Pure Innocence by Victoria Sue Page A

can’t, can I?”
    Damon dropped to his knees and held his boy
as he sobbed. He’d thought Oliver had cried at the hospital, but he
had been so wrong. This wasn’t crying, it was gut-wrenching,
soul-destroying torture. Oliver sounded like a wounded animal that
was being kicked. Damon knelt, completely helpless, and just
wrapped Oliver up, as firmly as he dared. The last cry was
accompanied by such a defeated slump that for a second Damon
thought Oliver might have fainted, but then he heard a shuddering
breath, and closed his eyes against the relief that made them
sting.
    “ I-I’m sorry. You must be
so sick of this.” Oliver slurred the words.
    Damon stood up, and bent down and pressed
his lips to Oliver’s head. He didn’t trust his voice to be steady.
He swung Oliver up, and settled Oliver’s smaller head into the
crook of his neck. He carried him unprotestingly into the bedroom,
and scooted on the bed, all the while holding him carefully so as
not to bang his hands. Oliver snuggled close to him.
    Damon took a steadying breath. “My foster
mom always said things looked better after a good cry.” He leant
his cheek on the top of Oliver’s head, and just barely resisted the
urge to press a kiss there. “You’re allowed. Something really bad
happened to you, and you’ve been incredibly strong for days over
this.” He paused. “You’ve looked after yourself for a really long
time. I know this is hard—hard to let someone else—incredibly
difficult because being dependent on someone other than yourself
takes a huge amount of trust.” He’d felt Oliver’s body relax a
little. “This is the plan. We’re going to get you well, and strong.
You’re going to be happy. You’re going to figure out what you want
to do with the rest of your life, maybe even go to college.” Oliver
sighed and settled into Damon a little more. “That’s all you have
to concentrate on. I’ll take care of everything else.”
    Damon paused, and eventually heard a little
snore. He blinked slowly, and leaned his chin on Oliver’s head. He
took measured breaths, concentrated on the fact that Oliver was
safe because the bastard was behind bars, breathed, and tried
hard—tried incredibly hard—not to want to put his fist through
something.
     
    ****
     
    Oliver blinked slowly. For a second, he
wondered where he was, then memory rushed in. The other half of the
bed was empty, and he wondered where Damon was. Probably out
calling a psychiatrist to come and cart Oliver off after being
cried all over.
    Then the door opened and Damon smiled as he
walked in carrying a tray. “You never got any soup.” He put the
tray on the side table and very efficiently helped Oliver to sit
up.
    Oliver was pleased. He was able to take a
little weight on his elbows to help Damon get him up. He glanced
over at the bathroom longingly.
    “ Do you need to
pee?”
    Oliver’s face flamed, and he nodded.
    “ No problem, we need to
work this out.”
    Oliver had just peed into a plastic
bottle-like contraption while he was still in bed, after the
catheter had come out. The last day in the hospital a nurse had
taken him to the bathroom every time.
    Damon carefully helped him out of bed and
steadied him. Oliver followed him to the bathroom and Damon quickly
and efficiently pulled his sweats and briefs down. Oliver sat,
unable to force any words out, trying hard to keep his face
averted, and trying hard not to just want to curl up and die. Damon
left him, but in a couple of minutes he was back to help Oliver
stand and pull his pants back up. “There, easy.”
    Damon seemed pleased. Oliver was just too
embarrassed to reply.
    Damon guided him to the big easy chair in
the corner, where there was a bowl of steaming soup resting on the
table next to it. Oliver inhaled appreciatively and his stomach
growled. Damon chuckled. “I’ve had mine. Sorry, I couldn’t
wait.”
    “ Do you like dunking your
bread in the soup?” Oliver settled in the chair while Damon