Trigger warnings. I apologize for how dark the Eddward chapters are getting, but it's just a part of who he is. Don't worry, this is a romance, not a tragedy. And the romance will start eventually. Just bear with it for now. Eddward's a far tougher nut to crack.

Enjoy!

Little tacks, as I tested each key, before I began to put weight on them. The notes rang out loudly, echoing throughout the piano and into the room. I smiled, thinking how someone as unimportant as myself could create such beautiful sounds with mere finger-strokes. I look at the sheet music in front of me, trying my hardest to understand what was written there. I knew only that the notes went up and down as they were to be played.

I struck a foul note, and cringed. Perhaps it wasn't as easy as I thought, playing what I could see. I knew the notes, Mother played them so often they were a lullaby to mine ears, but mere determination to play wasn't going to make me any better. I had to practice. I wanted to do this!

"Your Mother was a natural, you know," long strides brought the sinewy man into the room. His black hair was combed elegantly over the top of his head, trimmed shorter at the sides. Piercing eyes behind thin reading glasses overlooked my form. He wore his suit; when did he not? "The moment her fingers touch the keys, she could play. I, however, stumbled and fell many times before I realized the hopelessness of the situation. I wish to spare you from the same fate. Stop this foolishness now; focus on something you can actually excel at, Eddward, rather than wasting your time on such a wasteful endeavor."

"Oh, lighten up, Harry," Mother's voice ambled into the room, light and buttery, as she took her husband's arm, "he's just a boy, and younger than I when I began! Give him some time, let him live a little. Perhaps I can teach him-"

"No, Marianne, and we're done with this." His voice was firm, but Mother was not having it.

"Don't you brook that tone of voice with me, Harrison, I've no patience for it today," she placed her hands on her hips as though to emphasize her point.

"What, is it too long into your recovery that you're considering relapse already?"

It was always like that with him. You never knew when he'd be collected and kind, or embittered towards the world. He knew how much it hurt Mother to bring such things up, but he would do it anyways if he felt an argument wasn't going his way. It was petty, cruel, and...and him.

Mother was aghast, "How DARE you bring this sort of thing up in front of our son! I'll have you know, Edd, that-"

I was gone. I could hear the fight starting, and wanted no part of it. I'd grabbed the sheet music from the piano, out of some sort of fear that Father might destroy it. Oh, the joyful, unfounded fears of childhood. Either way, I ascended the stairs and made for my room, slamming the door behind me as angrily, and quietly, as I could.

I dropped on the bed and cried. Their voices carried through the house, and Mother was truly upset. I never heard Father's voice; he always practiced keeping his head level. Despite the fact that level was below where decency actually lies. I held tight to the music, and looked at it, as my tears stained the sheets. I hoped I could stop crying long before I was retrieved for dinner. I also hoped Mother would be sober.

I always kept it. A beauty of unrecognizable symbols upon sparsely-lined white sheet. Even now, I can hear the piano's tune through the empty house, though the instrument has long been gone to some pawn shop...or perhaps the dump, seeing Father's distaste for it. I closed my eyes and hummed. No soul was around to hear me, or judge me, as I hummed unsteadily to the tune, mumbling out the words, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey..."

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you..."

"Please don't take my sunshine away..." my voice choked out, memories coming unbidden of the harmony of Mother singing along with me. She encouraged me to sing. She encouraged so much from me. It's all gone now...does she even remember it all? I suppose she does, but it all hurt, so much. For both of us. We pretend to forget when we talk to one another. It's for the best. I keep telling myself it is.

A little tap on the window. I had a visitor in the form of a rock-throwing adolescent girl.

I sighed, opening the window a crack and speaking, "You've no need to alert me, Marie."

Closing the window once more, I returned to my bed. I took the music, and slid it inside my pillowcase. Marie knew about it anyways, much to my chagrin, but...she didn't need to know what was on my mind.

It wasn't much longer until she had found herself in my bedroom, backpack in tow. I quirked an eyebrow at her, having returned myself to the collected individual I guised myself as daily. She didn't question it, instead opting to remove a paper from her bag. A crumpled one. Of course...

"Hey, I've got a surprise for you," she grinned, and I just stared. I couldn't force myself to respond right now despite knowing it was expected of me; I suppose the former place my mind had gotten into was still in control of me. Her smile lost its glow, and she made a face, "hey, what's gotten into you, sour-puss?"

I just looked at her, numbly. I should have responded, but I didn't have the falsehood in me right then; not to speak.

"...Alright, fine. Don't answer then. I get it. Anyhow, I got Red to fix up your essay," if she expected me to respond, she was sadly mistaken, "still nothing? ...Damn, black-eyes, what crawled up your ass and died?" I let out a breath of annoyance, but nothing more. Even the breath was halfhearted.

Marie looked at me for a moment, the silence of the room enveloping us both, before she sighed and walked towards me. Her hand held out the paper, and as such, I reached out instinctively to grab it. I was taken aback when her hand grabbed at my wrist. I didn't wince, and she noticed. I knew what was coming next, and looked to the side, pretending not to care what she had to say.

"Eddward, please," her voice was light, but carried a fearful tone in it, "don't do anything stupid. Promise me you'll call me first." I stared at her for a moment, taking in what she said and the loopholes prior to responding, when realization struck her eyes and she quickly got out, "Call me before you do that, Eddward. Promise me. Promise. Me."

Her eyes burned into me and...I acquiesced. I blinked slowly, "I promise, Maria." She didn't even sass the nickname. I didn't mind; it was lovelier than her own. I'd have rathered call her it on the norm, if only she cared for it as I did.

She sighed, and turned, "I gotta get home now, parents'll...you know. Just don't do anything, okay, Eddward? Read the paper. I'll see you tomorrow."

And so she left. I held the paper loosely. I had no desire to read it.

The birds had ceased their incessant twittering. The evening had fallen, and I'd yet to read that mockery of a paper that Marie had handed me. I did not wish to set my eyes upon it, but at the same time, I was curious. Oh, curiosity, how vile and tempting you are in all of your horrid glory. But I am human, and I give in, when I am all alone. I always give in. Curiosity always finds a way.

I sat down on the bed, wincing at the effort as the skin of my arms stretched to hold me up, eyes momentarily flicking to my pillowcase. It was untouched. They returned to the crumpled paper I held within my hands. My eyes glazed, blurring the words written such that there was only the blue of my ink, and the red of his. I let out a shaky breath. My heart beat a little faster, and the anticipation of...something, spurred me on. I adjusted my focus, and allowed myself read the first line again, for the first time since I'd written it.

Throughout our lives, everything we do or don't do is influenced by pain, or a lack there-of.
And in red ink, in the margins: Heroes don't pay attention to pain.

A breath I didn't know I held rushed out, and I bit my lip. My mind's gears turned, and I looked emptily in front of me.

To no one, I replied, "But victims do. And villains do as well."

The paper fell to the floor, strewn in all its crumpled, pathetic grandeur upon the carpet. I let a hand slide over my wrist, bare as it was of its cloak. It distracted me from the emotional pain, for now.

"My sunshine..." I mumbled to the empty room, my heart a dull beat, my head still cloudy from prior blood loss.

Perhaps, when I wake, there will be a 'Hero' to save the wretched 'victim.'

Or behead this self-told villain.

Whichever comes first.