Chapter 2

Give Me Novacaine

Feliciano woke up earlier than usual that day, before either parent. His luck was turning up! The other night his dad had beat him so hard he overslept his alarm, having to run the entire distance from his house to school. His head still ached when he thought about it.

He tip-toed out of his room and into the shared family bathroom. The lock on that door thankfully worked, but it was the only lock in the house to do its job. He peeled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor with the rest of his clothes. The glare of the mirror, broken in two places, brought his attention to his body. His torso was lithe and pale, too pale for an Italian boy. He lifted his arms above his head, marveling at the thin layer of skin moving over the small muscles. His stomach skin stretched and appeared even flatter than usual, his ribs protruding in even lines while his hip bones pointed outward sharply from his body.

It was no secret to his family that he didn't eat enough. Mom and Dad liked to use their "extra" money on liquor, lottery tickets… generally some new kind of white-trash money hole. They expected their youngest son to eat at school, sometimes refusing to feed him dinner or breakfast because he "would get fat and expect food every day." He inhaled evenly and tried to calm his aching, contorting stomach. He slipped away from the mirror before he could get further lost in his own skin, stepping gingerly into the shower and washing himself as quickly as he could with their limited soap and hot water.

Once the shower was done Feliciano snuck back to his bedroom, not surprised to see his father still asleep on the couch. He changed, throwing his old clothes on his bed, and grabbed his school supplies before heading to the front door. He paused when he saw the teacher note sitting on the kitchen table; he picked it up, reading it for the first time since his English teacher scribbled it out.

Mr. and Mrs. Vargas,

It has come to my attention that your son, Feliciano, has trouble arriving to school on time. This has been an on-going occurrence and today was his third late arrival since the start of the school year. I would like to talk with you about your son's current progress and home situation to affirm whether he is truthful in his excuses for being late. It disrupts the teachings of my class and hinders not just his education, but that of the entire class. Tomorrow (September 15) would be ideal to speak with you about his behavior. Please sign this note to prove you have read it and whether or not you can attend the meeting.

Feliciano's grip of the white page tightened and crinkled the dirtying paper. How could his teacher say that? To write to his parents in such an arrogant way, as if they were children themselves. He may be late often but it's always under five minutes! In fact, he was there on time more often than the teacher himself, who comes in half the time with the excuse of having car trouble. This note made him sound even worse than he was at coming to school. And to top it off that line about him being truthful makes it sound as if he was making up lies of grandeur!

He had never been so mad at a teacher in his high school life. The bright red marker bleeding through the bottom of the page displayed his mother's response, likely a drunken one from the night before.

Tomorrow works for us. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.

His mother's name was scrawled in tight, overlapping letters. He easily could have forged the note if his handwriting was that sloppy. Feliciano glanced at the bright time on the oven clock, sighing at what he knew would be a bad day at school.

Knowing the teacher had a penchant for ruining his plans, Feliciano left home early so he could stop by Edelstein Florists to tell Roderich he might not be able to make it to work that night.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roderich," he whined. "But my English teacher is a real dick." Roderich and Elizaveta both chuckled, knowing Feliciano to be a sweet boy… but it was hilarious whenever he used language like that.

"It's okay, Italy," Elizaveta winked. "You work too hard. Study your history tonight with your free time, yeah?" Roderich nodded in agreement, patting Feliciano on the head.

"Now get to school, and be back tomorrow with your textbook." He laughed at the groan from the young man. First he has to sit through a parent-teacher conference with the three people he disliked being alone with most, and now he has to give his boss more ammunition for pop quizzes? Today was not his day.

"Thank you, Mr. Vargas."

Handing in the note wasn't as painful as he thought it would be—though the snickers from his classmates was just as bad. It was decided that his parents would come after school to talk with his teacher, which he had to be present for. Going home today was going to be a whole new level of pain.

The day passed all too quickly for the young Italian, the coiling fear in his stomach winding tighter and tighter as the day moved forward. He was so distracted in his art class that he spent the entire hour helping Alfred with his own painting instead. He knew he would be a better distraction, since painting on his own was just time for him to focus and he did not want to focus on what would surely happen after school. Alfred was thrilled to have help mixing colors and applying them, though Matthew watched from the sidelines with some doubt in his mind for why the artistic teenager would give up his own work time.

It was soon seventh period, the last class for the day and Feliciano's study hall. This was the left-over class—each student was assigned a study period if their schedule needed another class. It was seen by everyone, even administrators, as a filler period. This meant all grades were mixed in since it wasn't level-specific in any way. Feliciano's study hall was a mixture of mostly senior students, making him an anomaly being the only junior there.

Right after this hour he would have to wait for his parents in his English class. The knowledge was burning through him and made his stomach churn and growl at him.

"Feliciano, is something the matter?"

He jumped, startled by the deep voice. Looking up he was met with the cool, blue eyes of Ludwig Beilschmidt, his best friend despite being a year ahead and vastly different. This friendship was an enigma to anyone who knew them, knowing they were from different worlds by sight alone. Ludwig was serious and strong; Feliciano was known for being carefree and a bit of a scaredy-cat.

Feliciano stumbled over his worlds, only making weird noises until he could get out, "I'm fine."

"That's not true," Ludwig stated as he sat next to the younger man. "You're obviously upset by something."

Damn Ludwig and his concern. "My dick English teacher has a meeting with my parents today," he mumbled back. "Because I'm late to class too much…"

Ludwig blinked. He never did understand why his friend got so worked up over his parents. "Don't let it bother you, Feliciano. You'll feel better once you get it over with."

The anxiety grew within him. "Yeah, you're right…"

"Are you hungry?" The blonde pulled a candy bar from his messenger bag, which was loosely hanging from his chair. "You like sweets?"

The turning of his stomach continued, gurgling loudly. He shyly took the candy, nibbling on it carefully and slowly, a newfound need for it growing, not knowing anymore if he was nervous or just starving.

They chatted through the class, even studying briefly the topics Feliciano knew would be on his next history test. For the first time that day he felt okay, even forgetting about the meeting. He smiled like his usual self. Ludwig was glad to see a real smile instead of that forced one his young friend liked to wear whenever he was nervous about some new mystery topic.

The ringing of the bell brought him back to reality. The pain in his flat stomach returned tenfold as he gathered his books and walked with Ludwig to his class. He flinched when he felt the big hand of the German on his shoulder, a comforting motion. "Deep breaths, Feliciano. You'll feel better when you get back home."

Feliciano smiled at his attempt and said his farewells before begrudgingly entering the classroom. The teacher motioned him over to a desk near his own, murmuring that they would begin once his parents got there. And after twenty minutes of soul-crushing waiting, they arrived. Feliciano recognized their "best" clothes with their "best" parent faces on.

If he didn't know any better he'd say they were decent people. Those fuckers were good.

And so the conference went on. Mr. and Mrs. Vargas feigned shock at the idea that their precious son could slack off and be so late so often! They raised him better than that! They would be sure to punish him accordingly when they arrived home.

"Do not worry," Mr. Vargas calmly told the other man, his thick accent rolling into the words. "We will make sure Feliciano arrives early from now on." His English was broken but professional nonetheless. It baffled Feliciano why his dad only seemed to speak Italian when he was home and hammered drunk.

Mrs. Vargas thanked the man for his time and the three exited the room together, the perfect act of a normal family. They hopped in the old Vista Cruiser, complete with peeling wood paneling on the outside. The ride was nerve-wracking and the air was thicker than ever.

The sight of their trashy home came into view. The car slowed into the driveway, making questionable hacking noises as it did so. Together they entered their home, one by one, the heavy door closing behind them. Feliciano turned to face his parents, both with matching looks of growing anger, pent up since the meeting.

He didn't even have time to brace himself before his mother's sharp hand struck his sensitive cheek, and his father's thicker fist came crashing down on him right on the collar bone. He cried out as he backed into the kitchen wall divider, hurting his back in the process. Father continued to beat on him until he was a cowering mass on the floor. That was the best method for tiring out his dad, which he learned partly from Lovino: don't fight back, don't cry, and don't run.

It felt like hours before his father had finished up. His parents lazily grabbed their keys, strolled out the door, and left. He heard the engine of their car sputtering before driving away, likely to a bar or a friend's house. He never really knew, he didn't care. It meant he was safe from more beatings for the night.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't a little concerned when he felt a sharp pain in his head upon sitting up from his spot on the floor. Even worse was the hot, sticky feeling running down his hair to his neck, and the smeared spots of blood on the floor and the wall. He reached back to touch his head but shrieked in surprise when it was more painful than usual.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

Feliciano felt a sudden wave of terror go through him as his vision blurred. He leaned forward on his knees, bracing the floor with one hand while using the other to cover his mouth as his breaths grew ragged. Adrenaline was good, he knew, for a quick run to the bathroom or somewhere safe to heal. The splitting headache behind his eyes, however, told him he would need a little more this time than a few bandages and ice pack. This was bad. His parents' sober beatings were so much stronger without the alcohol to slow them down or make them sloppy.

Feliciano flashed back to school today, before he was bleeding out on the floor with potential brain damage. When he was safe and relatively unharmed and the fear was the only thing hurting him.

"Deep breaths, Feliciano."

He gasped for air, sobbing a bit when it sent a wave of pain slowly through his skull. The worst part was he knew he had no more supplies—the bandages were all used up from the other day and he didn't think it was safe to take pain medicine and potentially fall asleep and die.

Feliciano struggled to his feet, moaning as his toes cracked underneath him. Broken? Snap. Broken. He limped to the couch, only a few feet away but as painful as walking on glass (or in his case, broken toes). His head wasn't bleeding profusely but he still needed something to cover up the gash; so he began today's journey: walking into town, to the pharmacy, to inconspicuously buy himself supplies while also hiding the fact his parents had just beaten him so badly he was having a hard time staying conscious on his feet.

An old beanie was left on the couch arm, which would have to do for hiding his misery to the public. The floorboards creaked as he hobbled outside, mentally noting that he'd need to ask Roderich quickly for an advance on his paycheck.

He hobbled for nearly an hour to get into the town, hunched over and holding himself, hissing through his teeth at the bitter air mixing with his bruising skin and aching feet. The flower shop came into view and he sighed in relief knowing he was one step closer to fixing himself up.

The bell dinged loudly and ripped through his ears when he limped in the store, taking smaller steps in an attempt to hide it. Elizaveta peaked over some flowers and frowned when she saw the young man. Something was definitely off about him.

"Feliciano!" She called. He cringed. "You have the day off, what are you doing here?"

His smile was fake as ever, mixed with his cringe from the loud noises invading his head. "Oh, Ms. Elizaveta," his voice cracked. "I just need to ask Mr. Edelstein for an advance…"

"Your payday is tomorrow," she said. The state of the Italian was more apparent now that she could get a better look at him. His clothes were disheveled and his hair was messy under his hat. "Hold on, Italy. I'll get Roderich."

"Grazie," he smiled.

She hurried to the back room where Roderich was sorting through paperwork as he always did on such slow days. He knew something was wrong before Elizaveta could even begin ranting her worry for Feliciano.

They both came out, finding Feliciano now leaning against the counter with his one foot lifted from the floor slightly. He smiled at the two, doing his best to suppress his pain.

It took all of Roderich's will power not to gasp when he saw Feliciano's face, complete with a bruising cheek and a cut on his forehead that had a dried blood trailing down to his nose. Times like now made him wonder if the young man even owned a mirror.

"Feliciano, what happened?"

The smile faltered. "I—"

"You're bleeding," Elizaveta's concerned voice supplied.

His eyes opened wide when he realized he had been caught. Where was he bleeding from? There was no way they could see his head under the beanie…

The adults approached him slowly and noted the small flinch when Elizaveta reached out and moved away some stray hairs from his forehead with her silky-soft fingers. He didn't like all the attention he was getting right now.

"Never mind, I should get going—" He quickly backed away, stumbling over his broken toes and nearly falling, being caught by the wrists by Roderich. The sudden movement caused another head rush to melt into his brain. He swayed a bit, being steadied by the couple. They grabbed his arms firmly as he placed his hand to his head, eyes screwed shut, breathing heavy.

Before he could argue they were helping him walk outside, to the parking lot, and laying him down in the backseat of their car. The pain echoed in his body but the seats were a much needed change. His eyes were closed and he felt himself drifting away as the car doors closed and concerned voices spoke in tones that got quieter and quieter until everything went silent.

A/N: So we're clear, this isn't writing from experience. My parents never beat me and I never had to go it alone like Feli. My apologies to actual sufferers of physical abuse and if this offends them for any reason. I do know people and am friends with people who have suffered through everything I'm writing about, so this isn't all just random guessing.

However, some things that will be written about may not be realistic in real life and is explained by the plot needing it to happen. I'm being honest here, I have no idea how a few moments in the story would work in real life but it works out the way I needed it to for the sake of the story.

"Give Me Novacaine" by Green Day

Take away the sensation inside

Bittersweet migraine in my head

It's like a throbbing toothache of the mind

I can't take this feeling anymore