Chapter Text
“He’s right, It’s too late.”
Danielle spoke those words casually, and it was over fast. Spending the day with Orel was enjoyable for him; nonetheless, it was strange to do something new other than planning ways to pull Clay into his arms. He experienced sympathy for Orel for the first time in his life, not because he had attempted to sacrifice the kid to Satan all those months before, but rather because Clay was Orels father, and from the realization of today, a horrible one at that. The single good outcome of Clay's actions was Orel.
He was restless that night, and the apartment felt much quieter than normal after everyone had left with a pained expression on their faces. He sat on his couch in the living room, overshadowed by the big stuffed bear "Santa Claus" had given him. He felt sick, disgusted with himself in ways he couldn't quite comprehend. That startling realization that he had just ended a relationship he had desired for almost a decade was gone, all of his efforts had been futile. It stinged so much more thinking it was half his fault.
Clay was a drug to Danielle, he craved him every second of the day and it was all he ever thought about. Without Clay, it felt as if he was on withdrawal, cold turkey. He leaned back into his rather expensive leather sofa to get more comfortable, raising his legs on to the end table in front of him and staring at the ceiling. While he may have felt sympathy for Orel over Clay, he still couldn’t get over that ache in his chest, he knew Clay was horrible, but Danielle still painfully wanted him.
He reached into his jeans pocket, urgently searching for a familiar box shape. When he felt it along his hand, slowly dragging it out, he felt a twinge of relief. On the box, "Sal's Corner Store: Cigarettes" was written. He carefully opened the half-empty pack, took out a cigarette and popped it into his lips. He moved closer to set the pack on his end table before reaching for his light blue lighter. He held the lighter close to the end of his cigarette, sliding his thumb over the spark wheel until the cigarette was finally lit.
He inhaled a long, deep drag on his cigarette. The burn in his lungs seemed almost euphoric to him, and it temporarily hushed his disordered thinking until he puffed out the gray nasty smoke. His half-lidded gaze followed the soot as they faded into the room. As Danielle pouted to himself, his mind formed a flawless picture of Clay in his head.
Uncertainty taunts Danielles mind, unsure how he feels about Clay. He loved him, but for what? Maybe it's just the thought of him that made Danielle swoon as much as he did. Clay was too much of the person he was to be loved, yet the idea of this pitiful-looking angry man made him so beautiful in ways Danielle could only fathom. It suited him, how this man radiated in his own contempt.
He took another long drag, obscuring his mind with smoke. Danielle's face was expressionless; he felt hopeless, weak, and alone. Danielle had grown so reliant on Clay that avoiding him in Moralton would be difficult. Not because he lacks self-control, quite the contrary given how long he waited to name Clay his own, but because this town was exceedingly small.
The cigarette burned out, sizzling as it ran its course. Danielle sighed, taking the cigarette from his lips and placing what remained into the ashtray on the arm of his couch. He slumped forward, his arms resting on his knees, his gaze shifting down to his feet, murmuring gibberish to himself; he felt like he was already in hell, and he couldn't picture how tomorrow and the days ahead would feel, it was Christmas break at school after all, meaning he wouldn’t have a way to distract these unwanted thoughts.
Danielle's body was fatigued, in addition to his restless mind. He put his palm to his face and massaged his eyes, squinting them as he sought to regain his vision after being worn out. He lifted his head, as if about to get up from the sofa and into his bedroom with his silky smooth queen-sized bed, but then he remembered all those photographs. The bedroom walls are all elegantly framed with dark mahogany wood, each holding a picture of Clay. He shuddered and slid back into the sofa, winced, and covered his eyes with his arm. He was sick to his stomach once again.
The sweet taste of certainty was all he wanted (apart from Clay), to know if everything was going to be well, and if he'd get over this profound ache in his chest. He hated what he had said; if only he had accepted Clay's half-directed confession, possibly everything would have been fine.
Danielles' mouth erupted in rage, he was so upset and disgusted with himself. He repositioned his body on his couch, his arm hiding his eyes from the blinding light on his ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to get up and turn off the light since he was preoccupied with his constant flood of thoughts. He rested his other hand on his chest, attempting to breathe lightly in order to relax. He fought to fall asleep since time passed so slowly. That ache and horrible sensation will never go away.
Merry Christmas.