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There was blood, so much blood.
There was pain, so so much pain.
It hurt.
It hurt so badly.It was divine.
The razor blade behind his ear, cutting through skin and muscles, severing his wing from his head, making his sins colored red.
It hurt.
The pain between his legs, it hurt so much.
He didn’t understand.
Was this the punishment for his sin?
Why did his father do this?
Why?
Was it that bad? So much of a sin?
But all he wanted was to feel something.
Pain.
Punishment.
But-
But not this.
Not this!
It felt weird.
So so weird.
What did he do? What did he put between his legs?
Why did he strip him of his clothes?
Why?
Why?!
Why did he have to lay bare on the office table, for everyone to see?
Everybody was looking.
Everybody was looking!
Father!
He remembers.
He had called out for him.
Tried to make him stop, to think about his punishment again. To come up with something different.
But he had buried himself deep into him, making him scream out in pain.
He didn’t understand.
He didn’t understand what sex was when he was just 12 years old.
He didn’t understand what that feeling was in his backside, this stabbing pain, like somebody had cut him a thousand times.
Like somebody had ripped his inside out.
He didn’t understand what that weird feeling was beside the pain; was that what his father called pleasure?
If, he didn’t wanted it.
He never wanted it.
He wanted his clothes to melt with him, to become one.
He never wanted to know what pleasure was.
Not with 12 years.
Not ever.
He just wanted to float.
Float in the wide universe, a dream.
He wanted to dream, to dream about his mother and sister, to dream about music and plushies.
Not about sex.
About hands gripping him painfully and spreading his legs open.
Stripping him of all of his clothes.
Marking him.
Burying themselves into him.
Staining him.
He wanted to dream about cutting his stomach open and taking out all of his insides.
To cut away his wings again and again.
Bleeding out on the floor, whimpering and shivering.
To die.
But he just layed there.
Covered in clear fluids, the only blood dripping between his legs.
He remembered.
How he had called out for his father to stop.
Father…
Please, stop…
But it never stopped.
Not until he was 26.
Not until today.
Not-
„Sunday? Are you alright?“
Snapping his eyes open, Sunday looked bewildered at the worried face of Welt before him, slowly blinking the sleep away.
„Ah, Mr. Yang“, Sunday said, rubbing a tear away, „I am sorry, I suppose I fell asleep. I will continue with the cleaning-“
„No, no, Sunday that’s alright“, Welt said fast, holding his hands before himself, „I was just worried, you seemed like you had a nightmare.“
…
A nightmare. Yes, some would call it that. But was it?
Staying still, Sunday only lowered his gaze, picking at the skin around his fingernails.
„If you permit, I would take five more minutes of rest before continuing cleaning“, Sunday said, only hearing a soft sight from Welt.
„If that is what you wish to do, I won’t stay in your way, Sunday“, Welt said, putting a hand softly on Sundays shoulder, „but you can take the rest of the day off, I bet Pom-Pom won’t be mad if you didn’t finish everything today.“
But...that would be sinful.
Nodding, Sunday looked up. Giving Welt a small smile, the young Halovian stood up, smoothing out his clothes.
„Then, if you excuse me“, Sunday said, nodding, before he walked over to the other side of the party car. Grabbing a mop and bucket soap-water, Sunday slowly started to clean the floor, humming little tunes from time to time.
Hearing Welt shuffle behind him made him...uncomfortable.
Why?
Was it because of the dream?
This...nightmare?
Was it a nightmare?
Or just a memory?
„…“
He wanted to play piano.
He wanted to press the keys.
One after another.
Feeling the smooth surface underneath his fingers, hearing the different tunes.
F
C
G
C
…
H
F
H
F
…
It didn’t sound right.
Not in his mind.
Not in his memorys.
Why?
He loved that song.
He loved the piano.
So why, why does it not feel right?
Sound right?
Why?
He just wanted to press the keys, press the keys like they pressed their hands on his body-
!
„Sunday?!“ Welts worried voice rang through the room, mixing itself with the ringing in Sundays ears.
Why why why whyhwhyhwhy?
Why?
Why did his hands tremble?
Why did he his mind make up something so...disturbing?
Why?
Why could he not reach into his chest and take out his lungs?
Why can’t he drown?
„Sunday!“
Strong hands gripped around his arms, pulling him up.
Up?
He was on the floor?
„Mr. Yang…?!“ Looking confused at the older man, Sunday noticed the slight tremble in Welts lips, the worry coating his brown eyes.
„Are you alright?“, Welt asked, steading Sunday, „why did you suddenly collaps? Are you not feeling well?“
He...collapsed?
How?
Why?
„I am...alright, Mr. Yang. I am sorry if I caused you any trouble.“
Letting himself be seated on one of the red sofas, Sunday only watched as Welt scurried to shush and demanded a glass of water.
Walking back to the confused Halovian, Welt put the glass slowly in Sundays trembling hands.
Sitting down beside him, Welt let his arms rest on his tights, looking at Sunday worried.
„You seem under the weather the whole day, Sunday. You should rest.“
Taking a sip of the ice-cold water, Sundays gaze was fixated on the thousand stars outside of the windows.
„I am...ok. There is no need to worry“, he said, but his voice trembled slightly. Adjusting his posture, Sundays hand reached to his right ear, feeling the uneven bumb behind it.
The place were his second wing should be.
The place were he had sinned.This divinity-
„I am truly ok!“, Sunday said again, but his voice louder, paniced.
Holding the still full glass of water before Welt, Sunday stood up the moment the older man grabbed it, walking straight for the door to the parlor car.
„Wait-“
Grabbing his wrist, Welt made him stop, but the younger man didn’t turn around.
„Tell me what’s going on. Or at least, take a break, Sunday.“
„…“
„I am ok, Mr. Yang. I just want to...play the piano now.“ Biting his lips, Sunday let his singular head-wing wander over his lower half of his face, hidding the tremor in his lips.
„Please, let me go…“, Sunday whispered, his voice barely not audiable.
But Welt let go. Let go, let the young Halovian flee from the scene. From his past. From his troubles.
From his thoughts.
Sitting silently on the cushioned chair, Sunday let his hands wander over the keys again and again.
Playing simple tunes, simple melodys.
He tried to remember the songs he always played with Robin, not the ones he played with his father.
But he came back to them no matter what.
If he could just play one song.
One song that wasn’t his fathers.
That wasn’t the pain between his legs.
That wasn’t his fathers words.
If it could just feel like the divinity of his sin-
!!!
He thought. He thought too much.
His mind, drifting appart more and more.
Leaving behind the manners his father thaught him.
Letting him be devoured by sinful thinking, by wishes of destruction and self harm-
…
„Self...harm?“
Looking down at his hands, Sundays gaze faltered.
What did he thought right now?
That wasn’t what he did.
That wasn’t what that was.
He didn’t-
He didn’t-!
He was a priest, a son of Xipe!
How could he-!
He-!
...He couldn’t do something so sinful…
But…
But then why…
Why-!
„…“
His hands trembled.
His mind faltered.
The scar behind his ear hurt.
Left behind, all that was.
The keys on the piano.
The tunes before him.
The melodys nesting in his blood.
His hands playing the first tune.
F and E
H
F and G
H
…
More.
There needs to be more.
More notes.
More keys.
More.
More!
More-
The door swung open. With a loud crack it hit the wall, making Sunday jump, his hands gliding from the keys, playing wrong tunes.
„Sunday!“ March 7ths voice rang through the room, annoyance and worry in her voice.
„Welt told me what happened“, she said, walking straight towards him. Her pink hair was braided into a plait, her pajama white with pink bunnys on them.
The moment she stood before him, she held her big pink bunny plushie before Sunday, pressing it into his arms.
„Come and sleep in my room. Dan Heng and Stelle are there too“, March said, her eyes going soft. Confused Sunday blinked at her.
He should go...with her? To her room?
They weren’t friends. So why should she invite him? Care for him?
Patting the head of the little bunny, March smiled at him.
„If you don’t want to, that’s totally ok too“, she said, letting herself fall on the floor, her legs crossed.
„You can also go to Mr. Yang. Or Himeko. Welt said he would get you angel milk if you wanted. What a privilege.“ Sticking out her tonuge in acted annoyance, March smiled warmly at him.
„Maybe you want to talk with him about what is going on. We all truly care for you, Sunday“, March said, her gaze softening even more.
Feeling tears prick in his eyes, Sunday lowered his gaze, concentrating on his hands, who played with the fur of the plushie.
He didn’t know what was going on.
Was it the dream?
His father?
His past?
He didn’t know.
But…
A cup of warm angel milk sounded divine…
„If possible…“, Sunday started, slowly looking up, „could I have a cup of angel milk?“
Her face lightening up, March 7th jumped up, grabbing the young Halovian by his hands.
„Ofc, ofc you can! Lets make you something yummy to drink! Shush makes the best angle milk known to man!“
Still holding March 7ths plushie, Sunday stumbled behind her through the hallway, listening to her rumbling about the other Express members, slowly drifting into a world between reality and sleep.
A dream.
It felt like a dream.
„Here is your cup, Sunday.“
Putting down a baby-blue glass with yellow stars printed on it, Welt sat beside the newest passenger, looking at him curiously.
„Do you want a blanket?“, Welt asked, smiling at the small nod from Sunday.
Grabbing behind them, Welt grabbed a blanket similar to the colors of the glass, letting it softly fall over Sundays body.
Snuggling himself up in it, Sunday pulled his knees to his chest, his hands holding the warm glass of milk.
...
They sat like this a couple of minutes. From time to time Sunday took a sip of the milk, and Welt couldn’t stop smiling the more the young Halovians expression softened.
„So...do you wanna talk about today? Or in general, about anything?“, Welt asked after a while, noticing Sunday tense up.
„No need to force yourself, Sunday“, Welt added, raising his hand to put on Sundays shoulder, but stopped midair.
„Can I...touch you? Hug you?“, Welt asked, reciving a confused look from Sunday.
„Ofc you can…“
„…“
„Can I really, Sunday? Do you really feel comfortable with me touching you right now?“
…
„What?“
The question confused Sunday.
Was he ok with being touched?
He didn’t know.
Was he?
Or was he not?
Was he…?
Or...was he not…?
„…“
„No…“ Shaking his head slightly, Sunday lowered his gaze, feeling embarrasment rise up in his cheeks.
He did it again.
He sinned.
Saying no.
He said no.
„That’s ok, Sunday“, Welt said, interrupting Sundays spiraling thoughts, „that’s ok. That’s good. It’s ok to set boundaries, yeah?“
„...ok…“
Nodding slowly, Sunday looked up a little bit. He didn’t understand. But he still nodded.
Because it felt nice.
It felt so nice…
„Then, how about we set those boundaries also with talking about stuff?“, Welt said, smiling softly at Sunday, „you can tell me anything you want to and I will listen and be here for you. But you don’t have to. But maybe it helps, who knows?“
Nodding once again, Sunday took a sip of the warm milk. Holding the glass between his hands, it felt like he held his sisters hands. Warm, so warm.
„I...I had a dream“, Sunday started, his gaze fixated on the creme-colored milk in the glass, „I dreamt about my father. And my….wing. It hurt. Even in my dream. It had hurt.“
Feeling his hands tremble slightly, Sunday closed his eyes, only opening them when Welt spoke.
„Your father hurt you? Did he cut your wing?“
„...No...that...that was me.“ Gripping the glass even tighter, Sunday could feel the heat rise up.
He wanted to disappear.
Why did he start to talk?
He can’t let anyone know that he had sinned.
Or else he will get punished.
Hurt-
„...It’s ok, Sunday.“ Welts voice echoched through the room, making Sunday look up.
„...what?“
„It’s ok. It must have been hard, that you even had to restort to such things“, Welt said, smiling worried but also warmly at Sunday.
„But...but I sinned! Me, a priest! I should be punished for it my whole life! Even my fathers punishments aren’t enough to excuse something like that-“
„What punishments did your father use?“
„…“
Welts stern voice made Sunday flinch, stopping mid sentence. He lowered his gaze in shame, biting his lips.
All he wanted to do was drink a glass of milk.
…
„He...he took me. Put….something inside me. It had hurt. But it was ok! I had sinned, so I had to pay for it! He didn’t mean any harm, he-“
!!!
The warmth embracing him felt weird.
Weird, but so...soft.
So so soft.
So soft and warm and safe and…
A tear run down Sundays cheek, making him taste salt.
„It’s ok, Sunny, it’s ok, you are ok“, Welt said again and again, words meant for the young Halovian but maybe, just mabye also meant for himself.
The tremble in Welts hands, the tightness in which he hugged Sunday, it made him feel...warm.
Cared for.
Safe.
But also...why?
Why did he care so much?
He just had to pay for his sins, no matter with what. And if it was his body that his father saw as fitting, so be it.
So why…why-
„Do you know what it’s called that happened to you, Sunny?“, Welt asked, his face still burried in Sundays shoulder, his hand gripping the back of his head softly.
„...No..“, Sunday anwered, feeling the slight tremble in Welts body when he sighed.
„...Rape. Sunny, what your father did, was rape. He abused you, Sunny. He doesn’t deserve the kindness you give him.“
…
„...rape…? Me?...my ...father?“ Closing his eyes in disbelieve, Sunday burried his hands in Welts back, feeling the softness of his clothes, the coldness of the single metal pieces.
Rape.
It had a name.
Such an ugly ugly name.
A name he thought would never happen to him.
Because that was no rape, that was punishment.
But if Mr. Yang said so...it must be true?
Does it?
„But I have sinned...I have done the thing that was seen as most sinful, the most ungliest thing-“
„The most ugliest thing a human can do is harm another one, Sunny“, Welt said, finally looking up again. His gaze fixated on Sunday, the younger man shuddered under the stern look of his mentor.
„You hurt nobody. You just hurt yourself, but never ever hurt anybody else. Your father instead…“
Not finishing the sentence, Welt took a sharp breathe, his lips quivering.
„Sunday, I want you to know that you did nothing wrong, never. Not now and not in the past. And I know a couple words will not change what did years of teaching, but I will tell you day from day that you did nothing wrong. It wasn’t your fault. ...ok, sunny, baby?“
…
„Y-yeah…“
Not his fault.
Not his fault.
Not his fault.
Not his fault.
Not his fault.
Not his fault.
Not his fault!
Not his fault!!
Not his fault!!!
…
„...Do you want another glass of milk?“, Welt asked, softly wiping away the tears from Sundays cheeks.
Nodding slowly, Sunday cuddled himself even more into his blanket, starring at Welt as he stood up and walked over to shush, asking for another glass of milk.
Resting his head on his knees, Sundays hand wandered over to his ear, feeling the scar behind it again.
Bump.
Rough.
Ugly.
Painful.
Not his fault.
…
„Here, Sunday“, Welt said, holding another glass of angle milk before him. Looking up at the older man, Sunday blinked at the sight of the glass, immercing into the yellow little stars.
„…“
„Can you...can you call me Sunny again…?“ His voice growing more and more silent, Sunday hid his face behind his wing, trying to hide from the embarrasment.
It felt so warm.
This nickname.
It felt warm and safe, just like his hug.
He wanted more.
He wanted to be selfish.
It felt good.
„…“
Sitting down beside Sunday, Welt put the glass before them on the table, resting his head on his hand.
„Ofc, Sunny“, Welt said, smiling warmly when Sunday hid himself even more.
„I can call you everything. We all can“, Welt said, slowly embracing the younger man in another hug after his approval, „I can get you as much angel milk as you want. And even more blankets. Whatever you want, Sunny. Just...I- I want you to feel safe here. Maybe even, if somehow possible, let lose of everything that tortured you and finally let the kid live again that you seem to have lost so long ago…“
…
Warmth.
Safety.
Care.
…
Love…
Could he have it all?
Could he truly let go of his past?
Of his father?
Of his sins?
Of this divinity?
Could he maybe find another, better, divinity in this?
In this warmth?
In this safety?
In this blankets and plushies and milks and nicknames and-
Could he truly be a child again?
Knowing it wasn’t his fault?
That he hadn’t sinned?
That divinity was in his hands now?
Could he?