Ritsuka ran. He raced down streets whose names were unfamiliar; he rushed past restaurants with their awnings taken in for the evening; he tore through the silent city like a shadow of a sprite, invisible to its sleeping denizens. So long as he ran, he didn't have to think, he didn't have to see. If he couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't hurt. So he ran.
When the pain in his chest made it impossible for him to continue running, he concentrated on his breathing. Breathe. lungs. air. good. pain. stop. What was it his new therapist had said? Your breath is an incredibly powerful tool, belonging solely to you. He focused on the air being pulled into his lungs and forced back out again. Breathe. Inhale. Through your nose. Eight counts. Exhale. Through your mouth. Eight counts. Deep, calming breaths. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Run.
As hard as he tried, as fast as he ran, he couldn't stop the images from coming. "Why would you let anyone hit you?" Edward's words echoed in his head. He doesn't understand; he doesn't know. I'm not the real Ritsuka. It's my fault. He doesn't know…
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the whirling thoughts. It's fine. Things've gotten better. It's fine now. He doesn't know. Summer break had just started, and he had managed to convince his mother that he spent most of his time at academic camp during the day and most nights sleeping over friends' houses. In her current drug-addled state, most days it seemed she hardly noticed him. Even on days when he had curfew, he could generally slip out the window and make it over to Soubi's place without much of a problem. Sure, last week he had forgotten to leave the window unlocked and she had caught him coming in the door at 3AM, which had been… troublesome. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had once been.
What the hell does that stupid blond kid know anyway? Ritsuka was irritated with himself for allowing the other boy to trigger him the way he had. He knew Ed was just upset because of what had happened with Roy, and he was probably just pushing Ritsuka's buttons on purpose to avoid talking about his own problems. I thought I was over this; I thought it had gotten better, I thought they had gone away…
But they hadn't. Not really. The flashbacks. Sometimes they were scenes he was familiar with: his mother's fists, dishes shattering, being scalded with hot water, putting his hands up to stop the blows. Even more disturbing, though, were the images that he did not recognize at all. He would be running through dark corridors, peering through closed doors, but never catching a glimpse of what was inside. Sometimes Seimei was there, and Ritsuka would try to reach him, but he would always disappear. These images also appeared in Ritsuka's nightmares, so he thought maybe he had just dreamed them… but then, maybe they were the real Ritsuka's memories, and that's why he, the false Ritsuka, couldn't identify them?
Whatever they were, they had appeared in full force when Edward had turned to face him, eyes full of fury, his metal arm raised in anger. Terror had stricken him. He couldn't breathe. His entire being screamed at him to get back, get away, run. Run. It had taken everything he had to just sit there, breathe, and talk to Ed, trying to convince him that he was normal, that he wasn't screwed up, that he was fine. So much for that plan.
What he wouldn't give just to lead a normal life, be a normal kid, just for one day. To be concerned only with report cards and sports clubs and who was going out with whom. It would never happen, he thought bitterly. He could never pass for normal. It's because I'm not real. I don't deserve to be here. People know. They can tell.
Ritsuka often wondered what would happen if he just… disappeared. Just went away one day. Would anyone even notice, or care? His mother? His classmates? Soubi? Maybe Soubi. Maybe Soubi would care… But then, could he really trust Soubi? Did he really know, for sure, that the man wasn't just filling his head with lies? Even after all this time, Ritsuka still didn't… couldn't… trust him completely. In fact, when he thought about it, there was no one he could trust completely…
No one. Since Seimei died, I've had no one. No one. The words pounded in his head in time with his rapid heartbeat: no one, no one, no one. He ran faster. Tears blurred his vision. Taking a sharp turn down an alleyway, he slipped, and suddenly he was falling. He put out his hands to catch himself, forgetting that his left wrist was already badly sprained. The pain was so intense when he hit the ground that he blacked out. When he came to, he tried to get up, but he was dizzy and sick. He lay back down against the garbage bags. He lifted his right arm. Blood. He must have scraped his wrists when he fell, or cut them on something sharp. He lifted his left. Bad idea. Pain. Nausea. Darkness.
The next thing he was aware of was the feeling of strong arms encircling him, lifting him up, cradling him. The smell of tobacco. Soubi. Only something was wrong. Soubi was shaking. Ritsuka tried to speak to him, but he found he had no strength. Mercifully, he lost consciousness again.