Al works quickly, plucking out each shard, the cleaning the wounds carefully. The risk of infection here is so high, and Alois could easily become sick.
When he's done, he works on his knuckles. Gentle warm hands.
His shrieks become softer, or he only gasps or winces, but he doesn't swear again or give Al a disapproving look. Which ever arm or hand isn't being tended to, he chews the nails of. They had been pretty, well-kept when he arrived, and now they were stubby, scabbed or scabbing at the edges.
He gnaws a thumbnail, shears it with teeth taking it down from nearly half the nail bed, and new blood immediately bubbles forth. He tastes it before hissing, and because he feels troublesome, he sticks his whole thumb in his mouth to hide it.
Anxious? No, he really doesn't. A lack of butler-in-shining armor, expecting lights to go out again, a whole mess of things, but nothing precise. In fact, he hadn't consciously thought of it as being deliberately harmful to himself.
He shakes his head a little, while staring at the floor, and a hand comes up to meet his mouth purely out of mindless habit.
Al catches his fingers softly, pulling them pointedly down from his mouth.
"You touch everything with your hands," he explained. "If you keep doing this it could get very infected. You're not in trouble," Al added, "I'm just worried."
A second later, Al notices that tensing up, the sudden look in the boy's face, the way the smile just go strained, and realizes that he thinks Al's going to hurt him -- just like he's been hurt before.
He pulls back, stops touching him, and gives him a steady look.
Blank eyes, fingers tighten, but he only laughs as dismissively as possible.
''Oh, Al,'' he says, lilting. ''I was beloved and well cared for. Please don't worry unnecessarily,'' (don't fucking pity me), ''it makes you look stupid.''
Absolutely nothing about that fools him, and it shows. Alois is a baby compared to manipulators he's known, he's loved, and his whole social network is made of trainwrecks, pain, regrets, guilt, terrible pasts and blood-soaked secrets, PTSD and nightmares, true evil and those who only play at it. Al knows abuse, he knows the cycles, he knows control. What happened to Alois is not the worst thing he's seen, no matter how horrible it is.
But Alois is young, like Al was once, and perhaps many people have fallen for the smiles and pretty words.
But Al won't.
There's nothing like pity in how he looks at him, just a certain numbness, a sense of resignation despite the warmth and affection. Immovable, permanent as a stone.
"... things are different here," is all he would say.
It's unjust to compare traumas. He's ever-terrified, but considers himself no worse off than someone he knows nothing about—it's why, fumbling or otherwise, he strives to appear victimless. Having someone know he's been irrevocably damaged is degrading, in some ways worse.
The way Al looks through him transparently, reading him, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm not strong, I'm scared—it makes him small, he feels less in control than when bodies, frighteningly larger than his own, crushed him against a mattress or floors.
Something he's been familiar with even before nine, and unshackled from the constance of it not until eleven. Wouldn't it have been kinder for them to have killed him? He's had too many partners. He could have a disease in him, now, unknowingly. And, a child who has only known sex and violence as human contact cannot compare the unreasonable hells someone else has withstood to his own soul and body. For a child, too small, too powerless, there is nothing worse.
''Why do you want to look after me? Luca? To feel better about yourself? Because for as insufferable as I can be, I'm nice to look at? You look tired. Why not throw me out? Wolves are hungrier in the winter.''
"... because even if I don't know what you went through, I sometimes wish someone had been there for me at your age."
It was just a small crack in the armor, a tiny vulnerability, but he let Alois see it, knowing he could hurt him with it.
"Because I know what it's like to live on, when the person you love the most is taken from you. I know pain and I know being powerless and I know -- having to be so much older than you are. And it's not fair. It's not fair, it's not right, and I don't want you to be alone."
Why is this so painfully unexpected? He learns of Al's goodness everyday, and even as he let words tumble from his mouth with the intent of hurting, he wished he could suck them back in before a sliver of damage could be made. He's a breathing contradiction.
His eyes well up and up. They stay wide, too, when tears do finally fall out of them, and though his mouth is subtly ajar, he keeps his breath in.
His eyes snap shut, tightly, and his mouth presses into a line. First, his frightened, uncertain hands cling severely to the edge of the counter, but then those newly bandaged things come up to cradle Al's own hands.
''I couldn't blame you,'' he says, weeping in the quietest way of it. ''I am a tiring thing. I know it. See, I couldn't at all blame you if you did feed me to wolves.''
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-11-11 09:39 am (UTC)He offers one, the least bad of the two. His heels thunk lightly against cabinets.
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Date: 2012-11-11 09:49 am (UTC)He pulls out the first shard, covering the cut with the antiseptic pad.
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Date: 2012-11-11 09:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-12 09:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-12 09:35 am (UTC)When he's done, he works on his knuckles. Gentle warm hands.
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Date: 2012-11-12 09:45 am (UTC)He gnaws a thumbnail, shears it with teeth taking it down from nearly half the nail bed, and new blood immediately bubbles forth. He tastes it before hissing, and because he feels troublesome, he sticks his whole thumb in his mouth to hide it.
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Date: 2012-11-12 09:53 am (UTC)"Alois, you're hurting yourself..."
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Date: 2012-11-12 09:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-12 10:06 am (UTC)It made him sick at heart to see.
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Date: 2012-11-12 10:11 am (UTC)He shakes his head a little, while staring at the floor, and a hand comes up to meet his mouth purely out of mindless habit.
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Date: 2012-11-12 06:47 pm (UTC)"You touch everything with your hands," he explained. "If you keep doing this it could get very infected. You're not in trouble," Al added, "I'm just worried."
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Date: 2012-11-12 07:36 pm (UTC)''Sorry,'' because he doesn't know what else to say about it, but mainly because Al has had to say 'worried'. ''I don't really think about it.''
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Date: 2012-11-13 05:50 am (UTC)Al leaned in, gave his forehead a quick kiss, and gave him a smile.
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Date: 2012-11-13 06:41 am (UTC)The boy's fingers clench his shorts, resisting the urge to sensually bite his own lip, ruin more tiny fingernails, or yank Al's hair.
He smiles back, too sweetly.
''O—kay.''
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Date: 2012-11-13 06:45 am (UTC)He pulls back, stops touching him, and gives him a steady look.
"... I'm not like them."
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Date: 2012-11-13 06:48 am (UTC)A prickly question posed in innocent curiosity.
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Date: 2012-11-13 06:49 am (UTC)Unflinching.
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Date: 2012-11-13 06:55 am (UTC)''Oh, Al,'' he says, lilting. ''I was beloved and well cared for. Please don't worry unnecessarily,'' (don't fucking pity me), ''it makes you look stupid.''
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Date: 2012-11-13 07:05 am (UTC)But Alois is young, like Al was once, and perhaps many people have fallen for the smiles and pretty words.
But Al won't.
There's nothing like pity in how he looks at him, just a certain numbness, a sense of resignation despite the warmth and affection. Immovable, permanent as a stone.
"... things are different here," is all he would say.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 07:31 am (UTC)The way Al looks through him transparently, reading him, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm not strong, I'm scared—it makes him small, he feels less in control than when bodies, frighteningly larger than his own, crushed him against a mattress or floors.
Something he's been familiar with even before nine, and unshackled from the constance of it not until eleven. Wouldn't it have been kinder for them to have killed him? He's had too many partners. He could have a disease in him, now, unknowingly. And, a child who has only known sex and violence as human contact cannot compare the unreasonable hells someone else has withstood to his own soul and body. For a child, too small, too powerless, there is nothing worse.
''Why do you want to look after me? Luca? To feel better about yourself? Because for as insufferable as I can be, I'm nice to look at? You look tired. Why not throw me out? Wolves are hungrier in the winter.''
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 07:37 am (UTC)It was just a small crack in the armor, a tiny vulnerability, but he let Alois see it, knowing he could hurt him with it.
"Because I know what it's like to live on, when the person you love the most is taken from you. I know pain and I know being powerless and I know -- having to be so much older than you are. And it's not fair. It's not fair, it's not right, and I don't want you to be alone."
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Date: 2012-11-13 07:46 am (UTC)His eyes well up and up. They stay wide, too, when tears do finally fall out of them, and though his mouth is subtly ajar, he keeps his breath in.
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Date: 2012-11-14 05:17 am (UTC)"... will you accept that?"
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Date: 2012-11-15 04:49 am (UTC)''I couldn't blame you,'' he says, weeping in the quietest way of it. ''I am a tiring thing. I know it. See, I couldn't at all blame you if you did feed me to wolves.''
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