tbo Charlie backstory, self-harm
Ruth cries. Her son’s arms, his beautiful skin, punctured and bruised. He stares up at her, eyes wide. He doesn’t understand.
“What’s wrong, Mother? I was practicing phlebotomy.”
She shakes her head, holding one of his arms as she rubs witch hazel into him. “Charlie. Have you been practicing anything else without my permission?”
He beams at her and it hurts. It’s her fault she let him get this bad. She should have known that he would use her teachings in the worst way possible. “Yes! I’m getting good at stitching!”
“Stitching, Charlie?”
“Yes!” He pats his thigh. “It took a few tries but I did it, and then I made a poultice for it and it hurt but it looks okay. How’d I do?”
Tears drip onto him. Her son can’t even understand her tears. His arms are done, so she takes him into hers. “Charlie. You shouldn’t practice on yourself. That’s… that’s no good, dear.”
“But then how will I know how to do it when it really matters?”
“Please, Charlie.”
“Hmmm.” She knows that noise. Noncommittal confirmation. “Okay…” And a lie. Her eyes meet with Josiah’s and she can see the fury thinly veiled behind the mask of calm he always wore whenever they weren’t alone. Seeing Charlie struggle with these concepts, barely a teenager…!
Sometimes she wishes she could give Josiah a weapon and be done with Byron. Everything good that she put into her son, Byron took and twisted. The amount of pain in her heart with watching him get shyer and angrier every day was enough that she was tempted to kill Byron.
For now, though, she needs to bide her time. She’s got to weave the safety net under her family before she can topple her husband. She has to work discreetly, with hundreds of people. She needs support from both the nobles and populace. She needs to put a stake into all of Byron’s businesses and kick him down to a lower rung. She needs to quietly write reforms that would uplift not just her, but everyone suffering under Byron’s rule.
She needs to make sure that once he’s pushed out, taking him back is too much of a risk to the interests of those in power.
“Mother?”
Ruth loosens her grip on her son and smiles at him. “Yes, dear?”
“I think I’m getting a little old for hugs…”
“You can never!”
“Hmmm.”
