man.” Feeling sluggish and like I wanted to stab a knife through my own heart I trudged up the stairs with no hope. The new young detective, Detective Meyers, motioned me into the bathroom. ‘Dirty fags will die’ was written on the mirror… in Roger’s blood. My legs felt weak and I fell to my knees.



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