Impulsive

Who Cares?

(Chapter summary: Arthur's freak out doesn't end well for either parties.)

   They talked loudly, Graham’s strong laugh traveled down to Arthur’s back. Arthur’s eyelids felt heavy as Fran was checking his cuts on his fingers. He didn’t pull away fast enough when his shirt sleeve was lifted.

 

“Arthur, what is-” Fran was cut off.

 

“I fell?” Arthur shunned himself for making it a question.

 

“I know you’re a great lier, but you need to tell us everything.”

 

“Remembering what I did to my brother is painful,” Arthur breathed out after a while of silence.

 

“What did you do?” Watts asked, tilting his head.

 

“I was too young to not be sent to Germany, you wouldn’t remember because of Joy, but the adults sent the children away. I was trying to sneak my older brother on, but I lied saying that I was him so I didn’t have to go on.” Arthur stretched and yawned.

 

“What triggered you to turn into a Downer?” one of the joy doctors asked, Arthur winced that the name.

 

“Downer is such a rude term, don’t you think?” Arthur sat up, taking his wrist away from Fran. “I saw a picture of my brother and me in the news paper.”

 

“Was that it?” he asked Arthur again.

 

“Are you going to continue being my therapist,” Arthur snapped, his lips curled into a snarl to which the doctor sighed at.

 

“No.”

 

“Am I free to go?” Arthur stood up, alerting the nearly asleep bobbies.

 

“I need to check your cuts, who knows if they’ll get infected,” Fran huffed.

 

“I don’t care. For that matter, who really does care if I die?” Arthur narrowed his eyes and got up, starting to round the couch.

 

“Arthur, no! You are going to stay here right now!” Fran made large gestures.

 

Arthur groaned. “Are you my mother? No, if you were you’d be dead.” He turned around to walk out but Watts rushed over and grabbed his shoulders, dragging him back in.

 

“We’re not your parents but we’re your caretakers so you’re under our rule right now, and when we say stay, we fucking mean stay.” You know shits about to go down when you’re able to make Watts raise his voice.

 

Arthur puffed out his cheeks and plopped back down with a little ‘harumph’. His plans have been foiled again. Fran made a straight line with his mouth and pulled up Arthur’s sleeve, rose colored cuts garnished his arm, a few reopened when Arthur was freaking out. Some were duds though, white streaks with pink surrounding them, puffy too. (No one ever adds in the fact that some are duds and don’t break your skin, people just write that it’s easy to make yourself bleed. Writing tips from your lovely author: MAKE THINGS REALISTIC.)

 

“Jesus, Arthur,” Graham breathed out as Arthur looked away.

 

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Arthur started, “I just wanted it to blow over.”

(I need ideas, I'm really running out 'ere. Help would be appreciated.)