Author's Note: Did you expect me back so soon?
I'm back, bitches!
—E xoxo
She holds her fingers to her lips, still buzzing with this… this delectable warmth. His kiss stays on her for her time sitting alone in the darkness, afraid to break the moment that keeps replaying in her mind.
She finds that she misses him.
In a way that she has not missed him for a long time. Or perhaps, ever.
So she tries not to count the minutes he is gone — she cannot, anyway. She has nothing around her that can tell her the time. She does not know how long she stays there, sitting on the floor, feeling her intoxication ebb and flow as she sinks further into feeling. She only knows that her time alone is broken as the door opens and light pours in, hurting her eyes.
"Richard?" she whispers, covering her face with one hand as she tries to recover from the brightness. She cannot help the hope that flows through her voice.
There is the sound of someone clearing their throat. "Uh… Starfire?" a male voice says.
Not Richard. She sighs, disappointed and slightly embarrassed. "Y-yes?" she replies, blinking her eyes open and trying to see the silhouette in front of her.
"Sorry to bother you, but, you're kinda in my room," he answers.
Her eyes go wide. She forces her vision to clear and focuses it on the boy standing in the doorway, hair short and vibrant, a different shade of red from his costume. "Apologies!" she squeaks, shooting to her feet and ignoring the way her head spins a bit. "I shall leave now! I was not aware this was your bedroom!"
He chuckles lightly. "No worries. You feeling alright?"
She nods in his direction. Why can't she place his name at the moment? She knows who he is! Did they talk at all tonight? "Yes, I am feeling the alright. Thank you for your concern," she says with a smile, and she's suddenly aware of the slur of her words. Perhaps she drank much more than she thought…
"Good! Cool, cool, cool…"
"Y-y-yes!" she says, laughing nervously as she walks towards the door. "Excuse me!"
He smiles politely as he moves aside and allows her to go through. The hallway is bright, but the lights are dim where the party continues. She crosses her arms, a certain loneliness overcoming her. Why is he taking so long?
"Where've you been?" another voice calls to her, a feminine one. She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns to find Bumblebee.
"O-oh! I was—"
Bumblebee giggles. "Nevermind, I saw Rob whisking you away before Aqualad could even open his mouth…"
She laughs nervously, blushing. "Oh, X'hal…" How embarrassing!
Bumblebee winks and tugs her wrist. "C'mon, come hang with us."
The night continues as before, with candy, laughter, games, and candy. She had considered drinking more, but she found that perhaps it would not be the best idea. Anyway, she was not at all focused — words were being thrown all around her in the circle she sat in with the girls, which some of the boys eventually joined.
She missed being watched over not too long ago.
But the festivities helped her to relax, to drown out the thoughts and emotions running rampant through her. Aqualad had ended up coming to her once again, beginning a rather pleasant conversation that distracted her from her concern.
But as the night slowly began to mellow out, her worry came back to life.
Foolishly, she had not taken her communicator with her, so she had asked a rather ditzy Cyborg for his, to which he passed along with a wide grin.
And seeing his face — so pale, so lifeless, it hurt her. But his words hurt her even more. She had no desire to remember them, because all he left was a horrible taste in her mouth.
What made her deserving of this disrespect? He could not even look at her, let alone give her any proper answers. As the frustration builds, she drowns it with sugary drinks, the reasons fading but the feelings growing ever-present. He always hurts her. Always. Why should she care anymore? What is the purpose of it if it only kills her slowly?
She cannot ever be happy.
She does not remember coming home. She does not get out of her bed when she hears voices out in the hall.
He wakes up with a dry ass mouth and a disgusting soreness on the left side of his brain. And as he blinks himself even further into consciousness, he feels the dull ache in his body, mostly in his ribs and his shoulder.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He turns his head, finding a nice, unopened bottle of refreshing water there. He licks his chapped lips and wills his arm to move, but it stays put by his side. For a moment, he panics, but when his fingers twitch, he rolls his eyes.
How am I this exhausted?
He attempts to shift to the side, but it only makes the blanket on him slide halfway off him. He sighs, already frustrated.
"Don't move yet," he hears somewhere behind him. "I'm not done healing you."
"Uuuuuggghhhhh," he moans, a sudden memory from God knows when flashing in his mind. Pain.
"Sorry, you know how it goes." She comes to his side and gently slides a hand beneath his neck. "How do you feel?"
"Like shit," he rasps, and holy shit, he needs water. He rolls his head towards the direction of the water bottle. "Water."
His head is being lifted and when the bottle touches his lips, he all but gulps it down, and he literally feels like he's been replenished by some divine being. If he had the energy, he'd hug her. "Thanks," he breaths, grateful.
"You're not taking care of yourself." She lays him back down on what feels like a pillow. "Again."
Don't I know it. "Yeah."
She shakes her head, her cool hand on his forehead. "You could get really sick like this, you know that."
Am I not already? In the fucking head?
He tries to focus on her face, and he does it enough to catch the raise of her brow, like she knows what he's thinking. "Yes," she deadpans.
He'd laugh if he weren't like this.
"Raven," he says, because the way everything is so fucking wrong hits him all at once.
"Don't you mean Rachel?"
He blink, trying to remember why that feels so familiar. "Oh shit," he whispers when he does. "My bad…"
She glares at him for a split second before rolling her eyes. "Typical."
He cracks a smile. "That I forgot?"
She's moving things around or something. "Obviously."
"You didn't have to do all this," he says, the guilt weighing down on his chest.
"Yes I do."
"I know, but…" But what? Why can't he ever make sense for once?
"I'm waiting for you to get some strength back before I finish healing you. I took some pain away last night, just enough for you to go to sleep."
He tries not to groan again. "Thank you."
"Yeah, well… you deserve it for being so reckless."
Ouch. "...I deserved that."
"Yes, you do."
"A-are…" He won't be able to stand any answer. "Are you mad at me?" And yet, he's asking anyway.
"It's more like I'm disappointed in you," she says without hesitation.
It hurts more than any other response he could've gotten. Wow. Another person he's disappointed… in this case, someone who's been the sister he's never had. He remembers Starfire's face on the communicator from last night, for some reason. He has never felt more like a complete and total piece of shit.
"I don't know for sure what happened last night, but I saw her attitude change after she talked to you," Raven says, and he figures that she doesn't say her name for his own sake. "Whatever it is…"
"...I don't wanna talk about it."
She looks at him with a blank expression.
"I-I'm not ready to." He forces his voice steady. "Not yet."
"This can't be another thing you keep inside for years on end and then blow up because you can't open up."
He swallows past the lump in his throat. The shame creeps in quickly. "...I know," he says quietly.
"Dick." She's beside him now, but he turns his face away. "Look at me."
He's slow to comply, but he does. She tilts his head even more with two fingers on his jaw and keeps it put in her direction. "I understand."
He believes her. He nods. "Yeah."
"But things aren't getting better."
"..."
"You know what you need to do."
"Raven," he says, grabbing her hand and holding it flat to his chest. "You can feel it, can't you?" All the anger. All I can't carry.
"Yes," she says, and it sounds tired.
He shakes his head. "I can't keep doing this to you."
"..."
"I don't want to."
He can't name the look in her eyes. It's beyond sadness.
"I can't do what I should do."
"Why do you think that?"
"Don't you see how I am?" He chuckles bitterly. "I fuck everything up. I can't keep the peace. Sure, I can lead, but I don't act like a fucking leader. Please, Raven, if you can cut me off, do it."
She furrows her brows and shakes her head in disbelief. "No, Dick."
He puts pressure on top of her hand. "Why not?"
"I can't do that to you."
"And I can't live knowing that everytime I fuck up, you feel it. I look up to you, Raven. I love you like family." Something bitter is on his tongue, between his teeth, in his heart. "I don't want to hurt my family."
He'd rather just hurt himself. He's one wrong breath away from breaking.
When he sees her, he's going to fall apart.
"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have even tried to change in the first place. You know that, right?" He doesn't deserve to cry, so he chokes it down. "I don't think I can change. I'm not capable of it." He squeezes her wrist. "I can't control my emotions. I can't control my anger. I'm sorry that I failed you, Raven," he says quietly. "I'm so goddamn sorry."
Are those tears in her eyes? Her expression is twisted with pain. "Is that your excuse?" she nearly whispers, trying and failing to keep her voice even. "To just lose control?"
"It's not an excuse," he says, but it feels like a lie, now.
"It sounds like one. Changing isn't easy, Dick. No one ever said it was."
"You know I know that. It's not that I don't want to, I just— I'm so… I'm so fucking broken. Something inside of me doesn't work." He feels her fingers trembling against his chest. He doesn't deserve to cry, he doesn't, but he is. He hadn't even realized his mask wasn't on. He's never seen so much pain on her face. And it's all because of him. "My pain is my own," he says, and he repeats it in his head, hears it echo. "Not yours. It's not for you. It's all mine."
"Let me help you," she whispers.
"I know you're strong, Rachel, but you can't do that."
Her tears match the ones streaming down his face, his neck. He wants to remember the way he made his friend cry for the rest of his life. This moment can haunt him for as long as he lives.
But then she's out of his view and pressing her forehead to his temple. "You're an idiot," she she says between sniffles, her cold tears brushing against his cheek.
He takes her small hand in his and squeezes it. "I'm serious. If you don't do it, I will never forgive you."
"Who says I can?" she nearly cries.
He pulls his face taut. "Don't lie to me. I can read you like you read me."
"Dick…" she sobs.
He turns his aching head and kisses her head softly. "I'm begging you," he whispers. "This has to be the last time I ask."
"Please don't ask me to…" she breathes.
"Why? I'm not going to leave you."
"That's not what I'm scared of."
"What is it?" he says, concerned. He draws his head back and waits for her to look up at him. But she doesn't. "Hey…"
"I'm scared for you," she finally says, like it's hard for her to admit.
He shakes his head. "Don't be."
"Do you think I can stand seeing you this way?" she says, hiding away from him the way he hid from her. His hand slides up to her upper arm and he tugs it gently. She turns in his direction, but still, she doesn't look at him.
"You're not responsible for me. I don't want you to feel obligated to help me every time I hit another low."
"But you do the same for me. Why wouldn't I help you if you needed it?"
"...I'm supposed to be the one protecting you. All of you."
She looks up at him with that look and scoffs. "Sounds like bullshit."
He raises his brows before lowering them and stares straight into her eyes. "Not to me."
"You're… unbelievable." She wipes her face. "And annoying."
"Aren't you supposed to say that to Beast Boy?" he says, smiling despite the roughness of his voice.
She rolls her eyes and laughs through her tears. "Oh, shut up."
His smile fades. "I meant what I said. Don't think I'm just saying this because I'm in pain." He grimaces as another wave of yuck goes through his head. "But it sure did help."
Before she can reply, there's a knock at the door. The way Raven freezes says everything he needs to know.
He tries not to hear the voice at the other end of the door. But he does.
"Hello? Raven?" he hears faintly.
Nausea rolls through him. The pain sparks in his chest. "Tell her to leave," he whispers, and it hurts him that he has to say it. "Please."
She stares at him with wide eyes for a moment, still stuck in place. What else could she be picking up on that she can't even move?
He awkwardly turns onto his side, ready to pretend to be asleep if she ends up coming inside. He prays that she won't.
"Raven? Is everything okay? Please answer me," she says, her voice growing desperate.
Guilt. Anger. Resentment. Longing.
He doesn't know anymore.
He shakes Raven's hand, rubs it, tries to bring it back as his breath gets heavier. He feels pressure in his ribs. "Raven," he says, and thank God it's enough to shake her out of her stupor and move.
She walks quickly over to the door. He shuts his eyes, keeping his back taut and turned to her.
"Raven! Are you the alright?" Her voice kills him.
"Yeah, it's just… you know."
A beat of silence. "I am sorry."
Another one. They must be talking without words. Maybe whispering. He can't help but try and listen in. "...just need to let him rest and I'll finish healing him."
After probably minutes that actually feel like hours, and maybe the feeling of eyes burning into his back, the door slides shut. "She didn't know you were here all night."
He doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing.
"She's really worried about you," she continues, gently pushing him onto his back. "Stay on your back."
He can breathe better now. He sighs. "Okay."
"You should go back to sleep."
"Mmm," he agrees. "I want to."
"Are you sleepy enough?"
"My body is, but…" His eyes flutter closed. "I can't stop thinking now…"
"Don't worry," she says, her hand back on his forehead. "I'll help you out this time."
He smiles lazily. "Thank you so much," he whispers as an exhaustion washes over him, his limbs growing heavier and heavier.
Is that a kiss on his head? "Rest well, Dick."
Maybe he will for once.
So he spends the day doing everything he shouldn't do to himself.
He still doesn't sleep. He still doesn't eat, but that's not really his fault, 'cause his stomach still feels fucked up and he can't keep anything down. That motherfucker really unleashed years worth of pent-up sexual frustration and anger on him, and holy fuck is he feeling it now. He hasn't showered all day, and he feels fucking disgusting, but undoing Harper's clumsy ass patch job from his body isn't something he's in the mood for. And on top of that, he's too lazy to hold an ice pack to his face.
Would be nice if someone could hold it for me. Preferably someone who isn't Harper.
So he sits on his firescape, plants safely moved away from the smoke coming off his whole pack of cigarettes. He feels like a drunk piece of shit taking shot after shot of liquor, but it numbs the pain. And it numbs it good.
But nothing could numb the pain of the disappointment in Eliza's eyes. Somehow, she fucking knows every horrible thing he's ever done, that intelligent bitch. He's never been so proud yet so hurt by his girl.
My girl. My girl. My girl. Your girl.
He turns his head and spits on the ground, like all those old fucks that used to live on his block and talked shit night and day.
Maybe coffee would be better for him right now. Maybe tea? But who's gonna get it? Not him.
So Eliza's ignoring him again. And it hurts.
Really, really, really hurts.
He needs her right now, but he won't make her he by his side, so he sits here, the sun almost completely set, and he's too fucking exhausted to think about what he should do next.
He succeeded. He fucked up everything as planned. He even got a good beating out of it, and as much as it pissed him off, it needed to happen. He got some sick pleasure out of it. Because he knows he had the upper hand.
His phone rings. He ignores it. Harper can think he's dead again, for all he cares.
He should be. May as well be. He can't ever finish his job on his own, no matter how hard he tries.
At least I did something.
At least he did something.
What's he looking for? He might've found it. He might've ran away from it.
He might've set that shit on fire. Left it for dead, left it to rot, yadda yadda, there's only so many metaphors he can think of in his sick head.
He stubs the butt of his cigarette and lights another. He's got nothing else to do.
Author's Note: Out of all chapters, this is the one that made me cry. And I'm actually kind of a crybaby, so I can't believe it took this long! My heart :(
