When Lily's Cry: Puppet Strings

Chapter VII. I'm Not Her, Part. 2

WARNING: May contain mature content such as self harm, murder, suicide, abuse, swearing, etc...

A/N: So this chapters short, since it's just to finish off the last chapter. It's gonna get pretty depressing, but my next update will probably be just an explanation of Alfred's school schedule, and where main characters were during events in which they were not mentioned. Enjoy~!

Recap

The latter stood from his seat, brushing the crumbs from his 'secret snacks' off of his light blue jeans. Alfred pouted, and began to absentmindedly spin in his swivel chair as Francis packed his school stuff. Once the older was done, he watched in amusement as Alfred quickened his pace. One would assume Alfred was attempting to become the first human tornado,  but no, he was just bored, and looking for stimulation. Even that of nausea would be enough to get him up and running. Stimuli like this was coffee to Alfred, because once he got the wheels in his head moving, he was a nonstop smartass machine.

It was no wonder he was top of his grade whenever exams came around. Both physically and mentally gifted, he was what anyone would consider 'perfect.' But the perfect man does not always live the perfect life. And Alfred was no exception, being given a rather shitty hand as some would say.

Continued

Alfred hummed softly, staring out the window of the dainty flower shop. Bouquets and other beautiful assortments stood on display, but none as beautiful as the man behind the glass.

The blond yawned, exhausted from a long night of studying for exams. He pulled a few vases of flowers from the window, and began to arrange them. The sound of the bell above the clear door interrupted his thoughts, as he glanced up at the man before him.

Ludwig, a clean cut, German transfer. He was a year above Alfred, and the student council president. People often called him an over achiever, or a perfectionist, and at school that's exactly what he was. But Alfred often witnessed the side of him he hid from the other students. The Ludwig he knew was clumsy, irritable, but still kind and caring towards those he cared about. Alfred never realized it, but that included him.

The German grunted as a form of greeting, heading to the staff room to change shirts and get on his apron. Alfred was already changed, busying himself by making crowns and rings from the flowers surrounding him.

Ludwig would never dream of admitting it, but the American was stunning. Surrounded by flowers, the sun beaming through the open window beside him. He was like a Greek painting, aside from his clothes at least.

The cerulean eyed teen closed his eyes momentarily, remembering the first time he witnessed his fathers abuse in action.

Being only 6 at the time, he didn't quit realize the seriousness of his fathers crime. All he knew was that mommy was sad, sadder than anything he'd ever seen. She cried day and night, and whenever his father saw, he would punish her. He would hit her repeatedly, make her grovel at his feet, and beg for mercy. Yet that was never enough for him, he was never satisfied with her devastation and suffering. He wanted to make her hurt more, he wanted her to die, not literally, but more of a spiritual death.

He wanted her to lose that glint in her eye, the shining symbol of hope that she radiated no matter the situation. Alfred never knew why, but when intoxicated, he despised that part of her. That part that he used to love, that part that helped him through all his rough patches in life.

The part that reminded him of himself.

Alfred was forced continuously to watch his mother -his world- sob in desperation, pleading for Alfred to run to his room. All of her pride thrown into the trash, she just wanted her child to run, before her husband turned on him as well.

Too late.

Alfred's body trembled, as tears uncontrollably fell.

"Don't cry! Don't cry, you filthy maggot!"

Alfred's breath caught in his throat, as he flinched at the raise of his fathers arm.

"Hey! Look at me, parasite! Look at me! Go ahead! Grovel at my feet like the pathetic pile of shit you are!"

Alfred quivered, as he moved to do just that, beg, like the pathetic creature he was. He could faintly hear cries from behind himself, as his father rose his leg up.

Instead of the expected impact, he felt a weight put onto his back. He looked up in surprise, only to find his mother, protecting him. The older male growled like a feral animal, as he repeatedly kicked his wife, trying to get her off his son, so he could beat the child properly. This continued for what seemed like an eternity, and in Alfred's point of view, it was all played out in slow motion. Like when you fall, it happens slower in your mind then it does in reality.

Alfred clawed at his mother, trying to pull her away from the monster that was glaring down at them. She didn't budge though, after all, she just wanted her most precious thing to stay safe. She just wanted her son to keep that beautiful smile, and those kind bright eyes.

He was too far gone though, blue eyes faded by terror and torment. Alfred remembered it well, the moment his father hesitated, the moment his real father rose to the surface. Even though it was just a split second, he could see the light pass through the mans eyes, the light he recognized as his hero, his role model, his Dad.

He had a scarce amount of memories where he was at peace, but surprisingly enough, that was one. Even with the screaming of his mother, and the cursing of his father, he felt a sense of serenity. Like everything would eventually be okay. Maybe that was his false sense of hope getting the better of him, or maybe there was brain damage from being slammed against the wall by his father. Whatever the reason, Alfred was at peace, even if just for a moment. But more peace would soon come after Alfred blacked out from lack of oxygen. He couldn't remember when, but at some point his mother had been flung across the room, and his father had wrapped his hand around Alfred's neck. The room became blurry, and black dots disoriented his vision, as the last thing his eyes landed on was the family photo, with cracks spreading like spiderwebs. The center of the spiderwebs was -not surprisingly- Alfred, and at that moment, he didn't know what the emotion he felt was called.

All he knew, was that it was surprisingly warm, but only on his face and neck. Alfred compared it to tears, since it was damp, but it was leaking from his forehead and chin, unlike the clear liquid he could easily recognize. When his vision was finally consumed entirely by the black fog seemingly surrounding him, he felt a since of relief.

'At least it was me, and not them.'