A/N: Hey guys, so this story was 110% inspired by BigChillFreak's story Hate. That's a wonderful story full of emotions, so go check that out of you haven't read it already!
As far as this goes, it just basically a two-parter introspective on the characters, that type of thing. The first chapter is Ed's point of view and the second chapter will be Al's. I hope you enjoy, and if it tickles your fancy, please let me know what you think!
He should hate me. I honestly don't understand why he doesn't. I stole everything from him: his life, his body, his future. How is it fair that I get to live on? That I get to experience life when, out of the two of us, he always had more appreciation for its fragility. I don't understand, I honestly don't. Why does he stay with me? He has no reason to, none at all to stick by my side, to call me Brother and trust me to fix things. To mend the mistakes that I'd made.
And yet, there's a part of me that knows if he actually left, if he told me he blamed me and he hated me, I'd break. I'd shatter into so many pieces I don't think I'd ever be whole again. So there's a selfish part of me that desperately clings to us, that hopes almost painfully that he'll never say the words I'm so terrified to hear.
Maybe that's why I never share the load, tell him what's truly bothering me. After all, what right do I have to complain? Complain about such mundane things like the sun against my automail, or the horrid taste of milk, or even the fatigue of walking all day. What right do I have to complain about any of that when I ripped those experiences away from him? He can't feel anything, because of me.
He can't sleep, can't dream at all. He has to spend each and every night awake, alone, lost in whatever thoughts his mind conjures. So I don't tell him, about the nightmares. The ones that leave me shaking. The ones that involve me standing over a broken bloodseal, or the ones where that thing is chasing me down a hallway, yelling at me, screaming, demanding to know how I could have led my little brother down this path. The ones where She proclaims it to be my fault.
So out of fear, maybe, I keep things to myself. I never share why I wake up gasping for breath and soaked with sweat. I never share where my mind wanders on long train rides, when my breathing hitches and my eyes glaze over. Most of the time I assume Al doesn't even notice, and the times he does I brush him off easily. And then quickly change the topic of conversation.
It's not ideal. But hell, nothing about our lives is ideal anymore. We gave that up a long time ago- I gave that up a long time ago.
This is just the way things have to be. A burden I have to carry. Alone.