It's a short chapter, but the ones that evolve mostly around emotions tend to be that way when I write them. It's a bit strange- about a week ago I uploaded a message on here, telling people about how something really bad happened in my life, and that uploads would probably be less frequent. I think I've updated three stories since then, which is good, for me.
Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter. I hope to get some comments on this, simply because I've been so down this last week and could really use a pick-me-up. I'm not usually a fan of "begging" for reviews, but I would really appreciate it. Anything that makes me smile is greatly valued these days.
The chapter title comes from the song Shattered by the Cranberries.
"Edward?" Roy called out calmly, his tone almost a bit apologetic as he returned to the room.
No one answered, and he couldn't see the kid either. Except, this time, he wasn't worried that Edward had run off. Instead, he could see his small form ducked under his blanket, fidgeting apprehensively, seeming tightly cradled in on himself. The older man chuckled when he saw it, trying to swallow the small snickers and keep them down. Because this was serious, but also unbearably endearing.
"Edward, what are you doing?" he questioned calmly, stepping into the room.
The figure under the blanket shifted and Roy could see the sheet shift as his head twisted towards him, before it quickly aimed back around. After another couple of seconds, Edward muttered his response quietly.
"...nothin'," the hoarse voice spoke thickly.
"Uh-huh," Roy hummed unconvinced and carefully moved a little bit closer. Approaching smoothly, he finally sat down on the edge of the bed and eased the blanket off of a messy head of blonde strands.
Edward stared back at him, a hint of betrayal shone through those strangely bright colored eyes. Tears were streaming down his face, and he desperately tried to wipe them away.
Roy's heart split inside his chest at the sight of the broken boy and his pure, shameful and despairing wipes that forced well-deserved tears away. He couldn't help himself when he reached out and gently guided the bandaged hand away.
"Don't. It's okay if you need to cry," he said, feeling a bit silly for the sentimentality, but this was important. It was important for Edward to know that his feelings were valid. Roy should know because that same problem had nearly been the end of him. He didn't want that for Edward, not after all he had accomplished despite of his undeniable hardships.
"Am not ," Ed spat, frowning deeply and turning away. "I- I mean, I don't. I don't need to cry. I'm not… weak ."
Edward's voice broke, and his stare faltered, unable to keep his gaze locked with Roy's. The last word had been hardly more than a whisper. As if he remembered something as he said it, and Roy could only imagine the ridicule someone breaking down would be subjected to at such an infamous orphanage as the one Ed was from.
Like so many times during the short time he had known Edward, he was eternally grateful for Chris taking him in. Obviously, she hadn't raised the most emotionally stable person either, because he was just as closed off now as before the war. But, as much as she would reprimand him after throwing a temper tantrum, or smirk at him when he had his adolescent heart broken by many, many girls, she would allow him to have his feelings. She would yell or laugh about his actions- never the emotions in themselves. He had to go through a war to understand her many strange ways, but he could, with his hand to his heart, say that he was eternally thankful for it.
"It's not a weakness, it's… a reaction. A perfectly natural reaction," Roy said helplessly, wanting so bad to help the kid, but he kept being ignored. He scattered his brain for words of comfort, but he was really out of his element at this point.
"Look, there… there are so many benefits from crying when you're distressed. It… soothes your body. Tears release oxytocin and endorphins, which are scientifically proven to help with pain, both emotional and physical. Really, the best reaction you can have in this situation is to cry. You're actually doing yourself a favor."
Hesitant, Roy assessed the situation. Had his theoretical ramblings helped at all? Edward slowly turned his head towards him, scowling intently for a moment, before again fixing his gaze to the mattress below.
"...not cryin'," he muttered darkly.
Roy released a sigh and cracked his weary neck from side to side, sliding off the bed and moved onto one of the discarded chairs by the bedside instead. Crossing his arms and legs, he settled down, preparing for a long period of passive-aggressive silence.
That was probably the reason it was so unexpected when Edward started talking, shortly after.
"Before I came to Central, I hadn't cried since the day I woke up in Drachma," he murmured lowly. Roy's head snapped up in surprise but kept quiet to let the boy speak, hoping he would keep going.
"The memory is a bit clouded, but I know I was taken straight to the small infirmary we had there, since I was still in a bad way from the fire and the surgery," he said solemnly, reluctant to make eye contact. He let his long, fuzzy bangs fall in front of his face, hanging there aimlessly as he kept his head bowed, obscuring Roy's view of his facial expression.
"Also, I was technically dead for a short while on our way there, I've been told," he scoffed bitterly with a tinge of amusement in his voice, as if it was no big deal. "Because apparently, you're not supposed to take a trip that lasts for several days when you're a newly amputee with severe infections in your surgical wounds."
Ed sighed, clearly steadying his breath and checking his voice before he kept talking.
"Anyway, waking up in a different place- a different country- I was… a bit stunned. I didn't understand what was going on, and I got… scared. Like, really scared."
'You ungrateful, disgusting little shit. Stop fucking crying!'
Edward winched as the memory of that tall, white-clad doctor elbowed its way into his consciousness. It hit him like a punch in the gut, and new tears started to blur his vision.
"Edward?" Roy asked concerned when the kid paused, hovering over his chair, unsure of what to do.
"I'm fine," Edward muttered, but the hand gripping his hair tightly, and his wide, unblinking eyes staring pointedly in his lap, told Roy that he was far from.
'If you don't shut your mouth right now, I'll amputate the rest of your feeble little limbs, you deformed, broken little freak."
Again, Edward jolted. The railings of his hospital bed rattled from the motion and his breaths turned strangled and strained. The grip in his hair became tighter, letting the small patches of skin visible on his fingers turn white.
"Edward, it's okay-" Roy's frantic voice was bearly audible in the thick chaos of muffled sounds that surrounded Ed. His sight dimmed, obscuring his surroundings, making them appear unfamiliar and strange. As if, he could be anywhere . Because if the place where he thought he was seemed foreign, he might as well be somewhere else.
He could just as well still be in Drachma. In Drachma with Dr. Domenico. In Dr. Domenico's infirmary. In the bed. In the bed with the leather straps that tied him down and oh God no he didn't want this - he didn't want this to be real didn't want it to happen and he had to stop crying because it would only give him an excuse to harm him- to punish him and hurt him and oh God no he thought he was safe don't wanna-don'wannadon'wanna please stop no-
Strong hands surrounded him and instinctively he kicked back and tried to get away from the grip in a hopeless attempt to get away (nononono), but the arms didn't relent and he was left to squirm and shiver violently in the grip of his abuser as the panic reached its peak and loud, raspy cries of surrenders and plea's (pleasepleaseplease) escaped his chest uncontrollably.
Ed wasn't scared of the pain. It was the shame. The shame, humiliation, and dehumanization of being treated like a toy. An unfeeling, soulless object that one could purposelessly and without consequence mold, break and mistreat as one's uncensored imagination desired. Give that person an unlimited amount of drugs and a scalpel as well… well, then you had a problem if you were at the receiving end.
The smack was heard before it was felt. Edward shook his head from the daze with a stinging, dull burn lingering on his right cheek.
Golden, uncomprehending eyes shifted to meet intense and worried charcoal ones.
"Edward, are you with me?"
Roy. It was Roy. And Roy only existed in Central. He's not in Drachma and has nothing to do with Ed's time there. The "now" struck Ed once again; Central, Roy, Hawkeye, Havoc, the new injury, the hospital, Alphonse, Winry, Pinako, the other crazy doctor, the move and lastly- his father.
-who could have put a stop to all this, if it hadn't been for Isla Lucy.
"Y-yeah," he croaked, taking in the room anew, and turning his head to Roy- finally looking deep into serene eyes, immersed in concern. "I-I don't know what happened. I just…" Edward paused, unable to puzzle together words to make a sentence.
"You don't have to explain. I know," Roy told him solemnly. Neither of the two could truly fathom what happened next. With Roy's hands resting soothingly on Edward's shoulders, they suddenly shifted, and Ed was brought into a firm embrace. Edward leaned into it willingly, letting Roy's warm, reassuring hands draw calming circles on his back. Unsteady breathing shuddered, but gradually, turned more and more even. A weak grasp gripped a hold of the back of Roy's shirt, and the young colonel closed his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position.
"-I don't know if I'm able to talk about it," Edward murmured shakily against his chest, but Roy only stroked his callous fingers through the unruly head of hair that rested under his chin.
"You don't have to," he ensured calmly.
"I wish I could. Maybe it would hurt a little less."
"Maybe. In your own time, kid. You don't have to defend your traumas, okay? I believe you."
Abruptly, Edward turned rigid. Roy's arms faltered for a little, and he leaned back a little, making eye contact.
"S-say that again," Edward muttered with a slight arch to his eyebrows.
"Say what?" Roy questioned, "...I believe you?"
Yet, Edward just stared. As if, it was the first time in a long time he had heard something like that to him. As if it was the wrong and the right thing to say all at the same time, and Roy realized that tha t was exactly the way it was.
"Edward," he said sincerely. "I believe you."
The kid was as if paralyzed. Finally, his golden irises started to wobble, and he flickered his eyelids rapidly before burying his face into Roy's crumpled shirt, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Roy was again seated on the soft hospital bed and scooted over as he scooped the boy up, cradling him in his arms and settled comfortably against the bed rest, letting twelve years of pain and demons spill all over his white shirt.
So… I just realized that the reason I felt that the name "Isla Lucy" had such a pleasant tone to my ears is that if said out loud it sounds like "I love Lucy".
Hah.