Could Have, Should Have, Didn't - A Narnia Fanfiction

Chapter Seventeen: Found Out

As unintelligible as everything was— this was clear.

Clearer than the feeling of being in the slightest bit hungover, clearer than the light scorching his eyes from above him, the candles half-burned and the wax dripping down the long sides, covering the rounded dish of the box lantern in a thick puddle of dried substance.

Next to Ivy, above Edmund, pink resting on her cheeks, her hair a mess of loose curls, was Rita. If the guilt pinching his insides could've been upped a notch; it was.

Rita looked so... disgusted, ashamed. And angry.

He wanted to say something, anything.

But what could he say?

His lips were practically swollen shut with fear— and, even though he could speak, saying sorry wasn't going to fix anything. He'd been told that plenty of times. While he didn't want to believe it, he figured it was true.

Sorry was just a word, and he had hurt more than that.

On the other side of Rita and Ivy, Lucy, Edith, Timothy, and Robert, all stood, looking like they had just been woken, which, he guessed they had been. They were muttering things to each other.

Maybe muttering about what had happened, trying to piece it all together if Ivy hadn't given them all the information.

Or, maybe they were muttering how much of a problem he was; how he was a mess. Their eyes looked dark and sad. He didn't need the ability to read lips to know what they were saying.

And he wouldn't differ with them about their statements.

He was a mess, a problem, a disgrace. After this, he didn't feel worthy of much. Lu might still care, forgive him— but the rest... he couldn't ask that of them, even from Lucy. She deserved to be angry with him, ashamed of him. After all, this wasn't him, he didn't know what came over him.

Why?

Wasn't he better than this?

He wasn't a schoolboy who could just sneak out at night to have fun anymore— and even then, it was bad. But it was specifically bad now because he had much more at stake, he had many more responsibilities.

He had his sister and the rest to look after. Pete wasn't here to do so. And Ed had been neglecting his group the whole time, deciding he was more important. His feelings were more important, how he felt had been what he considered superior.

Baby behavior.

But what he was doing wasn't necessarily fun. It was... needed. He needed to tell someone how he felt.

Just not at a bar.

That much was clear. The temptation to take a drink had won him over; he couldn't be in those types of places, and he couldn't end up like the drunkards in the bar with their shallow minds, couldn't use that as his escape.

Couldn't run.

Close to his face, Rita skimmed his cheek with a hand. He winced in a pang of pain, a bruise must have been there— and he jerked back. Because he'd always wanted to feel that touch against him; just not in this way. This situation. She must be so worried on top of her anger, she didn't deserve this.

"Ed, you look... horrible..." Rita murmured, sympathy coating her voice, hand still lingering on his cheek.

Edmund had been expecting a harsh accusation, or, that's what he would've given himself. Something inside of him was shocked at the softness of her voice.