Sometimes, it's Better to Forget Responsibility

Chapter 6

A/N - 

Just a quick heads up- this chapter may be triggering , especially triggers related to abuse, self-hatred, and possibly those with suicidal thoughts, depending on how you interpret it (It wasn't intended but while revising I realized that maybe it had undertones).
I didn't mean for it to get so dark, and even considered cutting the chapter or rewriting it differently, but sometimes for a character to begin to get the help they need they have to be at their lowest, so I kept it.
Just a heads up.

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Molly let out a yawn as she watched cartoons on the tv. The cartoon playing right now wasn't even something she liked, it was just that she was in that hazy phase of sleepy were you just don't care what you're watching. Her eyelids grew heavier by the minute. Everything was calm, and strangely familiar, even though she was still new to Giovanni's house. She did not sleep very well in new locations. Often on trips she would not sleep for days on end; a week spent two cities over would be three or four days without sleep. This was different. There was a strange calm. Everything was okay, for once.
Her hair was wet, as Giovanni had insisted that she and Sylvie take showers while his mom was gone and they had the chance. In his words, "It's self care, which is what you guys need, and I won't allow you two to go without." Sylvie then pointed out that he and Molly only had brought the clothes they were wearing, to which Giovanni responded by searching high and low for something for them to wear. He managed to find her some adorable pajamas in a box somewhere that belonged to him when he was her age. It was still a little too large for her, but she really liked it. The pajama pants had a pattern of dolphins, sharks, and whales on it, while the shirt had similarly designed sleeves and a giant whale on the very front. Text above the whale read "Whale of a Time!" And Molly immediately loved it the moment he gave it to her.
Sylvie sat across from her, also watching the cartoon, a look of absolute disgust on his face while he watched, which Molly couldn't blame him for. He was sitting with his legs crossed, dressed in an oversized, plain white, short sleeved tee and sweatpants that went over the top of his feet. Giovanni had pulled them out of his dresser, so it was all many sizes too big on Sylvie, who not only was four years younger than Giovanni, but also short for a fifteen year old. Sylvie had protested wearing the clothes because they'd make him look like a child, but somehow Giovanni coaxed him into wearing them. Although she couldn't understand where it had come from, Molly could tell, when it happened, that Sylvie was grateful after hearing it all.
It was unforgettable.
Giovanni said, "There's nothing wrong with childish things."
Sylvie said, "Not for most people."
Giovanni said, "You don't have to pretend for us."
And the way Sylvie had smiled, that was the truly unforgettable part. It was a smile that was full of thanks; it reminded her of how mere hours before he had wept to her, repeating "Thank you, thank you," over and over again. The kind of smile you see someone who had been forgiven for something they thought was unforgivable; but what, in his mind, would that have been? In light of their last conversation, Molly knew that it could have been anything. Sylvie did not easily forgive himself, and did not think others could, or should, forgive him. Honestly, to say she was concerned for him was, by now, an understatement. He did not know how to hug, he shrank away from touch, he always was exhausted (or almost always, anyways), and he did not care for himself, let alone let someone else care for him, though if that was because he felt he should be able to take care of himself or because he felt he didn't deserve it, she didn't know.
There was improvement, though, she noted, as Giovanni walked in, carrying two blankets. He handed one to her, and she happily threw it over herself, and curled up into a ball under it with only her head uncovered. The other he held out to Sylvie, softly patting the top of his head with his free hand. Sylvie inhaled sharply when he felt Giovanni's hand on his head, but he did not try to avoid it or even tense up. Sylvie accepted the blanket without looking at Giovanni, and wrapped it tightly around him.
The droning of the tv, the sound of wind still blowing snow about, and the warmth of the blanket were quickly beckoning Molly towards sleep. It didn't help that the only light came from the hallway, leaving the living room mostly dark. Molly was not used to falling asleep so early, but she knew that nine was the appropriate time for kids her age to fall asleep. It had been her bedtime when he mom was still alive. Remembering her mom made her heart feel heavy, but she was too tired to get really emotional. She decided to let sleep take her. She wanted to savor the calm of Giovanni's house, hauntingly familiar of the home she had before it was just her, her dad, and her sister. Hauntingly familiar was the feeling of someone caring for her.
Molly's thoughts dissolved into quiet sleep. Her hushed breathing was steady and content. Giovanni stroked her hair with fatherly pride. Many times, he had snuck into her own house to talk to her, only to find her asleep, and the way she slept now, he noticed, was nothing like the way she slept at her home. At home, she slept clutching her blankets, like she was afraid. Now, there was tranquillity, gentleness, trust. When he could tell she was soundly asleep, he picked her up and took her to the guest bedroom.
He returned to the living room.
"Is she asleep?" Sylvie asked, still not looking at Giovanni. Instead, he opted on looking down at one of his counting sheep, which was attempting to graze on the hem of his way too big t-shirt.
"Yeah," Giovanni answered, "What about you? You should get off to bed too."
"I'd rather not," Sylvie sighed, then glared up at the tv, "But I'd rather not watch this, either."
"You don't have to go to sleep yet, then," Giovanni compromised, "And we'll turn off the tv. We can hang out in my room."
Sylvie nodded, standing up, still holding the blanket so that it draped around him. Giovanni switched off the tv. He walked to his room, and Sylvie followed quietly. They stood in an awkward silence, waiting for one of them to say something. Lev was happily pacing around in the makeshift cage they made for him, his eyes happily darting to Sylvie when he entered the room. Giovanni stared at Sylvie as well, and Sylvie looked at the floor, in his usual, overthinking kind of contemplation.
"You want to play a board game?" Giovanni suggested slowly, mostly to not have to listen to silence any further. He didn't particularly want to, and neither did Sylvie by the looks of it, but maybe it would get Sylvie's mind off of whatever he was thinking of.
"Sure," Sylvie replied dryly.
Giovanni could tell that the game would not help. Sylvie had that tone he got whenever he was upset, and he would stop staring at the floor. "Okay, buddy, what's up? You know you can tell me, right?"
Sylvie nodded, finally looking up. "Giovanni, are we-?" He sighed. It was such a silly question, but he needed to know, "Are we... Friends?"
Giovanni wanted to laugh and say "THAT'S what's bothering you?" but he said no such thing. He could never say that to Sylvie. He knew the kid well enough to know better than that. Instead, Giovanni gently answered, "Of course."
Sylvie looked up at him, with a thankful smile. "I was hoping-" He cut himself off. He didn't want to seem like a clingy sap.
"What were you hoping?" Giovanni asked.
Shoot, now he had to finish saying it. Sylvie continued, "I was hoping you'd want to be my friend, I just-" Why did it make him feel so weak, so vulnerable, to say? "-Didn't think that you would ever want to be my friend."
Giovanni felt really bad after hearing that, because two short days ago, he would have said that he'd never be Sylvie's friend in a million, trillion years. Now? He was so wrong. There was no way he would leave Sylvie alone like this. Even if Sylvie claimed that he could take care of himself perfectly well, Giovanni could tell the boy lacked guidance badly. "I couldn't not," Giovanni told him carefully.
Sylvie laughed, a mix of bitterness and being genuinely humored. "Molly said the same thing. I don't understand it. Nobody before had ever said that, or even wanted me. Somehow, now, you guys couldn't not."
"You're just easy to start caring for," Giovanni explained further.
"Be honest," Sylvie told him, "Am I your friend out of pity?"
Giovanni gasped, "What? Of course not! Why would you think that?"
He shouldn't answer. He really shouldn't. Saying the reason would mean admitting it to himself, and he couldn't, even if he knew it was true. Yet, Sylvie felt he couldn't help himself. There was something about Giovanni that made Sylvie come out of his shell, and maybe it was how he always seemed to know what to say, the way he just would know exactly what Sylvie needed to hear.
Sylvie took a deep, shaky breath, preparing himself for what he was about to do. "My parents. Before I left, they always complained about how much of a pain I was to take care of. When I would forget to eat, my parents would tell me how difficult it was to feed me, and when I didn't sleep, or slept too much, there was more, just them telling me how bad a kid was. They never seemed to actually want to help, they only made it known that I was hard to care for. Eventually, they stopped trying completely. They wouldn't complain anymore. They didn't talk to me at all, honestly, only glare or shake their heads. The only thing I could do was get good grades. Besides that, I was the disappointment! I would hear them talking to their friends, saying things like I was impossible and I betrayed them because I was like..." he sighed and gestured to himself, "...This."
"Sylvie, I'm so sorry," Giovanni breathed, "But you got away, right? Someone else cares for you now?"
Sylvie shook his head. "I ran away. I couldn't take it anymore. The second I had my degree, I hit the road. I got my job, used the money to pay for an apartment, and it's just been me. It's not that bad. Not as bad as it was before, at least. But I couldn't ask for help. I am just too hard for someone to take care of. After so long of taking care of myself, I know my parents were right. I am awful to take care of."
"Garbage." Giovanni's comment echoed in Sylvie's ears.
"What?"
"That's absolute garbage. You are not a burden, and you deserve to be taken care of."
"If it's so easy, why don't you try it. Then you'll see..."
"I have been. I've been taking care of you this whole weekend! Since Friday night! It has been nothing but amazing caring for you, Dr. Sylvester Ashling!"
Sylvie stood in silence. He shook his head, as if to clear it. "No. I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to spare my feelings."
Giovanni sighed with a pang of sadness. He'd have to be patient. Sylvie needed him more than ever now. "I'm not lying. Look at me. I'm not lying." Sylvie curled further towards himself instead of looking. "Sylvie, look at me. I'm not lying."
Sylvie finally looked up. "Stop!" He begged, tears running down his face, "Stop making me feel so nice! I don't deserve this!"
Giovanni walked over to Sylvie, placing his hand gently on his shoulder, but Sylvie sharply pulled away with a whimper. "Sylvie, no matter what you think, you are worth it. Your parents made you feel terrible, and that's not fair, but now they are gone! You have the power to change this. You just have to learn to forgive yourself, and let someone help you." Giovanni held out a welcoming hand. "Let me help you."
No. No. What was this? A trick? Did Giovanni need him to do something for him? He couldn't actually be cared for, and it wasn't possible for him to be an enjoyable person. Sylvie shuttered. He needed to get out of here! He needed to get out right now!
Before Giovanni could react, Sylvie dashed out of the room. Giovanni stood there stunned, as the sound of the front door slamming shut rang out in his ears. "Sylvie," he breathed to himself in shock. "Sylvie!" He exclaimed.
Giovanni didn't like the idea of leaving Molly here all alone, but there wasn't time to wake her, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to be a part of this if she didn't need to be. He himself was terrified as he ran out the door. The cold was horrid, and he still had his hoodie on. Snow whipped around him, and it was dark, making it nearly impossible to see. "Sylvie!" He called out into the emptiness, desperately hoping that Sylvie would find it in himself to call back. "Sylvie!"
He stumbled blindly through the snow, which had been piling up since that afternoon. He definitely wasn't traveling in a straight line, nor was he very graceful, nearly slipping and falling to the ground every other step. "Sylvie! Sylvester!" He called. "Please..."
It seemed hopeless. But then- "Gio... Vanni..."
Oh good god. Sylvie was there, collapsed in the snow. Giovanni lifted him up tenderly. He felt tears forming in his eyes.
"No," Sylvie weakly protested, "I don't... Want..."
"I don't care," Giovanni sobbed, clutching Sylvie close to his chest in an attempt to shield him from the snow. Sylvie was trembling violently. Giovanni remember, with the feeling of something dropping in the pit of his stomach, that Sylvie was only in that short sleeved t-shirt as opposed to his usual orange hoodie. "I'm going to get you home."
Giovanni hurried back to the house as fast as he could. As he carried Sylvie, Sylvie couldn't help but begin to overthink again. "So this is what I've come to," he thought, his eyes shut tight, "I've only proved my own uselessness." Sometimes, he wondered by he, as a psychologist, would think these things about himself, yet tell his patients that they were not thier words or thoughts. But he was different than his patients. "My patients are good people. I am not."
Suddenly, the freezing cold was cut by warmth. They were in the house. Sylvie didn't dare open his eyes. He couldn't bare to look at Giovanni, to see the disappointment, to know that he was correct, his parents had been correct. He felt the rough texture of a towel brushing against him, wiping away the wet snow. His teeth were still chattering. Giovanni's were too, probably, but he still couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. And once the towel was gone, there were blankets all around him, cocooning him the way he had cocooned himself the night before, and then some. So tight and snug you wouldn't even notice that he had been ready to freeze out in the snow just minutes ago.
"C'mon, kid, wake up!" He heard Giovanni hiss under his breath, "Stay with me."
Giovanni wanted him to open his eyes, but he still couldn't do it. He couldn't face him.
He heard Giovanni curse under his breath, which both surprised Sylvie, and didn't. "You're breathing, so why? Why won't you wake up."
No. He couldn't. He just couldn't.
"Damn it, Sylvie!" Giovanni cried, his voice breaking. Sylvie felt Giovanni put his head down on the cocoon of blankets. Giovanni couldn't mask his tears any longer. "Please don't die."
Finally, Sylvie found it in himself to flutter his eyes open. "I don't... Understand..."
Giovanni looked at him tearfully. "Goodness gracious, kid, your nearly gave be a heart attack!" Giovanni yelled at him.
"Why would you... Go through all that... To save me...?" Sylvie murmured.
"Sylvie, you dweeb, I don't know how you haven't figured it out! I care! You and Molly, your both like kids to me! I love you guys!" Giovanni confessed, "You have to understand this! I love both of you! You're my best friends! I love both of you, and that means I love you, Sylvie! You are loved! Don't you dare ever forget that!"
Hearing the words would have been like a slap to the face if Sylvie had been in a more coherent state. His breathing became uneasy. He would have cried, but he was still too cold to do anything. He could barely move, or even feel his fingers. He tried wiggling them but he didn't know if they did or not. Sylvie groaned. It was like he was in pain, but there was no hurt; in fact, he felt nothing at all. At least, not physically.
"I won't," Sylvie breathed, "I won't forget."
Giovanni shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe it. I just can't." He whispered too quietly for Sylvie to hear, because certainly it would do more harm than good, but he needed to say it to himself. To reassure himself that this was shocking, that if he had been told this would happen earlier he wouldn't have believed it. Because if he didn't, then surely he could have done something to prevent it, he could have done more, knew how to help beyond what he already had. As Giovanni listened to Sylvie's sporadic breathing, he wished he could do something, say something, that could change Sylvie's mind, some sort of comfort that was surely there, just out of his reach, because if there wasn't a way to convince Sylvie that he was a good and worthy person, then what hope was there for the kid?
Giovanni looked down at Sylvie, taking in just how bad he looked, cheeks and nose red with cold, still shivering terribly, and his expression only showing distress. Giovanni was not sure if he could console Sylvie in the state he was in, but maybe he could help him feel somewhat better, even if it was a tiny amount. He put his chilly fingers against Sylvie's hair, grimacing at the icy cold he felt, and stroked it gently. "Shhhh..." he hummed gently, "Shhhhh..."
Sylvie couldn't feel it so much as he felt the vague impression of movement, but he could hear the shooshing. It was soothing, despite the circumstances. It continued indefinitely, even after Giovanni's mother had returned from her night out, and he quickly flicked the lights off to pretend he was asleep so she wouldn't walk in. When the lights went out, the pure exhaustion of it all kicked in, and with the small amount of solace he had in Giovanni's action, Sylvie eventually drifted to sleep. It was one of the few times in his life Sylvie had slept a dreamless sleep. A part of him preferred it.