Hello, everyone, I am back. Before anyone starts screaming, yes, I will also continue with Eyeliner and cigarettes. But right now, I wanted this up. It's the new and IMHO better version of He still stands inspite of what his scars say. I have become a better writer in these past years, my mind has become more perverted, and of course the show has added new stuff that I can perfectly fit into my story. I leave the original up for now, I don't know when or even if I'll take it down. This story is here IMHO is different enough so I can keep both here. We'll see to that.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI Miami or its characters. I do own my OCs though, which means Ryan's family, his friends, the bullies and every other person that will appear later on which u have not seen on the show. Neither do i own the quotes at the beginning of the chapters. The title of the fic is taken from the lyrics of Rihanna's G4L.
Special thanks go to my Beta Dragonfriend95, who is an amazing writer herself.
Chapter One
Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell."Francois Muriac
Ryan Wolfe had been a happy child. Well, at least in the first years of his life. The first four years, perhaps. Only he didn't remember much of those. The first thing he remembered, and most probably the only thing from that time, was when his little sister had been born. He remembered when he had been to the hospital with his father, looking through the glass window at the all the little babies. His father, Duke Arman Wolfe, had pointed at one and said, "Look, Ryan. That's your little baby sister, Deborah." Then he had sighed, "We could have had a huge family. But the doctors told me that it was too dangerous, for your mother, you know. Now, it's only you, Deborah, your mother and me." He laid his hand on Ryan's shoulder, his tone suddenly grew colder, "You're the only son I have, Ryan. I hope to God you are fit and ready to do what I expect from you."
Ryan had looked up at his father, "What do you expect from me, daddy?"
Duke continued looking at his baby girl, "Maybe you are too young to understand that right now, but you will become a soldier."
"A soldier?" Ryan knew what a soldier was. Many of them came to see his father. And he knew that his father was a soldier, too, even though he had no idea what that meant.
"Yes. A soldier."
Ryan scratched his head, "But I want to be a fireman when I'm grown up."
Now, Duke looked down at him, "You won't become a fireman. You will be a soldier. Like everyone in the family." He paused before he said, "And I think it is time to start preparing you now."
"What do you mean, daddy?"
Duke's eyes grew hard, "From now on, Ryan, you will call me 'Sir'. And your mother 'Ma'am'. Any disobedience will result in punishment."
"Punishment?" Ryan didn't understand. Up to this day, his father had never laid hand on him.
"Yes. Punishment. To become a soldier, you have to be strong. And strength comes with suffering and discipline."
"What is discipline, daddy?"
Duke gave him a short slap to the back of his head, "It's 'Sir'. You will find out what discipline means in due time."
And boy, he had been right.
The next vivid memory Ryan had was from his eighth birthday. That day, his father had decided that it was time for the world to see that Ryan Wolfe would become a soldier one day. He had called Ryan downstairs after the boy had gotten out of the shower. When Ryan arrived in the kitchen, his father motioned him to a chair. "Sit down."
Ryan did what he was told, "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, Ryan." Duke walked up behind Ryan. Ryan waited for something to happen. And then, he heard the noise. A cold, definite noise. He jumped from the chair, his hand jerking up to his ear. And there he felt it: an almost bald spot. "What are you doing?"
His father stood there, with the lock of hair that he had just cut off in his hand. He dropped it and glared at Ryan, "Sit down again!"
"No! I don't want a haircut!"
"You will obey, Ryan. Sit down."
"No!" Ryan shook his head fiercely. "Why do I need a haircut?"
"Come closer, and I will show you." When Ryan again didn't obey, Duke came over. Before Ryan could react, Duke got a grip in his hair and started pulling. Ryan started screaming, but Duke didn't stop, he just pulled harder, "You see why you need a haircut? Because it hurts when your enemy pulls at it. You must never give your enemy a chance to hurt you! Never, you hear me?" He pulled one last time and then let go. "Besides, a soldier has to look neat and disciplined. And with that hair of yours, it isn't possible. This is why I will cut it now. And you will sit down again." Ryan rubbed his head, tears of pain stinging in his eyes. "Sit down. Or do I have to make you?" When Ryan didn't answer immediately, Duke said, "I suggest you do as I say. And, for future references, you will always do what I say. You will obey to my every word. If you don't, you will learn what it truly means to disobey me. And you will regret having pushed me that far. A soldier always follows orders. And I will teach you to follow my orders. Now, sit down." Ryan, still holding his head, got back on the chair. For the next few minutes, he watched as locks of brown hair piled up on the floor. More and more every time, the cold noise of the scissors telling him that his father had just cut off another strand. Just how short did he want to cut it? Ryan found out when he finally heard the humming noise of the hair clipper. All came off. "And stop crying. Crying is for girls."
Later that day, Ryan sat in his room, on his bed, running his hands over his bald head. What would the other children at school say? They would make fun of him, laugh at him, and make jokes about his haircut. For weeks and weeks. Children were cruel. He ran his hands over his head again. And again. And again. Just why had his father done this? Did he want the other children at school to make fun of him? He got up from his bed and silently walked over to the bathroom. Once there, he locked the door and looked into the mirror. The shock over what he saw almost made him cry again. What he had known before from touching was now sad reality. Nothing was left of his once dark and full hair. If he didn't know it was him standing there in front of the mirror, he wouldn't have recognized his face anymore. It was like a completely different person, staring at him with big hazel eyes, suspiciously wet. He had avoided looking into the mirror, earlier, when he had discarded his hair into the trashcan in the bathroom, but now, he couldn't look away. It was as if he wanted to check if this really was him. As if simple looks could make his hair grow back in seconds again. But it didn't. Ryan swallowed his tears back. He couldn't cry now. If somebody noticed, he would feel even more humiliated than he did now.
Slowly, he turned his eyes away from the mirror and sat down on the floor. His hand automatically reached for the trash can. As he took the cover off and looked into it, he felt sadness overcoming him even more. He reached into it and took a handful hair out. His hair. After his father had cut it all off, he had left Ryan alone with dustpan and brush to clean the floor. Ryan had done it, trying to hide his shame and tears. When he had finally cleaned it all, he had thrown his hair away. Now he looked at the handful he was holding. Long brown strands, still with the smell of shampoo still on them. They were gone now. Gone was the old Ryan. All that remained was what he saw now in the mirror. A different Ryan. He even felt somehow reluctant to call this person Ryan. It couldn't be him, could it? This kid with the bald head wasn't him. The kid that had looked back at him in the mirror this morning, the one with the fuzzy brown hair, that was him. He swallowed again, but this time, he couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Before anyone could disturb him in the bathroom, he quickly closed the trashcan again and ran back to his room. There, he threw himself on the bed again and silently wept into his pillows. What had his daddy done to him? Why had he done it? It was only when he turned his head to the wall that he noticed he still held on to the strands he had taken from the trashcan. He continued looking at them for a while before he hid them in one of his old school books. He didn't understand what had happened, but it felt like he needed this hair to remind him that this ugly bald head in the mirror really was his.
Now, almost 9 years later, Ryan had understood. This haircut had been the start of his new life. His life completely controlled by his father, with no self-control whatsoever. It had never been the same again after this eighth birthday. Duke had started to control everything. Everything he did, everything he said, hell, even when he said it. One of the first rules his father had given him was to only speak when spoken to. One of the rules…There were so many more… One of them was the haircut. Up to that day, Ryan had to wear his hair short. 3 mm on each side of his head, 6 mm on top. He hated it, but there was nothing he could do about it. His father even decided what he had to wear: long trousers, button down shirts, sweater vests. He looked like a dork, and many of the other guys at school laughed at him. But Ryan usually just shrugged and ignored the comments. Never would he tell his father what he felt about it, and never ever would he dare and wear something different. His father had ordered it. And he had talked… beaten… into him that he had to follow those orders. Beaten… Ryan got up from his bed and walked over to the window. It was night, and the city of Boston was asleep. But Ryan Wolfe wasn't. He was 16 now, and his 17th birthday was close. Soon, his father would ask him to sign up. Ask him… tell him. Force him. For the past 9 years, Duke Wolfe had made sure that, when the day finally came, his son would be ready. Many sleepless night, many fear filled days. And Ryan didn't know what to do. He didn't want to be a soldier. He didn't know what he wanted to do instead, but running through mud in a country that wasn't his definitely wasn't on his list. But what choice did he have?
I know some of you wondered why I wanted to rewrite Scars. I think this one's better. Plz read and review, if you feel this is worth it.