Catch the Thunder

Storm From the Shelter

All through his drive from the shelter, Freed kept repeating to himself that he should not feel angry. Kagura meant well. She saw cases of horrific abuse every day. Of course she would fear he was facing the same issue. Her job was to not turn a blind eye, to reach out and help those in need. Society needed people like that.

Society also needed to realize that sometimes this was a desired arrangement, carefully sculpted out, limits set, barriers to protect oneself physically, mentally, and emotionally, and it could be done with affection.

The ride home was quiet except for the flute music playing over the speakers. Laxus had seen a strange look on Freed as soon as he stepped out of the office, but he did not know what it meant. Freed normally followed a step behind Laxus or right by his side. He rarely rushed ahead. He normally asked every five minutes, to the point of annoyance, if Laxus was feeling sick and needed to pull over. This time, his jaw twitched with how tightly he clenched his teeth.

"Freed?" he finally asked.

His fingers tightened on the wheel. "I'm driving."

"I can see that," he muttered.

Laxus tried to look out the window and ignore the tension, but that made him ill.

"Freed?"

"Not now!"

He frowned and looked away. Freed never snapped at him. Ever! At least, not like that, not with anger inflected in his voice. After a few minutes of this silence, Laxus finally asked, "Can you pull over?"

Freed jolted in concern. "Are you feeling sick?"

"Yeah, something like that," he grumbled.

"Uh, okay ... um ... here!" He eased the Corvette into an empty spot along the busy boulevard. "It's metered parking, but so long as we keep the car running it should be okay. Do you need anything?"

Now stopped, Laxus lashed out. "What I need is for you to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Freed froze in confusion. "What?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" Freed cried out. "I'm worried about your carsickness."

"I mean how you're acting." His eyes softened and his voice lowered. "Did something happen? Something at that shelter?"

Freed flinched and pulled back. He looked down at the steering wheel with a scowl.

"Is it from seeing all those kids?" asked Laxus. "I mean, I know it's hard to see that—"

"No! I ... I mean, yes, it is hard. To think anyone would do that to a kid!" He shook his head in disgust at the idea. "But this isn't about that."

"Then what's wrong?"

Freed kept his eyes averted, but he held out his arm. "This!"

Laxus saw the reddish purple marks. "What about it?"

"The bruises."

"Yeah, I got a bit rough. Sorry 'bout that."

"The lady at the shelter ... she saw them."

It took Laxus only a moment to realize the weight behind those words. A shelter for domestic abuse, obvious bruises from a hard grab...

"Fuck," he whispered. His fist went up to his mouth, and he looked away from Freed. "Oh ... fuck," he shuddered. Fear mutated to anger, and he lashed out, "Is she gonna turn me in now, claim I beat you?"