Belong - an adopted by Hamilton fanfic [Hamilton]

56. To pretend

Early morning. I was awoken by the sound of people walking around the house, stressing to get done before leaving for work and the school run. Breakfast, teeth brushing and chats. Sebastian screaming and refusing to put on shoes, while Lin ran about trying to catch him and Vanessa collecting her things before the door closed.
I kept quiet in my room, listening to what was going on - not wanting or letting myself to interrupt.
I heard Lin walking past my door, only to stop and open it.
"Good mornin', good mornin'-", he quietly sang to the tunes of Good Morning from Singin' in the rain - which we had been watching yesterday - while opening the blinds.
"Morning", I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes, trying to get used to the light and at the same time look newly awoken.
"Knew you were awake", like he was proving a point like a 5-year-old. "Did you get any sleep?", he asked kindly, inspecting from far away whether it had appeared new scars on my arms, which it had.
He didn't react outrageously, just acknowledged it with a caring look on his face and waited for my answer.
I shrugged my shoulders, putting on a very oversized Hamilton sweater over my pyjamas.
"I-I'll just go get something to eat, mr Sawyer's supposed to call me in like half an hour", I yawned, standing up.
Or, well in exactly 32.5 minutes.
And god knows how long a breakfast might take.

He followed me out and into the kitchen.
"So, what do you want for breakfast, Niñita?", Lin asked, rushing past me, guarding the entry to the actual kitchen space.
"Wai-", I opened my mouth in order to protest, but then hesitated as I saw him higher his eyebrows and looking rather determined, like he wasn't changing his mind.
Maybe I'll have to leave if I keep protesting?
And because of that thought flying by, I shrugged my shoulders and dug even further into the skin on my wrists.
Well, maybe you won't know what's in the food and you'll get sick?
He started to tell me different suggestions, while looking in the fridge and through the cabinets. I didn't quite respond, biting my lip, trying to look appreciative.
You'll get sick. You can't have that. Not that. Maybe that. Not that.
I drifted further and further away, watching his hands gesticulating while taking out a milk carton and the cereal box.
Scratch your wrist until it bleeds or you'll get sick.
Maybe I looked extra approving when he mentioned cereal, like I'd given my consent somehow. Or, maybe because that's what I usually have in the mornings.
You'll get sick. You'll throw up, and we don't want that do we?
He suddenly stopped pouring the milk as his face turned more concerned.
I dug deeper. Bit my tongue. Forcing myself feel the pain I didn't want, yet needed.

He was looking right at it.
Right at me ticking, fixing, routining.
Right at my nails digging into the already old, unhealed, cuts on my wrist.

He put the carton down, almost like he dropped it in order to do something else.
"Okay, that's it. Please, let me cut your nails and you won't be able to do that", Lin said, pulling my hand from the other wrist as I with all my force couldn't do it myself.
I shook my head. Over and over again, as I pressed towards his power.
If you can't do it you'll lose someone.
I don't want to. I have to be able to do this.
You've got to.
I need to.
The thought of not being able to do it was going to kill someone, that doesn't sound rational, does it?, I told myself.
It was like a death threat, just thinking I wouldn't be able to do this whenever I had to.

Yet, I kept going until Lin had a tight grip around both my arms, keeping them separated as he got blood on his hands.
I stopped breathing, paralysed from the feeling of being stuck because of something that wasn't myself.
"Niñita-", was the only thing I heard as Lin began to speak, as I completely zoned out, my head falling down like a an old doll that couldn't stay upright by itself.
I shook my head in protest, kept going even though I didn't know what he was talking about.
Shaking, stuck to the corner like streetlight - a flash of the journalist flew before my eyes.
The panic grew inside of me, afraid of seeing another memory that I was trying so hard to forget.
You've got to scratch the other arm.
The sense of inequality within me began to flow through my veins.
I threw myself free, literally jumping away from him and moving as far away as I could without watching, until I hit a wall.
Along the way and in the span of a few milliseconds I scratched the other arm that I'd been unable to hurt, reopened the cuts until I felt the same amount of pain as on the other side.