A/N: There's pretty much triggering things from now on. Read on at your own risk if you have issues with any of the Trigger Warnings given in chapter 1.

Chapter 8

Empty

"Feli, did you get hurt? How did this happen?"

The Italian felt panic rush through him when Elizaveta gently held his arm, which was red from his recent bout of calming himself down. He didn't draw any blood, which was good, because only people with problems drew blood. He was okay.

"Just hit my arm on my dresser," he lied, hoping those scratches could pass for a scrape.

She frowned. "Alright, Feli. Try to be more careful. I'd hate to have to take you back to the ER," she joked.

Feliciano was about to walk away when she called out, "Wait!" He turned back to her as she pulled a small plastic bag from her purse. "I nearly forgot! I got you something."

"You didn't have to, Miss Hungary!"

She smiled at the nickname. "You're seventeen and it's the twenty-first century. You need one of these," she pulled a black rectangle from the bag. Feliciano instantly recognized it as a smartphone, the same kind Alfred and Matthew had. "So you can keep in touch with your friends."

His lips parted slightly as he took this in. Elizaveta went out of her way and spent her money on such a wonderful little device all for him. It was amazing to his poor self. "F-for me?"

"Just for you, Italy," she winked.

He approached her and slowly picked up the phone, touching the round home button and lighting up the screen. He had never had something this nice before. He swiped his finger over the screen and smiled like a little kid at all the bright colors and apps.

"I… thank you!" He hugged her tightly, minding his phone. "This is so nice, I didn't know you liked me that much, does Roderich know? Oh no, he'll be mad you spent so much on me, it's not even my birthday!"

Elizaveta giggled and patted the Italian on the head. "Slow down, Feli. Roddy knows and it was even his idea. He said you should have a phone for emergencies. I said you needed something to keep you from getting too bored. Now go download some Irate Pigeons or whatever it's called."

"Angry Birds," he corrected. Then he skipped off to his room, happy talking to himself and mumbling about needing to text Ludwig about his new phone. Elizaveta smiled at the happy boy. It'd been too long since she'd seen him excited about anything.

Feliciano plopped on his bed and started programming all the phone numbers he could remember into the device. He even had the Facebook app downloading and he was ready to be able to update it again.

His worries were lost in his excited haze and he began composing a text for his friend.

Eliza and Roddy got me a phone :) xx Feli

He fidgeted, unable to sit still. The phone buzzed and he smiled wide at his first ever text.

That's great, Feli.

The reply was a little disappointing but he wasn't surprised. Ludwig was always such a serious texter, it was like he was a boring adult already. He was ready to set the phone down when he got another text.

You can text me any time. I'll always be here.

He frowned. Why was Ludwig being so supportive lately? Ever since their talk the week before he had been so… un-Ludwig. He told him he was fine!

A weird irritation formed in his chest at the idea that Ludwig wouldn't believe he was fine. He put his phone on his nightstand and paced his room. Unluckily for him his toes had healed up to the point that pain was harder to achieve in them. He tried not to go too hard on them, afraid of needing more visits to the doctor to straighten them out. He felt an odd sense of regret for letting his toes heal.

He sank down to the floor, feeling helpless again. When did the feelings come back? Why does he feel bad again?

The phone buzzed again but he ignored it. Elizaveta called out from the kitchen that she was going to work with Roderich. Feliciano perked up, calling back a farewell before he heard the front door shut and a car engine rev.

He was alone again.

The house was once again screaming at him in the developing silence. The only reminder that he was here was the consistent buzzing of his new phone demanding to be seen, for the texts to be read. Feliciano continued to ignore it, partially out of spite for the item to send him into such a poor mood.

Feliciano then turned his attention to his arms, to the gentle crooks of his elbows, to the tiny wrist with the protruding bone. The insatiable desire for a release and some calmness was gnawing at his chest and his head. He reached his uncut nails to his skin once more, pausing when he realized he'd be screwed if he did it again; Elizaveta had already seen the scratches from the "dresser." He was clumsy, but he wasn't clumsy enough to keep running into it at the same angle to his body.

A short sob escaped his throat when he realized the dilemma. He wanted nothing more than to kick his toes in and re-break every single one in his foot. He needed something to distract him and replace the pain that was ballooning up inside of him and making it harder to breathe.

Soon he found himself stalking out to the kitchen, reasoning with himself, trying to convince himself he was okay and he was doing the right thing. He needed something, something, anything to stop this emotion building and ready to erupt in his body.

Approaching the utensil drawer was a feat itself, proving to Feliciano he could do this unspeakable action he had caught up in his head. A shaky hand pulled the drawer open and another shaky hand fingered through the metal objects until he found one he liked; a generic knife, serrated at the end, part of a set. No one would even notice it was gone, it wasn't unique or special. It was just there, like he was.

Looking around the room, as if he was afraid of being caught in an empty house, he gently removed the extra knife and exited the kitchen. He returned to his room, clicking the small lock in the handle which he had never felt the need to use until now.

It was almost six o'clock and he had plenty of time, which he knew for sure. There was a soft buzzing in the background as he sat against the wall across from his bed. Feliciano quickly examined his arms and took in the sight of his shredded left arm, light red from the irritation of his latest habit of scratching the skin raw.

But it didn't bleed, so that meant he didn't have a problem.

In hindsight he was lucky anyone fell for the "hit my arm" lie whenever his arm was exposed. It looked similar to a scrape, though controlled and gentle. He had been doing this since his toes stopped helping, and he had been lucky not to be caught. Just the other day in school Ludwig had given him a stern look and asked about how he kept getting his left arm scratched on household furniture.

The hurt in Ludwig's eyes were the worst kind of punishment.

"I promise, Luddy, I won't lie about it anymore," Feliciano whispered to himself. "Never again."

He lightly slid the blade over his arm, flat side down, shivering as the cold metal touched the sensitive and healing skin. Next he looked himself over, focusing on his legs hidden beneath a layer of jean.

Slowly he rolled up the fabric covering his left leg, delaying what he knew he would do once he was sufficiently prepared. He took the blade between two fingers and wiped away any imaginary germs he thought would linger, noting how sharp the knife was and how jagged the serrated edges were.

The knife was poised over the skin, an inch above his delicate ankle. He found himself thinking of something he heard in passing at school one day, "Across the road, not down the street." The knife was eased down, touching the skin but had no pressure to break it. This was the moment, Feliciano knew, that would mark his teenage life. Once you do it, it can never be undone. It was a huge deal in the world of high school and everyone knew that the goth kids and the emos all cut for attention.

But if he hid it then he didn't have a problem. No one knows it's there if they can't see it. That was all Feliciano could think of, rationalizing that he was okay, that he didn't need to talk to anyone about it, as he slid the blade into a thin and shallow cut across his leg. It was barely an inch long and it didn't bleed enough to bead blood. It was still there, clear as day.

The accomplishment caused more anxiety in the brunette than anticipated and he spent the next half-hour adding more cuts to his leg, localized to the same area, going a little longer and a little deeper until the blood would rush to the surface of the cut but never poured over.

After the last cut he felt better. He was ashamed of his leg and his arm, but he felt better. A few bandages littered on his arm and leg finished off the feeling and Feliciano smiled. He stumbled to his bed, tripping over a misplaced shoe as he went. The phone had finally silenced and he checked it, seeing Ludwig had tried calling him a few times and texted him.

Needy.

Are you okay? It's not like you to ignore people.

Feliciano cringed at the newest text. There was absolutely no way Ludwig could already know! No, he wouldn't allow it.

Sorry Luddy. Im still learning this new phone lol

He smiled at his brilliant excuse and laid down, not hungry enough to get up and make food. The bed was so soft, and his pants were rubbing his ankle in just the right way to bring on stings and pinches of pain. He sighed, content, and drifted into the easiest sleep he'd known since he moved in.

Elizaveta stared at their kitchen in confusion. She and Roderich had just arrived home from work and she immediately noticed the similar perfect state of the kitchen.

"Is he eating?" she asked out loud.

"I was a very neat boy at his age. He could just be excellent at cleaning up after himself."

"You've seen him at work. He leaves trails of petals in his wake! I know he tries but he's a messy boy."

The two went through the cabinets and the fridge trying to find some sign of life, some sign that Feliciano was, in fact, living there. All the food and plates were exactly as they left them. Come to think of it, they hadn't had dinner with him in a while. He's been left to fend for himself and it appears he hadn't even done that.

"I'll talk to him in the morning," Roderich sighed, defeated.

They stalked to bed, stopping to peak into Feliciano's room. To their surprise the door was locked and wouldn't budge. Teenage boys want privacy, it's not a shock to finally see him locking the door in itself, but it was weird for such an open boy.

He was obviously changing and they didn't like it.

The next morning Elizaveta had to hurry off to work to tend to the flower shop. Meanwhile, Roderich stood in the kitchen and began breakfast. God, Feli, please don't be one of those edgy male anorexics, he worried. A soft click and bare feet padding against the hardwood floors sounded behind him and he was joined by a confused Italian.

"Uh, Roderich…" he mumbled, looking around the kitchen and checking the time on the oven clock.

"Yes, Feliciano?" he asked, standing over the pancakes he was trying so hard not to burn.

"Why are you here? Don't you go to work now?"

"Elizaveta is going today. She said I needed a little break."

"Oh."

Roderich continued working and paused when he heard his ward walking away. "Stay, Feliciano. Breakfast is almost ready."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved when Feliciano came back and sat at the table. He served the pancakes out and sat across from the young brunette.

"I need to speak with you," he began. Feliciano's face immediately paled and he stopped his eating to look at the adult with shifting eyes.

"A-about what?"

"About your eating habits."

The panic was dissipating and he felt almost calm again. He guiltily looked down at his plate and mumbled, "Am I eating too much?"

"What? No! Not at all," Roderich replied, shocked. "We can tell you've been skipping dinner. I'm talking with you about it so we can fix that. Feli, why aren't you eating?"

"I've been so tired, I fall asleep before I can get anything," he said honestly.

"I'm not going to work tonight. We'll eat together. I need to be sure you're not starving. I could never let my star employee go hungry."

Feliciano chuckled and finished his food. "Si, si, Mr. Edelstein. Just one question: will there be pasta?"

"Empty" by Ray LaMontagne

Well, I looked my demons in the eyes

Laid bare my chest, said "Do your best, destroy me.

You see, I've been to hell and back so many times,

I must admit you kind of bore me."

There's a lot of things that can kill a man

There's a lot of ways to die

Yes, and some already dead that walk beside me

There's a lot of things I don't understand

Why so many people lie

Well, it's the hurt I hide that fuels the fires inside me

Will I always feel this way

So empty, so estranged?