𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐮𝐬 | DISCONTINUED

49

A/N: Wow I haven't updated in just over a month! Apologies for that!
As such I decided to make this a written chapter, something longer for you all, because I'd left it so long. Hope you enjoy! And my apologies once again, I'll start updating more regularly from now on.

Tw: mentions/scenes(?) of abuse, swearing

[The next day]

The room was brightly lit, painfully so, though only a single bulb was clicked on. It was the lamp beside the double the bed, casting his shadow along the wall, and his gaze lingered on the velvet curtains that were drawn along the window.

A sharp stab of pain, and he jerked, nervous energy thrumming through his body. He'd forgotten, so quickly he'd forgotten, and the tang of metal slipped into his mouth, having broken the scab on his lip.

The window. His gaze that had fallen to the floor once again revolved across to the window, from where he was perched stiffly on the end of the bed. His shoulders hunched forwards, the fraying socks on his feet pressing timidly into the soft carpet, scared scared scared.

Irrational, but not, and he couldn't keep his gaze off the curtains as they fluttered slightly, a draft of wind slipping through the cracks. He kept expecting, with a long drawn out aggravation, and his forehead creased in distress as his palms rubbed awkwardly tighter. He kept expecting her.

He hadn't dared check the mirror yet, he wasn't sure he wanted to, but he knew at some point he must. It wasn't as though he could not feel it, he knew where every bruise lay, ever scar, every patch of burnt skin, bandaged and plastered up. He'd been given a new set of clothes, a long sleeved t-shirt, it's thin cloth was light over his back and torso, stretching thinly, and the sleeves slid carefully over the bandages on his arms, pulled down until they were almost covering his fingers.

His hands subconsciously twisted the ends between them, fiddling anxiously with his sleeves, his sides pressed tightly together, as much as he could with aggravating any wound. He looked like a single matchstick in an empty box, making himself as small as possible.

Albus Severus shivered slightly, but resisted the urge to scoot back on to the bed. The Police officer, Paul, had said he could stay as long as he needed too, though he knew the first twenty four hours was to keep him hidden from her. But still, it didn't feel like something he could do, relax, though he felt safer than he had in the last few months, he also knew he didn't belong.

There was takeout noodles left on the side, and his stomach jumped and wriggled and he shifted anxiously once more. Albus had been so hungry, ravenous, but his body could only take so much, little compared to what he used to eat.

A knock sounded at the door, before it clicked open, and every muscle in his body tensed, his hands curled into the sleeves, gripping them tightly. And then Paul's face popped around the door, and Albus relaxed, as he stepped inside.

"Alright son?" He asked softly, the shutting firmly, and offering Albus a warm tired smile, falling down into the chair near the bed.

"Yeah," his voice was scratchy, whether from shouting or little use Paul couldn't decide.

"Thank you." It was an awkward mumble, after a pause of silence, and for a moment Officer Lenley thought he'd made it up entirely.

"It's my job to keep people safe," Paul replied quietly after a moment, his voice never loosing its warmth, meeting conflicted emerald eyes with a sad smile. "You didn't deserve that kid, nobody does, you're safe here."

Albus nodded slowly, scratching his arm, the bandaged itching at his skin, breaking eye contact.

"There's been a request put in to see you," his head snapped back up, breath catching in his throat, his hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly, fight or flight firing up in his, palms sweaty. Paul raised his hands into the air, and inclined himself backwards slightly, to prove he wasn't a threat.