Blue hair’s looking decent today. Spent ages straightening it before school, making sure it falls over my left eye just right. Everyone kept saying I looked like some anime character, which I’ll take as a win. At lunch, me, Jamie, and Tasha walked down by the river, just joking around. I almost forgot for a second what time it was.
Then the shadows started getting long. My stomach knotted. I kept looking over my shoulder, pretending I was just checking the weather, but really I was counting down. My chest monitor beeped twice; not the bad alarm, just the warning and I knew I had to get home. Told them Mum was strict about curfew. They laughed, said she was probably waiting with a slipper like in old sitcoms.
If only.
I made it home, locked myself in my room, tried breathing exercises. Still happened. Grey skin, clothes tearing, monitor gone. Didn’t even remember where I ran until I woke up in the park, Stone licking my face like I’d just fallen asleep there.
Mum’s ashtray was full when I got back. She didn’t shout this time. Just gave me that look... tired, disappointed, but also... worried. She asked if I hurt anyone. I didn’t answer.
— Damien
Nathan’s an arse. Came home from work all high-and-mighty, acting like I’m the reason his life’s hard. Said if I "just controlled myself" maybe we wouldn’t be living in a shoebox flat above a shop. I wanted to yell back, but I could feel my skin prickling. My jaw clenched. I backed off. I’ve learned that yelling can be as dangerous as fists.
He’s been winding up Scissor again, trying to make him more “protective.” All that’s happening is he’s gonna lose another chunk of his hand. Scissor already growls when Nathan walks in. Stone’s smarter. He just curls up next to me like he knows when things are about to go wrong.
Mum keeps saying I’m “all smiles in the daylight” but a “walking storm” at night. She’s not wrong. I hate how right she is. I’m scared of myself but I’m not allowed to show it. Everyone thinks I’m this fun, loud guy. If they saw what I turn into… they’d run.
— Damien
Hospital again today. Just “monitoring,” they said, like they’re checking a weather report instead of deciding if I’m safe to be outside. I pretended I didn’t care, made dumb jokes about the blood pressure cuff cutting off my arm. The nurse laughed. I wish I could tell her I wasn’t fine.
Full moon tonight. Doesn’t matter if I’m calm... it’s happening. I’ve already hidden the fragile stuff in my room so I don’t smash it. Claire keeps asking what’s “up my arse” lately, and I keep telling her to piss off. Truth is, I don’t want her in the crossfire.
Mum’s smoking more than usual. She says she’s “just stressed,” but I know I’m the reason. She’s got that raspy cough again. I keep wondering if one day she won’t be here at all, and that thought makes my chest ache worse than the monitor straps.
When I transform, it feels like my heart is tearing out of my ribs. But the part that really hurts is when I hear her voice calling me home and I’m too far gone to answer.
— Damien
Sometimes I think being the youngest just means being the family’s punching bag. Nathan’s twenty, thinks he’s the man of the house just because he’s got a job. He acts like he’s some kind of superhero for paying bills, but he’s actually just a prick who shouts too much and takes it out on everyone. He’s always winding up Scissor, then blaming the dog when it bites him. Honestly, if anyone deserves a scarred hand, it’s him.
Then there’s Claire. She’s eighteen and thinks she knows everything. We argue about the stupidest stuff: music, clothes, whatever. She always calls me “the baby” like I’m still in nappies. I hate it. She doesn’t get how much I’ve been through, like she hasn’t seen me tearing out of my skin when the moon’s full. But no, to her I’m just “little Damien with his blue hair and cartoon doodles.”
Mum… she’s complicated. She loves me, I know she does, but it feels like I’m just one more problem on her long list. The smoke around her’s so thick half the time I can barely breathe. She says she doesn’t mean the things she says when she’s angry, but it still stings.
And then there’s Madison. My cousin. She lives all the way in Alaska and somehow she’s got it easier. She’s an only child, no Nathan breathing down her neck, no Claire acting superior. Just her and her parents. I know she’s got her own problems (we all do), but sometimes I’m jealous as hell. She doesn’t have to fight for attention. Doesn’t have to be compared to an older brother who thinks he’s the second coming of Christ.
It’s like she gets to be the main character in her house, while I’m stuck as background noise in mine. Being the youngest Cross means everyone talks over you, or at you, but never with you.
I wish, just once, someone would actually listen to me instead of treating me like I’m either too young or too much trouble.
— Damien