alfonsheiderich:

God, why!? Why was he so frustrated?

Her words made him grind his teeth and let a growl rumble at the back of his throat. Violence wasn’t the answer, he knew. Not to anything. And yet he felt himself slipping into his usual angered state, where nothing mattered, not feelings or emotions or any range of physical tolerance to pain. 

“I asked you to to talk, Elle, not tell me what to do! There’s dirt in it; I have to get it out.”

His voice was harsh, and he cringed inwardly, afraid of himself. Yet on the outside, his blue eyes flashed, flickering to her briefly before turning away, back to his cuts. Stomach sloshing, he continued. In the end, he contributed the sickening feeling to the pain he was causing himself, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

She flinched back, not expecting the outburst - her own voice taking on a slight edge in her shock.

“Then use the water,” she urged, nudging the basin forward. “Swob the dirt out - don’t scrub at it…!”

What was going on here? She knew he was in a state - she could see that; but this… this anger. This was different. This hadn’t happened last time. He was fresh from a beating, this time. He was still shaken up.

She sat there for a long moment, silent, her mind devoid of things to say save for one. And she knew he wouldn’t hear it gladly.

Who did this?

She watched him scrub and grunt and wince, smears of drying blood and grime dirtying the floor.

Who did this to you, Alfons?

(Source: chocolateboxgirl)