A Second Chance

He was helping, obviously. He said as much, too. "I'm trying to help you. If you'd stop being so damn stubborn, maybe I wouldn't have to be so forceful." He spoke in a low voice, deliberately attempting to keep his voice measured and calm. It wasn't terribly easy. "I don't care what you've been through, I just want you to stop whining about it. I'm only asking for a bit of effort, not a miracle."

At this point, he turned and began to leave, pausing in the doorway to clarify, "What I said still stands." He wanted acknowledgement, if nothing else. It wasn''t all that unreasonable, even if it was a bit callous and highly unorthodox. He couldn't really help it though, he wasn't actually psychiatrist material. With these few words, Firefly left, going about his day as normmal.
 
Mist couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Firefly was trying to get him to stop whining about it? Mist had done no such thing! He hadn't whined about it. He didn't want to talk about it at all. If Firefly considered Mist's nightmares and his fear to be whining, then there was something seriously wrong with Firefly's definition of the word. In fact, there was something very wrong with Firefly in general. Mist knew that already.

"I haven't whined about it, you son of a bitch!" he shouted to Firefly after the man had left the room. "What the fuck is your problem?"
 
Although there was a reason for everything, it was difficult to pinpoint just what had caused Firefly's rather intense personality. He was so enamoured with justice and the law that he often found himself doing the most unjust and brutal thhings imaginable, but he couldn't see that. He had turned it all into revenge,somewhere along the way, and it was quite impossible for him to see that. He had been this way for a long time, that was all that anyone could say about it.

He was downstairs, doing the various chores that needed to be done, even if there was a guest in the house. It was all mundane stuff, ironing clothes, taking out the rubbish, all that stuff that people forget that the stars of the world have to do. It was saffe to say that no one that had seen or heard of Firefly envisioned him hanging clothes out on the line in the modest garden. It was quite ridiculous to see.
 
Mist didn't see any of it. He just stayed in his room, alternating between pacing, sitting, and lying down. He wasn't in a good state at all. His burn was hurting, and he was a wreck emotionally. He hated that Firefly was putting this pressure on him, but there was nothing he could do about it. Arguing with Firefly did nothing. Defending himself would only make the man snap and either kill him or send him back to jail. Just thinking about the latter made him feel like he was going to be sick...

Hours passed, and Mist remained in the room. It was past noon now, and Mist was starting to feel hungry. He slowly ventured downstairs in search of food, hoping to avoid conflict with Firefly. He looked like a mess, and he was definitely still affected by their earlier talk. If it could even be considered a talk.
 
By the time Mist came downstairs, Firefly was on to cleaning the oven. He was scrubbing at it as if his life depended on it, determined to obliterate every single scrap of crap in there. He knew that he was going a liittle overboard, seeing as he'd cleaned it out only a week ago. But, he needed something to do, and apparently breathing in the toxic fumes of an undisclosed brand of oven cleaner was how he happened to choose to do it.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye as Mist appeared, muttering under his breath, "Took you a while." He wasn't actually speaking to him, thank god, and he probably wouldn't be doing so until he admitted defeat. It was a stupid strategy, but it was the full extent of Firefly's capacity for altruism. He was trying his best, even if he was only making things worse.
 
Mist just ignored the man, looking in the fridge for something to eat. He found a small snack and left the room, retreating back to his room to eat. He didn't feel like being around Firefly, especially since the man was trying to make him talk about something he really didn't want to relive. It would be horrible for Mist to actually talk about this. It was too fresh and too traumatic. Firefly just wasn't the right person for him to open up to. Not as Firefly currently was. Mist didn't need an asshole to talk to. He needed someone who actually gave a damn.
 
It was a long time until Firefly went back up to check that Mist wasn't hanging in the wardrobe or something equally as gruesome. Thankfully that was not the case, although for a moment he sort of regretted that fact. It would make things a whole lot easier if he was just dead and gone, but unfortunately life was rarely that kind. Instead, he would have to talk to him, which really wasn't his forte, and would most likely just continue the circle they seemed to be stuck in. "You...You alright?" It was difficult to seem genuine, but he did just about manage to pull it off, even if it was with a grimace.
 
"As all right as I can be," Mist answered Firefly with a small shrug. He had been sitting on the bed, having finished his snack a while ago. Honestly, he was a bit surprised Firefly even bothered to check on him. Was it getting so late that the man expected Mist to be past his issues? Well, that definitely hadn't happened. His issues were just below the surface, waiting for the right trigger. Damn them.
 
Instead of getting angry, Firefly just sighed. He didn't know what to do, he didn't want to lose his cool, and was trying his damn best not to, but he wouldn't manage it for that much longer. "You don't make this easy, do you?" He muttered, clenching his fist in an effort to seal his building anger within himself. "What would I have to do to get you to talk?" Firefly asked, trying totake a reasonable line, despite the fact that this really wasn't his forte. At least he was doing his best, even if it wasn't really working.
 
"Care," Mist answered shortly. "And understand. Neither of which seem particularly likely to happen." He knew he was being a bit rude, but he could see that Firefly was getting angry again. Did he really think that Mist had any control over this? Mist hadn't felt in control of anything in years. Not since before he'd been sent to prison. Then everything had gone to hell for him.
 
Firefly growled a few curse words under his breath, before answering with what wasn't actually a terribly stupid question. "And how am I supposed to do that if you refuse to talk to me?" It might have sounded almost friendly, had the words not been shouted at the top of his lungs. Firefly was really trying to make some sort of connection with Mist, and although that was unlikely to be overly easy to see, it was still a step in the right direction. He was fighting his instinct to either beat Mist to a bloody pulp,or else just abandon him completely.
 
Mist knew the man had made a very valid point, shouted though it was. He still had little desire to fill Firefly in on what was easily one of the absolute worst experiences of his life. And one that had been repeated many times, at that. No, he really didn't want to talk about it. But it seemed like Firefly wasn't going to give up.

"Think about it for a moment," he said, looking down at the floor. He couldn't look at Firefly right now. "I was thrown into a prison with hardened criminals. Murderers and..." He couldn't even say the other grouping in there. "I was fourteen, and I was stuck in a blindfold. What do you think happened to me?"
 
Maybe they were making a little bit of progress. Firefly was surprised, not that he minded. This was good, very good indeed. He answered the question put to him by Mist without missing a beat, "I'm assuming you were raped. I hear that's a popular activity in prison." He shrugged nonchalantly. Although it was a grave subject, it seemed that he had little understanding of just how devestating it could be. He understood murder, and various types of obvious violence, but he was not one for the subtleties of mental damage. He was the sort that only saw the world in the physical realm, and so if a persons scars were not visible to the naked eye, then to him they didn't exist. And that applied to his own as well, which probably accounted for alot of the craziness that he displayed these days.
 
Mist visibly tensed when Firefly said the word "raped." That was a confirmation on its own. He'd definitely been raped in prison, and it was obviously more than a little mentally scarring.

"How can you say that so casually?" he asked, a bit of anger in his voice along with the pain. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Do you have any idea how I feel because of it?" He full-on glared at Firefly as he continued, "Or do you think I deserved what happened to me? That I deserved for it to happen as fucking often as it did?"
 
Firefly shot him a seething glare, apparently not taking his words terribly well. "You're alive, aren't you? You've got all your limbs, you're not maimed for life." He snapped right back, folding his arms across his chest in an effort to keep them under control. He would not resort to violence this time. He had to be on his best behaviour. "You didn't deserve it nearly as much as the other guys in there, but what right have you got to complain when you consider all the entirely innocent victims that would die all over again just to get a chance like you have?!" He wasn't terribly eloquent in what he said, but at least the raw feeling was there, rather than the gruff attitude for which he was so famed.
 
Mist was stunned at how Firefly was completely writing off his very legitimate reasons to be distressed. He pulled his shirt off quickly, showing Firefly the collection of scars he'd obtained from prison. "Not maimed, you say?" he challenged. "I got fucking maimed! Look at these scars!" He did have a fair number of them. Some in particular looked like someone had dug their nails in deep to scratch his skin. It had probably been very painful. "I ended up in the prison's medical ward on several occasions because of what those bastards did to me, so don't fucking belittle this! It's a big fucking deal, and you don't get it!"

He pulled his shirt back on before leaving the room, retreating to anywhere else he could in the house. He couldn't be around Firefly right now. The man's attitude was really pissing him off. Worse yet, it was making him feel like he was going to vomit from talking about this stuff. He really needed a break, and he hoped Firefly wouldn't be an ass about it.
 
The revelation of those scars did change things a little bit. Firefly frowned, but did step out of the way to allow Mist to retreat. Being such an unfeeling man, he had never bothered to think of rape as an act of violence. To him, sex was sex, and that meant that rape must just be unconsentual sex. Unfortunately he was way off the mark with that assumption. It was an act of dominance, violence and humiliation. In many cases sex didn't even come into it. He still had a very immature mind, which was perhaps shown quite well in the way he stomped down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him as he entered.

Some time later, he appeared from his room once again, thankfully having adopted a slightly different attitude. He hadn't accepted these thoughts he was having, but he was at least going to give expressing what he thought was the desired attitude. Maybe just pretending to feel for poorold Mist really would change him for the better. "Mist, where are you?" He called, trudging down the stairs in the hope of finding the boy still in the house, and not hanging from the ceiling either.
 
Mist was sitting in a corner of the kitchen when Firefly came downstairs at last, just staring down at a knife in his hand. The thoughts going through his mind would not be difficult to guess. He looked upset, and the hand holding the knife was shaking slightly. There were no visible cuts on him, even though he'd been sorely tempted to put that knife to good use.

He glanced up when Firefly called for him, but he didn't answer. He just looked back down at the knife, taking a steadying breath in an attempt to pull himself together. Talking about what had happened to him had clearly done him no favors. It had just brought up horrible memories and worse feelings. Being pushed that much by Firefly to talk about his abuse really hadn't been good for him at all.
 
When Firefly saw the knife, he almost just went over there to help Mist out, but he held himself back. "Oh come on." He growled, apparently not terribly amused. He had to ignore Mist at this point. Suicide was another thing he could never tolerate. He understood why people did it, but that didn't change his opinion. Although it was unlikely that anyone would care in this particular case, it was still a god damn waste of a perfectly decent life. "If you're going to do it, make it look like an accident. I can't be bothered with the paperwork." He grumbled, going to the fridge for a snack, rather than offering the apology that had been the intended reason for this trip.

"You're a selfish prick, you know that?" Firefly snapped, only a couple of seconds before he would have been out of the room. He never had been good at keeping a lid on his emotions. "Do you just expect the world to be handed to you on a plate? Do you think I should just let you be? Let you waltz around as if you're a functional member of society? You have no idea what the world is, and you don't seem to give a flying fuck either." He was pissed off, which was hardly surprising, but he was also a little upset. He didn't wait for an answer though, that was not the point of his outburst. He'd been venting, and now he needed to get away before he started doing so physically as well as verbally.
 
Hearing Firefly say those awful things to him did nothing to raise Mist's mood. It took a decent bit of effort to keep from throwing the knife at the man. How could Firefly be so blind? Did he not see what he was doing to Mist?

"You're a bastard," he returned, unable to get his voice louder than normal speaking volume. It wasn't working all that well for him right now, not with the glob of emotion that seemed to have made its home in his throat. "Cruel doesn't even begin to cover it. You'd be right at home with the sons of bitches I was stuck in prison with. You're no better than any of them."
 
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