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Regulus wants to yell, to cry, to scream his lungs out.
He wants to hit something, to throw a tantrum, to scream and scream and scream until he can no longer.
Until he has no more voice, no more breath, no more energy, no more soul.
He wants to curl up into a ball, to tap his feet and his hands on the floor.
He wants to scratch his skin, to cut it, to burn it, to feel physical pain instead of emotions.
He wants to be out of this house, out of his body, out of this world.
He wants to see the blood flowing along his arms and dripping on his thighs, on his ankles and on the ground, leaving a trace, a proof of his rage, of his invisible screams, of all the hate he has inside of him.
But he can’t.
What would people think if he did it ?
They would think he is crazy, that he needs to see a professional, that he should not be around healthy people, that he is dangerous.
People will define him with it, they will see him only for his mental health and forget everything else he is behind it.
So, for those reasons, Regulus does not scream and does not hurt himself despite the strong desire to do it.
Instead, he has this little version of himself in his mind that does it.
A little version of him, in the left part of his mind, that screams and throws a tantrum like a child, with his arms and legs hitting the ground, crying and screaming, as he was really longing to be able to do. Like he’s craving to do.
Those feelings always come back when he is with his family.
He doesn’t hate them all the time.
Sometimes they are almost good parents.
Sometimes, he almost forgets what they did to him.
But each time he thinks they change, they prove him wrong and this little version of him comes back.
He already tried to talk about it with them, well it looked more like a reproach to be true, but Walburga ended it by saying nothing he was saying were true, which is not, he remembers it.
All the commentary on his eating habit, on how he looks, on how he should act and what he should do.
Unrespected boundaries and the lack of respect for their privacy.
All the blackmail, threats and belittling.
All the things he was forced to do because of them, because they wanted it.
He remembers and hasn’t planned to forget it. Or, more accurately, he hasn’t planned to always forget it.
The thing is, when they seem to be better parents, Regulus has the tendency to forget all the harm they did, too optimistic for a new start and a better family life.
His brother doesn’t have the same issues.
He leaves the house, leaving him dealing with it alone and living his dream life instead. Without him.
Sometimes, he is scared he invented all of it.
Sometimes, he is afraid everything is, in fact, his fault.
And sometimes, he is angry that they did this and don’t even recognize and assume it. Like it doesn’t matter if they did or did not do it.
Like it would not have changed everything in his life if they didn’t have done it or if they had, at least, apologized for it.
He could not pass in front of a mirror without checking his body.
He could not be truly himself with his friends without being scared that they hate him and would leave him.
He didn't allow himself to be close to people and would cry because of it in the dark of the night under his blanket.
So, Regulus wants to scream.
But he can’t.
He wants to leave this place.
He wants to escape this reality where he exists.
He never asks to live.
But he can’t really die.
He has friends, he doesn’t want them to cry for him, not for his death.
So he will stay here, with his imaginary little him in his mind, living a life he doesn’t like, waiting for his death.
Waiting for the end, for peace.