Part XIII
Grif shuddered, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. It didn't work. His hands shook, flying up to his copper hair to pull on the messy strands. He growled, swinging out and punching the wall. Grif whimpered, holding his—Simmons—hand up to his chest, staring at the angry red scratches and broken knuckles. He let out a shuttering breath. Now he was in physical pain as well as emotional pain. Great. His eyes began to tear up, but he shook his head and collapsed against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and holding his broken hand close.
This was fine, this was normal. He could deal with Simmons' insults, Sarge's threats. Everything was--- Donut! That bastard. Grif growled, anger boiling in his chest again, rising up and threatening to spill over but—he calmed himself, breathing deeply and closing his eyes and thinking back. Back onto Simmons' smile. The way his skin felt beneath his hands, how his lips felt on his. He felt his eyes tear up again. At least now his hand was only throbbing; as long as he didn't move it, or touch it, or think about it. He grit his teeth.
Oh God, he couldn't stop the tears. Gritting his teeth harder, Grif squeezed his eyes shut and willed them away, but he couldn't stop the broken sobs that tore their way out of his throat. He sobbed, tears falling from his eyes in rapid concession. Those photos, oh how he wished he could have shared those memories with these people, instead of the ones where Sarge was always hitting him, threatening him, where Simmons was calling him names—where he was calling Simmons names back so he could appear stronger, like they didn't hurt. Oh God, they hurt. His broken, hoarse crying continued; harder, ricocheting in his chest and reverberating in his lungs and in his head. He—he couldn't take it any longer. All the pain poured out, all the insecurities about his worth, all the insecurities about his appearance; the entire vulnerable feeling he carried with him everywhere.
He choked on his tears as a knock startled him from his thoughts.
Donut's muffled voice came through: "Can I come in, Grif?" Grif hurriedly rubbed his eyes with his good hand, accidentally jostling the other and crying out, almost causing the tears to start again. He bit his lip, shifting away from the door so it wouldn't hit him.
"Y-yeh, Donut... You c-can c-come in." Donut wasted no time and opened the door. He looked down at Grif, closing the door behind him and kneeling before the broken form. The pink soldier looked close to crying himself when he noticed the state of his teammate—friend?
"Grif? Oh, I'm so sorry... I-I just wanted to help." Grif shifted away from him slightly. He gave him a weak glare.
"So you did that to me? You sent me over there?" Donut nodded, looking guilty.
"I wanted to... make you happy. You... I thought you'd stay there longer but—"
"I didn't. I... I'm glad, that, well, you did that for me though." Donut looked up at Grif, shocked.
"R-really? So... I didn't do the wrong thing?"
"Well... I wouldn't say that but—Ow! Hey, watch it!" Donut pulled back, pale and wide-eyed, before realising Grif's hand was bleeding.
"Oh! How—No, I don't want to know. Look, here, come with me. I'll clean it up for you."
"Thanks Donut. For everything."