"Ridley?" Edward asked again, stepping towards me. Apparently the others had moved around while I'd been engrossed in the TV.
I'm fine, I signed, hands shaking slightly. My whole body was shaking, and I sat down heavily before I fell over. I just— I didn't— I'm sorry about—
My words tripped over and blended into themselves, falling from my hands as I signed. I doubted I was making much sense based off of the odd look Jon was giving me, but Edward seemed to get the gist of things.
"Don't worry about the TV," he said, sitting next to me, "it's not an issue. What is an issue, is you."
I don't know what came over me, I signed, I don't usually— I mean— I'm not sure if I—
Edward placed his hands over my own, a movement that wordlessly told me to stop.
"It's ok," he said firmly, squeezing my hands.
"You shouldn't let your anger build up like that," Jon said.
"Stay out of this, Jon," Edward said, shooting the other man a glare. "This is your fault after all."
"My fault?" Jon said, eyes narrowing. "My fault!? Do tell me how this was my fault! I'd love to know."
"If you don't have anything nice to say, get out," Edward spat, eyes flashing in warning. "Selina has already removed herself, so why don't you do that as well?"
I twisted around to find that he'd spoken the truth. Selina must've slipped out either during Edward and Jon's fighting because she finally got fed up with it, or when I threw the stone figure at the TV. A gnawing sense of gilt crawled through me and I tried to stifle it. I'd never had an outburst like that before...
"You can't tell me what to do," Jon said, voice tightly controlled, though it was slipping. I could hear it, and I knew Edward could as well. It was already a delicate situation, there was no need to make it worse.
"Either you get out, or we leave," Edward said firmly.
"Why don't you?" Jon snapped back. "At least that way I don't have to look at your pathetic face."
"And here I thought you liked looking at my face," Edward said, rolling his eyes.
"I—" Jon gave him an outraged look before stomping out the room.
"Works every time," Edward said to me with a wink.
"I can still hear you!" Jon yelled.
"Don't listen then!" Edward yelled back before focusing back on me.
"I'm sorry about that," he said, "Jon can be a bit insensitive."
I nodded, unable to respond due to his hands still holding my own. I pulled my hands from his grasp when I realized this and felt heat creep up my face.
Edward chuckled slightly and gave me a small smile, "What happened? One moment you seemed completely fine, and then the next..." he trailed off.
I don't know, I signed, I've never acted out like this. Not even around—
I faltered for a second before continuing.
Not even around Bruce. I always was polite and Bruce had often coat things out of me, especially if it revolved around the kids at school being mean to me. I think, that hearing and seeing some of those kids on the News just now, just kinda snapped something inside of me, you know? Like I'd seen and heard enough and just wanted it to stop.
Edward nodded in understanding, a thoughtful look on his face.
And even when I did tell him about the things that happened, he wouldn't do anything about them! It was always the same excuse: 'The News would have a field day if they found out about it, and I can't have anything worse happen to you'.
Like I know that he cared about me, but sometimes it felt like he didn't. Always being over protective when I knew that I could take care of myself. I just kind of wished that he was more, I don't know... He wasn't exactly strict with me, quite the opposite, I think it was more like he was too...
"Punctilious?" Edward offered.
I have no clue as to what that means, I signed with a frown. I was going to say overly concerned. He doesn't understand that I—
"That you what?" Edward asked, tilting his head slightly.
He's just so content with it, I sign, not really sure how to word it. It was more feeling that word, especially since I myself were just coming to realize it.
He's content with not knowing. Not knowing about me, not knowing about what life was like before.
"Before...?" Edward bit his lip.
My past! I signed, I want to know so much, and at the same time I don't. You wouldn't understand it; what I want. What I need.
"Try me," Edward said, "explain it. You might be surprised with what I know."
Even I don't know! I threw my hands up before bringing them down, I want to know the things I can't remember but, if I find out, will it make thing better? Or will it make it worse? Sometimes I think that I can't remember because my own mind is protecting me from something. I know what it is, I read up on the possible psychological impacts that my past might have on me. What... What Zsasz did to me.
I think— I think that it's selective mutism, but I'm not sure. S-M, I spelled out the word, is a form of Social Anxiety, but I don't have Social Anxiety, at least not that I'm aware of. It's the trauma of what happened I think, that's what might've caused it. No, I'm certain that is what caused it.
Words were spilling through my fingers now, the gestures becoming more wild as time went on.
I read a book once, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, it was a about a little boy who lost his father in a terrorist attack, but that's not what I'm talking about. One of the side characters, the boys grandfather, was like me; mute because of trauma. It was the bombing of Dresden that caused his muteness, as well as the loss of the one he loved. And while I wasn't in a bombing, or a war, something just as terrible happened to me.
I rubbed my arms self conscious, feeling the bumps and lines of the scars I had.
I don't want to say that it's PTSD, not like there's anything wrong with it, cause there's not. I'm just worried that if I go after what I want, it'll be too much.
"And what do you want?" Edward asked in a soft voice. His eyes sparked with something akin to pity, and I suddenly hated him for it. I didn't want anyone of pity me, I want someone to understand me.
What I want, is something that I cannot easily attain. I want my memories back; every last one of them. I don't care about how much they hurt, I don't care about how much the make me bleed. My memories are the only things that could remind me of what I lost, and yet, I've lost those too.
I don't get it, why me? What did I ever do? Nothing, at least from what I can remember, and that's the thing, I can't remember. No matter how hard I try, I just can't. It's killing me.
So manny times I wonder, what were my parents like? What did they do for a living? Where did we live? It must've been in Gotham, but what else? Did I have any siblings? A sister? A brother? Did I have any friends?
I know that people can't easily remember their childhood anyways, but everyone remembers their parents. Even if it's just one little thing about them. I can't remember anything. Nothing!
I slammed my fists against Edward's chest and leaned against him, nog realizing that I was crying until my tears dripped onto his shirt.
Wordlessly, Edward pulled me into an awkward hug and rubbed my back.
"Shhh..." he muttered, "it's going to be alright. Everything's going to be fine."
And that was the thing, nothing was alright. Nothing. A piece of me was missing, violated; would I ever get it back? The chances weren't in my favor.
"You know what?" Edward whispered to me. "I'll do everything in my power as the smartest being alive to help you regain your memories. I promise. And I never, ever, break my promises, ok?"
He pulled back so that he could look me in the face. He smiled grimly as he wiped a stray tear from my face.
"I will help you," he repeated, "and nothing will stop me, if regaining you memories is what you want," something flickered across his face while he spoke, "then I will be with you. Even if it kills me."
I lost it then, for what ever reason. With a huge shuddering sob, I flung y arms around his neck and carried into his shoulder, shoulders shaking.
Edward just held me, rubbing my back and muttering words into my ear. Eventually my crying died down and I pulled back, sniffling.
I'm sorry, I signed, staring at his white shirt, wet from my tears. I'm not usually like this I don't know—
"Most likely stress," Edward said, "it's no big deal. I don't mind."
Still. I wiped my nose.
Edward sighed and pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket before handing it to me.
"Most people do really cry when they're sad," he said as I noisily blew my nose. "It's more out of frustration. Of course, There are a lot of different ways to letting out frustration. I, for one, quite enjoy crying as opposed to other forms."
Despite the emotional roller-coaster I was on, I still managed a glare.
Edward let out a heavy sigh, "I suppose that makes me sound like a sadist. What I mean is, I'm just glad that you're not like Jon. He's horrible, a real dolor in asinum. Latin for a pain in the ass," he added, seeing my confused look. "I honestly don't get him sometimes, ice almost given up on trying too. Human beings are so complex, don't you agree?"
Sure, I signed, blinking, suddenly feeling exhausted. I needed a comfort food right now. Do you guys have any coconut fudge ice cream?
"What?" Edward said with a startled look.
I know it weird, it's an acquired taste.
"I don't think— No, we don't have any."
Bummer. My shoulders slumped.
"I do, however," Edward said before hesitating slightly, "I might know something that might help."
He got up and walked over to the TV cabinet and started to dig through it, looking for something.
"We'll have to watch it up in my room probably," he said as he searched. "I have a computer that's about the size of a flatsceen, had really no use for it until now. Thank goodness for the broken TV otherwise it might just sit up there for who knows how much longer. We'll finally be able to use it!
"Jon always nagged me about it, 'What use to you have with a computer the size of a flatscreen?' " Edward mimicked Jon. " 'There's no practical use for something that thing, you wasted time stealing it!' Pshh, I was saving it for something, and now I know what! Ah ha!"
He pulled out a DVD case before tossing it at me. Catching it in surprise, I glanced down at the cover. The Phantom of the Opera at Royal Albert Hall.
The Phantom of the Opera? I raised an eyebrow.
"Well," Edward said, eyes darting away from me, "An— I mean a friend of mine, really liked it. Whenever she wasn't feeling well she watched it. While it may be a bit depressing, it's still really good."
I turned it over in my hands and noticed a set of initials on the back: A.B.
Wondering who's it was, I looked up to ask Edward, but he was already halfway out of the room.
"You coming?" he asked, glancing back.
I nodded neoprene jumping to my feet. Eyes feeling slightly dry, I rubbed them as I followed Edward.
Why do you think a movie might help me feel better? I signed, walking next to him as we climbed up the stairs and reached the second landing. Movies and ice cream have nothing to do with each other. At least not in the literal sense.
"Or do they?" Edward asked cryptically. There was a touch of sadness to his voice, something I'd never heard before.
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" he asked suddenly.
Because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and it is N-E-V-A-R put with the wrong end in front, I replied automatically. Lewis Carroll. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The Hatters famous riddle that never went answered until people asked the author for it. What's your point?
"There's is no point," Edward said absentmindely, opening his bedroom door. I followed him and briefly wondered if I should keep the door opens of not before deciding to shut it. Something told me that Jon did not take kindly to opera.
"The riddle actually was intended to have no answer. It's quite a conundrum."
No answer? Is that even possible?
"Lots of things don't have answers to them," Edward said, taking the DVD a as I handed it to him. "Death is one of those things. We know of it, but, what happens when we die? Where do we go? Another one is loss. Why do people leave us? Be they dead or alive. We don't know, and the other person might not know either. But it still happens, and there's nothing we can do to stop it."
A muscle twitched on his jaw as he stared at the cover of the DVD. He had such a miserable look on his face that I wonder who had left him. Obviously someone had, he wouldn't have been talking about it if someone didn't. Could it've been the person who's initials were on the DVD? A.B.?
Edward shook himself and glanced at me with a small grin, "Shall we watch it?"