He Is & He Was

Part 16: Return To Me

I saw Raven in the ballroom, everything shaded blue and black around him as night took over the light of daytime. He wore a flimsy white robe over the baggy, grey trousers and white shirt that I donated to him since his return last weekend. His feet were bare but he didn't seem to mind. He liked to be able to tiptoe out of his room and find a place to be quiet and still for a few moments. He embraced loneliness now.
I decided to find him tonight as we hadn't spoken to one another since his interrogation. It had gone a little awkward between us after he decided to hit me with a chair and I decided to forget about him, rather than find him when he needed me most. A lot of the time now he remained in his room, which use to be the spare room that he stayed in when he first arrived here at the very beginning of our story. Whenever I came out of my study or came home from a trip out with fellow businessmen, I would only catch a glimpse of his door closing; the lock ticking as he turned the key on the other side. Locking all of us out. I believed he just cherished having a room to himself again and loved the fact that he now had the power to open and close doors by himself once more. Or maybe he locked it because he still didn't trust any of us.
I walked over to him, the polished floorboards smooth underneath my slippers, so smooth in fact, that I sometimes slipped as I attempted to walk gracefully towards him. Knowing full well he heard me because his head turned a very small amount as I took my first clumsy step, swearing softly under my breath.
He didn't seem to bothered about my company tonight.
He continued to stare out of the long rectangular windows, staring at the deep dark sea of freshly cut grass and tree trunks coloured sliver and black with Prussian leaves. Some of the glass doors in here were left open to keep the manor cool, allowing the long white curtains to dance around as if some sort of muted ball was happening in here without my permission. It felt like I had seen Raven from across a crowd of people and he was the only one in colour; telling me he was the one to keep in my life. Everyone else in this ghostly ball was nothing to me. While he was everything.
Once I reached him, he sighed heavily and held loosely onto his biceps, everything about was a shade of blue while his eyes remained a poison berry red. He gave me a small look before looking down at my feet and then back at the landscape that stood before us. My landscape.
"You officially own all of this then?" He asked modishly.
I nodded, "Father is no longer stable enough to do so. So I had to become the Head of the household much more younger than I anticipated," I replied, "Luckily everyone has been very helpful and understanding so far, but I'm sure that will fade and they will become tiresome of my mistakes soon."
He tutted, "Because humans can't make mistakes, no matter how natural it comes to them." The irony was thick with his response and I couldn't help but agree.
Perfection didn't exist and nor will it ever. A painting will never be a hundred percent accurate and a author of a book will never fully understand why their characters acted the way they did.
"I think animals are the only perfect creation on this planet." I suddenly said.
He looked at me and raised his eyebrow, "Enlighten me, Lord Phantomhive. Tell me why animals are the only perfect thing among this ball of filth." He seemed humoured by my mind like he always use to be, my thoughts were unlike any others after all, they sounded stupid because of how random they were but once you thought about it, my theories were brilliant.
"Well it's sad, but many of the animals that aren't perfect die and only the best of the best survive. They don't waste time on stupid things and they don't fall out like human beings always do... They also all look fucking brilliant with their patterned furs." His eyes widened slightly once I swore in front of him, but he couldn't say anything from the crude words he said to me the other day.
"Spoken like a true Lord," He laughed a little bit which made my heart skip a beat, maybe he was okay after all, he seemed to act like it, "There is one animal that isn't perfect though." He gave me a quick slide glance as he knew I already knew.
"Dogs?"
He frowned and bit his tongue between his teeth as he nodded to my answer, "Horrific mongrels. Too daft for their own good, they need to be smarter like... Like cat," I smiled at that, "Cats are the best, they sort themselves out. They clean themselves, they can walk themselves and they have a timer, once they are done; they are done and leave you alone for the rest of the day."
"One day I will buy you a cat. I promise." I moved a bit closer to him, our arms brushing against one another's whilst his smiled humorously at me, as if nothing bad had ever happened between us; as if he hadn't be tortured. It was like he had stayed here the whole time and we were still inseparable, as our minds locked perfectly into place like a jigsaw puzzle. He was gone for so long that the image was forever ruined to me, but now, he had returned to me and everything felt like a muted chaos again, calm in the centre where we stood, but full of a unforgettable energy that vibrated around us... But like I said: a painting is never a hundred percent accurate. His head could be a hurricane, drumming on the sides of his skull while he just idled by, hoping that one day he would wake up, and he wouldn't be able to smell the foul stenches of that home anymore, or be able to see the bodies of those children scorched onto his pupils.
We stayed quiet for a while, just staring at the fields and fluffy trees. A few glowing lights going by in the distance hills, attached to cars which only the rich could afford. I wonder where they are going and who they were, what sort of lives they had and if they were happy with their state of living.
"Maybe you should start going to Weston." I suddenly said to him, feeling his body resting upon mine ever so lightly.
"Your college?" He questioned, "Aren't we both a little too old to be there, shouldn't we go to university together instead?"
"They educate you as long as you want in whatever you want but mostly its the basics. I'm there for one more year and then I'm sorted, since I don't really need to be the smartest man in the world to be a Lord. But maybe college will be good for you, get some proper education rather than learning how to be a servant... I mean can you even read and write? I don't think university would be a good place to go to right away if you can't even do that."
He moved away from me and looked at me slightly annoyed, I knew I had touched a nerve, "I can read and write." He said coldly.
I put my hands up before me, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I didn't think Tanaka would teach you that," I pulled my hair back feeling embarrassed about making him feel embarrassed, socialising was hard with him now, I didn't know what was good or bad to say to him anymore, "College would be good for you to learn what you like. You might be super good at maths, Geography... Even art." I don't think I ever really saw him draw.
He thought about it for a short amount of time before looking back at me with a small but slightly sad smirk, "Sure I don't belong in a Ragged school rather than a fancy one like Weston?"
For someone who bellowed demonic words the other day, he lacked confidence. I suppose he never had confidence. I never recall him ever being up front unless I just never saw it, I bet if I asked Tanaka he would have a few good stories about the hotheadedness of this once young demon.
It was saddening to me how those days were forever over now. Never to be touched or redone. Forever sealed and completed no matter how many mistakes we both made.
"I'm sure." I wanted to say more but I stopped before I could embarrass myself even more with peaceful and charming words. Knowing they would only make me cringe later on, regretting I spoke such words to Raven.
He looked at me for a long time before staring outside, his eyes unbelievably unnatural that they were surely the eyes you saw before your death. Cool and dominant; his nervous body behaviour saying otherwise.
"I've missed the outside world," he suddenly said, "I missed being able to walk where I want to,"
I didn't reply. I just watched him cautiously, trying to remember what his face looked like from the last time I saw him. It's roundness and childlike detail was gone and was now replaced with the looks of a malnourished man, too thin and sharp... I wondered if he considered putting more weight on so he didn't look so ill and delicate.
It didn't suit him. He was strong, I knew he was, but his body was the pure contrast of that. His mind was a weapon, injured but tough while his body showed all the war wounds of his past. He needed to nurse himself; we needed to nurse him.
"I don't know what to say." He said, his arms dangling by his sides, no longer tense or flinching with aggression and fear.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I don't know what to say to you," he licked his lips tenderly, "It feels like you want me to talk to you but I have nothing to say."
I shook my head, "I don't expect you to say anything."
I did want him to though. I wanted him to speak forever. I wanted him to tell me what he could see, what he saw and how it was changing him. What were his plans now and how could I aid him until our fingertips never felt each others again; his absence known as he lived his own life without me. I was obsessed with his kind, obsessed with him and how he tolerated his aggression and inner self so easily and calmly, even when he was crying out daggers from his torn voice box. Yes, he was a demon but he was different. Something wasn't quite right with him and I think he was finally realising that too. He liked the idea of human life and he expressed emotions even when he wasn't thinking about anything. His face twitching with a life he shouldn't have, his life was meant to involve punishment and constant feeding on the souls of the living, instead though; he pretended to be one of the souls.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked him, once we stood together in silence for a couple long minutes, just watching the nocturnal creatures dance around in the tall grass within the woods.
He looked at me and nodded reluctantly, probably concerned about what I was going to say.
I decided to come clean to a demon. To tell him all my sins that I couldn't control or hide anymore. A part of me secretly hoped that he could help me but I didn't know what my brain meant by help, did it want him to make sense of it all or for him to laugh at me and call me names, so I saw that my issues weren't a big deal at all? The other part of me wanted to shut up and not tell him anything about my problems, just from the fact that I knew he had suffered much more these couple years, much more than me. But it wasn't a competition to see who was the most tortured.
My happiness and will to live was more fragile than his as I knew I had no way to change my future. My life was to be a lord until I died and I could do nothing to change that, unless I wanted to destroy all my families reputations. It just felt rather pointless to me to live because everyone knew what I had to do, I just had to say a few random orders and everyone followed them, knowing full well it will help them and profit them while I sat at home with paper work and stress. Why couldn't they follow those orders on a piece of paper rather than from a mouth of a stranger? Why did I have to control everyone's lives for them? I couldn't even control my own life right now. All my life was for was for people to get more money. Money was all that mattered. Money was what I was born for.
"I have a problem. Well, many," I was panicking, deciding what I should tell him of my many secrets.
I looked at his face which remained calm, even when I could see concern glistening slightly in his eyes. Maybe not concern for me but concern what my problems were, maybe he wasn't going to deal with it well. A little voice told me that he was going to be horrified and angry at me, that I should remain silent and avoid any confrontation with him but I needed to talk to someone rather than pretending nothing was wrong while father traced my every step; hoping that I won't blab about my slightly fucked up head. It wasn't a good thing to be struggling in this sort of society.
It wasn't good to be ill.
It wasn't good to be unhappy and it wasn't good to be in love with the wrong sex. It wasn't good to be in love at all in fact, even parents couldn't express love to their children without getting odd looks.
I wanted Raven to be ahead of his time like me and apart of me believed he was but God knows how demons are like. Maybe they were just as old fashioned as the gentlemen and ladies that came to my balls.
"I have a mental disorder, an illness I guess you can subject it to," My eyes avoided his suddenly, it felt like I had no control where I looked as my mind raced, thinking about what I should tell him and not tell him, I wanted him to know everything about me but what if he didn't want to, what if this was a mistake, "Its called," I hesitated to say anything about my sexuality, it was too dangerous to speak of, "Bipolar. Bipolar disorder. I don't know if you have heard of it. Its a new discovery, it was named a coupled years ago after they realised many people seemed to have it." my mouth twitched a bit, unsure whether to smile or frown.
"What does it mean?" He questioned steadily.
For now I didn't know how he was reacting to it but by his gentle question, it felt like he wanted to understand or at least, hear me out. He was pretty quick to ask questions about it, "It means I have excessive mood swings. Some days I will be okay, others I will be as barmy as a kid and others I will be very... low, I suppose you can describe it like that," depression was a word I didn't use because it seemed to scare people, "But I never really know when it happens, I just get told by Tanaka or Francis that I'm not well on certain days and then they cancel my meetings for me," I itched the back of my head, wanting to comfort my brain and its unusual way of working, some days I loved it and some days I hated it, "My friend Diedrich experiences it a lot because he's always around me thanks to Weston. He says its like three different people in one whenever I ask him about it. We would just be having a conversation and I will be extremely passionate and fun and then the next I will be quiet and... sad. Sometimes he will just put me to bed because I would be too tried to even eat."
He was silent for a while and all I could hear was my own heartbeat drumming in my burning hot ears, drumming songs of danger and fear as my adrenaline buzzed through me in a slow manner, ready to spark up once Raven spoke.
The only people who knew about this were my father, Francis and Tanaka. Telling Diedrich was a accident but I suppose it made living and being my fag at Weston far more easier for him, because he soon realised I didn't mean anything that I said in my mood swings, he knew then I couldn't control any of it. He seemed to find good ways to deal with it and kept doing them as my mind kept me as a child uncapable of doing anything.
"I didn't know." He replied unemotional which stung a bit.
"It was after you left... I can't remember when I was diagnosed to be honest but father didn't want it to spread that I had it. He thought it was contagious so he kept me isolated for a while, until it was noticeable that he also had something that he wouldn't speak of." I could still see my belongings burning in the fire, my teddies glass eyes popping as its fur sizzled into a black sludge.
I never forgave him for that. But I cared enough for him to not go around telling people that my father burnt everything I owned.
"You've only just realised something wasn't right with him?" He raised his eyebrows and shook his head in disbelief, "Something has been wrong with your father since day one."
I didn't want to talk about father. He was a kind man now that he was struggling, he knew he needed us and so he opened his arms and accepted to be seen as the weak man he truly is. We took care of him now with delicate hands and soothing words as he decided it was time to bond with us, before his head finally cracked and sent him to the ugly hospitals that everyone pretended didn't exist.
We bonded over pool and work while he bonded with Francis by allowing her to continue on her sword fighting and sometimes going to see her in competitions. He was an okay father now. Yes, it took time but he finally made it. He finally understood us.
"Does this make you see me differently?" I asked, changing the subject from father.
He took a deep breath in, "No," He let it out through his mouth, "I feel like everyone has something wrong with them, I have seen a lot of people who struggle, especially in that orphanage. The people who admit they are struggling are the strong ones in my eyes," Our eyes caught one another and I couldn't help but smile at his unlethal expression, "I wouldn't be surprised if I have something wrong with me after being in that place," He suddenly laughed a bit, "Hey, who knows, maybe I caught Bipolar off of you."
"Oh my God don't say that," I punched his arm a bit more aggressively than when I use to as a kid, "Or I will give you something worse than my Bipolar." I suppose humour was the best way to deal with mental health, it did make it funny to me that that isolation from the others did nothing except make me do the silent treatment on father once he let me out.
I mean, who bloody believes mental health was contagious? People of the Victorian era; that's who. Crazy people. No wonder more and more mental health's were being discovered.
"What a stupid thing for your father to believe." He sighed.
I swallowed, knowing full well that Raven and my father would never get on even now that father was more tamed than last time they met, "You know, he thought you cursed me with it. He believed you cursed the whole family when he got those people to take you away. He believed we were all going to die or something for a short while," I waited to see his reaction.
Oddly he smiled but I could tell he was annoyed and that smile was ironic and full of bitterness.
My father had a mindset about Raven that never changed: a demon was a demon. Raven would forever be the bad guy in this story, even when he did all the right things because after all, he was the one from Hell. He had seen what the Devil itself looks like and had lived to tell the tales as one of his servants.
He didn't say anything back to me but I guessed he knew I didn't want him to say anymore bad words about my father, when we both knew he would use the same words against us once he decided he didn't want a demon in my manor again.
His ears heard everything. His green eyes saw infinity. He was able to twist words so violently and crude so easily it was as if it was natural to him. Everyone was the bad guy except him and in a odd way, I felt so sorry for him sometimes that I agreed to that. He wasn't a bad guy, he was just a broken man who could never love again after my mother passed on.
I too felt the same way about myself sometimes, as ever since my mother passed away, I never found myself finding someone else to love after I felt the emotions of losing someone so precious to me.
Maybe I was scared of love.
I didn't really know why I didn't find anyone to love to be honest. Maybe I was worried if I opened up to a man about my feelings they would get me hung after a good beating, or if I was to open up to a woman, they would slap me and make me feel regret and sadness for the rest of my life. Even my health could scare people away. I suppose my brain had already decided I was never to love, I weirdly felt okay with that even when my heart ached a little at the thought of dying alone.
"Raven." My voice spoke without me even thinking.
What if he didn't even know the word: Bisexual. It was a foreign word that even I still didn't fully understand yet. It was a undefinable word. A word only a handful of people spoke about in the Ancient times...
I had heard it was rumoured to have been discovered in the 1850's but who knows, people make up so many new words now on a daily basis, that it was hard to know what was slang and what was real anymore. I wanted to live in a time where we had already discovered all the words we could find and spoke in perfect sentences rather than stuttering incorrect ones; everyone staring as if you were an idiot.
Eyes everywhere.
I shudder a little.
"Yes?"
I decided to let it out as my brain throbbed with all the thoughts in my head, "I think- I think I'm Bisexual." I looked at the polished flooring, my reflection looking slightly clearer than the last time I saw it.
I could actually see myself rather than a blurry man that called himself Lord Phantomhive. Was this Vincent? Was it Vincent I could see in these floorboards?
I suddenly felt hot tears fall from my waterline and scatter down my cheeks, my vision blurring and myself vanished within it, my heart chasing a rabbit within my ribcage as I realised how vulnerable I had become to Raven.
It hurt. It hurt to breathe and act fine, it hurt to know I was such a fuse of things that people would never understand me in this era.
I was born in the wrong time and everyday reminded me of it. It was truly best to stay quiet even though that damaged me as well... Being out spoken was a danger and so was being quiet. So. What could I do? How could I survive in this head of mine?
It was broken.
It was a machine with a cog missing.
It was uncertain of what it wanted to be.
It was confused about who I was.
I felt Raven's fingertips touch my hand, before his fingers quickly intertwined with mine and I took the leap; I clasped tightly onto him before he could change his mind.
His skin warm and soft after a week of luxury in my beautiful manor and its whispery voiced maids. His skin was so pale against my peachiness and yet no blemishes marked it like my small moles and scars from childhood accidents; it was oddly pure looking to me.
His fingers gingerly closed until we formed a awkward fist together, his side loose and endearing while mine was tight and shaking with emotions I couldn't shout out to him just yet; his thumb massaging the joint of mine as if he knew that.
I looked at him and he was already staring at me, a frail smile on his face as his eyebrows were arched in pitiful sorrow, his eyes less scary to me now as their brightness had faded into a natural ombré of red, "It's okay," He said softly, "It's okay."
I didn't ask if he knew what I meant or -if he did- how he knew the word Bisexual. My head danced to the idea that he could possibly be Bisexual too, but I kicked that idea down to the ground quickly so my hopes wouldn't rise too much and ruin this beautiful moment later on in my life. This beautiful memory of holding the kind hand of a misunderstood demon.
He was a creature of Hell and yet he held me so carefully as if he knew I was made out of glass, his hands cooping me like a bird with broken wings and needles for bones.
I still limped on without his hold though after a silence of four years apart.
But it felt nice to have someone here at last, to keep pushing me forward and there to keep his hands out if I was ever to fall backwards.
I wanted to know how different he was from other demons down below.
Would they simply attack me once I got into their sight or would they be this caring to me too? Were all demons mistaken as evil predators?
Secretly, I wanted him to be the only one of his kind to be like this. It made him more precious to me, as if he was one of those rare lucky charms that Mother Nature accidentally made one day. Like a albino deer or four-leaf clover. A demon with a kind heart.
Back in these days, I never knew that one day that would change.
That one day he would become a nightmare that I would still love passionately, blood on his black clothes and a fanged grin that I couldn't forget; it haunted my dreams and corrupted my memories of the kind version of him. Happiness stained on his face as he danced the dance of death among his bloodied victims that no longer moved; pulling me close as blood drenched me too. Kissing, laughing, happy amongst the corpses he created.
Sometimes natural instincts were too powerful to ignore.
But I didn't think about those memories too much, to keep my humanity and sanity safe for as long as I could, until I too became as monstrous as him.
(It was too late).
Instead, I remained still in this memory.
A statue as I watched myself curl into the nape of his neck and stay there, my shaky breath warming the side of his neck as he nuzzled into my short grey hair. I whispered things to him, but I knew he couldn't hear because no noise came out of me except little gasped sobs. I knew he could feel my lips delicately move up and down on his skin though; I loved the fact he never asked what I said.
It was my own cherished way of telling him I loved him.

For you
I would forever stand here beside you,
next to you
In a room full of floating white ghosts that you will never mention,
I want you to see,
Everything I do was to get you back here
In my arms and in my tears of pink flesh and blue salt
Our hearts alined even when our heads were rotten,
Moments like these I photograph
Because my love,
We are never able to stay still like this again.

(Authors note:
Hey guys, so mental health is a super touchy subject to some people so I'm just gonna leave this note here.
Just to let you know I'm a full supporter on mental health awareness and come from a family full of people diagnosed with illnesses (including myself and a relative close to me who has Bipolar which is written in this chapter). Bipolar is different for everyone (some people have a mild case while others -like Vincent and my relative- suffer with a more serious/high case of it) so if it doesn't link to your version of it, please don't write a massive paragraph about it in my comments, this is just my own experience of it from seeing my relative suffer from it during her good and bad days.
Also mental health in the Victorian era was talked and "cured" in very old fashioned ways (obviously) so this is why in this book it will be slightly edgy and un-agreeable. Just know it's facts and not my actual opinions on how to cure mental health.
Also, me and my family use humour to deal with our mental health so that's why I use that in my books. I'm sorry if it offends you but that's my only way of dealing with it as it was how I was brought up: by not taking my mental health seriously and having a laugh about it rather than being scare of it.
If you or anyone you know is struggling with mental health and needs help, here are some links below:

Childline ( for 18 and under for minor and serious cases):
https://childline.org.uk/ (phone number (UK): 0800 1111

Samaritans (18+ for serious cases):
https://www.samaritans.org/ (phone number (UK): 116 123

Lots of love,
little author).