High By The Beach ++ Damijon

1

Notes: Despite the name of the book, this book has nothing to do with drugs or getting stoned at a beach. It is merely just me pouring my Damijon fantasies onto a computer. Nothing special. Also, there is a lot of break-up related, sad couple things in this book. If you don't like, don't read. If you do, I hope you enjoy. Finishing off my note, for the Part One thing on the cover, there is two more parts to be written. I'm not sure how many chapters are going to be in this first book, so bear with me. Jessica the author. How original.

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"WE'RE DONE! IT'S OVER, KENT!" Damian shouted, tears threatening to fall out of his eyes. Jon stood in the middle of a trashed room, eyes not focusing on Damian. "We. are. OVER! I can't believe I ever loved you! Hell, I probably wouldn't have if you-" 

"Just leave." Jon whispered. In his hands, he clutched a framed photograph. "go." 

"-you cheating BITCH-" Damian's eyes widened, filling with hurt. Jon gripped the frame tighter, feeling the glass crack under his touch. "Go to hell-"

SMACK. 

Red began to sprout on Damian's tan cheek. "Get out." 

Damian slowly reached a hand up to his cheek, glaring at Jon, who was out of breath, panting. His face was red, eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. Damian stood there in shock, for once that afternoon, quiet. His hand was still holding onto his cheek. This... this wasn't Jon. 

"Get. The. FUCK. Out." Jon growled. Damian blinked, frowning. 

"Fine then. This is goodbye then, Kent." And with that, he walked out of Jon's apartment, throat tightening. The tears from earlier returned, now flooding. No. He wasn't going to cry. He can't. He won't. He was stronger than this... 

Stronger... yet... plop. 

Damian perked up at feeling off something wet on the collar of his shirt. He hesitantly brought a hand up to his face... something cool rolled down one of his fingers. He was...

Crying. 

And he couldn't stop. He didn't cry. He can't cry. He won't. He wants to. He did. He is... Damian backed up onto the door of Jon's apartment, sliding down. Sitting on the floor. His hands wiped at his face, hiding his incoming sobs. It hurt. It was painful. 

Seeing Jon like that. It wasn't painful physically, but mentally. Emotionally. But that wasn't his Jon. His love. His Beloved. That wasn't the bubbly air-headed nerd. That was... his fault. His fault. 

Tears continued to fall as the piercing feeling in his chest stabbed deeper into his heart. 

And for some reason...

Crying helped. It helped. It helped Damian Wayne, one who never cried, feel more dead and empty than before. Emptying out his emotions, emptying out his bitterness, replacing it with nothing. Leaving it as it is. 

And that hurt. 

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Jon sat at the opposite side of the door, head throbbing, heart throbbing, body throbbing. The picture he was holding earlier was hurled at the wall, shattered to pieces. All that remained was the shards of glass and the broken frame on top of an old picture. 

He ran his hands through his hair, moving down underneath his glasses, rubbing at his tired eyes. Stubble from last night grew fast on the half-Kryptonian, making his young face look ten years older. 

"I fucked up... I FUCKED shit up..." Jon threw his head back, slamming it against the door. He didn't recoil or groan in pain. It didn't hurt compared to how his heart was feeling right now. He and Damian just broke up.