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He was trembling in her arms, skin vibrating, face down on her lap while it expelled emotions that were bottled up for years, since he was born probably. Feelings he couldn’t even name were retching out of him as if being exorcised, the only thing that kept his fragile pale body from tumbling to the floor and shattering were her firm hands. Hands that always knew what he needed even when his emotionally undeveloped brain, as she called it, couldn't begin to grasp what he had going on internally.
The feeling of spit dribbling down his chin made him feel disgusting, a shell of the man he portrayed, personification of his ego shot down and now he looked like the baby his father always accused him of being. His face was wet, but he wasn’t sure if it was the tears, the blood from his split lip or a nasty mixture of both.
“It’s fine.” She said once as soon as he opened the door and ran to her. “It’s nothing”, she said again after he opened his mouth and freed the sounds of his anguish, transforming to sobs. “Just breathe”, she soothed repeatedly hands never stopping the continuous circles of caress on his back, desperate but masking it, not knowing how to act in unknown territory. This wasn’t their relationship, she didn’t coddle him, he didn’t express any discernible emotion or thought to her besides repeating iterations of the word ‘fuck’ and slightly creasing his brows after reaching completion in one of their encounters.
They had traveled to one of the vacation houses, Logan of course with no pretense to stop working, just another business reunion disguised as a family getaway. Nobody knows what happened inside the study room besides the Roy’s, but it wasn’t the first time Roman got the receiving end of his dad’s rage through fists, only this time around Logan wasn’t careful enough or perhaps he was angry enough to break skin, leave proof of his poor morals and parenting skills.
He managed to stop the noises after long minutes that seemed like hours, no self-awareness that he was the one producing it, creations of his own vocal cords. Getting up was a test to his motor skills and debilitated state, trembling limbs and fuzzy vision. With his gaze cast down, cowardice to look her in the eyes, he noticed a red smear on her skirt and instinctively wiped the corner of his mouth with unsure fingers, seeing for himself the damage another Roy caused. The wincing that followed made her get up to touch him tentatively, knuckles grazing the prominent cheekbones she was secretly fond of, her favorite feature of him.
Not ready for physical contact he hadn't initiated, her touch startled him. “Fuck off, Gerri.” Came out in a tone that was meant to be threatening, but his hoarse throat betrayed him. He was forced to look her in the eyes then, and she didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding or reacting. They locked eyes in silence, processing and accessing the situation. Trying to figure out the next move in this weird alternative universe where maybe he knew how to voice his needs, ask for comfort and she felt comfortable giving it to him.
Gerri sighed as Roman stood still, carefully building his walls back to conceal the outbreak he couldn’t contain. She felt guilty, adding this occasion to the list of abuse she witnessed since he was a toddler. In the beginning she couldn’t intervene, too afraid to lose her job, later it was a matter of shouldn’t, but after his teen years Logan started getting more violent the older Roman got, thinking it was acceptable to punch and throw a fourteen-year-old against the wall as a form of discipline. She was always in the sidelines, not brave enough to do something, just like everybody else that turned a blind eye, but caring enough to keep some sort of watchful gaze over him in case things took a turn for the worst.
Once when he was ten, a difficult age because he found out that after enough pestering his father would eventually pick him up and show some attention – even if it wasn't the right one, and often ended with him in tears – she saw his tiny little frame being shaken by Logan with no disregard, and waited in the shadows until the scene was over to make sure he was fine. He didn’t make much of it, and she stayed for almost an hour in the house with him, pretending to watch his cartoons in companion but instead her eyes were away from the TV making sure he was okay inside and out. She wonders if he remembers.
This time she was tired. All the Roys are adults and Logan is too old to hand out beatings like the olden days. She stayed put for one more second waiting to get any reaction from Roman but he kept still and cold like a rock, so she moved towards the door. Only then, his frozen eyes made way for a quick wave of desperation that passed quickly through his face, and he finally moved grabbing Gerri’s arm.
She turned back at him, exuding relief and felt more than saw the conflicted emotions clouding his profile, emotions she is sure he doesn’t even know how to begin to discern. So, Gerri lets her instincts kick in and uses the arm being clutched by Roman to drag him into the nearest bathroom.
“Oh, so you’re going to take advantage of my weak mental state and molest me right now.” He says with a fake smirk after being yanked into the bathroom, Gerri forcing him to sit on the toilet lid after locking the door.
She rolls her eyes as usual, their normal dynamic slowly coming back. “One day I’m going to sue you for these jokes.” He tries to get up but she puts her open hand in the middle of his chest, a gentle but firm command telling him not to move.
He shuts up, observing her movements as she opens cabinets trying to find a first aid kit or anything to clean his bruise. Roman always got lost in the way she moves around, her delicate movements, can’t help but stare at her butt when she turns her back on him, intoxicating perfume spreading around his lungs.
She comes back kneeling in front of him, his legs spread open almost circling her frame, and starts cleaning his injured lip with light dabs of gauze soaked in antiseptic. He hisses and groans more than necessary, she shushes him with a stern face but also squeezes his shoulder. The perfect demonstration of how they work together.
When the cleaning is over, she stops to really look at him, his sad eyes and dark circles crushing her heart in a way she didn’t expect. She wasn't supposed to care, but Roman has always been the exception. Gerri smooths her hand across his soft hair, grazing nails against his scalp in a comforting attempt, and she feels accomplished when he follows her hand in search for more contact, leaning in with lazy shut eyelids.
“What if I just bail?” He stared down at her with a nervous smile. “Runaway to Europe, somewhere warm but cozy, they wouldn’t even miss me.”
She presses her lips together in a thin line, analyzing his now disturbing behavior ready to give up. She doesn’t blame him. Roman interrupts again before she manages to form a sentence. “Come with me. We could be happy or whatever.” He rolls his eyes at the end pretending not to care.
She smiles at him, some sort of pity swimming around her chest, wishing this could all be different, and decides to just keep caressing him with the softness of her own lips.