Edward pinched the bridge of his nose and winced as he tasted and felt thick, coppery blood trickle down the back of his throat. In hindsight, maybe calling his father a 'drunken fool' was a bad idea. Even if it was the truth. After a few minutes, he released his nose and experimentally snorted a few times to make sure the blood flow had ceased. The cool wooden floor of the bathroom creaked slightly as he leaned over the sink. He hocked a dark red combination of semi-coagulated blood and snot into the sink. He immediately felt nauseous and filthy. Shivering, he turned on the water and grabbed a bar of soap. He held his hands under the painfully cold water and scrubbed them with the soap until his skin stung. He scooped some water from the tap and gargled it, spitting the pinkish water back into the sink. He took a rag and dampened it. He rubbed it on his face, cleaning off the drying blood streaks that ran from his nostrils to just underneath his chin. When he was done, he looked and felt sunburned, all pink and sore. His hair, luckily was tied back in a ponytail and didn't get any blood in it.
He examined and gently prodded at his nose in the mirror. With some ice, it shouldn't swell too badly. It was red, though. He realized at some point during his self-examination that his eyes were teary and that his newly cleaned face was smudged by tear streaks. "It's the soap." He muttered angrily to himself, refusing to allow his father to be the cause of his tears. He washed his face again.
About the time that Edward was finished cleaning the blood splashes off of the sink's porcelain, there was a knock at the door. Edward jumped in spite of himself at the unexpected noise. It had broken his focus and made him remember exactly where he was and what he was doing. "Hey, Ch-ssshhamp, I'm ssshhorry." His father slurred from behind the door. "Y'know I juss' ge' mad someti'es."
Edward sighed. "Yes, Father, I am aware of your tendencies. Go to bed, now, before you hurt yourself as well." He said loudly enough that he could be heard without opening the door. He made eye contact with his reflection. "Drunken fool." He muttered. His father hit the door again. It was surely unrelated to Edward's whispering, since the moron's senses were so dulled by alcohol. Edward flinched and then cursed himself for doing so. In a few moments, luckily, he heard heavy, stumbling footsteps walk away from the door and back into the living room. "Drunken fool." Edward repeated, louder now that the drunken fool was not directly outside the door.
Edward made a makeshift icepack out of a plastic bag, some ice cubes, and a paper towel. He wore it across the top half of his face while he slept, hoping that the swelling would be decreased enough to look normal by first period tomorrow morning.
Edward attended school in his normal fashion: by not going to class. There was no point. He knew all the material anyway. Besides, how pointless was music appreciation? Instead, he went to the campus library. By this point, the librarian knew not to fight him on his right to be in the library. He went straight to the back corner, near the silent reading and study section. The lanky creep everyone called "Scarecrow" behind his back was already there. He looked up and made aggressive "keep away" eye contact with Edward. Edward stared back until "Scarecrow" looked back down at his book. Jameson Crane, or whatever his name was, was definitely the weird kid at school. After walking past, Edward touched his still-sore-but-only-a-little-swollen nose to make sure that he wasn't bleeding or anything bizarre like that.
Edward pulled out the same book on minor emancipation laws he'd been reading all through the previous week. Of course, he had never checked them out because he didn't want any nosy library aides gossiping over his reading materials. Though, he acknowledged how unlikely that was, the student aides weren't necessarily above it. He pored over it for the fifth time, furiously looking for some way out of his father's care. He had much of the criteria covered. All he would have to do was be sixteen, expose his father's abuses to the court of law, prove that he was capable of caring for himself, and that he was financially stable enough to support himself. So far, the last one was the only box he didn't have checked. His father refused to let him get a job. Not like he had a habit of obeying his father's commands, or anything, but he also didn't have any form of transportation to or from work. The closest bus stop was five miles away, and his father wouldn't allow him to have a license, let alone a car.
Edward closed the book more violently than intended and shoved it back into its place on the shelf. "Scarecrow" gave an irritated groan at the disturbance, but Edward ignored him. He had been thinking of different ways to get away from his father for years, and so far, every single one of them had proven fruitless. His mother never helped him while she was alive, and she sure as hell wasn't helping him from the afterlife. He couldn't find any other familial relations to take him in. CPS had ignored his requests for home visits because he was a teenager, and not even a poor one. And now, even the legal system was failing him. "Fuck." He cursed quietly as he left the library. He didn't like to curse, but sometimes it really did feel good to do.
Loitering in various popular skipping spots around the school, Edward kept trying to think outside the box. The only answer he consistently came to was juvenile detention. He shuddered to think about living in juvie and about how it would tarnish his name in the future. Plus, He didn't want his father to think he was justified in thinking Edward was a bad kid. Edward came up with plan after plan, nixing all of them eventually. Running away, as appealing as it sounded, would surely end badly for him. A teenager with no money and no home, even a teenager as brilliant as Edward, would probably end up homeless, starving, or both. It was that, or come crawling home to the worst beating he'd ever receive. Edward was angrier with the fact that he couldn't think his way out of his situation than he was at his actual situation. There was a solution, there had to be.
At home that night, Edward listened to his father watch TV. Edward was in his room, but his father had the television's volume loud enough that every word of dialogue was clearly audible. During a commercial break, a soothing female voice spoke of the amazing leaps in psycho-scientific research and medicine being observed at Arkham Asylum. At the end of the commercial a man spoke legalese too quick to understand clearly. Edward sarcastically entertained the idea of becoming an inpatient to escape his father. He smiled to himself until he realized that it might actually be more viable than he realized at first. Sitting straight up, he grabbed his laptop computer and went to Arkham's homepage.
The page was covered in eye-catching positive phrases like "heal your mind and soul" and "promoting mental and physical harmony". Edward scanned through the various pages attached to the site. He discovered that they generally only took patients who committed violent crimes, but they did have a minor's and a non-violent criminal ward. Inpatients could be as young as thirteen, with parental consent. He found an intriguing link on the sidebar. "CONSULT A DOCTOR IN OUR ONLINE CHATROOM. CONFIDENTIAL AND FREE OF CHARGE. ALWAYS A REAL DOCTOR, ALWAYS A MEANINGFUL CHAT." Edward licked his lips nervously before clicking it.
It displayed a 'loading' symbol for about two minutes before coming up with an apologetic looking emoji face with a speech bubble that read "Sorry! All our doctors are occupied at the moment. Try again in a few minutes." Edward scoffed and closed the lid to his computer. Really, how many people could possibly need mental health consultation at 1:27 in the morning? He began to think that perhaps this was a stupid idea brought out by a lack of sleep. He rolled over, blocked out the droning of the TV with his pillow on his head, and slept.
When Edward woke up the next morning, his father had already left the house. He had to admit, the Drunken Fool's ability to get hammered, pass out, wake up hungover, and then go to work anyway was inspiring in its own odd way. It was honestly a miracle that Alan Nashton hadn't been fired for something yet. Edward uttered a short laugh, imagining his father's face if he came home in the midst of Child Protective Services casing the home they shared. Wishful thinking, he knew, but entertaining nonetheless. Edward continued making the scene more elaborate in his mind, complete with reporters, anxious classmates and neighbors on the lawn, and an eventual book deal.
At some point during his fantasizing, he had managed to get on to the school bus, to school, and into first period. He had to make some appearances in class, if for no other reason than to argue with the teacher. At lunch, instead of going to the cafeteria, he went to the library. He instinctively turned in the direction of the law books, but hesitated. He already knew that there was no viable solution through the legal system. Edward decided to sit at one of the computers instead. He typed in the Arkham Asylum website from yesterday, but found it to be blocked by the school's ridiculously sensitive firewall. Edward could get around it, but sighed and logged off instead. It wasn't worth it, and he'd already been on the site yesterday. He doubted that anything major had been changed since he last saw it.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and winced. Still sore. He began to brainstorm what his plan of action was. The idea of becoming an inpatient still somewhat appealed to him. After all, free food and presumable freedom from his father sounded like a sweet deal. There were a few potential problems, however. One, he would need to pull off some kind of mental illness well enough that he could fool one, or potentially, several doctors. Two, he would need to get his father to care enough about him to report it instead of just trying to beat him straight. Three, he needed to know how this would affect his future, in terms of what kind of jobs and weapons an insert-mental-illness person could get.
First things first, he needed to find an illness. Following the Dewey Decimal System that was pasted around the library walls, he found books on psychology in the back, not too far from the law section. Rounding the corner, he saw Scarecrow sitting on the floor in a miniature fortress of books, so immersed in one that he didn't notice Edward step over him. Upon reaching the shelf he was looking for, he instantly noticed that several books were missing. He couldn't seem to find many books specifically on mental illnesses. Most of the books still on the shelf were about the history of psychology or something like that. Edward got goosebumps. Something just told him that Scarecrow had something to do with it. Counting on the weirdo still being totally unaware of his surroundings, Edward casually walked over to the other teenager. Edward glanced at the visible titles. 'Suspicion confirmed.' he thought as he read the title Schizophrenia and Other Psychotic Disorders which was sitting next to Scarecrow's leg on the ground. Calmly, Edward tried to grab the book.
Apparently, Scarecrow was paying more attention than Edward initially realized, because he snatched the book with lightning reflexes before Edward had even bent all the way down. "Hey," Edward said, standing back up.
"I'm reading this." Scarecrow said shortly, putting the book in his lap.
"Well, actually, it's keeping your dick warm." Edward replied, trying to keep quiet about his sass.
"I'm going to be reading this." Scarecrow said in the same tone as before, not looking up. Something about it sent goosebumps across Edward's skin.
"Yeah, right, I got that, but you aren't reading it right now. And I'm not planning on checking it out. I'll just sit here and read a bit and then leave." Edward said reasonably. Scarecrow turned a page, but didn't otherwise respond. "Oh my God, you're such a weirdo." Edward said louder before turning to walk off.
"That kind of attitude won't get you the book." Scarecrow said.
"Yeah, whatever, Scarecrow. The internet is a thing that exists." Edward scoffed and headed towards the front. Behind him, he heard a book slam shut. Edward knew he needed to not be in the library anymore. He trotted forward, ducking slightly in anticipation of the book he assumed would be flying near his ear in a second.
"MY NAME IS JONATHAN CRANE!" Scarecrow stood and shouted before hurling the book he had been reading, at least a foot to the side and behind Edward. It landed on its pages and Edward darted back to snatch it up. Jonathan threw the book that had been in his lap, and the one that Edward was after in the first place, next, and it connected with Edward's shoulder. It didn't hurt, but it was rude. Edward grabbed that one as well, and immediately turned tail and flat-out ran out of the library. The librarian called after him to stop, but he ignored her, as well as the beeping that happened if you left the library with a non-checked book. He maneuvered through the hallway and went outside, not stopping until he was out near the football field.
Sure he wasn't being pursued by Scarecrow or campus police officers, he looked at the first book he had picked up. "Phobias from A to Z?" he read aloud, slightly out of breath. He didn't even need this one. He didn't want to find Scarecrow to give it back, however. Something was really wrong with that kid. Maybe he'd keep it anyway, just in case.