Take Me or Leave Me [Elegant]

I flinch when he says that, and look back up. I know the old hag can be a cruel bitch, but I never thought she'd hit Tarquin. Why not though? I guess he was a pretty easy target, always feeling like he deserved it when he never did. It's like he's always trying to pay for my little sins. Today he definitely did. She wouldn't have hit him if it wasn't for the window being open. The window wouldn't have been open if it wasn't for me. Of course, this shouldn't surprise me. I'm the route of most people's problems. I've grown used to it though, and adapted to that, actually making sure that when the blame is given it's because I did something. I suppose I ask for it though, I love that, the sounds of people screaming, always such a lovely feeling knowing that I've caused it. Yet, we still have Tarquin trying to tell me I'm good, when oh darling, I'm anything but. I've always been a bad boy. It's just shocking when that reaches out to affect Tarquin too.

"I didn't think she'd attack you Quin, I....I'll get her back for that."

Laying my head back down, I shut my eyes again. It's definitely not the most comfortable place, but it's good enough. We'll have to clear out soon though. Some of our siblings are pretty intense and get up at all hours to train and shower, and be angsty. But, for this small pocket of time, it's quiet and comfortable. My arms tense, as he begins to trace the older scars on my arms. I wonder what he'd say if he saw my thighs. Probably best not to show him. I don't know how I feel about it, no one has ever touched my scars before, and the fresh ones are painful. In it's self, that's almost good. The fresh skittering waves of pain are enough to bring me back to normal in quick little jolts. He gets halfway down my left arm before i pull it away softly, and bring it up behind my head.

"I...." I don't have to tell him that no one's ever seen them before, not really. People have felt scars on me, and in the darkness figured them to be from training, never realizing in their inebriated state that they weren't from other people's knives. Or sometimes it didn't' matter because I found someone just as scarred as me. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but at the same time I'm not really ready to tell him about them. I don't want to talk about them here either, not when I'm freezing to death in a bathtub, and anyone could overhear.

"Can we go back to bed?" I finally ask.