no no, not again. he dips his head, lower now to catch the glint of
a few tears that try to go by unnoticed. ah how they tried !! it takes
the swish of his wrist to catch hold of the lace ‘round his wrist.
a few tears wouldn’t do any harm to the fabric. given its texture,
he opts for gently dabbing at the teenager’s cheeks. he needn’t
cry no matter how hard he’s convinced himself otherwise. the party
was only a menial thing in the long run. it took the few hours of
sleep that he managed to get to figure it out. no one was harmed,
no one was pregnant, no one was dead or dying, and no one had
do any irreversible or irreplaceable damage. everything broken could
be fixed or bought again on ebay or amazon or even pier 1 imports
if he really buckled down to compare styles.nonetheless, it wasn’t something to cry about. if he was alive and
could readily cry, then he would be fine. a bumpy day lie ahead of
him, but once it was over, the lesson would hopefully have been
learned.damien reaches up again for the cloth, sitting in the cool water left
in the sink. the moment his son started warming up, the quicker he
wanted to cool him back down.❝I’m sorry, dad.❞
The silence wasn’t helping anything. It was too painfully long and uncomfortable for him to just SIT there as his father sat beside him, listening to him cry. Usually, Lucien would be fine with the silence, HATING to talk to anyone when he was upset and going into recluse, bedroom door locked until he could manage to calm down, usually smoking his worries away with the curtains pulled and lights off. But that wasn’t an option now, nor did it even feel right to want to do that. This was more damaging than things he’d done in the past, and he was stuck HERE, purging what he could from last night. How many drinks did he even have? Whatever, it didn’t matter at this point. He didn’t have alcohol poisoning, he was just ill by this point.
❝Please don’t hate me. You don’t hate me, right dad? I’m… I can…❞ what could he do? He couldn’t replace what has been broken– he and his father may live off the inheritance, but Damien was the one who held all the money, HELL, Lucien doesn’t even have a JOB.
He holds onto his father’s shirt, easing into taking deep breaths as Damien ran the washcloth over his face again. Here, at least, he felt safe.