Damien PoV
I sighed as I walked on ahead to my favorite exhibit. Shelly probably think that I'm a monster now. She was probably thinking that I was a cold-blooded killer, that I was a monster just like the rest of my family. I could see the fear in her eyes, the wariness in her steps. But I wasn't like that. I was just slaying one of the many monsters in my family.
I had to do it. I had to kill Auntie M. I had to protect the kids. I had to protect the innocent from her. I had to stop her from hurting them. She was a monster. I'm not a monster. I'm a hero.
I stopped in front of the painting and took a deep breath. But was I really a hero? Did my action really save anyone? My aunt was just the tip of the iceberg. There were so many more monsters out there who worked with her. Looking back at it, I wished I had tied her up instead of killing her. Then I could have forced her to expose them all. Maybe then I could have save those who got sold off.
I stopped and stared at a painting of a man wallowing in guilt, his face twisted in anguish, his eyes pleading with the viewer for forgiveness. I couldn't help but feel like I was looking in a mirror, my own reflection staring back at me. The weight of my own guilt pressing down on my shoulders, threatening to crush me. The feeling was all too familiar.
It had been a long time since I had felt this way, the guilt eating away at my insides. But this world was evil. And sometimes, doing something evil to stop something more evil was the only choice. I did what I had to do.
Yet, no matter how often I repeated that to myself, the guilt remained, gnawing at my conscience. I closed my eyes and tried to push the thoughts away. I had to focus on the present, on the art in front of me. On Shelly. On having fun with her.
I turned to look at her, and she was gazing at the painting with a thoughtful expression, her eyes taking in every detail. She had a real appreciation for art, I could tell. It made me happy to see her enjoying something I was passionate about.
"This one is interesting," she said, her voice soft.
I nodded. "Yeah, it is."
"I like it. The way the artist captured the man's emotions, the pain and guilt. It's like you can feel it yourself." She turned to look at me. "But what about you, Damien? What do you feel when you look at it?"
Her question caught me off guard, and I hesitated. What did I feel when I looked at it? Guilt, guilt, and guilt. The image seemed to mock me. But, I couldn't share that with her. Not when I wanted her to think of me as a joyful person, not a monster.
"The colors, the way the artist used the light and dark. It's striking."
Shelly smiled. "It sure is. I wish I could paint like that."
I laughed. "Don't sell yourself short. You have your own style. You just need practice."
She hummed. "How do you know? You've never seen my art before. Or have you?"
I chuckled. "I assume. Besides, you'll be able to practice at my studio. I'll show you some tips."
Shelly grinned and punched my shoulder playfully. "If that's a trick to just make fun of my lack of skill then no thank you."
I smiled and looked into her eyes. "Trust me, it's no trick."
I stared at her, my gaze unwavering. She took my hands into hers. Taking a deep breath, I felt her warm hands. "Hey, Damien," she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I lied, feeling guilty about killing Auntie M and for the kids I never got to save. I couldn't stop replaying the moment I ended her life, stabbing her with the kitchen knife over and over again until she bled to death. The walls had been covered in her blood.
It was the scariest thing that ever happened to me. The fear and adrenaline... I could barely keep myself from breaking down. I had been shaking for days. No matter what my mom said, the guilt wouldn't go away.
Shelly sighed. "I might not be as observant as you, but even I know when someone's faking a smile." She hugged me. "It's okay, Damien. You don't have to live in the shadows. Let your guilt go. Talk to someone. Share the pain. Get it off your chest. I know you're a nice person. If you weren't, you wouldn't be guilty. You have to trust someone. It doesn't even have to be me. But if you keep it all to yourself, you'll eventually fall."
I took a deep breath, feeling a lump in my throat. She was right. She was right.
Shelly's arms wrapped tighter around me. "Thank you for trying to protect the innocent, Damien. You did what was right in the end. Even though I'm still scared that a person I've been spending time with could snap, I'm still grateful. Having one less danger around makes me feel safer."
My throat tightened and I couldn't bring myself to answer her, instead, opting to bury my face in the crook of her neck and let a sob escape my lips. She held me close, stroking my back as I let the emotions wash over me, the flood of sadness and guilt pouring out of me.
We stayed like that for a long time, the two of us wrapped together, until I pulled back and wiped away my tears.
Shelly smiled and gave my arm a squeeze. "Feeling better?"
I laughed softly. "A little. Thanks. Sorry I was so weird and intense there. Sometimes, it feels like a nightmare. I regret bringing it up. I ruined our outing, again."
Shelly laughed softly. "That's alright. Sometimes, it can be cathartic to let your feelings out. But don't worry, I won't judge you or think less of you."
My face warmed up. She might've been a bit brash, but she had a heart of gold. If only the world didn't chew her up like they do to everyone who doesn't conform.
As if sensing my thoughts, she punched my arm. "And don't you go being a sap," she joked, a light in her eyes that belied the words, and the two of us broke down laughing. "Come on, we better finish checking out the art."
I gasped as she grabbed my hand and dragged me along. My fingers felt funny, in a way I they hadn't in years.