I'm still not so sure about this one... What do you guys think?
Chapter 5
/EPOV/
Grima is so light it scares me. He seems skinny, yes... but how come I can carry him effortlessly? Food, food and rest, that's what he needs.
It's quite a surprise for me to be in his tiny apartment, in his room. If you told me two hours ago I'd be here and feel sympathy towards this particular human, I'd laugh at your face. Yet here I am, more than responsible and definitely guilty of him being harmed. My stupid, reckless brother... but I gave him motives, it was me who told him Grima was annoying and horrible and disturbing. „That stupid piece of shit," I had said, „mocking women, thinking he's better than us, than me!" Oh, how stupid I was. And now I need to bear the consequences – and the poor boy as well.
His room is dark as he himself always seems. Almost everything is black, apart from the gray walls and the dark blue ceiling. If my ceiling was such, I'd draw stars there. He hasn't. There's a certain kind of sorrow lingering in the corners of his room, and I'm scared for the first time in quite a while – not only for myself though. How can I leave him here? How does he manage to survive in such a soulless place? I carefully lay him on the couch-bed and give him a worried look as his face flinches in pain. „Do you need help?" His eyes are tired and washed out. Does he even sleep, I wonder. „Not at all, my lady, I've been worse," and even in this situation he manages to sound sarcastic. Maybe it's his voice, I don't know. Then he coughs and quietly cries out and I can't help getting on my knees and trying to find out what's wrong. „It... hurts... when I breathe," he whispers, his voice trembling, then waves as if it's not a big deal. „I'll be fine, you-you can leave now..." „That's bullshit. I'm calling an ambulance," but before I can even get my phone out of my bag, he reaches and grabs my arm, and growls „No. I'm. Fine." Okay then. I cross my arms on my chest and let out a sigh. „What can I do then? I feel useless. Let me help you," I look around and see a furry coat on his chair; I get up, grab it and gently wrap it around Grima's shaking body. He might be taller than me, but he seems so small and fragile right now. He smiles the tiniest smile and nods for no reason whatsoever. "I could...use some company, I guess." I sit next to him on the couch. "You live alone?" He nods, not seeming quite happy with the fact. "I'm not local... Mom and dad stayed home." Oh. So we do have things in common. "You miss them," I say, more like a statement than a question. He nods again, then slightly smiles. "Well, yeah, but at least I'm free," he tries to laugh and doesn't shake in pain that bad. He's either getting better or faking it quite well. "Strict parents?" "Yeah, aren't yours?" He's not as sarcastic, and suddenly I'm not as calm. I try to hide it by indifferently shrugging my shoulders, but when I reply, my voice is shaking. "I only have Eomer now."
Grima's eyes are questioning and I try to explain the shortest way possible. "They, um, they were in a car crash two years ago. Only Eomer survived," I try and sound almost okay, then Grima quietly pulls me in a hug and I am a sobbing mess. I haven't cried since their funeral, not even when we buried Theodred; I thought I had run out of tears then and there, as I saw my parents for the very last time. They lived purposeful, happy lives, and I could do nothing to bring them back, so why get sad over it - this "formula" has kept me sane through the roughest of times, but I haven't had a shoulder to cry on for so long and all of a sudden I'm scared, I can't breathe, I am nothing.
Grima is all silent, gently rubbing my back, caressing my hair, while I lose my dignity(though I somehow know that he won't tell anyone about this). His coat is warm, unlike his ghostly fingers. "Shh, my lady, they're at peace, and so should you be," he whispers in my hair, and I want to thank him but my voice betrays me. So I just weep and try to wrap my arms around him without causing him more pain. "I'm...so...glad...you're...here," I manage to say, and I hear him smile so I look up and his smile is the sweetest and most understanding smile I've seen. "It's alright. You are always so strong, I thought you were somewhat an alien - now I know you're real." And this is the weirdest thing I've been told yet it makes me feel safe. I laugh a little and wipe my tears off. "And I was supposed to take care of you." His smile fades to a frown and he pulls back a little. "I-I can take care of myself," he stutters. Why is he so afraid of being helped? Then again, he's used to being his own sole friend, I guess. Oh. I smirk and nod, "Of course you can... Why don't you draw stars there?" I point at the ceiling. He sighs. "But stars are Light. I'm not."
I nod again and stand up, and head to the wall against us where he's hung some pictures. He really isn't Light, that's more than obvious. There are six photos, hung asymmetrically, all in the same wooden frames. The highest one has a younger, non-pierced Grima, with a fair, older woman with the same eyes and hair color, only that hers is long and curly. "Your mother?" I turn to him and he nods; I can see the similarity. "She's pretty," I smile, and he scoffs at me. "Yeah," he rolls his eyes, "I took after dad," and I can't help giving him a bad look. "Shut up. You have the same eyes." I see him blushing with the corner of my eye, but I figure he wouldn't want to seem weak, or whatever, so I turn my back at him and start "examining" the next picture, though not managing to hold in a little smile. Said picture is old and colorless, with a bunch of girls in swimsuits grinning at the camera. "The girl in the middle is my grandma," I hear him explain. "She died when my father was born. She was Light and wrote poems, and she was pure and happy, then she fell for grandpa, who is Darkness, and it killed her." Oh, I see. He really believes in this light-and-darkness thing. "Am I Light?" I turn to face him, and he shakes his head not in denial but in uncertainty. "I don't know yet," he whispers. And what scares me is I do not know, either.
The four other pictures form a square, and seem to be related - Grima and some blond guy hiding behind Harris's Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs so that only their eyes are visible; both of them with sunglasses and using locks of the other's hair as fake moustaches(the blond guy's hair is the same length as Grima's); blond guy lost in a huge armchair and reading something, seeming more and more familiar to me; Grima staring at blond guy and blond guy staring at Grima, blond guy being Theodred.
I gasp, shocked. "You-you know him?!" I point at the photo of my cousin and stare desperately at the now-confused Grima. He shrugs his shoulders and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, why? Do you?" Oh, shit. "How did you meet?" "Umh, we were staying at the same hotel and found each other interesting," his smile is nostalgic, not sad - he doesn't know? "When was that?" "Last year's summer, why are you so worried, Eowyn?" Oh, shit. "Grima, did something bad happen between you two?" His temple is wrinkled now, and his eyes suspicious. "Well, apparently he crushed me, I mean I couldn't know, he wouldn't say a thing," he lets out an annoyed sigh. "Silly, shy Theo. He kissed me, and I was shocked, to begin with... I never saw him again. He avoided me, and gosh, I felt so bad! I mean, not that I liked him back, not in that way, but he was an exquisite friend... Eowyn, are you okay?" Oh, shit. I can feel the blood rushing out of my head. I meet Grima's worried gaze and slowly, quietly start speaking, "I... Grima, Theodred was my cousin. He hung himself after he returned from a holiday with aunt and uncle, last year's summer."
At first he's quiet, surprised I'd say - then he starts blinking real fast and jumps on his feet and takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair, and he looks at me like a deer in the lights of an oncoming bus. His voice is the scariest thing I've heard. "I killed Theo?"
On any other such occasion, I'd blame him. I admit it, I totally would. Even though I wasn't so close with my poor cousin, I'd act it out and make Grima feel even guiltier. I'd yell. I'd make a scene. I'd never talk to him again. But now, now his unnaturally pale eyes are rivers and his bottom lip is trembling, and he looks like a lost puppy and I just can't do anything but walk over to him and hug him, careful not to touch a wound. He sobs so quietly but his whole body is shaking; and at a point, he takes a step back and looks at me and whispers, "I'm so sorry, Eowyn." And I could never blame him.