[Trigger warning: see AN for details on content]

Heavy clicks and kerchunks echoed through the empty hallway as Tristan opened his front door. The fluorescent light from the hallway cast his shadow into his dark apartment once his door opened.
It was more a one person living space than a real apartment: a small kitchen was squeezed in a few square metres, just barely big enough for a sink, furnace and refrigerator with some cupboards above. It was separated from the rest of the room by a half-wall so as to not make it entirely claustrophobic. On the opposite side of the kitchen, beside him, was another door that led to a bathroom that was no bigger than his kitchen. Still he considered himself lucky that it was private.
A large window spanned the wall right ahead of him, starting about a metre above the floor all the way to the ceiling. It offered a quite decent view on the residential street down below, where the trees had begun to settle into fall. The wet leaves rustled and shimmered in the pale, blue-white light of the streetlamps, casting ever changing shadows in the room itself.
As for where he lived, a loft bed offered him some more space. Below it he had converted an old couch and a bookcase into a snug reading corner. The bookcase didn't even begin to contain all his books, and most all of them were stacked on the other side of the couch, besides and on top the bookcase, and under the coffee table.

But what really caught his attention in the dark was the softly swelling and dimming blue light of the computer on his desk. At its strongest it softly outlined the silhouette of a girl in her early teens, fastly asleep atop the keyboard. Wild blonde hair covered most of her face, as her body rose and fell with every breath, equally as slow as her makeshift nightlight. She wore long sleeved, red polkadot pyjamas.
At the sight of her, Tristan smiled and sighed at the same time, not sure how to feel about it. Quietly he closed the door to the hallway, and walked over to her in the dim light he was left with. Gentle as he could he tried to shake her awake by the shoulder.
“Annie?” He gave her a slightly harder shake. “Anya, I told you not to stay up playing games.”
A soft groan left her as she stirred, and he caught the whisper of a 'piss off’ somewhere in there that he chose to ignore. As she moved still drunken on dreams, her hand caught the mouse. The bright, white light of the screen came to life blinded the both of them. Through squinted eyes, Tristan could make out the sight of an official looking letter – one he had forgotten about in the busy past few weeks. Or maybe he had wanted to forget it.
As his eyes caught the words, he sighed and focused back on Annie who was now awake enough to be aware of her surroundings. He grabbed the armrest of the desk chair and slowly spun it around so she wouldn't be faced with the letter.
“Why were you reading that?” He asked as Anya rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Despite her tiredness, she caught on immediately, her expression sinking.
“They released mum, she'll come back Monday…”
He didn't need any more explanations to that sentence, his own chest tightening just at the idea. He sighed and squatted down before her, looking up at her as he gave her cheek a comforting stroke.
“She doesn't hurt you, does she? You know sooner or later she'll go back to jail.” It was difficult to be both worried and reassuring, but he still tried his best. He always tried his best for her, it was why he was smiling despite the deep pain in his chest and his rising nausea.
Anya shook her head a little distraught, but it eased his worry.
“She ruins everything, she'll be screaming and fighting. Why can't she just be normal?” Anya asked him softly, and he saw the reflection of tears shimmer down her cheeks. He felt a deep stab pierce his chest, and the pain radiated all the way up to his throat, making it difficult to speak. I don't know… 

“Hey, it'll be fine.” He said as he wiped her tears away and gave her hair a little ruffle. She tried to smile, but didn't get far before her lip started to tremble. “Come on, let's have a good talk.” He stood up again and put his arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the couch.

As she sat down besides him, she pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her chin in the small nook between them. Quite blankly she stared ahead of her, despite Tristan's best efforts to make her comfortable by taking out a thin, fleece blanket and wrapping it around her.
“If she ever does anything, you can come to me, or to grandma's house. You can even run to my dad and I promise I'll come get you.” He rubbed her back while he spoke, in the hope that it would help her calm down.
But Anya shook her head again, tears in the corners of her eyes.
“I don't want to run… I just want a nice family…” She said softly with a trembling voice, staring ahead at nothing in particular.
“Annie…” His voice trailed off into silence as he thought about what to say or do that could ever make things better. “I know, I know that it hurts and there's nothing you or I can do right now. But you'll grow up, and the moment you can leave I'll be right there for you. It's just a few more years, alright? It'll only be a bad memory soon.” With a soft grip on her shoulders, he tried to shake his words into her, as if they would somehow reach her better that way. At least it caused her to nod, and he could only hope that giving her a way out would be enough.
“Promise me.” She demanded, but the strength of her words got caught in her knees as she talked into them. He didn't hesitate to pull her in for a tight hug, balled up legs and all.
“I promise. Things will get better.” As he said it, she unfurled a little and leant into the hug. He let her for as long as she needed, rubbing her back and holding her close. “You know I'm going to make the world a better place, so don't you worry.”
“You're a big wuss…” Anya whispered back, but the words only made him smile and nod, proud to be the biggest wuss if that was what would make things better.

With a wide smile he handed Anya a glass of warm milk, mixed with honey and a pinch of cinnamon, to calm her down. As he sat down beside her again, she took careful sips of the froth. By then he had also turned on the lights, so he could see her without having to search. Her short blonde hair curled around her cheeks, and she had to take a strand of hair out of the corner of her mouth with her pinky in between sips. A small, golden cross dangled on a thin chain around her neck, and it shimmered as her fingers drifted to it out of habit once she set the glass down. Once more she was caught up in her thoughts, but not as distant and distressed as she had been before.
“She's going to make me go to that church again,” she sighed. “And, I've been doubting a little lately?”
Tristan nodded, as he ran his fingers over his chin in an attempt to get his thoughts clear enough for a question like that at two in the morning.
“Her God is so angry, and vindictive… I am not sure I want to believe in that, or… that I can believe in it if it makes her such a bad person. You don't believe anymore, do you?”
As she spoke her words, he sighed and nodded again, but then gave her a soft smile. He brushed a strand of her wild hair, much the same as his, behind her ear so it wouldn't get caught in the milk again.
“Grandma once told me this, when I asked her something similar.” He said as he thought back to a moment when he was young and lost, before continuing his words in Polish while mimicking his grandmother's cadence. ,,A pious devil will never not be a devil in the end.”
Anya chuckled a little at his impression, the words alleviating her worries some. Tristan smiled back and took her hand in his, pulling it away from fiddling with the gold chain.
“Don't let anyone else's beliefs make you doubt yours, that's something only you can figure out. It doesn't matter who, or what God is, or if he even is, as long as your actions are good. Even if mum shouts all the verses, it doesn't make her act better.”
He felt her give his hand a soft squeeze in agreement, and he smiled again. “Believe what you feel is right to believe, not what I do, or she does.”
“Thank you Trissy.” She said, smiling again as well.
“Right now you definitely have to go to bed though.” He said as he let go and instead tossed the fleece blanket over her head. She let out a soft, groan, then threw the blanket off of her again with her hair poking everywhere.
“Fiiiiiine.” She grumbled, picking her milk up with both hands and downing it with big chugs. As she put the empty glass in the table, she looked up at him with one last question finally dawning on her. “Where did you go tonight anyway?”
“Well, since you wanted to play games instead of listening to my boring speeches, I decided to have some fun with my friends.” Tristan said as he gave her a hand climbing up the ladder of the loft bed, pushing her up by her ankles. Anya snugly crawled under the blanket, and smirked at him.
“You went out?” She grinned, and Tristan nodded. Immediately Anya went to tussle his hair, and he just took it with a smile. “I'm proud of you big bro, one day you might even have a date.”
“What do you know about dates, you’re way too young for that.” He said as he tucked the blanket in and went to pick up her glass.
“I'm fourteen, I can date.” She sputtered towards his back, but he adamantly shook his head.
“Nope, you’re definitely not dating until you're at least twenty.” He gave her a stern look and a long point with his finger as he walked to the kitchen, warning her against it.
“Pfft no, I'm not like you.”
“I'll have you know that twenty is a perfectly fine age to start dating, it's not a race.” He said a bit louder to be heard over the running sink, quickly washing off the glass and the pan in which he'd boiled her milk.
“Well you’re not winning.”
“Hurr, you're not winning.” He replied mockingly as he dried his hands, then walked to the light switch right beside the bathroom door. “I don't see you sleeping either.”
“You’re the one that woke me up!”
Tristan defiantly rebuked Anya's complaint by switching off the lights.
“Fine.” She said as she turned around to face the wall.
The darkness hid Tristan's smile, when he walked over to the heavy black curtains and closed them. It left him with only the faint light from the hallway that peeked through the window above the door.
“Hey Triss?” He heard softly as he walked back towards his bathroom.
“Yeah?” He replied, the playfulness immediately gone and replaced with care.
“I love you?” She half said to him, half asked hopefully. He walked over to her and gave her shoulder a few strokes, reassuring her.
“I love you too Annie.”
“You'll be there for me, right?” She asked softly, and he could hear a slight tinge of fear in her voice only by knowing the possibility of a ‘no’ existed. He sighed softly and nodded, before he could push any words out past his pained and melting heart.
“I'm always there for you, so no worries. Now go to sleep, it's late.” He gave her hair a last brush, then left her again to go to the bathroom.
“Good night Triss.”
“Good night little sis.” He said back with a smile, as he entered the bathroom.

I'm sorry. I can't… why am I lying to you… I can't make anything better. I can't change the world… 

His teeth bit down on his wrist as he tried to stay silent, and not make any noise despite his panicked breaths. He had slid down the wall, in the narrow space between his shower and sink. I don't want to be a fuck up. Why do I fuck everything up? 

Warm tears rolled down his face as he stared up at his ceiling. It got closer, and closer, as the lack of breath in his tightening chest blurred his vision. He felt dim, and distant. Just go… go away. Nobody really likes me. Why would anyone care for me? I only make things difficult. They wouldn't have to deal with all my shite if I was just gone. No more panic and no more failing. 

As he bit down harder and harder on his wrist, he felt a sharp pain, that caused him to gasp for air. With both hands he tried to silence himself, rocking back and forth in panic. Don't wake up. Don't hear me. You shouldn't worry about me, I need to be better, I need to make things better for you. I don't want you to feel bad. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so bad.

In the corner of his eye he caught a slowly growing spot of red on his shirt. He didn't acknowledge it – he wanted it to increase, to stain and leave him until there was nothing left. So he could feel empty, instead of hate for himself.
I'm such a stupid, lazy twat… she needs me but I'm so useless. I'm so fucking useless. Crying like a selfish little bitch, instead of taking responsibility. Don't cry about it. I should be better. I should be better or just off myself already. Coward… coward… 

He shook his head and laid his hurt arm on his stomach, his other hand covering his mouth as he muffled his own sobs.
It's so much… I'm trying. I'm really trying. I know I can be better. Don't give up… she'd hate me… I don't want her to find me… not like that. I don't want to hurt her… 

At the thought of hurt, he lifted his hand up again. The spot of red now nearly took up his entire forearm. Shite… that's a lot of blood… 

The sight made his legs tingle, his breaths shorter and shallower with every sharp inhale.
I don't want to die… I just… want it to go away. I don't want to feel like this anymore… 

Afraid and dazed, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Only to have to face years worth of self-hate and punishment carved in his arms.

Several lines of paler, white scars crossed with the new, pink skin of more recently healed wounds. Deep enough for the pain to wear away the hate and panic, but he wasn't brave nor strong enough to put an end his self-mutilation. Bandages haphazardly covered up the latest, still healing cut – now bleeding through as he had bitten on it too hard.
Quickly he tried to press his already ruined shirt against it, biting against the pain he knew he deserved for even letting it get this far. For a while he was worried it wouldn't stop, that it would keep pouring out until he was more puddle than man. But that didn't happen, after a long few minutes of keeping pressure, he peeled the shirt off the steadily drying blood.

He sighed, and looked at the mess he'd made, not sure if he wanted to resign himself to it or fix it. His neurosis told him to take care of it, and not leave a trace of his presence, but his body was tired, and clammy, and heavy. Fuck…
Unable to bring up the energy for another confrontation with his monsters, he resigned to them. Slowly he slumped back against the wall, watching his arm in case it would bleed through again. It was hard to tell with the smears of dried blood all around.
Why do I keep doing this? Why must I…? I don't understand… I'm so tired… it'll be better in the morning… I'll feel better… what if I bleed out? … I shouldn't sleep… but I'm tired… I can't…