Pure Innocence (3 page)

God, they were awful. Ugly,
swollen stubs that he couldn’t even feel. His eyes stung and he
squeezed them shut. Shame had him lowering his face, as tears
leaked and he had nothing to wipe them away with. He was so stupid.
The word echoed in his head,
stupid
...someone else had called him
that. Oliver shied away from the thought, not now, he
couldn’t—
wasn’t—
going to think about that now.

Damon seemed to know and he gently lifted
his chin and used a tissue. “You have absolutely nothing to be
frightened of.”

He sounded so fierce, so determined. Oliver
blinked. Nothing? But…

“
When you’re feeling
better, we will talk properly.” Damon smiled. “I know I haven’t
explained anything, but you’ve only had your eyes open for an
hour.”

Damon stood back as the
nurses came in. Oliver immediately resented the intrusion. The
smaller one insisted on being cheerful and talking all the damn
time. They both seemed ridiculously pleased when they saw he’d
eaten some soup. Oliver’s eyes widened when they started pulling
the curtain around the bed, separating him from Damon.
No.

“
No...” God, was that
pathetic, barely-there voice really his?

Damon took a step back so the nurses could
close the curtain. “The nurses are just going to get you comfy. I’m
going to run home and get changed.”

Oliver panicked, but the curtains were
already closed, and someone had stolen what little voice Oliver had
left. What if Damon never came back?

****

Damon turned and walked out of the room, and
met one of the junior doctors heading for it. Damon wasn’t thrilled
with the man, he seemed overeager to prove himself the few times he
had come to see Oliver.

The man seemed to brighten when he saw
Damon. “Mr. Kerrick? Dr. DeSouza wonders if you could spare a few
moments, he wanted to finish going through Mr. Neil’s care plan
with you. You got interrupted earlier.”

Damon’s heart picked up slightly at the
request. He had thought they were finished, and a prickle of cool
concern fanned his arms.

Damon walked to the office he had been in
earlier, quite relieved when he saw the younger doctor wasn’t
following. He rapped on the door impatiently, and walked in since
the door wasn’t completely closed. Dr. DeSouza was on the
telephone, but waved Damon in when he saw him and gestured to the
chair. Damon’s eyes immediately picked out the words Oliver Neil on
the folder on the desk.

Dr. DeSouza put the phone down and looked
apologetic. Damon didn’t waste time on trivialities.

“
What’s wrong?”

The man sighed and opened the folder in
front of him. “I’m sorry, there was one other important thing we
didn’t discuss.” He folded his hands in front of him, and Damon bit
off an impatient prompt. “Now, none of these seem that fresh, but
Oliver has numerous scars on his forearms and one or two on the top
of his thighs.”

Damon frowned. “Well, of course he has.”
Hell, the kid was a complete mess, they all knew that.

“
No, Mr. Kerrick, you
misunderstand me. These are too old to be a result of Oliver’s
assault.”

“
But, he was held for
nearly three weeks.” Damon tried to keep his tone even. He had no
idea with the extent of Oliver’s injuries why on earth they were
making a fuss over a few cuts that were obviously healed. Really,
they had more immediate concerns.

“
I want the hospital
psychiatrist to take a look at him. We were going to wait a few
days for him to be more able to talk before he was seen, but I’d
like another opinion more urgently now.”

Damon stilled. The doctor suddenly had his
full attention. “What do you mean?”

“
I think Oliver is what we
call a ‘cutter’. The scars are clearly old, but I don’t want an old
problem to resurface because of this.”

Damon felt sick.
My poor boy
. “You mean
he’s tried to kill himself?”

“
No, no, Mr. Kerrick,
cutting isn’t necessarily a result of suicidal feelings at all.
Succinctly, it’s often a result of depression, anxiety, loss of
self-worth. I’ve even seen a case where an adolescent was treated
simply because she copied her friend.”

Damon raised his voice. “Copied her friend?”
He took a deep breath. “Explain.” Damon didn’t give a rat’s ass at
how the doctor raised an eyebrow at the order. He swallowed, and
dialed it down a little. “Please.”

Dr. DeSouza carried on with his explanation
and Damon was dazed by the time the doctor finished and stood to
shake his hand. He was struggling to process most of what he’d just
been told and instead of going back to Oliver’s room he headed
downstairs to the parking lot. He was going to his apartment. He
needed to take a shower and he needed to think.

Apparently, Oliver was a prime candidate for
self-harm. He’d struggled to understand why that was different to
Oliver wanting to kill himself, but the doctor had patiently
explained that teenagers, often adolescents, responded by cutting
themselves because sometimes that small part of control over their
own body was the only control they had at all. It produced
endorphins, a “rush” or sometimes relief from an impossible
situation. The doctor had managed to access an old medical and
police report from the time Oliver was twelve, which Damon would
make sure he saw as well. Oliver had been admitted to the ER
because a social worker had followed up on a report that Oliver had
been absent from school for over three weeks with no explanation.
She’d found Oliver clearly distressed and there were blood stains
on his sweat pants. She’d managed to keep Oliver with her and call
an ambulance, but by the time the police had arrived at the
hospital Oliver had disappeared. His mother wasn’t to be found
anywhere and it seemed the trailer they had been occupying had been
vacated.

Apparently Oliver had disappeared, run
likely, before the doctors had chance to do any sort of a rape kit.
Dr. DeSouza telling Damon that the scars were very old didn’t make
Damon feel better at all.

As he pulled into his marked bay, Damon
slammed his fist on the steering wheel in fury. Damon panted, and
after a few seconds drew control around him like a cloak. Temper
had never got Damon anywhere and he forced himself to take calm
breaths. He would call Derek as soon as his plane wheels touched
down. Dr. DeSouza had talked about anti-anxiety meds, then
anti-depressants, which he didn’t like. Damon thought the idea was
to get all that crap out of his system first. He got out of the car
just as his cell rang. It was agent Kinley.

He updated agent Kinley on Oliver’s
progress, never mentioning anything else, and in turn was told it
was unlikely the monster that had tortured him and murdered the
other boys would ever stand trial. He would be locked up forever,
but in an asylum not a prison. Damon didn’t care. It sounded like
the man’s own mind was a bigger punishment than anything the
justice system could come up with.

He walked into his apartment, and carried on
straight to the bedroom and his shower—always immaculate, thanks to
his maid service. Not that they would have had much to do this
week, he’d practically lived at the hospital. He stripped quickly,
tossing his clothes in the basket, and turning on the jets. He
stepped in, tension washing away under the instant hot water, and
soaped himself methodically.

Damon smiled inwardly as his thoughts turned
to Oliver again. That beautiful, pale skin gladdened the Dom in
him. Damon gasped. Pale? Gladden?

What the
fuck
was he
thinking?

He leaned his head back with a bang against
the tiles. The boy wouldn’t ever want anything to do with any sort
of pain ever again, especially being restrained. Damon had to grit
his teeth to actually stop himself being physically sick. He forced
a few breaths through his nose, tried to force the sick feeling
down. He was completely fucked up. What Oliver had gone through?
And Damon was thinking about adding to it?

Damon staggered out of the shower, sopping
wet, and just managed to reach the toilet before he heaved. Hands
trembling, shoulders shaking, he leant back on his knees and closed
his eyes. He’d seen some stuff growing up, been in the system, but
he’d been so lucky being fostered where he was, a walk in the park
compared to what Oliver had been through. Damon got to his feet and
brushed his teeth. Within five minutes, he was on his way back to
the hospital. This was the longest he had left Oliver in five
days.

He could hear the eerie
noise before he got to Oliver’s room, and saw one nurse run out and
another doctor run in.
What the
hell?
Damon almost ran into the
room.

He catalogued the
horrifying picture almost immediately. Oliver was crouched in the
corner, arms over his head, rocking himself, God-awful inhuman
sounds coming out of his throat. The junior doctor was crouched a
good two feet away, as if he daren’t get nearer. The IV had been
ripped from Oliver’s arm and the stand lay drunkenly over the bed.
Most of the sheets were on the floor, probably dragged with Oliver
as he’d gotten—
fallen?
—out of bed. One of the nurses ran back in with a syringe on
a tray. They were going to sedate him? But, his breathing—Dr.
DeSouza had been so definite.

The doctor reached his arm back and the
nurse gave him the syringe. “Mr. Neil…Oliver?” The doctor slid a
little nearer. Oliver was ignoring him; Damon didn’t think he could
even hear him.

“
Let me try.” Damon
urged.

The chatty nurse came into the room at that
moment, eyes wide when she took everything in.

Damon swallowed his pride. “Let me
try…please.”

The doctor sighed. “The hospital cannot be
held responsible for you suffering any injury.”

Damon waved a hand. “Already signed, when I
was allowed to be involved in Oliver’s care.” The hospital had got
him to sign a load of releases before they would tell him
anything.

The doctor stood up, seeming annoyed. “Be my
guest then.”

Damon ignored him and crouched in front of
Oliver. Oliver was still rocking slightly, head buried, his cries
dialed down to soft moans. Blood trickling down his arm where the
IV had been ripped out. His right hand was completely unbandaged,
the other bandage loose, as if it had been started but abandoned.
His chest was missing the dressings, and Damon winced at the deep
cuts that had scabbed over. The skin surrounding them was pink—he’d
remembered the angry red tinge when he’d first seen them.

“
Oliver.” Damon waited for
a flicker, but there was no response. “Oliver.” Damon stretched out
his arm, and the nurse pushed a glove into it, nodding to the blood
running down Oliver’s hand. Damon shook his head. “I have no open
cuts or sores.”
Christ.
Damon shook his head at the implication from the
nurse. That had never occurred to him, he didn’t even know if
Oliver had been tested.

He focused back on Oliver. “Boy, I’m going
to get you back into bed. You’ll hurt yourself.” Damon cupped
Oliver’s face, and Oliver’s shoulders shook. “Oliver I’m going to
lift you now.” The moaning stopped. Damon assumed he was getting
through to him, so he bent down.

Oliver’s lips moved a little.
“You’ll…don’t.”

Damon could have danced when he heard the
soft words.

“
I won’t hurt myself,”
Damon said, guessing at what Oliver was going to say. “Just keep
your arms in for protection.” Oliver nodded. And Damon stood and
bent down, lifting Oliver easily. He nearly sighed, but clamped his
lips so Oliver wouldn’t take it the wrong way—but for God’s sake,
surely Oliver should weigh more than this.

Since this was a private room, the bed was
large enough, so Damon scooted up onto it with Oliver. It never
occurred to him to let go of Oliver for a second. The doctor didn’t
look at Damon, just busied himself re-siting his IV Damon just sat
propped up while two nurses practically made the bed around them.
The doctor finished with the IV, wrote briefly on one of the
charts, and left. The chatty nurse smiled, and refilled Oliver’s
water. “Are you hungry, Oliver?”

No response.

The nurse huffed a little disapprovingly.
“I’ll bring you a sandwich in a little while.”

Oliver didn’t reply. He was resting,
breathing quietly, but Damon knew he wasn’t asleep.

Damon looked at the nurse. “What
happened?”

The nurse pushed a frustrated hand through
her gray hair. “I’m sorry, Dr. Allen thought it was a good idea to
try and see if Oliver could bend his fingers when the bandage was
off.”

Damon’s mouth dropped open.

“
To be fair, text book wise
is was a good idea, but…”

For fuck’s sake, thought Damon,
despairingly. He’d been gone an hour, why the hell couldn’t they
have waited until he came back? Damon just nodded, couldn’t trust
his own voice until he got it under control. The door closed as the
nurse went out.

“
I’m sorry. I didn’t know
they were going to do that, or I would have stayed.” Oliver’s
leaned his head further into Damon’s shoulder. He eased brown hair
off a harsh pain-lined face.

“
N-not your
fault.”

Damon’s smile widened, the rush of relief
fierce at the first real sentence Oliver had spoken.

“
I—” Oliver blinked slowly,
obviously trying to get his thoughts together. “I was asleep. I’m
sorry, I didn’t mean…I thought it was
him
.” Just at that second Dr.
DeSouza walked into the room with Dr. Allen, and both of them heard
what Oliver said. Dr. DeSouza gave his colleague a speaking glance
and the guy flushed red. Dr. DeSouza gave the nurse a few
instructions, looked at Oliver but noticed his eyes were closed
again, and smiled. He nodded to Damon and quietly left.