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Ray tossed and turned in his bed. No matter what, sleep just didn’t come for him. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to sleepless nights― but he felt like they prevented him from being at his best. And it was crucial in their situation that he was in top shape. He had a family to protect… yes, although he once wanted to sacrifice them, he didn’t bear to even think about that now.
He had to protect them, all of them.
Sighing, he got out of bed and tip-toed his way out of the bedroom. Without sparing a glance to anyone, he immediately made his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do here, but he wanted to be alone. He felt overwhelmed and beyond stressed in his current situation. There was always something to do, someone to look after, something to worry about...he couldn’t take a break or relax.
And then there were the dark thoughts plaguing him, too.
He was very familiar with them ― he had been suffering from these negative and self-destructive thoughts even back then when they lived in at Gracefield orphanage. They manifested themselves in his suicide plan. In his bottomless selflessness that he showed towards Norman and Emma, but couldn’t to the other kids. In the end, his plan was still selfish, prioritizing Emma and Norman because he cared about them.
But he wasn’t even able to protect Norman.
He wasn’t able to protect any of the kids that were shipped out before Norman either.
These memories haunted him, reminding him of his sins ― his crimes ― he had committed. He couldn’t take that back. They were gone for good, and none of them deserved it, either.
Ray stared at his hands, absentmindedly. He sat down on the ground, leaning against the bathtub. The ceramic felt cool against his skin, even through his pajamas, and he sighed. The cold proved that he was alive, even though deep down, he wished he wasn’t.
Ray didn’t like to be like this. He didn’t like to mope around, thinking of the ‘what-if’s and all the mistakes he has made so far. But sometimes he just felt exhausted, tired from playing pretense. Sometimes he just broke.
And after all that has happened so far, he felt weak. Vulnerable. Alone. Even though, realistically he wasn’t alone. He knew his family had his back, but how could he trouble them with such mundane things?
He shouldn’t feel bad, he really shouldn’t. But then his mind flashes back to one of Conny’s smiles, or the times when Norman and he played chess together and suddenly his chest felt it was being crushed by the weight of these memories. He couldn’t breathe, think, but just sit there and bite his bottom lip in desperate attempts to not start crying.
It was pathetic, he had a family to protect but how could he do that when he was still so weak?
Hugging his knees, he was unable to stop the sobs from escaping his throat. He felt warm tears roll down his cheek, and he buried his face into his knees, trying to muffle the sounds of his crying. It hurt every day, but he had to be strong, put on a facade and give everyone hope.
He wasn’t an optimist like Emma was. She was always bright, cheerful, positive― but he was the polar opposite of that. From a young age on, he learned to assume the worst, to be prepared for the worst possible outcome. He had to be, in order to survive in this world.
But there was only so much a kid could endure. Ray, too, longed for his Mama sometimes. Even though he knew she killed many children that were once his family, he couldn’t help but wish for someone to embrace him for once, so he didn’t have to play pretense anymore.
He hugged his knees tighter, sobbing even harder than before. The bottled up feelings came pouring out, threatening to wash him away in the waves of sadness. “I’m scared,” he murmured to no one, “I need a break.”
There was no comfort in solitude. But just letting his feelings out, even if it was to no one in particular, was enough for Ray to remove some of the tension he had been feeling. He looked up, his view blurred by his tears, sniveling all the while. Of course, none of this would solve his problems. He knew.
He still wanted to disappear, if he had to be honest. The thought of how undeserving he was to be alive, when he was this weak, still haunted him. Would’ve been better if Norman was here? Norman was always collected and level-headed, and more importantly, he always made Emma smile.
There was nothing he could do except wallow in his self-hatred.
He got up, and looked at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were wet with his tears, and his eyes were red and puffy from crying. He looked awful, he knew. He hated looking at himself in the mirror.
He looked down on his arms, seeing how pale and frail they looked. He could see the veins underneath his skin, and a dark thought popped into his head. Something he had thought passively ever since he was small, but didn’t dare to entertain.
Wouldn’t it be better if you just killed yourself? You’d be free from the pain, from everything you had to endure so far.
Ray swallowed, feeling a lump clog his throat, making it hard to breathe. He leaned his hands on sink, staring at nothing absentmindedly― hunched over, he could see a few droplets of his tears beginning to fall down into the sink.
“I can’t anymore..” he whispered, his voice hoarse from crying, “I want to give up.”
As if he was possessed, his nails ranked down the soft skin of his wrists, as if to try to cut them. He didn’t have a knife on him , obviously, and he was not about to get one from the kitchen. Leaving angry red trails in their wake, Ray winced at the pain but at the same time it felt so satisfying.
His nails weren’t long enough to seriously injure his skin, so the satisfaction of seeing blood trickle down his wrists wasn’t something he could indulge in today. He didn’t know why he craved this, or why it felt so right and good to him at the moment, but he knew it temporarily lessened the pain, all the hurt he kept inside.
He bit down on his lip, almost enough to draw blood, and withdrew his hand from his wrist. The skin was now swollen and some of it had been scratched open, but it wasn’t bleeding luckily. He knew it was stupid to injure himself, but the anguish he was feeling overwhelmed him, and for some reason his brain thought this was the best conclusion to solve it.
Stepping back from the sink, he could still feel himself sniveling from time to time. He flopped back on the floor. His heart still hurt. Nothing about his situation has changed. Sleep was useless, he presumed, so he just stared at the seemingly endless tiles of the bathroom.
That was, until he felt the door creak, and it opened slightly. Something peeked inside, and once he saw a mop of red hair, he knew it was Emma. She looked at him with wide eyes, and he knew that she saw that he had been crying, because her expression was immediately full of concern.
“Ray,” she said softly and made her way to sit beside him. Her expression was soft, as if she was consoling a small child.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Ray shook his head and buried his face into his knees once again. “Nothing,” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't want to worry her. What he did was stupid. He knew.
Emma stayed quiet for a while, just sitting beside him, hoping her presence would bring him comfort. She knew he had been crying, but she also knew that Ray wasn't the best at being vulnerable. She decided not to push too much.
Ray flinched when he felt Emma's hand on his back, but immediately relaxed. Her touch was nice, and her hand was a lot warmer than the monotone bathroom tiles. She started rubbing circles into his back, trying to comfort him through physical affection.
She didn't know if it worked, but it was worth a try. Emma noticed how he relaxed under her hand, and she was grateful for that.
"You're not alone, Ray," she whispered, her voice soft, "If you need someone to talk to..I'm here."
Ray pondered over her words. He felt weak, like he couldn't bear the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore. He wanted to confide in her, he wanted to be comforted...
He wanted so much but gave so little.
Seriously, he was the worst.
Realistically, he knew Emma wouldn't be mad even if he was weak. But, how could Emma rely on him knowing this?
Emma's hand abruptly came to a halt. She shuffled closer to Ray, leaning into his personal space. She heard how his breath hitched. She didn't know why, but she rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were fixiated on the door.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," she whispered. She knew she was being hypocritical. She, too, always put on a facade that she was stronger than she looked. She didn't want to worry the others, and she presumed Ray felt the same way. But she wanted to be there for him.
Emma wished Ray could be vulnerable just with her. And she wanted to be vulnerable with him as well.
Her words seemed to do the trick. The little restraint that Ray felt came crumbling down, and he could see his vision blur with fresh tears. His chests heaved as once again, sobs escaped his lips. Emma didn't seem shocked at that, though, rather she lifted her head off his shoulder and took him into her arms. Her touch was so gentle and filled with kindness that it made Ray want to cry even harder.
She gently hugged him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Ray buried his face into her chest as he cried and sniffled, overwhelmed by emotions.
"It's hard, Emma," he said between sobs, "even if I am alive, I keep thinking about all the kids who didn't get to live because of my selfishness."
Emma hummed, signaling that she was listening to his every word. But she didn't agree with that statement at all. To her, Ray was anything but selfish. He was incredibly caring and put his family's needs above his own.
"You're not selfish," Emma replied, her voice gentle, "This isn't your fault. You did your best. Enduring it all alone for all these years must've been so hard."
Tears welled up in her eyes as well. She felt her heart ache. Ray wrapped his arms around Emma, trying to pull her closer. He was still crying but his sobs began to subside.
Emma's words were comforting. It was something he longed to hear even though he subconsciously believed he didn't deserve it. Pulling away from Emma, he looked into her eyes, his vision still blurred from the tears.
"Thank you," he smiled weakly.
Emma was glad Ray seemed to have calmed down a little. Seeing him hurt was painful for her as well. She smiled at him and then looked down. Only then she noticed red streaks across his wrist. It didn't look like the skin was cut, but he was definitely hurt.
Emma grabbed his wrist gently and pulled his sleeve up. By the way Ray's eyes widened in horror, she knew it was something he had done to himself. Although Emma did not read many books, Norman always told her about the ones he had read.
He once mentioned it: mental illness. She had no first-hand experience with it, but she knew that it was similar to having a physical illness. Emma had always thought that Ray may fit the criteria of a mentally ill person because of his behaviour, but she never wanted to assume.
But now it made sense.
Ray was not coping well with the fact that he had to endure so much as a kid. Emma felt stupid for not noticing sooner.
"Ray, did you do this to yourself?" her voice was montone. Ray gulped.
He was scared. Scared of what? Emma, maybe. Or rather her reaction. He suddenly felt really disgusting about the whole thing. Why did he do that? Why was he so stupid to self harm?
He wanted to run away. Flee the scene immediately. But he couldn't. With guilt in his eyes he looked down.
"Yes," he said. He didn't dare to look Emma in the eyes.
Emma, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. Ray didn't understand why but he didn't want to question it either. He already felt disgusted with himself enough for exposing Emma to his freakish behaviour.
"I should've noticed sooner," Emma simply said. She pulled Ray closer, pushing him against her chest. His senses were overwhelmed by Emma's presence but he did not push her away.
"I'm sorry, Ray," her voice was full of regret. Ray silently wondered why she would be the one with regrets, not him. "If you ever feel like this again, please talk to me."
Ray was taken aback by her reaction. There was no hatred, no disgust, nothing. She wholeheartedly accepted him and his struggles, and cared about him. For some reason that made his heart beat faster.
She was so close, too. Her warmth was comforting.
"Sorry," he whispered, fearing that if he spoke too loudly the magic between them would dissolve, "I will. Thank you, Emma."
Ray once again pulled away from Emma, and this time he looked into her eyes. She was gazing at him with so much care and love in her eyes that it hurt.
"I have a favor to ask of you," Ray began, awkwardly looking away, "Today, can we sleep together?"
Emma beamed at him. Ray had never requested something like this. But she was glad to see him open up to her more.
"Sure! I'll hug you the whole time so you can fall asleep without worries."
The thought of that made Ray's cheeks flush. Maybe tonight he would be able to get a good night's sleep.