The ride back on the air shuttle was silent. Wallace silently insisted on sitting in the back, away from all of the watching eyes. Motion sickness wouldn't be a problem for him; it wasn't like he had anything left to throw up.
There was no chance in hell they would ever see that part of the family again, not after Wallace's disgraceful episode. It was a miracle that Nicole still wanted to associate herself with him. Why, had he been in her shoes, he would have sacrificed his pathetic excuse for a sibling to preserve his family and reputation.
Every so often, Wallace caught a glance at Lisia, who was sitting in Nicole's lap. Lisia didn't say anything, but there was… terror shaking in her eyes. It broke Wallace's heart every time he saw her.
He prayed that the air shuttle would crash, and that somehow only he would die in the process.
It didn't, unfortunately, and it instead landed safely in the shuttle station. The platform wasn't too busy, but Wallace still kept his gaze on his feet, too ashamed to look up at his family.
The walk back home was quiet, save for the occasional car that passed by the sidewalk. Wallace considered jumping in front of one of them, but decided against it after remembering Lisia was there. No, he couldn't do that to Lisia. Killing himself in front of her would traumatize her, to say the least.
He went straight to his room once he got back home and buried himself under the covers of his bed, drowning in the sea of his sleepy thoughts.
Why didn't you kill yourself? Why didn't you kill yourself? Why didn't you kill yourself?
-
He opened his eyes again. It was still dark, but things felt… different. He checked the clock: four in the morning. Well, that explained it.
"Uncle Wall?"
Wallace rolled over to face the door as it creaked open, and Lisia walked into the room, Ali in her arms. Her cheeks glistened in the moonlight; she was crying.
"Oh, it's you, Lisia," Wallace mumbled. "Did you have a bad dream?"
Lisia nodded as she sniffled again. The Swablu in her hands gave him a pleading look.
"Yiayiá was yelling at you and being mean to you and she killed you and everyone was sad…" The rest of her words were a bubblering mess.
Wallace forced himself to sit up, even though his chest and shoulders were weighed down by an incomprehensible force. Poor kid was caught in the crossfires of Wallace's mental instability, and she didn't even know what was happening.
"Do you want to sleep next to me?" he offered.
Lisia didn't look very sure. Wallace couldn't blame her; who'd want comfort from a drug addict who had shattered the family apart?
"Will you keep me safe?" she asked.
Wallace sighed, smiling. "Of course I will."
"Is Yiayiá going to kill you?"
If only.
"No, Lisia."
"Is Wallace going to kill you?"
…Oh. Oh. She was… She really…
"I…" I can't promise I won't. "I won't. I promise."
Lisia jumped up onto the bed, and Ali landed on Wallace's head just as he collapsed on his pillow again. Winona talked about how Swablu liked to land on people's heads, how they liked to pretend they were hats. Not that Wallace minded; Swablu and Altaria wings were very soft, very comforting.
Lisia nestled against Wallace, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her. He had to protect her from the monsters in the dark, and the demons in his mind.
-
Wallace went through the motions of waking up and eating breakfast on autopilot. He could barely register the taste of his food; it just felt like mush in his mouth.
"Wallace? Do you want to say the morning prayer?"
His mouth moved without thinking: "Oh glorious Gourádon, Oméga tis Gis! Oh glorious Kaióga, Álfa tis Thálassas! Oh glorious Rekkoúza, Mesolavitís ton Ouranón! Thank you for keeping me from killing myself, and please keep on keeping me from killing myself—"
"Wallace."
With a shaking hand, Nicole grabbed Wallace's arm.
"Please, please, please promise me you would never, ever hurt yourself."
Wallace gazed at Nicole. Horror filled her eyes; she looked damn near ready to cry.
"I already do," he said calmly. "I make myself sick enough to tear my esophagus, I scratch and slap my arms and legs and body, I once hit my head with my textbook…" Wallace trailed off. "I mean, the worst ones were from Megalos, but without him… Nicole?"
She hugged him, and Wallace could feel tears fall on his shoulder.
"Come on, Nicole. Don't look so sad; I'll start to feel guilty about having these urges and habits—"
"Wallace—"
"My brain's fucked up, Nicole." Wallace pushed Nicole away. He pointed his finger against his head, imitating a gun pointed to his head. "My brain's fucked up and I fucked up my body, too. I'm fucked up. I'm—"
"Uncle Wall! Stop swearing!"
Lisia stared at the two, pouting. Ali, who was sitting on her head, mimicking her expression. She must have walked in when Wallace and Nicole were talking—arguing?
"Uncle Steve said that swearing is bad!" she protested. "Uncle Steve said that only bad people say that swear word!"
I ama bad fucking person, Wallace wanted to yell. He hated Lisia in that moment. He wanted her to shut up about his fucking—
No.
No.
No.
He couldn't get mad at Lisia. He couldn't get mad at Lisia.
Wallace forced himself to smile. "I'm sorry Lisia. I won't do it again."
Lisia crossed her arms. "Good."
-
Wallace couldn't remember how long he had been sitting at the kitchen table. He didn't have the energy to stand up and do anything. On the plus side, it also meant he didn't have the energy to purge or hurt himself.
Fuck, he was ruminating. What would his therapist say?
Nicole was in the doorway. How long had she been there? Wallace hadn't seen her just a… second, minute, hour before.
"What time is it?" Wallace mumbled.
"Three. I… didn't want to disturb you. You seemed a bit troubled after breakfast."
Three in the afternoon? How… How many hours had he been sitting at the table? How much of a drugged-up freak was he?
"Was I just…?"
"Staring at the table. You seemed to be thinking."
Goodness, how many sedatives had he gotten fucked up on over the… months? Years? How long had it been? Time didn't feel real anymore.
He forced a chuckle nonetheless. "I wasn't."
Nicole's eyes lit up. "Well! How about you and Lisia make lunch?"
Wallace's heart stopped. Make lunch? Make food?! Did Nicole know who she was talking to?! The idiot who couldn't remember his own mother's food? The fool who sometimes went over 24 hours without eating? The bitch who almost died of a fucking eating disorder?!
"Me?!"
"The doctor said it would be good for you to prepare meals, especially with loved ones."
Wallace looked down at Lisia and Ali. Right. Loved ones. Like nieces. Nieces who didn't even know what drugs were, let alone the fact that her uncle was a drug addict.
He took a deep breath. "Lisia, Ali, let's wash our hands and wings."
-
"Lisia? Could you get me the basil and thyme?"
"Okay!"
Wallace smiled as Lisia hopped over to the pantry. Ali flew up to the top shelf in search of carefully hidden bird treats.
Nicole was sorting through the morning mail at the kitchen table, and everytime she looked up at the three, she smiled. Wallace was finally making her happy again, and that was enough to make him happy in turn. Exhausted, yes, but there was nothing fake about his smile, nothing fake in the glimmer of his eyes, nothing fake at all.
A bit of anxiety creeped in as his shaky hands picked up the pepper grinder. Three twists. Equal, precise, perfect. Not too much. He was going to keep feeling real happiness for once, because it felt better than fake happiness.
"Uncle Wall! I have the basil and thyme!"
Lisia was holding up the jars to Wallace. He smiled and put the pepper grinder down on the counter.
"Thank you, prinkípissa mou." He took the jars and put them next to the grinder.
Lisia giggled and grinned, then she hugged Wallace. "You're welcome!" Wallace could hear the smile in her voice. She looked back up at him, still holding his leg.
"Can I taste it?" She gave him Fidough-eyes for good measure.
"Of course."
Wallace took a wooden spoon and scooped out a small amount of the sauce. He knelt down so he could give her a taste. Her eyes shut with glee, and she hopped on her heels.
"It tastes great!"
Wallace twisted open first the basil jar and then the thyme jar. He took a plate out of the cabinets and set it on the counter. After pouring a bit of the thyme on the plate, he started to count out the specks of thyme until he had ten. The perfect number. The—
"Wallace, why are you doing that?"
Nicole stood over him. Wallace sighed.
"I've got to measure it out so I don't use too much or too little, you know?" That was what measuring cups and spoons were for, right? He was just using a more precise, more certain, more controllable method.
"Mikouri, Mikouri, Mikouri." Nicole's voice sounded slightly annoyed. "When it comes to spices, it's best to follow your heart, take a handful or a dash, and just toss it in."
She sprinkled some basil from the jar into the skillet.
Wallace's smile fell, and his hands started shaking again.
That was too much basil. That was too much basil. That was—
"Wallace?" Nicole said as she took Wallace's hands in hers, "are you okay?"
"No I'm not! The basil is unbalanced! Everything is—"
Wallace stopped himself and took some deep breaths. Nicole hugged him.
"It's okay. It's okay."
Duncan rolled into his leg, and Wallace knelt back down to pat his head.
"Nicole, could you finish the Alfredo sauce while Lisia and Duncan and I wash our hands?"
"Wa—"
"Mizouchá, parakaló."
The two stared silently at each other. There was little emotion in their expressions, but deep down, Wallace felt his anxiety simmering close to a boil.
"Fine," Nicole said.
-
The dining room was warm with the aroma of food and the love of family.
It was nice to be with people who cared for him, even if eating was scary. Part of him wished that Winona was with them, too, but she had her own family…
…family that didn't see her as a fucked-up freak who had cursed herself and her progeny for eternity.
The fettuccine Alfredo smelled wonderful. He had to give Lisia and Nicole most of the credit; if it wasn't for them, he wouldn't have even been able to touch the ingredients, let alone finish making the food. He wished he was hungry, but… he was fucked up. He was fucked up for the rest of his miserable life.
"Wallace?" Nicole whispered, "is everything okay?"
"It's a nice day," Wallace said calmly, dodging the question. "A very pretty day. And the sky's so pretty. I don't think I've seen a prettier sky in—"
"Wallace, you haven't eaten yet," Nicole whispered. "Is everything okay?"
She looked at him with a tinge of worry, and even Lisia and Ali seemed a bit concerned.
Wallace's voice lowered a bit when he spoke again, so only Nicole could hear him: "To be completely frank, I'm not feeling hungry… I'm not feeling that well at all."
Surprisingly, Nicole nodded. Wallace expected her to insist that he eat. After all, he had a habit of… well, not eating.
"Do you want to have something else for—"
"No, no, that's fine. I should… really eat the food I make. I'd be a hypocritical cook if I didn't. Besides, we deserve a normal dinner for once."
Nicole put her hand on his, gently squeezing it. "Just focus on the food. Focus on the taste and texture of the food, the smells, the feelings the food brings you."
She gently pulled her hand away and smiled reassuringly.
"And just remember: it's okay," she insisted. "You're safe. It's okay to let yourself eat."
Wallace nodded and slowly spun some of the noodles on his fork. He took a small, slow bite, smiling as he chewed and swallowed. It tasted… nostalgic, if food could even taste like a feeling. He hadn't felt such good feelings from food in… years.
"It's like how mother used to make it, around the time when you were off on your Gym Challenge," he said. "Whenever I was sad, she would make fettuccine Alfredo for me."
Nicole exhaled, smiling back.
"She'd always tell me stories about her and father and how they met," Wallace continued. "My favorite was always the story when she saw him for the first time: She was performing the harp on stage, and he was out in the crowd. Their gazes met… and it was love at first sight."
It was then that Wallace realized he didn't remember many other stories his parents told him… or maybe that was the only one he remembered.
Wallace's smile fell. "The only reason why I remember any of that was because I remember her making it for me after I was sick with pneumonia. I don't remember any of the other foods she would make."
He remembered his mother making food, and he remembered it tasting good, but he didn't remember what it was. People made such a big deal out of all of the different meals that different cultures made, so why couldn't Wallace remember any of his own culture's meals?
"Well, we can always go through her things and see if she wrote anything down," Nicole suggested.
"And what if she didn't?" Wallace's whisper struck harder than a scream. "What if the last memories of our mother died out because I stuck my fingers down my throat and purged them along with my food?"
"Wallace, that's a long stretch to be mak—"
"And what would she think if she saw me now?!" he cried. "Surely the souls in heaven know what's good and bad, assuming she didn't already know what was good and bad before she went up there."
The whole table went quiet, and everyone stared at Wallace with horror.
"Wallace," Nicole whispered, voice growing angrier, "I knew our parents longer than you did, and I know for a fact that our mother would still love you!"
"Oh really? " Wallace's voice was growing into a louder growl. "You really think she could love a bipolar freak?! Do you really think she could love a drug addict?! D-Do you really think she could love someone so fucked up—"
He couldn't speak anymore; sobs clawed at his throat, and he choked on them as he buried his face in his lap.
"Wallace?" Nicole whispered.
Wallace shook his head, even though she didn't ask a question. Even that soft whisper was too much. He needed things to be dark and quiet and safe. He needed things to be okay again.
Someone was hugging him. He could feel small hands and small arms.
"Uncle Wall," Lisia whimpered, "Why are you sad?"
"I'm not sad."
"Yes you are."
"Then why are you crying?"
"Sometimes people cry!" Wallace snapped as he looked up at Lisia.
She was crying too.
"W-Why are you lying?! Lying is bad!"
"THAT'S BECAUSE I'M BAD! I'M A BAD PERSON AND I'M A BAD UNCLE AND I'M FUCKED IN THE HEAD!"
Duncan bumped against Wallace's leg and gently patted it. That was the deep breath signal, but how the fuck was Wallace supposed to deep breathe?
How was he supposed to keep living?
If he ran outside, he could run into the street and get hit by a car. He could jump in the ocean and let the waters put him out of his misery. He could get out of this nightmare, get out get out GET OUT—
He barely made it outside before Raphael and Nicole caught up to him.
He tried desperately to escape their grip, screaming and shouting and biting and doing anything to get them to let go so he could put himself out of his misery.
"Wallace, please!" Nicole begged, sobbing. "Please, it's going to be okay!"
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
He was on the floor. He didn't feel real anymore. Not even time was real. There was no future. There was nothing beyond this. There was nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
"I'M FUCKED IN THE HEAD! I'M A RETARDED ADDICT THAT'S GOING TO DIE IN A YEAR! I'M A DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY THAT DESERVES TO GET SHOT IN THE FUCKING HEAD! I'M FUCKED! I'M FUCKED! I'M FUCKED!"
He was too exhausted to get up from the floor, too weak and cowardly to even try to kill himself, too fucked-up to scream coherent words. He just screamed nonsense not even he could comprehend, as Raphael and Nicole hugged him.
Someone else wrapped her arms around Wallace: Lisia.
"No!" she sobbed. "You're not! You're my uncle!"
Wallace wanted to retort back, but his throat ached. It felt like his very soul ached.
"I-I don't like it when you're sad, Uncle Wall. It makes me sad," she sniffled. "And now-now you're always sad. And that makes me sad. And it makes all of us sad!"
"Lisia," Nicole whispered, "why don't we go up your your room and—"
"Nicole."
Raphael looked up, face serious.
"We said we weren't going to lie to each other anymore, and... that includes Lisia. Let me—"
"No," Wallace choked out. "Let me... Let me tell her."
-
Miku has a lot of brain illnesses, like how some people get sick with other illnesses. Lots of people hurt Miku and did bad things to them, and that made the brain illnesses worse.
A small person was drawn below those words, surrounded by mean-looking hands.
One of the brain illnesses is bipolar disorder. Sometimes Miku sees things that aren't there, or Miku is more restless or angry. This is hypomania.
There was a drawing of the person surrounded by squiggly, frantic lines and disorienting stars.
But sometimes Miku feels sad and tired. They may be angry at themselves or family. This is depression.
The person was on the ground now, surrounded by dark, gloomy blocks of graphite.
But Miku is taking medicine to get better. Miku is talking to doctors to learn how to live with their illnesses. And most importantly, Miku has family to help them.
The person was surrounded by said family: a sister, a brother-in-law, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a father, and…
"Is that me?" Lisia asked as she looked up from the pages of Wallace's therapy journal.
Wallace smiled. "That's you."
Lisia hugged Wallace. "I want to be the best helper niece ever!"
Wallace brushed his hand over Lisia's head. "Well, you just have to be my neice. That's all I need."
There was more than bipolar disorder to talk about—anxiety, PTSD, OCD, possible OCPD. There were things beyond his diagnoses he would have to explain—hospitalization, abuse, the whole family situation. But those things would take time, and Wallace wanted to do it right. There would probably be a tomorrow, but Wallace and Lisia would have to take tomorrow day by day, together.
-
"Uncle Wall! Are you ready yet?"
"I just need a minute, Lisia."
Wallace turned back to the bathroom mirror. For once in his life, he didn't let his thoughts overtake him—the ones that told him he was ugly or too feminine or looked like a starving drug addict. He… he had to smile. His pearl white and blue eyeshadow looked very lovely, and the subtle shade of nude lipstick added an elegant flair.
But most of all, he was… still here. Most of all, today he turned twenty. And Winona, Steven, and Lisia were going to make sure they celebrated in the best way possible; the four of them were going to the Lilycove Museum, featuring a special exhibition on Sootipolitan art. Wallace wanted to raise Lisia knowing about her ancestors' rich culture, raise her without the lessons his grandparents had taught him, raise her to… not make the same mistakes that he did.
Two decades of… surviving. Living. Pushing through despite everything. Despite everything, he was still here, still alive. Sure, he had so many people to thank for that…
…but he had to give himself credit. He had to thank himself for having the strength to survive, to live, to push through despite everything.
But there was still something missing.
-
Wallace looked through the boxes in the living room, through the boxes of his drawings, through the medical documents, until he found it: his beret.
He remembered his father giving it to him when he was seven. Unlike most of his memories, he remembered this one distinctly: it was night time, and his father had come home from a long day of work. A brown package had been in his hand.
"I heard that your studies have been coming along well," his father had said, a smile on his face. "I have a present for you."
That beret had been the greatest gift Wallace had ever received. In fairness, his family hadn't been able to buy many gifts, and perhaps the beret was too big for him, but still! A beret, just like an artist's beret. Wallace wore it everywhere, showing it off like a crown.
He… began wearing it less and less once he began tutoring (suffering?) under Megalos. But now…
As he walked back into the bathroom, Wallace put on the beret. It finally fit him. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and adjusted it, until it—no, he was beautiful.