Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, so I have to settle for Nicholas's backstory never truly being known.
Dedication: procrastination and writer's block that kept me from writing anything new.
Type: extended timeline (follows the previous chapter)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: descriptions of abuse, suicidal thoughts, and implied self-harm.
Title: In the Silence of a Starless Night
Summary: He shows her the scars.
X-X-X-X-X
He shows her the scars.
She's seen them before, of course, but she's never looked at them.
He removes his shirt, and he wonders how long it will be before she looks at the canvas upon his back.
She steps closer to him, but he can't look at her.
He tried, once, to count his scars. He gave up when he reached the triple digits.
She brushes her thumb over the scar above his right eyebrow. His hands curl into fists, and he forces himself to breathe.
He remembers every last scar.
"Nicholas," she breathes, and he can't bear to look her in the eyes.
He remembers.
He remembers the little boy who missed his family so much that he began crying (that little boy was beaten). He remembers the days he skipped school due to his black eyes and hospital visits and broken ribs. He remembers the teenager who lied about his injuries, passing it off as a riding accident or simple teenage behavior. He remembers lying on the ground, the fight in him shattered, as he received blow after blow. He remembers trembling fingers and a closed bathroom door and looking over his shoulder as his heart beat in his throat.
He remembers, and he wants to forget.
Her touch is gentle, and her eyes study his face, actively seeking out his other scars, including the one on his cheek. Her eyes keep returning to the scar above his right eyebrow, and he can see the question in her eyes lying behind a wall of tears.
He considers pushing her hand away and leaving. He thinks about ducking behind a closed door where he can suffer in secret and distance himself (yet again) from a person he loves. But she's here and she's not going away, and judging by the way she's looking at him, she putting herself through the torture of imagining how all of this happened in the first place.
He tells her.
He tells her the story of a twelve-year-old boy who tried to hide his uncle's brandy. He tells her of the paralyzing fear as his uncle entered the room, and he tells her how he tried to run away, throwing his hands up to protect himself as soon as his uncle raised his fist.
He had to get seven stitches.
Mia's lower lip is trembling, and she wants to gather him into her arms, but she doesn't. Not yet.
She walks around to look at his back and touches the spot in between his shoulder blades. He tries not to flinch at the feeling of her cold hand against his skin.
Her finger traces the scar. Oh, he thinks, it's this one.
After revealing that, no, he really didn't care to rule a country after all, his uncle's eyes had spit fire. He tried begging his uncle, but his uncle's deafening roar overpowered his pitiful whimpers. He'd tried to yell, run, he'd tried to fight back, but he'd underestimated the amount of alcohol in his uncle's system.
He'd ended up in the hospital for nearly a week after that beating. He was sixteen.
The wind outside begins to howl, and a tree branch knocks on the window. The room is otherwise quiet and heavy, much like the days of his youth.
She finds the scar on the left side of his back and touches it as he closes his eyes.
He doesn't know why. Closing them only makes the memories more vivid.
As a college student, he had expected to get over his fear of his uncle.
And how very wrong he'd been.
He had been nineteen, and it was his last year of university. He doesn't recall why his uncle had beaten him that day, but he clearly remembers the feeling of the belt buckle biting into his skin. He'd managed to crawl away and hide in a closet until night came.
And that was the first time he'd ever thought about killing himself.
He doesn't realize that he's been hyperventilating, or that his entire body is trembling with fear, or that his body has broken into a sweat, or that he's about to faint. He only notices when he feels Mia's hand give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Right.
He forces himself to take ten deep breaths, and she says nothing as she gently massages the tension from his shoulders. His heartbeat slows, and he lets himself relax into Mia's touch.
"You don't have to show me," she finally whispers. "I don't want you to feel like you have to."
He shakes his head. "No," he says, and he hates how strangled his voice sounds. "No, you need to know."
He can't see her, but he knows she's crying, and he wants to turn around and wipe the tears away, but he's so weak and tired that he just can't.
"Okay," she says, and he can hear the sadness in her voice.
The silence that returns is poignant, and he knows that he should be telling her the story behind each scar, but every time he tries, his words get caught in his throat.
She finds a mark behind his right ear.
The second time he'd thought about killing himself.
Another scar on the small of his back.
He had seriously thought about going through with suicide.
Yet another scar above his right hip.
He'd been seven. He hasn't cried since.
He knows she's not going to touch every scar, but he lets himself remember each of them.
"Mia," he whispers, and she stops, coming around to face him. Seeing his brokenness, she gathers him into her arms, and he allows himself to cry as she gently eases them to the floor.
He needs to tell her about his suicidal thoughts. He needs to tell her that he was so close, mere days away from his 20th birthday, to hanging himself. He needs to tell her that his best friend sat him down, crying and begging him to keep going. He needs to tell her that reading became his sanctuary, and he escapes into the library when he can't sleep.
He needs to tell her these things, but he knows he won't.
He needs to tell her of his brief descent into alcoholism, which Elyssa helped him through. He needs to tell her of his suicidal thoughts coming back before his attempted coup. He needs to tell her that it was the thought of seeing her again and seeing her smile that helped him get through it.
He needs to tell her, but all he can do is cry.