#in my cotemporary fiction title era

[consul-valerius]

Tell Me How it Felt (it felt the same for me, too)

In which mama and son share a joint and the same, morbid story, starting with the simple question: Can you remember how you died?

Rating: T for a good ol smoke sesh and discussions of death & dying

Characters involved/mentioned: Donna & Damien; mentions of Valerius, Valdemar, and a brief discussion of Lucio

Words count: ~2760

Content warnings for: casual drug use, descriptions of insects and body horror (in the context of the plague), implied abuse, discussions of sickness/the plague, discussions of death, general references to past kidnapping (this is Damien’s go-to warning lol)

A/N: I apparently had this finished for AGES and just never posted ? LMAOO but some good old morbid family bonding times lmao or when Damien realizes that time is a circle, and Valdemar may not be all they seek to be lol very dialog heavy and more of a character study

Damien held his breath, swallowing down a gasp. No matter how often it happened, his mama always surprised him at these late hours. He was always so sure that if he waited just enough, his late-night walks would go unnoticed. But no, no matter how late the evening grew, he was sure to find his mama sitting out on the veranda, a joint wilting away in their small hand.

The first time had been awkward; Damien hadn’t known what it was, the smell foreign and nauseating. Donna had fumbled to explain themself, to justify that it wasn’t tobacco, that it was better than that if he could believe it. He knew how much his father hated cigarettes—which never stopped Damien from smoking them, but the idea of his mama smoking them was initially alarming. Damien's logical conclusion was to ask for a hit if it was so much better, his curiosity buzzing inside his gut.

It was difficult for Donna to tell him no—standing before them was a young man, older than they had been when they had started smoking. He wasn’t their baby boy any longer; how could they say no? There was plenty to share, like that could ever be an excuse. Better he does it with them and not one of those snotty rich kids. They would probably give him something laced, the sickos.

That was the beginning of it; be it morning or night, they would pass a joint back and forth, mostly sitting in silence or humming or weaving stories together. Some real, some fantasy, most a mixture of the two.

“You got enough for a second person?”

“For you, mi vida? Always.”

Donna was always prepared; once Damien finished the rest of what Donna was smoking, they were already beginning to roll another. They had tried countless times to teach Damien. Every time ended the same: they suggested he marry someone who could roll for him whenever he wanted. Still, he watched them closely, his eyes wide as they worked. They didn’t mind this; by now, they were used to his staring. It was a new habit, one that typically put off others. But never Donna.

“Does father ever do it?”

“Do what? Roll? Gods no. He can’t even pack me a bowl!” Donna snorted, their laughter a bit wheezy. It made Damien smile. “He prefers edibles anyway. He can make a mean pot brownie—you can barely taste it.”

“Gods, it’s been so long since I’ve had papa’s desserts…”

“We’ll make some tomorrow! It’ll make him happy if you ask him. Did I ever tell you the story?”

“Of how he won over Titi Dominique by making her flan?”

“Yes! We thought he’d win her over with sangria, but it was the flan that did it. She said it was almost as good as my abuelo’s. Almost. I’d never tasted it, but can you picture that? Your old man beating out someone who grew up making it?”

“No wonder he liked making it. Must have given him a big head.”

“Huge. But he earned it.”

“That time anyway.”

The two giggled at that as Donna passed Damien the joint. Damien raised his eyebrows, frowning.

“You rolled it, mama.”

“I smoked more than you. Go, it’s for you.”

Damien smiled, his chest swelling. I love you. He had never realized how much his mama said without saying it. And so clearly too; nothing ever felt like a secret. Most times he had to consult some higher power to figure out what his father was saying sometimes, what he actually meant. But, and Damien could admit this, he was almost the exact same way. Glancing up at Donna, he summoned a flame to his fingertips. They smiled and shut their eyes, reclining into the padded bench.

Are you my mother? Am I really yours?

“Mama?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you remember how you died?”

Damien almost immediately regretted the question. He winced as if he was hurt, his hands shooting up to pull the roots of his hair. Donna’s eyes were wide open, though their lips were a tight line. In the low light of the moon, Damien could see the raised scars along their mouth and cheek. Three gashes. One more trailed to their neck. He had grown up looking at them, it was never out of place. But he knew his father had known them before it. Had seen their face before they were his mama. Before everything.

“I… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying, it’s late I—“

“It’s only a little morbid.” Donna tried to laugh as they ran their hand over their face. “But I think we’re both a little morbid. You gotta be, I think. In this family anyway.”

“You really don’t need to answer. I was just talking. I’ll be quiet!”

“No, no, no,” Donna sighed, bending forward to place their arms on their knees. “You’re your father’s son. You can talk to me, Damien. And you can ask me things.”

“I don’t have to ask everything.”

“Do you remember what your Titi Dominique said when you were little? Of course, you probably don’t. That’s okay, I can’t remember half of the things she said to me when I was little.”

Damien held his breath as Donna softly grabbed both of his hands. He was pulling his hair. Hard, he finally registered. They guided his hands to begin twiddling the ends of his hair instead. He repeated the motion without thinking as he focused his gaze on his lap. He didn’t need to see it to know his mama was smiling. They did this with him ever since he was little—that he remembered.

Remembered clearly.

“Well, anyway, the point is she was always saying how much she loved your questions. All the time, she would have the whole inn roaring in laughter as she listed off all the things you asked her that day.”

“They were laughing at me?”

“Oh, they loved you! They thought you were the smartest little guy around! They loved how brutal you were. So to the point. They thought you were the best kid—and they were right, you know.”

Damien sat in silence, a small smile tugging on his lips. Donna smirked before reclining back into their seat.

“All of that to say that you can ask me things. Anything. Even the gross stuff. Like what’s the best lube to use for anal.”

“Mama!“

“But I can’t really remember what it felt like to die, no. Or how exactly it happened,” they finally continued, silencing Damien swiftly. “I don’t have a lot of memories of the plague. Might be the magic, might just be… it sucks to die. Especially like that. But that entire time was just… death, death, death. Everyone felt like they were dying—if not now, then soon.”

“Papa said there wasn’t enough room for the bodies. Is that… is that true?”

“It is. I remember how much we tried to make up for it. But nothing was the same, nothing would ever be good enough. The lazaret was the last choice, but we had to. You’ve talked to your father about this?”

“Only… only one time. He got a little… a little wonky.”

“It was a dark time for him. For all of us, but… but especially him.”

“He lost you. That’s when he got wonky… talking about you.”

“He lost more than just me,” Donna inhaled sharply, shutting their eyes again. Damien reached out and held their hand. They ran their thumb over his the charred top of his hand; they didn't react at all to the rough texture. “Your father… loves this city. In some ways it’s like his first child—shit, that is totally not something I should be saying to you—"

“No, no, like… I know. Comes with being the former consul’s son and all.”

“So you understand! Even before he lost me, he was losing his people. No one knew when the plague would end—if it would ever end. Entire families were dying together. A whole generation gone. Just here one day, gone another. And your father could do nothing—even Nadia, if you can imagine it, could do nothing.”

“It’s hard to picture that… that she couldn’t just like… will the plague to end with her sheer mental fortitude.”

“I think she hates that too—that she couldn’t do the impossible. And it was impossible. It didn’t matter what we did—the plague wouldn’t stop, even if we moved people to better, safer places. Even if we put a physician in every home. It wouldn’t have ended. Not with… him there.”

Damien took a long drag from the joint next. He refused to acknowledge the chill running up his spine, so much like a finger tickling him. He felt eyes burning into him, somewhere hidden, far away. Always far away.

“You don’t… you weren’t there when it happened, right?”

“What?”

“The masquerade… when… you know—“

“No. I had died before that. It’s funny, in some ways the masquerade feels like some fucked up fairy tale I was told as a kid. But it wasn’t that. And I wasn’t a kid either.”

“It’s more like a scary story for me. Like a… what’s the word? Like it’s teaching you a less—“

“Cautionary tale! Like a cautionary tale.”

“Yes! Any time you guys mention… the old count, you get that way. He’s like the bogeyman.”

“He was the bogeyman. Or he wanted people to think so anyway. Really he was a massive loser, but he was a loser with a body count. So that makes him dangerous.”

Damien swallowed, ignoring what he thought sounded like stomping feet. Like a child having a tantrum. He could only stare at the scars on his mama’s face.

“But… shit, where were we?”

“Dying…?”

“Dying! Yes. I… I really don’t remember much of it. I vaguely remember getting sick. Or at least what made me sick—this is a bit graphic. Are you sure you want to hear?”

“Yes. If I don’t I’ll… I’ll interrupt you.”

“Perfect.” Donna took another deep breath, grounding themself. Damien leaned closer, dread and excitement eating away at him. “I’ve told you already I was the head physician's assistant. We had worked together before in the palace—they were the quaestor proper, but medicine was really where their interests were.” Damien felt his blood run cold; he couldn’t read Donna’s face, their eyes far away. He suddenly felt jittery and itchy. “Or maybe not medicine. I thought it was medicine, but really it was just…” They paused, swallowing. Damien could have sworn he heard a giggle—a real giggle—and had to stop himself from gasping. “Dying. They were very interested in people dying. How it happened, what it looked like, all that shit. That meant they were very hands-on with the patients—I’ll spare you those details. Just know that I was always at their side, recording anything and everything they told me to.

It started out with just writing down their weird little rambling, then it got more… hands-on. Helping them jar specimens. Helping them prepare a body. I never questioned any of it, not after the first week. I was just so… so lost.”

I know how you feel—I felt like that with them too.

“I was still reeling from being banished—my face hadn’t even healed properly. And it was a lot of dying people all the time—it never stopped. You just… grew numb to it. That’s what makes me the most upset, I think. That I didn’t remain upset by everything, that it no longer scared me. I just… let things happen to me.”

Donna paused to rub Damien’s shoulder; he had started to tremble. He clung to their hand.

“I should stop—“

“No! No… please, you’re the only one who talks to me like… like a person. Like I’m an adult.”

Donna frowned at that; it was clear they wanted to address it, wanted to refute it. Instead, they took another long hit before continuing.

“That’s why I don’t even remember when I got sick. It just was a thing that happened to me after a lot of things had already happened to me. I remember we were examining a blister or something like that—it was ginormous and weird and… I think one of the beetles had kind of… burrowed into their skin? Something gross like that. And then. Well. That was it. It was on me and it must have bit me. The rest is truly a blur: I was okay, and then I wasn’t, and then I was taken to the lazaret and—“

“You were still alive? When you went to… when they took you? I thought just the bodies went. So they could be taken care of. Not real people...”

“I would have gotten people sick, Dami. They… they couldn’t keep me there—“

“But all the other patients stayed? Why send you then when you were alive?”

Donna’s brows knit together; it felt like Damien was shouting at someone, someone else entirely. Accusing a person who wasn’t there. Was there?

“I don’t… I don’t know. That’s just how it happened. I was so sick, I didn’t… I don’t remember anything of the island just the boat ride and then… I died there.”

“But dad? You must have been able to say goodbye. He must have… they must have—“

“No. He… I would have made him sick, Damien. Valdemar, they…”

Donna’s voice broke, finally. It was just like speaking with his father: everything was factual, to the point, until either one had to speak of the other. It was too painful for the couple to think of, to think of one without the other, to think of never being able to say goodbye. But it had happened, the memory like a scar deep inside one another. Unseen but felt.

I know. That’s how I felt too when they made me leave without saying goodbye.

“We can stop, mama. That’s… we can stop. I'm sorry I got upset--”

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t as cool of an answer as I thought it would be. I can make one up? Or you make one up?”

“You’re asking your only child to make up a story about how you died?”

“That’s… terrible when you say it out loud, yeah. I guess my maternal skills are… lacking.”

And then they were laughing. They both had the same, wheezy cackle that could shake the leaves off of trees; tears stung their eyes as both took turns hacking into their arms. Naturally, Donna’s hand landed on Damien’s back. He leaned closer to them, resting his head on their shoulder as he giggled. Donna sighed, snuggling closer to him.

“That’s… all over now, though. I mean, look! I’m here! Flesh and all! Lots of flesh. Maybe too much.”

“Flesh, flesh, flesh…” Damien murmured, a sleepy smile on his face. Donna smiled and shook their head.

“Let’s get you to bed. It’s double not a good thing to get my only son high out of his mind when we have work to do tomorrow.”

“Nah, I think that part’s fine. Every parent should do this.

“Let’s go, mi Vida. I’ll walk you.”

Linking pinkies, Donna led the pair back to Damien’s chambers. They continued whispering on the walk back, both cracking harmless jokes at one another. Once they made it to Damien’s room, he stopped them, holding both of Donna’s hands in his. They had finally registered that he was without his gloves; his charred skin rubbed against theirs, the blacks of his hands clashing with their skin.

“Are you mad, mama?”

“Not at all, my darling boy. When I say you can ask me anything, I mean it.”

Damien held their hands tighter, looking down at their feet. He looked so much like he did as a child, with the same pout and the same puffed cheeks. Despite everything, despite the years and space and grief, he was still their son.

He was still theirs.

“I… I’m glad you’re my mom. And I’m glad you’re here.” Damien swallowed, refusing to look at them. He didn’t need to see that tears were welling in Donna’s eyes, didn’t need to hear this was something they had craved hearing from him. “I love you. Good night.”

“I… I love you, too, vida,” Donna whispered before placing a flurry of kisses on Damien’s head. He snorted, finally grinning. “I’m glad you’re my son. And words can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here—that we can both be here.”

They didn’t need to see the tears welling in Damien’s eyes as he bolted to his room. Didn’t need him to say it to know he had been craving those words from them for some time. Perhaps ever since he came home.

Mother and son, both dead and rising from the grave, wishing one another good night, promising that they would see each other in the morning.