Chapter 8: Can't Stand Up
A week passes, and Miles has had enough. Currently, he is sitting atop his closed toilet seat in nothing but a tank top. Miles hasn't talked to Phoenix in a week. Phoenix has called and texted him daily, but Miles refuses to respond. Phoenix has tried to approach him in court, but Miles dodges him and hides in his office. He's sure that Phoenix has tried to visit his home, but he's resorted to sleeping in his office a few nights a week. Not that he gets much rest, mostly opting to stay up into the early hours of the morning doing paperwork. The only reason he's home now is to do laundry, and he's stumbled across his phone where he left it a few days ago, charging on his nightstand. Head throbbing and hands numb, he scrolls through the myriad of worried messages Phoenix has sent him the last three days.
He hates this. He hates that Phoenix cares so much about him, Miles Edgeworth, who can't seem to be happy and just enjoy life, even though it's good. He has Phoenix. Why can't that be enough? Why can't he put his past behind him and live in the present? As he asks himself this for the hundredth, the tears start to slip, and the anxiety inevitably comes. With it also comes the shakes, the questions: 'I'm trying so hard, why am I still like this?' and of course, the itch. With each thought that passes through his mind, his wrists feel like they're swollen and his chest aches for relief.
At first, Miles refuses. 'I'm better than this,' he thinks, only to counter with another question; 'Am I though?' After all, he does keep trying to change, to do better, and every time so far, he's failed. After 15 years, he's still never learned to cope with stress properly, each little thing bringing him back to the same state he was in as a child. Miles thinks of this with a dry chuckle, although his eyes and cheeks are anything but dry. "What am I doing with my life?" he mutters to himself, placing his phone on the counter and standing up. He glares at himself in the mirror; Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth stares back.
He's finally had enough. He goes through the motions, grabbing a razor from the back of the medicine cabinet, pressing down and slowly sliding it across his thighs, watching the blood bubble up as his nerves stop tingling and his head stops spinning. His breathing and heartrate slow, and he's too far gone to notice that he's a little too blissed out. The blood isn't just beading anymore as Miles closes his eyes, just for a moment.
Miles jolts what seems like a moment later but is far from it. He gasps at the blood that's coating his thigh, a thick layer of sticky maroon. He reaches for his phone that's ringing on the counter, although it takes a few lunges before he gets it. Mind hazy, he answers without looking who it is. "Hello?" he mumbles.
"Miles?" It's Phoenix on the other end, and Miles sobers up. "Are you okay?"
"Um," Miles pulls wads of toilet paper off the roll to mop up the puddle he's sitting in. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
Apparently, he's unconvincing, and Wright starts to ramble. "You don't sound okay. What's wrong? I'm coming over."
Miles panics. "No!" he shrieks, "I'm fine!" He finishes with a grimace; his leg is suddenly killing him.
"You don't sound fine."
"I-I am." Miles forces back a yelp as he brushes over one of the cuts on his leg in his efforts to clean himself up. "I don't want to see you." He says quieter, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.
Wright is silent for a moment, before saying quietly, "You mean you don't want me to see you."
Edgeworth stops his movements, holding the bloody tissue in one hand and his phone in the other. "What?" he sputters, confused and a little scared. "I- I mean-" he stutters, questioning if Phoenix is breaking up with him or if he's figured out what's going on.
"I'm already on my way, I'll be right there." He hangs up at this, leaving Miles shaken up and terrified. He does not want Phoenix to find him like this. As quickly as he can without falling over, he stumbles over to the medicine cabinet again, grabbing rubbing alcohol, gauze, and tape. He replaces the blade in the cabinet after wiping it down and works on cleaning up the rest of what's on his legs. He bites his lip as he cleans the cuts; they're far deeper than he'd gone in a long time.
Applying pressure to the gashes, he curses. The bleeding won't stop no matter what he does, and Miles doesn't have the time, so he sloppily tapes as much gauze as he can over most of his upper thigh, praying it won't seep through. He runs through his house to his room and yanks on underwear and sweatpants in three seconds flat before racing back to the bathroom. In under a minute, the trash is full of used, bloody tissues but otherwise spotless, and his right thigh is on fire. The shame would be overwhelming if not for the adrenaline and outright fear at Phoenix finding him like this.
Miles is about to take care of the bathroom trash bag when he hears Phoenix at the door, knocking perpetually. He hobbles down the stairs after giving the bathroom a once over and stuffing clean toilet paper over the red splotchy ones in the garbage. Taking a deep breath and shifting his weight off his thigh, he opens the door and tries to dawn his usual calm expression.
Phoenix, obviously, isn't fooled for a moment. "Are you okay?"
Miles sighs, hoping he looks exasperated, but the crinkle in his brow says pain. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
Phoenix looks at Miles like he has three heads. "Seriously? You've been ignoring me for almost a whole week, and the last time I saw you, you had a serious mental breakdown! What's going on?"
Miles pales. He feels a sharp pang of guilt because Phoenix is right. Miles knows he deserves at least an apology and an explanation. "I'm sorry," he sighs, turning his head away for a moment before forcing himself to meet Phoenix's eyes. "I just-" he struggles with his feelings for a moment, remembering all the negativity that he harbors towards himself, and frowns. "It's honestly nothing. A lot of it's in my head, just what I tell myself, but it's kind of true, and…" he putters, and the pain in his leg is suddenly nothing anymore, and Miles fights the urge to scratch at his skin. "It's just a lot," he finishes lamely.
Phoenix's ever worried face softens, and he walks in from the doorway. He goes into the living room and Miles follows. They both sit down about a foot away from each other, and Phoenix doesn't miss the careful way that Miles sits, favoring his right side. He's not stupid; he knows what's going on, and the idea that Miles might have gone farther had he not called petrifies him.
"Miles, how bad is it?"
The accused can't meet the defense attorney's intense gaze. Edgeworth starts to fidget, and his breathing gets labored. Phoenix feels bad immediately and takes Miles' hands into his own, holding them tightly. However, his tone remains stern.
"Miles, this is serious. Please look at me."
Ashamed and disappointed in himself, Miles takes a breath and turns his eyes to Phoenix. The flurry of emotions in his eyes is almost too much. He sees that Phoenix is more than worried; he's scared. The realization that he's caused this much disarray in someone else's life with his actions hurts him deeply.
Phoenix sees that Edgeworth is still disturbed and nervous and he's still shaking, but he's not on the verge on a panic attack. He's not sure he wants to ask this of Miles, for his own sake as well as for humiliating his boyfriend, but he feels as if he doesn't really have a choice anymore. "Let me see how bad it is."
Miles' heart is racing. He doesn't want Phoenix to worry any more than he already has, so starts shifting to show him, but stops. He looks up at Phoenix wordlessly, hoping that he can convey what he's feeling in silence since he doesn't trust his voice.
Wright see's that Edgeworth is tearing up, and the defeated look he's getting hurts so very much. He wishes he could just kiss away Miles' pain, just like that first night, but he knows that right now is not the time for that. "Take as long as you need, alright? I'm here, it's okay."
Miles nods, looking down again, as if the grey of his sweatpants is the most interesting thing in he world right now. His leg is a little numb, but also like a low throb, and he notices a small red splotch starting to form through his pants. He sighs, giving in to his fate. With his eyes loosely but firmly shut, he shimmies his pants down to his ankles and tucks his feet under his thighs. He hears Phoenix gasp very lightly and the shame curls into his stomach even more.
Very gently, Phoenix peels back the gauze that's nothing more than a mess of blood by now, wanting to be sure that he doesn't need to get stitches. He doesn't realize, but he's holding his breath, and when the air hits Miles' skin, he closes his eyes. "Oh, Miles," Wright groans softly.
It's now that Edgeworth picks his head up to look at his lover's face. He looks heartbroken, and that alone makes Edgeworth's eyes tear up. "I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely, "Do you hate me?"
Phoenix's eyes snap up. "No, never," he replies, tone surprised. "I just wish you wouldn't do this to yourself."
The two sit in silence for a few moments, Miles feeling less nervous now that his secret is out and Phoenix upset, but relieved that Miles is here and with him, breathing and alive and talking to him. He brings Miles' hands into his own, rubbing circles into his knuckles and tracing along the length of Edgeworth's fingers with his own. He's having a hard time knowing what it is exactly he's feeling right now other than incredibly sad. All he knows for sure is that this is not something that he's just going to push to the sidelines anymore.
"Miles. This needs to stop."
"I know," Edgeworth responds, looking down to watch what Phoenix is doing. "But I'm trying."
"I know you are," Wright says, still stroking his hands, "I don't want to, but if this continues, I'm going to tell Lana." Miles' reaction is predictable; he starts breathing a little heavier and crying a little harder, but Phoenix shushes him, repeats that it's okay, and holds him until he calms down enough to breathe. "You know you can talk to me, right?" Phoenix gives him a dry, sad smile, and Miles nods. "I'm still here aren't I?" Miles nods again, and Phoenix draws him in by his shoulders to hug him. "I love you, Miles. I care about you."
Miles leans his cheek into Phoenix's shoulder and can't hold back anymore. "I love you too," he bawls, grabbing at Phoenix's clothes and sniffling.
"I need you to promise me this won't happen again." Phoenix holds eye contact with Miles. "Promise me you won't hurt yourself anymore."
Miles knows Phoenix is right; this is getting out of hand. "I want to, but I can't." he says softly.
"You can," Phoenix insists. "I know you're trying, but you need to do better. This can't go on."
"I know," Miles says.
"I know you know, but you need to do it. I know it's hard, but it's a choice." Phoenix pauses, and Miles' brows furrow. He knows Phoenix is right and he nods. Wright continues: "I want to help you, but I can't if you keep pushing me away. Promise me that whenever you feel like hurting yourself, you'll come and talk to me."
Miles thinks for a second before nodding again. "I promise." He replies, and he means it. He doesn't want to hurt Phoenix ever again, and if that means doing whatever it takes to not cut himself anymore, then that's what he'll have to do. "I love you," he says under his breath, the words still a bit foreign in his mouth despite meaning them with all his being.
Phoenix smiles, glad that Miles is finally listening to him. "I love you too," he chuckles despite the situation. His heart still does little leaps at the concept of Miles Edgeworth being in love with him. "Now let's get you cleaned up. Wait right here."
Wright checks the medicine cabinet in Miles' upstairs bathroom. He grabs a couple ibuprofen, some bandages, cotton balls, and the same gauze, tape, and alcohol Miles had used before. Before retreating downstairs, he looks around. Nothing seems out of place, and he really doesn't want to nose around and find something that he doesn't want to see; he already knows the extent of Miles' condition. He quickly washes his hands, turns off the light, and jogs back down the stairs.
Miles is exactly where Phoenix had left him on the couch. His head is leaned back, and his eyes are closed. His breathing is steady, but he seems drained. Phoenix kneels next to him and puts what's in his arms on the couch. He looks to Miles' face before he starts, but his eyes remain shut. Neither man saying a word, he soaks a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and lightly dabs it on the wounds, starting with the small slivers and working up to the gashes. He looks up at Edgeworth's face several times, and it's only on the largest one that Miles crinkles his nose and breathes in sharply on. Phoenix runs a thumb along a small one that's already closed, and Miles looks down at that, watching Phoenix's motions with a blank face, waiting to see what he'll do and if he'll say anything.
Looking through the band aid box, Phoenix finds a butterfly bandage and applies it to the deepest cuts. For the smaller ones, he looks for a regular band aid, but the area is already inflamed, so he settles for a few layers of gauze with some adhesive and pulls the fabric of Miles boxers down as far as they will go over the area. Miles watches as he gets up and presumably walks into the kitchen to throw away the old gauze, dirty cotton balls, and band aid backs. Miles pokes at the area until he gets back, observing Phoenix's handiwork. He's not sure how he feels about it other than guilty.
Phoenix comes back with a glass of water and two tabs of ibuprofen in his hand. He hands them to Miles, who takes them wordlessly, and then sits down next to him. They sit together, Miles leaning on Phoenix and with one of Phoenix's arms around Miles, the other holding his hands. Phoenix breathes in the scent of Miles hair. Miles thinks that he doesn't deserve this but forces the thought down. He focuses on the feeling of Phoenix's thumb rubbing the backs of his hands and allows it to calm his. Phoenix is absolutely right, Miles decides as he dozes off. Enough is enough.