Chapter 7 – I'm Not What You Want
When Miles wakes up, he takes a moment to realize why is he is asleep on his couch. After a moment, he remembers. He looks around the house, walking through his kitchen and going to the window of his front door. Looking outside, he doesn't see Gumshoe's car, and there's not a single sign that he had been here. Scratch that; there's a note taped to his door. Miles cringes at the long piece of tape that's been stuck to the mahogany and peels the dangling sheet of yellow notepad paper off gingerly. He smiles upon reading it: "You don't have any cases today and I've cleared your schedule, go see Phoenix, he asked about you." He immediately gets dressed in his usual work attire and gets in his car. He'll see how Wright is doing, but he'll be damned if he doesn't go to the prosecutor's office afterwards.
Phoenix hears a knock on the door of the Wright and Co. Law Offices. "It's open," he shouts nasally from his place on the couch. He's not surprised when Miles walks in. "Gumshoe said you'd stop by."
Miles glances down at Phoenix. He's curled up under a few blankets, and there's a lined trash-bin next to him, as well as a half full tissue box. He wrinkles his nose as Phoenix coughs. "Of course, he did. Are you feeling any better?"
He grimaces as Phoenix only answers with a fit of coughing. When he's finished, he smiles up at Miles despite himself. "Now that you're here, hell yes."
Edgeworth smiles at the sight of Phoenix beaming up at him. Nothing reassures him that this relationship was a good idea more than Wright's happiness at the mere presence of him. That doesn't mean that Edgeworth thinks he deserves a boyfriend as good as Phoenix Wright, but Wright's positive attitude never fails to boost his mood, even if it's just a little bit.
"So," Phoenix continues, scooting over and patting a spot on the couch next to him so Miles can sit. "What's this Gumshoe says about you taking the day off?"
"That," Edgeworth raises his voice and waggles a finger by his temple, "was a lie. I haven't taken a day off in years."
"Well, things change. No time like the present, huh?"
Edgeworth chuckles. "I haven't changed much since…" he trails off, thinking how he hasn't changed at all in the last fifteen years. Ever since adopting the Von Karma name in everything but the name itself, he thinks how he's still living the same life, effected by the same problems, and tormenting himself the same way, always saying he's trying but never doing any better for more than a week. "Well," he chuckles, shaking his head. He is trying, and Phoenix is proof of that. Phoenix makes him happy, and that's something. "You know." He finished lamely at the expectant look Wright is giving him, but his thoughts always need to have the last word: until you fuck that up, they say.
"You ok?" Phoenix asks, looking concerned. "Did I say something?"
"No," Edgeworth forces a smile, not wanting to explain and thus think about it more. "Don't worry about it."
"I'm gonna worry no matter what you say." Wright chuckles, bringing himself closer to Edgeworth but pulling back at the last minute, remembering his illness. "Seriously though, don't hold it in. I don't want to push you but look how much better you're doing since you've reached out."
Miles snorts. "Better?" he mutters, staring down at his arms. He knows that beneath his sleeves, his scars have faded, but it doesn't matter. He still feels the same looking at his bare forearms. It's been a long time since they were gashes that would never stay healed, but he still knows they are there, and they haunt him, no matter how much better he is doing. "Not good enough."
"You know you can't be so hard on yourself, Miles. Nobody's perfect."
"I'm not asking for perfection." The prosecutor sighs, the familiar anxious feeling crawling up his arms. It dwells there despite the lack of reason for it, and he hates himself for not being able to be happy, regardless of all the wonderful things lining up in his life. "I'm just asking to be happy. I want to be happy, and I'm not ungrateful, it's just…" he gestures vaguely at the air, then stops short. He doesn't want to further the moment, opting instead to try not to escalate it further.
"Just what?" Phoenix pursues, genuinely wanting to understand so he can help.
"Just… I don't know. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine."
"Miles." Phoenix sits up, pushing the blanket off himself to hold Miles' hands in his own. "I know you think that pushing it all down will help, but it won't. Tell me what's wrong and I can help you. I promise, I won't hate you or leave you."
Miles looks into Phoenix's eyes but finds that he can't for more than a few seconds. He doesn't want to admit that nothing in particular is really wrong. He has a wonderful boyfriend, and good people who support him and will help him in spite of everything that he thinks about himself. The truth is, nothing was even bothering him this morning. He can't help but think himself into this pit, and then convince himself he's pathetic for even feeling depressed and anxious because, as he tells himself time and time again, nothing is wrong.
"You should," Miles mumbles, looking away and trying not to cry.
"I should what?" Phoenix asks gently, rubbing his thumbs along the backs of Miles' hands.
"You should hate me," Miles sobs softly, beginning to ramble. "Because I'm pathetic. I'm upset, and nothing is even wrong, and no matter what I do I can't make it stop!"
"Miles, look at me," Phoenix coos, trying to calm the other down, but he only continues in more of a frenzy once he meets his gaze.
"You should leave me because you deserve so much better and I'll never be happy with you no matter how hard I try and no matter what you do to accommodate me!"
"Miles." This time, Wright catches the other's attention with the firm tone in his voice. "Listen to me. I will never leave you. I love you, no matter what. We're a team."
Miles sobs at the sincerity in his voice and the determination is his eyes. A part of him knows he's right; that he does try, and he's improved so much and that with Phoenix there to help and support him, he can, and he will get better. But another, overbearing and so hard to ignore part of his looks at where he is now, in spite of all that progress and says that he is not worth wasting such a good, earnest, selfless, patient man's time over a confused and damaged prosecutor who will never amount to anything.
"I'm not what you want. You deserve better."
"Miles, you're exactly what I want. And I need you. You keep me sane, and I'll do anything that I can to make you happy." Miles tries to pull his hands away, thinking himself undeserving of such kind words, but Phoenix pulls him right back. "You need to hear this, Miles. You can't be this hard on yourself. I know you can stop, and I know it won't be easy, but you can do it. I know you can. I'll be here."
"You shouldn't," Miles is sobbing at this point; he can't stop himself. "You won't be happy with me." He mumbles the same things over and over, saying that Phoenix doesn't deserve him, that he's pathetic. It breaks Wright's heart to see someone so strong who's come so far disregard all their accomplishments and be so unhappy. It only makes it worse that he's helpless and can't do anything to make Edgeworth feel better. He can only calm him down, and hope that he can figure it out himself.
"Come here." Phoenix whispers, trying to bring Miles into his lap. He struggles, pulling himself away and curling in on himself, anxiety clearly overtaking him despite his best efforts. Wright doesn't relent, and before long Miles is curled into Phoenix's shoulders, not quite grabbing on but fists clenched nonetheless, sputtering and coughing because he can't seem to calm himself down. "It's okay, I promise," Phoenix repeats, like a mantra as he clutches Edgeworth's shoulders and pets his hair down smooth. He fights back his own tears, wishing that Miles could acknowledge his accomplishments and see that he was okay, that Miles was here in his arms and that he would do anything for him.
Finally, Miles manages to calm down. He still won't hug Phoenix back, but he's relaxed enough to breathe; it hurts too much to do anything more than take small little puffs and spit them back out.
"Why don't you hate me?" Miles heaves, thinking how happy he was less than a week ago when Phoenix had agreed to date him, and not even the mention of his father could have upset him.
"Because I love you," Phoenix states firmly but gently, "and I will do whatever it takes to make you happy."
Miles finally chances a glance into Phoenix's eyes and is shocked by how much he can feel the other man's hurt from just one single look. But then, he's not really surprised, just in awe that someone could care so much for someone like him. "I love you too." He breathes, barely a whisper.
Phoenix smiles. It's a sad smile, but he sees that Miles is coherent enough to have at least a little sense, and that's good.
"Please don't leave me," Miles starts at a whisper, but ends in a sob, and before he knows it he's panting and sweating again in Phoenix's lap.
Phoenix sighs and continues to comfort him. Maybe he can't make all of Miles pain go away, or even make him see that yes, he's worthy of love even in moments like these, but at least Phoenix can calm him down.
Miles sighs. It's been a while since he's last hurt himself, but he doesn't understand why the urge isn't really going away like it did last time. Was it because last time, he was able to stave out for more time? Or was he in a different state of mind? Either way, he can't shake that feeling of misery every night, no matter how good his day was or how early he goes to bed. He can't believe that he's making progress, thinking to himself that he's triggering himself because maybe, he doesn't want to get better. Or maybe it's that he's not putting in the effort to get better. Which isn't true, or is it? Miles can't tell anymore. It's true that he could be trying more. But isn't that being too hard on himself, thinking he could be doing more? Or is it motivation to do better because he's still upset and wants very much to be happy? He isn't sure of that either. He isn't even sure he wants to be happy. Of course, he does, but that doesn't change the fact that he keeps finding himself here no matter what he does. Miles isn't at the bottom, per se; he's functioning, but he doesn't feel like he is, and the more he finds himself feeling this way, the more it feels like rock bottom. Doesn't that mean he doesn't really want to be happy, because if he did he wouldn't keep finding himself here, curled up in bed and thinking about all the locations that razors and pocket knives could be? Or how far the nearest store is and how much he's spent on replacement blades? Or how he could go back to burning in a pinch, because it wouldn't really be cutting?
He's triggering himself and he knows it, but he can't seem to stop. He knows it's unhealthy. Maybe he should call Phoenix, he thinks. Phoenix always says to talk to him, that he'll always listen. But Miles knows that talking about it will only make him more upset and further trigger him. He knows that he'll pay close attention whenever he gets a papercut or be careless when using a paper cutter for work for the next few days, and maybe, if something small happens, he'll give in to the urge and he'll have to start all over from day one. But if he doesn't talk about it, simply to not make a big deal out of nothing or to keep Phoenix from worrying on his behalf, it counts as repressing it in and is just as damaging to his mental health, right?
This in mind, he picks up the phone with the intent to call Phoenix. He tries not to beg for validation, but sometimes he feels like he really needs it. It never helps, but that doesn't mean anything to Miles when he's in a panic or a slum. He knows he shouldn't ask Phoenix for the answers, that only he himself, Miles Edgeworth, can do what he needs to do to get better. He knows what he needs to do, and he knows he can do it, but getting the motivation to do it, or to continue doing it after so many months? That, he's not so sure of. And when it's so easy for him to get anxious or overemotional about something, how can he expect his own judgement to be any good? Especially when he knowingly and purposefully causes himself harm despite knowing that he is, if fact, better than that and worth it. But at the same time, he doesn't know. Maybe he's not worth it. Maybe Phoenix is wrong.
Miles suddenly realizes that he hasn't taken a breath in a while. He inhales, but the second he does, he feels the sweat pour down his back and a rush of heat down his arms. He feels empty and tires and damnit Miles, you should go to bed! But he can't, and knows that the nightmares will come, or that he'll stay up in the dark just thinking, thinking, and all he wants to do is not have to worry about it for just one moment and do something concrete, something that he knows won't make him happy, but will make him something. The pain he'll feel will be concrete, and with it he can release all these feelings that he doesn't know what to do with or how to label them, but he might, just for a minute, be alright.
But then he thinks of Phoenix. He had finally convinced Phoenix that he could go home, just because he couldn't bear to know that he's hurting the person he loves the most with his pathetic not-problems. But he knows Phoenix wants to help.
But he doesn't know what else to do at this point and doesn't want to torment Phoenix with it. Not because he doesn't think the other man can take it; he's proven that he can and will time and time again, but because he knows that Phoenix will take it. He will take as much as he can until it is unhealthy for him to take on any more of Miles' stress and worry and turmoil, and then he will continue to take it on. Half of Miles worries that it will make Phoenix hate him and thus leave him or make him realize that it's not good for him to stay and thus leave him. The other half of miles, the logic and reason side, knows that Phoenix will stay no matter what Miles throws at him and will only be able to do so much until it eats away at him, and Miles treasures Phoenix way too much for that to happen. He debated coping alone, but then he thinks of spending another night like this, except without Phoenix there to be the thing that keeps him from carving up his legs, and shudders. Miles thinks that maybe he should go back to therapy. Scratch that; he needs to go back to therapy.
But then he thinks of all the times that he's picked up the phone and stared at the number, and how anxious he gets at just the thought of it. He'll have to make the appointment and then stress until the day of the appointment, stress the whole way there even though he knows it will be fine, and then re-explain his whole trauma from the beginning, but he knows that he'll forget all the important bits and knows that he's repressed so much of it, but also doesn't want to be judged solely on his past since it's not what's effecting him now; what's effecting him now is not learning how to deal with stress properly and having very high standards pushed on him from a very young age. But other than that, nothing is happening and the amount of problems he has with daily life is not equivalent to basically nothing, and it's very pathetic to go to therapy for that, let alone the medication aspect of it which he knows is a whole nother can of worms.
He resorts to scribbling on a piece of paper, hard enough to rip through it. He screams, gets no relief, and curls up on the cold bathroom tiles. The door is locked out of old habits even though he lives alone. He doesn't call Phoenix, but he doesn't hurt himself. He's not happy, and he doesn't know what to do, but he hopes that he might someday. He's glad he let Phoenix convince him not to go to work that day.