#childstart

What Have I Done? | [Open]

It was late, though 17-year-old Armand wasn’t sure of the exact time. He wasn’t entirely sure of anything. All he knew was that his knuckles hurt and he had to keep moving, or something bad would happen. Something bad had already happened, and he didn’t need the situation to get worse. With his bag on his back, he stumbled through the dark streets. Was it raining? The streets looked wet, but he couldn’t feel it.

He walked as far as he could, face expressionless. He was in his own head, trying to recall what happened. All he found there was a deeper darkness. Pitch black, then red, then black again. A cigarette burned to its butt between his bony fingers and he didn’t flinch. Oh God, did I kill him? I must have. We fought, I think. Bastien was there- no, that’s impossible. But I saw his face, didn’t I? Whose blood is this? Did I bleed that much? Am I gonna die? I don’t wanna die - I’ll go to hell!

Send ‘❄️😑❄️’ for your muse to find my muse lying half buried in the snow: since I have multiple of these in my ask, I'm just going to make this an open starter. Anyone that wants to reply is welcome to. We don't have to be mutual, but you do have to read my rules first. If you want It for a different muse, tell me. I'm feeling particularly in the mood for this one since after just five minutes outside, I couldn't feel my fingers or nose.

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All the shelters were full, and the snow was really coming down. Armand knew of a place to wait the storm out, but it was across town. Trudging through such deep snow was exhausting, but he kept moving on. He couldn't feel his body anymore, and breathing was difficult. He fell to the ground, unable to stand, and the snow formed a blanket.

Forgetting was hard; nigh impossible. But blacking out was becoming a common occurrence in Armand's life. He could barely keep track of what he was doing, and he could no longer argue about rules he was almost certain he'd never break. If his roommate had said he did, he must have. He had no alibi or recollection.

But this time? This time, he had evidence; evidence that churned his stomach. His knuckles were busted and his trembling hands were caked in blood. He couldn't tell if it was his blood or his roommate's, but his sore, bony hands were all the proof he needed to know that he'd been fighting again.

While his roommate deserved to be beaten, the lump of his form in the corner still shook Armand to the core. He was too afraid to check for a pulse, or turn the lights on. He was too afraid to even rush to the bathroom to clean up, or to call for help. He knew he was violent, but he couldn't possibly have done this, could he have? And if he did? What would happen? Would he be arrested? Probably. Would he be tried as an adult? By time the judge decided, more than likely. Had anyone heard? Did he have time to run? Had he even had a reason this time? If he ran for help, would he be met with mercy?

What time was it? Was anyone in the orphanage even awake? Had he woken them if they were asleep?

Armand had had a difficult time since the twins died. Between blaming himself and having his parents blame him, He had started down a dark path. He'd been kicked out of several schools in different countries, and now his father was stationed in New York, and he was supposed to consider himself lucky that they made the move with him. As if Americans were going to be any better than his classmates in England and Germany. With each school came bullies, and he was starting to learn that he had to step up and come off even worse to be left alone. Bullies didn't bully bullies, after all. They befriended them, and that meant survival, even if it meant not being able to sit once he got home.

He was fifteen now, and still grieving. He'd only been in school for a week when he was called his first insult. He rolled his eyes and retorted something witty back in French, knowing it was time for that façade again.

At lunch, he tripped a kid that was more scrawny than him, then knocked his tray of food into him. "Should watch where you're going, nerd," he'd said. He learned it from some stupid American teen movie.

"Hello? Yes, I have Armand in my office. He's been bullying another student," Armand heard the principal say on the phone. He'd hardly consider it bullying, but he knew better than to argue. He was afraid of what would happen next, but he remained silent.