Naive and Damned

Chapter 12: Ahead of You

Falco

His grandfather is dead. Arthur Grice is dead.

He can say that now. Something his grandfather would have beaten him for. His name, Arthur Grice. Just a man, just a human. That human was dead.

Arthur Grice, dead, a robbery gone wrong. His body found by Falco Grice, his grandson.

Would everyone be saying that soon?

If they did, they'd surely mention how kind he'd been. A family man, kind to all. Maybe they'd pity the child who found the corpse. Falco huffed – they should save their pity, because he felt nothing.

Standing in the bathroom, looking into the bathroom mirror in the middle of the stormy night, Falco could only stare at his reflection.

The new bruises on his wrist matched his face in their ferocity, dark and angry as new colours marred his skin. When he looked long enough, he could picture that vein-ridden hand wrench his skin, dragging him all the way home, increasing pressure as they got closer and closer, matching the swirling fear that quickened his breathes until everything became a blur.

His wrists were nothing compared to his back. When he'd first taken his shirt off, he could only stare at for a few moments. His grandfather had liked him to remove his shirt before usual beatings, making sure the blows weren't softened. He had been planning tonight, before Eren had interrupted. Falco knew his habits. But in the moment, it was if he couldn't care too, shoving the door open and throwing him against the counter, wailing down kick after kick into his back, each smashing his face against the hard wood.

Indeed – his face was a visible mess, the broken nose still giving him an awful black eye, and now his forehead bruised to match. He'd redone the doctors work, as well as he could anyway, applying a cream he'd used for years to try and stop the swelling. The small tub he'd used was already half empty.

He'd never had to try anything like powder or make-up to hide scars or bruising – they had always been where no one could see. His grandfather was always meticulous, always knowing just how far he could hurt his grandson before Falco could no longer cover it up.

"I'll kill you before I let that happen."

It had been the truth.

Falco didn't understand. How could a monster like that exist?

Arthur Grice... did that man ever love him? Or was his life just as meaningless to him as Caroline's? He knew the sick enjoyment he got from tormenting him. Would that same joy come from...?

A tremor shuddered through his body, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, smash.

He'd done that. He'd... he'd gone too far.

He trembled as he got to his feet. Knees threatened to buckle, yet he pulled himself up. Blood strangles his ears, and each sound sounded a thousand miles away. Eyes squinted; he turned his head, trying to comprehend – Eren. Eren was there. Bellow him, and he – what?

Focus. His grandfather was tossed aside; Eren was getting to his feet. Good, that's good. Leave – they needed to leave. He stumbled on his feet – leave, run, Eren, we need to go – a knife. His grandfather gripped a knife. NO. EREN –

Eyes once upon the window searched desperately – a vase. He lurched for it, head swivelling back to Eren. Hand bleeding, pushing back. He wouldn't win – he'd die, he'd die trying to save him, his fault.

Fire must of consumed him, he was sure, his chest alight. Anger, white-hot, returned with vengeance. No. He must fight, too. The knife pulled back. He propelled himself forward.