06-02-2022, 06:14 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-02-2022, 06:24 AM by Edmund Reynolds.)
[taking place shortly after this <3]
[[CW for aftermath of violence, brief references to guns/murder, child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, arguments and general bad vibes :( ]]
By the time Edmund returned to his hotel room, he felt like he was ready to drop dead.
The only thing he was returning with was that damn constable's baton, which he tossed onto the floor immediately after closing the hotel door behind him. And that really was the only thing. He'd lost his pride, his dignity, his stable state of mind...
Realistically, he'd lost that last thing a few long months ago, when he s̸̭͠ĥ̷͓ö̸̥́t̴̯̏ ̷̻̾h̴̺̕i̶̩͆s̴̨͊ ̸̟̿f̸̡̆u̵͈̐c̷͓͌k̶̖͐ȉ̵͈n̷̲̅g̷̑ͅ ̵̘̒f̸̫́a̷̹̎ţ̶́h̵̗̔e̶̲͝r̷̩̽ ̷ left Pennsylvania.
Edmund couldn't even be bothered to clean the scrapes on his face. His head - his everything hurt too much. They were just scraped, anyway. They'd likely already stopped bleeding, and would be scabbed up come morning, if a little ugly looking.
Whatever. Edmund really didn't care about that. The only thing he wanted to do was collapse into his bed and sleep.
And that's just what he did.
Restless sleep was interrupted, as it so often was for Edmund, by his younger sister's chattering.
She'd just come back from - where ever she was during the days, kicking the room door closed behind her and unloading pockets full of shells on the desk against the wall, babbling about things Edmund couldn't even begin to make sense of in his current state. He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow and willing unconsciousness to come back to him, only to flinch away as he irritated his injuries.
"Dammit," he muttered, his anger from earlier in the day apparently still alive and well. Mable heard him and paused, immediately suspicious. He hated cursing in front of her.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, dusting her hands of sand and coming closer to the beds. Edmund felt poorly enough that he wished he was dead. His head was no better, and he doubted his face was, and now Mable was going to ask questions that he really didn't feel like answering.
"Before you say anything, I'm fine."
This had the opposite effect that he had intended. Mable rushed over to the side of his bed, eyes wide and worried and then very quickly terrified as they saw his face.
"Oh my - Toby!" she shouted, both of her hands flying to her mouth. Edmund glared at her, but she continued, "no, shut up, what - what happened to you?! Who did this?"
"No one," he said immediately, "and don't call me that."
"I said to shut up! Don't lie to me, you look like - like - !" Mable didn't need to finish her sentence. Edmund knew what she wanted to say.
Like I just got done speaking to our father. Yeah, he felt like it too.
"I don't want to talk about it," he told Mable, looking away from her face. She always looked so sad. Edmund hated it, but he didn't know what to do about it anymore.
"You should go to a doctor," the girl continued anyway. She took his face gently in her hands and turned it back towards her, pulling him in to examine the wounds. She made a face like they were very terrible to look at. They probably were.
"No, we can't afford that right now. Its just a scratch anyway, they'll heal."
"They'll scar!" Mable argued, "we have to do something! Maybe - maybe Father Brennan can help us, maybe he -"
"We are not going to the Father," Edmund snapped, knocking Mable's hands away from his face. "Do you know what time it is, even? Absolutely not. He's done too much for us as it is, I'm not doing that."
"Toby," Mable whispered, and Edmund wanted to scream. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Mable, stop that. That's not my name." His sister was quiet. Edmund continued, "if I have to remind you again, I'm - I'm really going to be upset with you, okay? I feel like I've told you a hundred times already. Stop it already."
"We should go to St. Hilda's in the morning," Mable said, as if Edmund hadn't said anything. "We always go for service anyway, and Father Brennan - "
Edmund didn't know what to do with her. He felt like crying. He wanted to walk out and into the ocean and never come back. He wanted to scream and yell until he lost his voice. He wanted to punch the wall until his knuckles bled. He wanted his god damn sister to listen to him for once in her god damn life, didn't she know how much he'd done for her?
"I'm not talking about this with you anymore," he said, putting a hand up to stop her mid-sentence. "I'm going to bed. I'm too tired for this right now, okay?"
Mable stared at him. Her eyes were still so big and green and sad. She was so innocent, and oblivious. Had Edmund ever been like that, ever looked like that? He doubted it. Not for a decade, at least.
He wanted to hug Mable. He wanted to promise her that everything would be okay, even if it was a lie. She deserved so much more than this. Why couldn't he be better? What did she do to get handed such a terrible life? Mable was as close to an angel as any person could get. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
"Sleep well," she whispered, taking a step back to sit on her own bed. Edmund looked at her for a long moment and laid back down. He closed his eyes, and hoped he would never open them again.
[[CW for aftermath of violence, brief references to guns/murder, child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, arguments and general bad vibes :( ]]
By the time Edmund returned to his hotel room, he felt like he was ready to drop dead.
The only thing he was returning with was that damn constable's baton, which he tossed onto the floor immediately after closing the hotel door behind him. And that really was the only thing. He'd lost his pride, his dignity, his stable state of mind...
Realistically, he'd lost that last thing a few long months ago, when he s̸̭͠ĥ̷͓ö̸̥́t̴̯̏ ̷̻̾h̴̺̕i̶̩͆s̴̨͊ ̸̟̿f̸̡̆u̵͈̐c̷͓͌k̶̖͐ȉ̵͈n̷̲̅g̷̑ͅ ̵̘̒f̸̫́a̷̹̎ţ̶́h̵̗̔e̶̲͝r̷̩̽ ̷ left Pennsylvania.
Edmund couldn't even be bothered to clean the scrapes on his face. His head - his everything hurt too much. They were just scraped, anyway. They'd likely already stopped bleeding, and would be scabbed up come morning, if a little ugly looking.
Whatever. Edmund really didn't care about that. The only thing he wanted to do was collapse into his bed and sleep.
And that's just what he did.
Restless sleep was interrupted, as it so often was for Edmund, by his younger sister's chattering.
She'd just come back from - where ever she was during the days, kicking the room door closed behind her and unloading pockets full of shells on the desk against the wall, babbling about things Edmund couldn't even begin to make sense of in his current state. He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow and willing unconsciousness to come back to him, only to flinch away as he irritated his injuries.
"Dammit," he muttered, his anger from earlier in the day apparently still alive and well. Mable heard him and paused, immediately suspicious. He hated cursing in front of her.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, dusting her hands of sand and coming closer to the beds. Edmund felt poorly enough that he wished he was dead. His head was no better, and he doubted his face was, and now Mable was going to ask questions that he really didn't feel like answering.
"Before you say anything, I'm fine."
This had the opposite effect that he had intended. Mable rushed over to the side of his bed, eyes wide and worried and then very quickly terrified as they saw his face.
"Oh my - Toby!" she shouted, both of her hands flying to her mouth. Edmund glared at her, but she continued, "no, shut up, what - what happened to you?! Who did this?"
"No one," he said immediately, "and don't call me that."
"I said to shut up! Don't lie to me, you look like - like - !" Mable didn't need to finish her sentence. Edmund knew what she wanted to say.
Like I just got done speaking to our father. Yeah, he felt like it too.
"I don't want to talk about it," he told Mable, looking away from her face. She always looked so sad. Edmund hated it, but he didn't know what to do about it anymore.
"You should go to a doctor," the girl continued anyway. She took his face gently in her hands and turned it back towards her, pulling him in to examine the wounds. She made a face like they were very terrible to look at. They probably were.
"No, we can't afford that right now. Its just a scratch anyway, they'll heal."
"They'll scar!" Mable argued, "we have to do something! Maybe - maybe Father Brennan can help us, maybe he -"
"We are not going to the Father," Edmund snapped, knocking Mable's hands away from his face. "Do you know what time it is, even? Absolutely not. He's done too much for us as it is, I'm not doing that."
"Toby," Mable whispered, and Edmund wanted to scream. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Mable, stop that. That's not my name." His sister was quiet. Edmund continued, "if I have to remind you again, I'm - I'm really going to be upset with you, okay? I feel like I've told you a hundred times already. Stop it already."
"We should go to St. Hilda's in the morning," Mable said, as if Edmund hadn't said anything. "We always go for service anyway, and Father Brennan - "
Edmund didn't know what to do with her. He felt like crying. He wanted to walk out and into the ocean and never come back. He wanted to scream and yell until he lost his voice. He wanted to punch the wall until his knuckles bled. He wanted his god damn sister to listen to him for once in her god damn life, didn't she know how much he'd done for her?
"I'm not talking about this with you anymore," he said, putting a hand up to stop her mid-sentence. "I'm going to bed. I'm too tired for this right now, okay?"
Mable stared at him. Her eyes were still so big and green and sad. She was so innocent, and oblivious. Had Edmund ever been like that, ever looked like that? He doubted it. Not for a decade, at least.
He wanted to hug Mable. He wanted to promise her that everything would be okay, even if it was a lie. She deserved so much more than this. Why couldn't he be better? What did she do to get handed such a terrible life? Mable was as close to an angel as any person could get. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
"Sleep well," she whispered, taking a step back to sit on her own bed. Edmund looked at her for a long moment and laid back down. He closed his eyes, and hoped he would never open them again.
