Chapter Five: Distraction
It all happened so fast. Trisha had taken Alphonse to Pinako's house to get looked over after contracting Chicken Pox and Hohenheim was left watching Ed. Surely he didn't mind looking after his five-year old, but he had never been left home alone with him before.
They were currently outside of the house; Hohenheim was sitting on the porch while Ed ran around chasing the bees that buzzed around the yard. Hohenheim hadn't even noticed what Edward was chasing until the boy let out a loud cry of pain.
"Daddy!" Ed cried out, running over to his father and producing his knee. The normally sun kissed flesh now held a dark red color with a bee stinger sticking out of it.
"You shouldn't chase bees, Edward," Hohenheim scolded lightly. He lifted the blonde off the ground and onto his lap, promptly removing the stinger.
"It hurts, daddy," Ed said, though refused to cry. Trisha thought it was somewhat sweet and sad all at the same time that their eldest tried to be tough.
"You know what I do when something hurts?" Ed shook his head. "I bite on my finger to distract myself from the pain."
"Like this?" Ed asked before biting onto his thumb to demonstrate his understanding.
"That's exactly right," Hohenheim said. "Does your knee feel better?"
Ed shrugged.
"I guess so."
Another year of Alphonse not having a body. Another god damn year of them searching for the stone. Ed was fifteen now. Al would be fourteen in a month. They were just wasting time and Ed was sick of it.
"Something the matter, brother?" Alphonse asked when Edward slammed his hands on the desk in their dorm and began walking to the bathroom.
"No," Ed fibbed. Even without a body, Alphonse didn't look convinced. "The research is just going a little slow. I'm gonna take a shower to clear my head a little."
"All right, brother."
Ed made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He didn't need Al thinking that he was getting frustrated like this. There were some things a guy needed to keep to himself.
"Distract the pain," Ed mumbled to himself. He turned on the shower and sat on the toilet, gripping the small razor he kept on him at all times now.
"Distract yourself from the pain."
Short, short, but I thought this up today when I was working out.
Basically, when I was younger and I would get hurt, my dad would ask me if I wanted him to stomp on my foot to distract me from the pain. As I got older, I used this method of distraction quite a bit through my eight years of self-harm. Thankfully, I am now 113 days clean.