So this hasn't been updated for nearly a year. Huh. Go figure. I was going to keep this on hiatus until I finished some of my other multichaptered stories, but circumstances changed and Potions for Foxes challenged me to update this as much and as fast as possible until January 4. So... here I go.
If this chapter sucks, blame her, not me.
...Ugh.
Chapter Ten
riot
Twenty-five text messages. Twenty-two of them from Kimbley, getting raunchier as time went on, and three from various girls - one he had banged already, two he hadn't. Envy scanned the contents of one (omg hey i got ur number from ash and ur so cool) then slumped forward, so that his chin was resting on the kitchen table and the hand holding his phone was stretched out far in front of him.
Kimbley had texted him last at two-thirty a.m. He supposed he should be grateful that the prick had gotten drunk, or high, or something, and forgotten him. But at the same time, Envy couldn't help wondering whether this would sum up his whole summer - twenty-two texts from Kimbley, three texts from girls, someone else's apartment, and the hot, bright sun streaming in through the kitchen window.
And nothing, yet, from his parents. Though he was beginning to think of that as a lost cause.
It really was warm for only ten o'clock in the morning, Envy thought, using his slouched position to lean even more forward and stretch out his stomach and shoulders like a cat. He yawned, and wished for a better air conditioner. And better friends. And a place to sleep where he didn't feel constant hostility emanating from someone he barely even knew.
Seriously! What the hell had he ever done to make Ed hate him so much? Envy couldn't really think of any reason someone would hate him, except the fact that he existed. Or maybe he had sex with one of Ed's ex-girlfriends and the guy was one of those creepy possessive freaks. Which would be weird. Sure, Envy was possessive, maybe more possessive than most, but that was for his actual belongings. He couldn't understand someone who would actually treat a person like that. He had never met someone even worthy of that level of absolute devotion.
Envy sighed gustily, loudly, and relaxed from his stretch, laying his cheek down on the cool wood of the table in search of some kind of relief from the burning heat. If this early June weather was any indication, Central was in for a sweltering summer. Personally, Envy blamed global warming.
For no reason in particular, he flipped open his phone again. It was one of those fancy cell phones that had a wide, flip-top screen with a keyboard underneath, and was colored a shiny black. There were no new messages, but he had received a voicemail from Kimbley at twelve o'clock a.m.; would he like to open it?
The teenager deleted it without even listening to what his erstwhile friend had to say, then shut his eyes. His life fucking sucked - at least, the past week or so had fucking sucked, and he was beginning to see how much had sucked before that too. Like his choice in friends. Who, besides him, would be enough of an idiot to -
His self-reproaching train of thought was cut off by the arrival of a stormy looking Edward. In concession to the heat, the blonde had donned a black wife-beater, but kept his usual black pants. Or rather, jeans. He was probably one of those strange people that always wore pants, never shorts. Envy - clad in a skimpy tank top and Bermuda shorts - was still practically boiling; he couldn't imagine how uncomfortable Ed must be feeling.
Not that he cared. The bastard was eyeing him with the same baleful golden glare he had been using ever since Envy arrived. The long-haired teenager met his gaze for an instant, then turned away, back to his cell phone. /Whatever, bitch./
Envy heard Ed's bare feet shuffle across the tiled kitchen floor, and then the fridge opening with a horrible squeak. He tilted his head a little and out of the corner of his eye saw the blonde extracting a carton of orange juice, placing it on the counter.
When Ed reached up into the cupboard to get a glass, Envy couldn't resist anymore. "Get me one, too," he said, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the table. Maybe the cool drink would help fight the heat.
It might have been just his imagination but he could have sworn that the cupboard door slammed louder than was necessary. Curious, Envy looked up just in time to see Edward stalking toward the table with two brimming glasses of orange juice. The blonde slammed one of them down in front of Envy so hard that the liquid sloshed over the side and splattered on Envy's hand.
"Hey!" He snatched it away, shaking off the juice, and inspected the cell phone for damage. Nothing major. Wiping the phone on his shorts, he glared at Ed. "Be more careful next time, okay?"
"Excuse me?" Ed's voice was pitched low and angry, but Envy had a bad habit of ignoring danger signs. (After all, why else would he be in this type of situation in the first place?)
"I said," the teenager replied, speaking slowly in case Ed hadn't caught his hasty words, "be more careful next time."
Before Envy could even blink, Ed's fist slammed into his chest, driving the breath from his lungs with a whoosh. He doubled over, chin cracking painfully against the table in his surprise. "A-Ah... What..." He coughed. "What the hell?"
"Shut up!" Ed cried, breathing hard and furiously. He was obviously holding himself back from hitting Envy even more. "Like you have a right to say that! Like you have a right to say anything! All this -" He gestured violently with one hand, knocking over Envy's glass of orange juice with a thud and sending the orange liquid in a flood across the table. "You act like all of this is yours, like we're your servants, because you're some pampered spoiled rich brat who's never had to work a day in his life and -"
Scarcely aware of what he was doing, Envy stood and knocked over his chair. It fell on the tile with a clatter. "Oh? Is that it? Well, servant, why don't you clean up the damn orange juice? Do I say things like that? All I asked for was for you to pour me some fucking juice, and you fucking blow up on me? What the fuck?" He was still gasping from Ed's punch, and took a moment here to snatch a few deep breaths.
"Yeah? That's all you ask? Oh, so you didn't need to ask to get into our house and start eating our food and drinking our fucking orange juice that I work hard to pay for in the first place, because you own this house. You own this town. Isn't that right, Envy who's-too-good-for-a-last-name? You think just because your parents -"
"Parents?!" Envy's voice cracked and he swallowed, embarrassed but too incensed to give up the fight. "Parents! You don't know a thing about my parents, so stop acting like you've got my life all neatly figured out. Because whatever you think, you're dead wrong. Hell, I don't even know -"
"Oh, I'm wrong? Even though you're the one treating me like shi -"
"Shit! Shit! If you didn't glare at me like some arrogant son of a bitch every time you walked past, would I treat you like shit? Hell, do I even treat you like shit? What the fuck is up your ass? A ten-foot pole? Or did someone teach you that being nice is one of the seven deadly sins?"
Suddenly, surprisingly, Ed burst out laughing. But it wasn't carefree or humorous in any way. And when he looked up, his eyes were still furious. "Happiness isn't, but you are. What, was your mom on crack?"
"Hell if I know!" Envy yelled, raising his voice louder than the angry speaking tones that they had confined themselves to before. "Hell if I care! Answer the damn question!"
"What question?" the blonde asked, just as loud as Envy.
"Why the hell you have it out to get me when you don't even know me! That question!"
Edward's anger suddenly turned from hot to cold, and Envy could swear the blonde was giving off a palpable chill. He advanced towards Envy one step at a time, punctuating his words by making the long-haired teenager take a few involuntary stumbles backwards. "Because," he said, glaring fiercely. "Because I know you enough that I know I'll never be able to get along with someone like you. You're the type of spoiled rich brat that always gets whatever he wants. You've probably never had to work for a day. You think you can have sex with whoever - whatever," he spat, "you want. You're just a little kid who thinks that the world -" and here he reached out and shoved, hard, so that Envy's back slammed against the window, the sill digging painfully into his spine "- revolves around him." Another shove.
Growling, Envy pushed Ed away as hard as he could. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed. "Don't you even dare talk about me like that. Do you know what the fuck I've been through? You and Al never once asked me why I showed up on your doorstep. Your brother did it out of politeness. But you already had the little scenario worked out all nice and pretty in your mind." He took a step forward and it was Ed's turn to blunder back. "Do you know what assumptions do, bitch?"
"You're a liar and -"
Envy leaned forward. "Assumptions make an ass out of everyone. But actually, you're the only ass in this building. At least your brother -" he nodded to the doorway "- is a decent human being."
Almost involuntarily, Edward turned to the kitchen entryway. Alphonse was standing there, hair still wet from the shower, looking stricken. "Brother..." he said, and something in his voice made Ed's anger flame even brighter. He turned back to Envy, shoved him so hard that his feet tangled together and he fell backwards and hit his head hard against the wall, then marched out.
"When I come back -" he began, then punched the wall and stopped himself, breaking into a run as he reached the hallway and slamming the front door as hard as possible on his way out.
---
Although she had the means to live well, thanks to a generous inheritance from her deceased great uncle, Izumi Curtis preferred the simple life. She had bought a house in the firmly middle class area of southern Central and proceeded to live her life as a simple housewife, supported by the butcher shop of her husband, Sig. Their residence had been built specially with several extra rooms and a large backyard, because Izumi's dream, ever since she was seven years old and became acquainted with her adorable little cousin, was to have children.
Of course, ever since the accident three months after she had married, that was impossible.
It had been nearly fifteen years, but it still hurt. Figuratively and literally.
She turned aside to cough into her ever-present handkerchief, earning a concerned look from the small, brown-haired girl sitting next to her on the piano bench. "It's all right, Nina," she reassured the child, waving away her concern. "Keep playing."
Nina nodded and resumed laboriously reading the sheet music Izumi had just handed her (Malagueña, by Sarasate), finding the notes one at a time with a look of adorable, wide-eyed concentration gracing her delicate features.
Unexpectedly, the door rang, throwing Nina off again. She frowned and peered closer at the music as Izumi heard Sig's heavy footsteps clumping through the hall and into the entryway. She supposed she was lucky it was a Saturday; otherwise she would have had to interrupt the piano lesson and open the door herself. "It's an A," she told Nina, pointing out the correct key. "Right here."
"Oh," Nina said with the bright, sunny smiles that made her one of Izumi's favorite pupils. "Right."
After only a few notes they were interrupted a third time, as Sig stopped at the doorway to the lesson room and coughed into his hand.
"Yes, dear?" Izumi asked, not looking up.
Sig cleared his throat. His voice was deep and gravelly. "Someone here to see you, hon." She looked up at him sharply, and saw that his expression was grave. "Ed. Edward Elric."
Why was her husband looking so worried...? Distracted, she half stood, putting a few fingers to the sheet music to keep it in place on the music stand. "Ed?" Although she was normally unflappable, the housewife couldn't help but be worried. "Is he -"
"Fine, fine," Sig replied, although Izumi wasn't convinced. "I told him you were in the middle of a lesson. Says he'll wait."
"Right..." Izumi said, sitting back down slowly and coughing once more into a handkerchief. "Then... Nina, keep playing please. We only have ten more minutes together until you go on your vacation and I want you to have plenty of things to practice in case Disneyland gets too boring."
Nina giggled, covering her mouth with one hand as she laughed, and Izumi permitted herself a small smile. "All right," the girl replied. "Miss Curtis, how should I play this chord?"
---
This house was as familiar to Ed as their own small apartment - more familiar, in fact, because they had switched residences when he was thirteen, and he and Al had been coming here for more than seven years. There was the abstract, pastel painting on the living room wall, and here was the collection of ratty, dog-eared Home and Family magazines. Usually, Ed looked at them with a mixture of pity and regret, but today he had no room for any emotion except a dull, red fury.
Slumped on the couch, he glared at the austere, white ceiling, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. Strangely enough they still throbbed a little from when he had hit Envy. He wondered if the stupid rich prince was still in pain as well.
That thought made him grit his teeth and clench his fists so hard that the nails began to bite into his palms. He hadn't meant to blow up at Envy like that, especially in front of Al, but looking back he began to realize that it was probably inevitable. He knew himself well enough to realize that he couldn't have sat around much longer and let Envy boss them around like that.
Stupid bitch, stupid son of a bitch, thought he owned everything, thought because he was rich he could fuck with people's minds, mooch off hard-earned food - as if Ed and Al's lives weren't difficult enough. Edward was about to -
Izumi entered the room looking the same as she had the last time Ed had seen her, nearly half a year ago. Her customary plain white dress left her arms bare and the tattoo on her shoulder clearly visible - a cross with a snake winding around it, adorned with a crown and wings. When Edward had asked her about it when she was a child, the woman had explained it away with a shrug. "What are you here for?" Izumi asked him, looking concerned.
"Er..." Now that he was faced with the person he had walked hallway across Central to talk to, Ed found himself getting tongue-tied. The sight of his old teacher was always formidable, so much so that this often happened. He would be perfectly confident, perfectly self-assured... until he came face to face and met her hard brown eyes. "That is..."
"What, Edward?" Izumi's former concern (/Concern?!/ Ed thought, wondering that the woman could even show an emotion like that) evaporated quickly in the face of his stammering explanation. "Tell me - how are things at home?"
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," Edward said, relieved. "I've been having some problems - not with Al," he amended hastily. "It's just -" A pause.
Izumi sat down in the armchair positioned across from the chair, crossing one leg over the other and looking like nothing so much as a demure housewife. "Your mother? She's fine, isn't she?" When Ed didn't reply at once, she frowned. "She is doing fine, right? Still stable?"
"Oh, no, that's not the problem." Edward swallowed, and suddenly found words pouring out of his mouth faster than he could think. "The thing is - the thing is, we just got out of school and there's this guy, he goes to my school and he's really rich. He's Dante's kid - you know, the Dante? - and I don't know why but he somehow ended up on our doorstep and Al let him in and now he's, like, sleeping at our house on our couch and he won't leave!"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "And...?" she asked, wondering why something as trivial as this would merit Edward coming to see her for advice. Hell, she didn't even know who the Dante was, even though Ed apparently expected her to.
"And so, I don't even know why he can't stay at his huge mansion up in the rich district or why he can't stay with one of the girlfriends he's constantly having sex with. It's like he picked us out just to torment us - to torment me!"
"...How is that tormenting?" Izumi questioned, still not quite understanding.
Edward leaned forward and banged his fist against the table. The housewife winced but did nothing to stop him - for the moment, at least. Once he had gotten all this out of his system, she would give him a lecture about respecting other people's furniture.
"Look. Envy - that's his name, it's seriously a name - is a rich, spoiled little brat. He lies around on the couch all day, sleeps on the couch, doesn't do anything to help out, spends the whole time just checking his cell phone... The only person he'll talk to is Al. But he expects to have dinner cooked for him every night, and juice, and breakfast, and the shower, and his shampoo which Al ran out to buy first thing in the morning when he found out we didn't have it." He growled. "Of course we didn't have it! He uses some special b.s. salon brand!"
Izumi raised an eyebrow. "How well do you know this Envy?" she asked, trying to get a handle on the situation.
Ed, breathing hard in his anger, continued without really answering her question. "He's just so - so - stupid! He's never done a day's work in his life! He doesn't know what it's like to be struggling for years and years just to keep your head above water or to actually have problems or how it feels when everything is going wrong! And yet he expects us to sympathize with him and provide for him and cater to his every whim! Everything he wants, he gets! He thinks the world is going to get handed to him on a giant silver platter if he just sits there and looks rich and pretty."
The blonde was nearly yelling. "He expects everyone to be looking out for him; it's all about him; his money can buy him anything now and he can leave anyone - leave everyone - get whatever he wants whenever he wants it and if his obligations happen to be inconvenient for him, he'll just walk away! Because he's that kind of person! His money has done everything for him and now he expects us to be watching him because he's just so pretty - special - perfect in every way - rich and that's not how life is and I don't want to!"
"Edward..." Izumi leaned forward and met his flaming golden eyes. "Edward, are you talking about that kid... or about your dad?"
The wind went out of his sails with an almost audible whoosh. "It's not -"
"And," Izumi continued, cutting him off forcefully, "it sounds like you barely even know this guy. What makes you think that -"
Ed's anger returned full force. He smacked his hand down on the table (/Again/, Izumi groaned mentally) and said, "I don't need to know him to know that he's a -"
When she put her mind to it, Izumi could hit extremely hard.
---
Envy practically fell into the bathroom, turning the lock on the door as soon as he shut it and ignoring Alphonse's concerned call of, "Envy, you alright?" Pressing a hand to his aching chest, he braced his calves against the ceramic of the bathtub and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the cheerful blue rug, knees drawn up to his chest. His head hurt where it had knocked against the wall when Ed pushed him, his ribs hurt from where Ed had punched him... his wrist was sticky and probably tasted like orange juice.
Other than a bland sort of self-pity, the only thought in Envy's head was (if he had to put it into words) /What the hell?/. The outburst had begun so suddenly that he wasn't even sure now what had caused it. Ed gave him the orange juice and glared, then he was suddenly shouting at the top of his lungs, hitting him - well, that was only twice, and Envy had received worse knocks, but it still hurt.
He rubbed the back of his head and winced when he felt a rapidly swelling bump. Damn.
And damn again, because, really, what had he done?
Besides, of course, be a spoiled rich brat who never had to work a day in his life and was just mooching off the Elrics because he wanted to - as if he would ever want to live completely dependent on someone else's charity. /But you were dependent on your parents,/ a niggling little voice in the back of his head told him. /Never had to work a day in your life - that's true, isn't it? Never had to work, never wanted to work, spending Dante's money just like water because she can afford it./
"Shut up," Envy muttered, glaring at the sink. So what, now even his conscience was starting to sound like Ed?
The thoughts kept coming. /And you're always blaming other people for your own problems, and you think the world owes you, and you automatically think everything will go your way because your mother is famous./
Envy rested his arms on his knees and put his head down, ignoring the ache in his chest and the soreness at the back of his neck. "Okay, I get it," he groaned. His voice was muffled but it still sounded ridiculously whiny. He hated -
There was a soft knock on the door. "Envy..." Alphonse called through the white-painted wood. "Envy, you're in there, right?"
"Yeah," he replied flatly, lifting his head from the door.
A pause, as if Al expected him to continue. Finally, the boy asked, "Are you okay? I mean, big brother pushed you really hard and you fell into the wall..."
"Yeah," Envy said again. "I'm fine."
There was another short silence and the long-haired teenager began to wonder if Alphonse had left. His hopes were dashed when the boy continued, "Look, Envy, I'm really sorry about what big brother did."
"Yeah..." His phone - he hadn't realized he was still holding it - vibrated and he flipped it open without thinking.
"Usually he's much more patient. His behavior has been really bad with you and it's just not like him. I hope you don't get the wrong impression of us... He's really nice, usually..."
From: Crimson
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Callback Number: 530-345-0812
Disgusted, the teenager shut his phone. Why had he expected anything different? Why would anyone have a reason to text him, besides Kimbley and whatever girls he had been trying to catch? He leaned his head back onto the side of the bathtub, feeling the cool ceramic press uncomfortably on his newly formed bruise, and stared up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
"Envy?" Al asked.
"It's okay," Envy told him. "It's okay."
Though exactly what was okay about the whole situation was beyond him.
---
"Fuck," Edward said, the curse summing up the majority of his feelings. It felt good, cussing, so he said it again. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Each word was accented by a scuffling footstep as he trudged his way down the street, squinting a little in the bright noonday sun. "Fuck."
Now that he thought about it, coming to Izumi for advice had probably been a mistake. After six years of piano tutelage and two more years of friendship, though, it had seemed the natural thing to do. Plus, she was the closest thing to an adult authority figure Ed had in his life, ever since his mother -
Ed huffed and shook his head. If that wasn't pathetic - relying on his piano teacher for guidance that had nothing at all to do with music. And then being surprised when said piano teacher hit him, even though he should have been used to Izumi's violent tendencies by now. And then making a promise to her because he was afraid she would hit him again...
"Pathetic," Edward spat, though the word didn't give him quite as much satisfaction as 'fuck'. "She knows I never break my promises. And if I broke this one, she would kill me. And then mom would kill me, if she ever found out."
He knew he was muttering out loud, but didn't bother to stop himself - in the heat of the day the wiser (or luckier) residents of Central had gone home to take advantage of their air conditioning and sleep, and the rest were still at work, probably sleeping as well. Ed didn't blame them. At least their apartment had a working A/C; that was one thing to be thankful for.
Though their apartment also contained a certain long-haired dead weight, who was probably sulking somewhere and being comforted by Al.
"Fuck!" He kicked the concrete of the sidewalk and felt a little better at slight pain in his toes. Maybe he could get out more of his frustration if he went around beating up inanimate objects. It would certainly be better than punching Envy - well, maybe not better for his fists, but at least he would stop looking like the bad guy. /Even though my outburst was completely justified,/ he thought with a grumble. /Even though no one else understands what a humongous prick he is and how it would be better off if he just left and stopped wedging himself into my life./
That thought made Izumi's question come back to him - 'Are you talking about that kid... or about your dad?' - and he kicked the pavement again, jumping on it for good measure. "He's not my dad!" he said, nearly shouting. "This doesn't have anything to do with my dad!"
Growling inarticulately, he sped up, then slowed down. Even though it was boiling hot outside, he didn't want to go back to the apartment. Didn't want to deal with Envy lazing around all the time and asking for things, didn't want to put up with Al's broken-hearted puppydog looks. Didn't want to keep his promise...
But he knew he would have to, eventually.
He was in no hurry.
---
"Riot" by Three Days Grace.
Please review, because I like reviews, and also - I mentioned that Potions for Foxes challenged me to update this as much as I could over Christmas break. She's also updating her story, 'Stuttering Towards Ecstasy' and it'd be cool if you would go over there and check it out.
... And tell her you're rooting for me.