{Chapter Twenty-Seven: Relapse}
Dok couldn't believe what had just happened.
Two days after the outsider had been put into their custody and a disaster had already happened. Levi was gonna kill him.
Cautiously, he reached out towards the shivering, wide-eyed teenager again. Again, Ghoul recoiled with a soft whimper.
"Dammit, what the hell were you idiots thinking?!" he barked, making the guilty flinch. Ghoul also retreated further into his turtle-like ball.
The commander had been on his way to check on the outsider, maybe question him a bit, when he'd heard the screams. He'd been quick to identify the voice as Ghoul's, and had run the rest of the way. What he'd found was the boy pinned to the bed by the two who were supposed to have been guarding him, trying to struggle as he was forcefully undressed.
The results were Ghoul refusing to speak other than to chant apologies and plead forgiveness. His eyes were wide and glittered with fear and tears, but they were glazed over. His breath was harsh, ragged and so quick it sounded like he wasn't getting any oxygen into his system at all. Sweat coated his skin. He hadn't even put his shirt back on, leaving his upper torso exposed. His hair was a mess, the binding on it having come loose.
This was the morning after, and he was still in this state...
Dok sighed in annoyance, laced with pity.
Levi was going to kill him.
"I'll deal with you two later. Get going." Dok growled, flicking his wrist at the two idiots who'd created the whole mess. They quickly obeyed, looking unsure of what they'd done wrong. With a noise that was both a sigh and a growl, Dok turned back to Ghoul. "Oi, kid."
"... sorry, so sorry, won't do it again, I promise, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
That was really starting to get on his nerves, but snapping only made him worse... Dok sighed. He wasn't good with situations like this. That was what the Garrison was for, calming people down.
Carefully, the MP's leader reached out again, this time catching Ghoul's shoulder. The thin ravenette froze, whimpering in the back of his throat. "Oi, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you unless you make me, idiot." he said, somewhat roughly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, please don't..."
Dok threw his hands up and began pacing. Eyes of two different colors watched him from behind bangs and fingers, following him back and forth.
Ghoul wasn't sure what was going on. He was still half-asleep, it seemed. He felt dizzy, and his chest felt like it had iron bands around it, squeezing him so he couldn't breathe. He didn't remember much. He'd been asleep, and then hands— Real ones, not just a nightmare— had suddenly grabbed him. He couldn't struggle— Caught by chains and hands, his hands were useless.
Then there had been yelling. Lots of yelling. Ghoul'd fallen into a trance of some sort, only feeling the hands that no longer abused him still groping about his body.
But he was starting to wake up now.
"... Thank you..." he whispered, unfurling a bit, though he kept his face covered with his hands.
"What?! Speak up!" Dok snapped, irritated.
Ghoul moved his hands a bit, and said again, still softly, "Thank you..."
The commander stopped, somewhat startled.
"... for... stopping them..." Ghoul mumbled, drawing his knees back up again.
Dok t'ch-ed, rolling his eyes.
The commander had stopped at an angle where he could see the scar across Ghoul's back. From the top of the right to just below the left shoulder-blade, skin that was white even compared to Ghoul's deathly-pale skin, the healed-over wound slightly lower than the rest of his skin. His long hair hid some of it, clinging to his skin thanks to his sweat. How thin he was also added to the pitiful appearance. His ribcage stood out almost way too much. He'd been taken care of by the Scouts, but his eating habits were... almost anorexic. The boy refused to eat almost anything. This was justifiable with the story of his being used to one meal every other day, but it was still infuriating. Because of that, shouldn't he eat everything put before him?! For all he knew, he'd go back to that little food the next day!
Ghoul shivered suddenly, jerking Dok from his thoughts.
The brat still hadn't put his shirt back on.
Ghoul bit his lip, closing his eyes. He wanted to leave this place so bad... He shivered again, feeling goosebumps tease his skin—
The outsider yelped, jumping to his feet, as something landed on his head.
"Put that on, idiot." Dok muttered darkly.
"Ahh... Um..."
Ghoul reached up with one hand. It was his shirt. It'd landed on his head when Dok had thrown it at him, one sleeve hanging down by his ear, the other halfway in his face. The collar dropped into his eyes, the rest of it hanging over his head and half-undone pony. In a way, he probably resembled a bride wearing a black veil. Mumbling a thank-you, he pulled it off his head and put it on. He buttoned the front up with trembling fingers.
"... I'm sorry..."
"What for?" Dok snapped.
"Troubling you so much... I'm sorry..."
Dok blinked in surprise as Ghoul sat back down on the edge of the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. His ponytail was practically undone, still trapped under his shirt.
"... If you're that grateful, fucking eat something..." the commander muttered, unable to think of anything else to do or say. Ghoul nodded vaguely, but it looked more like he was spacing out and just reacting to Dok's voice.
Whatever.
"Those two won't be guarding you again, but don't get the wrong idea, got it?" Dok demanded.
"Mm-hmm. It's just Levi." Ghoul nodded.
Dok was a little put off by how calm and flat Ghoul had become. Minutes ago, he was a quivering mess, and now he was practically a porcelain doll again. His long bangs fell in his face, obscuring both his eyes, and chunks of long black keratin had been tossed about into his face. He was still drenched with sweat, though it looked like he was starting to dry off a bit. Overall, he looked pretty miserable.
Was this really a threat, a boy reduced to tears and almost infantile helplessness if the right events happened, who hid his face behind a blank mask in desperate attempt to protect himself?
Dok shook his head and left.
Ghoul watched him from behind his bangs, still shivering a little. He curled his toes and gripped the fabric of his shirt-sleeves, biting his lip. He hated this place. He wanted to leave. Not just this cell, this city, or this district. He wanted to leave these walls. He felt safer with death breathing down his neck.
Instinctively, Ghoul reached for his locket— But it wasn't there. Theresa had it.
Gulping a little bit, he reached up to fix his ponytail.
Long hair. To his waist. With which to hang his head from the saddle of his killer.
Or to make a rope and strangle himself with.
He closed his eyes tight.
He couldn't think like that. He was practically a kid. He shouldn't be considering thrusting himself into death's arms so cheerfully. He should be kicking and screaming, clinging to life like a baby gibbon to it's mother.
Kicking and screaming, like he did when...
Ghoul gagged, covering his mouth with one hand.
It was only two weeks.
Two weeks.
But with how things were going, two weeks would turn into two years.
Tears squeezed out of his screwed-up eyes, mingling with sweat as they ran down his cheeks to collect on and drip from his chin.
He was terrified. The great threat that had the insiders quivering was sobbing quietly to himself in an empty cell. How ironic.
