Ah, sorry this one took so long. I was busy with exams and other writing projects. Anyway, it's here now. Not much happens, though, so sorry for that too ._.'
There had been police officers in the house that morning. They’d come to question Seborga about what had happened to him and record a testimony, for the court case. The way that they’d spoken about it had given the micronation some comfort that this wouldn’t go unpunished, that…those people would be brought to justice. He hoped it wouldn’t just be for what they did to him but for his friends and the threats against them.
Romano was still tetchy and on edge, pacing around the kitchen. He’d made Seborga something for lunch before going out in front of the house and lighting up a cigarette. Seborga watched him through the open window, watched him puff clouds of smoke up towards the sky. Sealand and Wy had been taken back to the hotel England and Australia were staying in; they’d promised to come and see him again, this time with the others in tow.
Romano poked his head back into the kitchen. He had his trademark scowl on, though it softened slightly when he saw Seborga.
“Feeling any better?” he asked, putting his cigarette out on the ashtray that Veneziano kept by the door.
Seborga nodded, swallowing another mouthful of pasta. The warm, bright house and familiar food brought a sense of comfort and security. Romano had been a constant presence since he’d been called the night Seborga had been brought to Veneziano’s house. Veneziano and Germany had had to go to the meeting; Veneziano had kissed Seborga’s cheek and told him he’d come straight home from the meeting.
“I thought you might,” Romano said, taking a seat opposite Seborga at the table, “A full stomach can make things feel better, even if it’s just for a little while.”
“…Not thinking about it helps too,” Seborga said, twisting spaghetti around his fork, “I just need to get past it.”
“Feli can find someone who can help with that,” Romano said, “Like a therapist or something. You don’t have to do this on your own. You’ve got us and you’ve got your friends; remember that.”
Romano’s phone rang and he stood up as he answered it, gently ruffling Seborga’s hair. He left the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, and went up the stairs. Seborga stayed where he was and stared down at the table; he traced the grain of the wood with a finger.
“A therapist?” he murmured, frowning a little. The thought had briefly crossed his mind when Veneziano had been talking to him that morning; his brother had brought up the idea while he was washing up after breakfast before Seborga had quickly changed the topic to something else.
He stood up and put his plate in the sink, rinsing it off and wiping it down. In all honesty, the thought of going to a therapist scared him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, feeling completely and utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. His skin still crawled despite the very thorough shower he’d had that morning; no matter what he did, the feeling still lingered.
There’s hot breath in his ear and hands digging into his hips and laughter the ground digs into his back and his eye hurts where they hit him and he can hear his own voice begging and pleading stop stop please stop
His knees hit the floor and that was what brought him back, back to Veneziano’s warm sunny kitchen. He was on his knees by the sink, hunched over, one hand gripping the edge of the sink for support. He could feel himself shaking and he forced himself back to his feet.
Romano. He needed to see Romano.
He headed out of the kitchen and made his way upstairs, trembling all the way. He paused on the landing, listening out for the sound of Romano’s conversation. He heard Romano’s voice coming from the spare bedroom and he made his way there, pushing the door open slowly.
Romano turned when he saw the door open, frowning a little. When he caught sight of the look on Seborga’s face, he quickly apologised to the person he was talking to and said he’d call them back before he hung up on them.
“What happened?” he asked, guiding Seborga to sit alongside him on the bed, “Talk to me.”
Seborga shook his head and leant against Romano, just grateful that he was close to someone he could trust. Romano allowed him to stay close, keeping one arm wrapped around Seborga’s shoulders. A small part of Seborga felt almost ashamed that he was seeking such closeness from Romano; wasn’t he supposed to want to be independent from Italy? But that part of him was drowned out by a need to be close to someone who would keep him safe and try and calm him down.
“Do you want me to call Feliciano?” Romano asked, picking up his phone again, “He’ll answer if it’s from me, no matter where he is. I’ll tell him something’s happened and he can try and make you feel better; he’s good at that.”
“No,” Seborga said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves, “It’s just…this time, it felt like it came out of nowhere. The other times, I think I could pin it on something but this time…”
Romano put his phone down and did what he thought Veneziano would do: he dropped his phone back onto the bed and pulled Seborga into a tight hug, hoping that he wasn’t doing something wrong. Seborga reached up to hold onto Romano, still shaking slightly.
Romano sighed and rubbed Seborga’s back; it was something Spain had used to do for him when he was a child, when he was woken up by nightmares. He didn’t know how effective it would be; he didn’t really remember it doing much for him when he was small.
But he didn’t know what else he could do. Comforting people had never been his strong point and Seborga needed more than he felt he could give.
I loved this update and how vulnerable Seborga was feeling. You're portraying his trauma really realistically. The same goes for the other characters, and watching Romano interact with Seborga and try to help was totally heart-breaking.
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The Backward Step 5a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-08-03 03:38 pm (UTC)(link)There had been police officers in the house that morning. They’d come to question Seborga about what had happened to him and record a testimony, for the court case. The way that they’d spoken about it had given the micronation some comfort that this wouldn’t go unpunished, that…those people would be brought to justice. He hoped it wouldn’t just be for what they did to him but for his friends and the threats against them.
Romano was still tetchy and on edge, pacing around the kitchen. He’d made Seborga something for lunch before going out in front of the house and lighting up a cigarette. Seborga watched him through the open window, watched him puff clouds of smoke up towards the sky. Sealand and Wy had been taken back to the hotel England and Australia were staying in; they’d promised to come and see him again, this time with the others in tow.
Romano poked his head back into the kitchen. He had his trademark scowl on, though it softened slightly when he saw Seborga.
“Feeling any better?” he asked, putting his cigarette out on the ashtray that Veneziano kept by the door.
Seborga nodded, swallowing another mouthful of pasta. The warm, bright house and familiar food brought a sense of comfort and security. Romano had been a constant presence since he’d been called the night Seborga had been brought to Veneziano’s house. Veneziano and Germany had had to go to the meeting; Veneziano had kissed Seborga’s cheek and told him he’d come straight home from the meeting.
“I thought you might,” Romano said, taking a seat opposite Seborga at the table, “A full stomach can make things feel better, even if it’s just for a little while.”
“…Not thinking about it helps too,” Seborga said, twisting spaghetti around his fork, “I just need to get past it.”
“Feli can find someone who can help with that,” Romano said, “Like a therapist or something. You don’t have to do this on your own. You’ve got us and you’ve got your friends; remember that.”
Romano’s phone rang and he stood up as he answered it, gently ruffling Seborga’s hair. He left the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, and went up the stairs. Seborga stayed where he was and stared down at the table; he traced the grain of the wood with a finger.
“A therapist?” he murmured, frowning a little. The thought had briefly crossed his mind when Veneziano had been talking to him that morning; his brother had brought up the idea while he was washing up after breakfast before Seborga had quickly changed the topic to something else.
He stood up and put his plate in the sink, rinsing it off and wiping it down. In all honesty, the thought of going to a therapist scared him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, feeling completely and utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. His skin still crawled despite the very thorough shower he’d had that morning; no matter what he did, the feeling still lingered.
The Backward Step 5b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-08-03 03:40 pm (UTC)(link)His knees hit the floor and that was what brought him back, back to Veneziano’s warm sunny kitchen. He was on his knees by the sink, hunched over, one hand gripping the edge of the sink for support. He could feel himself shaking and he forced himself back to his feet.
Romano. He needed to see Romano.
He headed out of the kitchen and made his way upstairs, trembling all the way. He paused on the landing, listening out for the sound of Romano’s conversation. He heard Romano’s voice coming from the spare bedroom and he made his way there, pushing the door open slowly.
Romano turned when he saw the door open, frowning a little. When he caught sight of the look on Seborga’s face, he quickly apologised to the person he was talking to and said he’d call them back before he hung up on them.
“What happened?” he asked, guiding Seborga to sit alongside him on the bed, “Talk to me.”
Seborga shook his head and leant against Romano, just grateful that he was close to someone he could trust. Romano allowed him to stay close, keeping one arm wrapped around Seborga’s shoulders. A small part of Seborga felt almost ashamed that he was seeking such closeness from Romano; wasn’t he supposed to want to be independent from Italy? But that part of him was drowned out by a need to be close to someone who would keep him safe and try and calm him down.
“Do you want me to call Feliciano?” Romano asked, picking up his phone again, “He’ll answer if it’s from me, no matter where he is. I’ll tell him something’s happened and he can try and make you feel better; he’s good at that.”
“No,” Seborga said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves, “It’s just…this time, it felt like it came out of nowhere. The other times, I think I could pin it on something but this time…”
Romano put his phone down and did what he thought Veneziano would do: he dropped his phone back onto the bed and pulled Seborga into a tight hug, hoping that he wasn’t doing something wrong. Seborga reached up to hold onto Romano, still shaking slightly.
Romano sighed and rubbed Seborga’s back; it was something Spain had used to do for him when he was a child, when he was woken up by nightmares. He didn’t know how effective it would be; he didn’t really remember it doing much for him when he was small.
But he didn’t know what else he could do. Comforting people had never been his strong point and Seborga needed more than he felt he could give.
Re: The Backward Step 5b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-08-04 07:04 am (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2013-08-05 11:25 am (UTC)(link)