Inherently Innate

'It hurts… it always hurts'. Nual was curled into the fetal position on his bed, as usual, just counting the seconds until it subsides. "244…243….242…" He slowly starts to sing the numbers in a melody because it always gets worse after the 240s and the concentration helps even a little.

"120….119…118….11-AH!" He curls into himself further as one of the sudden waves hits harder than usual. A burning wave of pain sweeps through his entire body like somebody is scraping out every cell with a blunt butter knife. Just breathing becomes an arduous task and it takes everything in him to not pass out. If he passes out he knows that he'll have to repeat the entire process over again. After what feels like years the pain subsides and he agonizingly rolls over to check the clock since the wave made him lose count.

'6:35am' about time for breakfast'. He slowly gets out of bed careful to step into his slippers, walking towards the bathroom. The light automatically clicks on when he passes through the door and stops at the sink.

Nual looks into the mirror and watches as the festering skin begins to slowly transform into a smooth unmarked visage. Dark red boils and seemingly burnt patches fade away to reveal a piercing set of dark brown eyes sitting perfectly atop a straight nose and full lips. Running his hand through his hair, he reaches for his face towel to wipe the remnants of the morning 'exercise' away.

"NUAL!"

Naul flinches slightly at the voice from downstairs, startled by the sudden call and instinctively yelling back, "WHAT?"

A bout of silence ensues and Nual watches the face in the mirror slowly shift from nonchalant to fearful. His eyebrows raising and cold sweat forming "No, no, no, can't I just not respond for once! I'm so stupid, so so stupid"

He frantically begins to quietly scold himself. Groaning and knowing what's to come, he rushes out of the bathroom at inhuman speeds and is in the middle of haphazardly throwing on a shirt before hearing the dreaded response.

"DID YOU JUST 'WHAT' ME? GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW!"

"Shit."

Now terrified, he forgets about even trying to look presentable and flies off the balcony. Literally flies. His logic at the moment was 'the stairs would've taken too long and this is a very serious situation'. Letting gravity do its job he falls down to the first floor carefully positioning his landing. Both feet planted wide and landing in a squat position causing a slight dent in the hardwood he takes off into a sprint down the long hallway to the dining room where he knows she'll be. Turning the corner he stops just in time, meeting a fuming beautiful face. Dark skin, chocolate eyes, and upturned lips greet him at the table, the look he recieves is piercing and makes him wonder if he should've just teleported, consequences be damned.

"Good morning mama" he says, making a comically large smile while reaching out his hands to give her a hug, "You look as gorgeous as the day you were crowned Queen, I can't think of a better person to have created me. Oh! Is this a new hairstyle? I love the braided bun! This morning is so lovely but not nearly as lovely as you…." the loving speech slowly petered out as he leaned back and saw the expression on her face getting worse.

He decided it would be best to take a step back. Unfortunately this thought came too late and he watched her slowly grip his arms tightly, feeling her nails dig in to his skin. She then violently twisted his arms behind his back while kicking the back of his knees and bringing him to the floor, effectively folding him, as she leaned down and whispered softly to his ear.

"Good morning honey. I wonder who were you talking to this morning? Surely it can't have been your 'Lovely' mother?"

A chill crawled up Nuals spine at hearing her mock his chosen morning greeting. He carefully chose his next steps, thinking hard about his future he decided to learn from the morning lesson and stay silent.

*pop*

Hearing a muted pop as one of his shoulders became dislocated Nual didn't even flinch and stayed the course on his silent plan. Chancing a glance back his eyes met with a look of dread and eyes that seemed to be looking through him. Not understanding this development but needing to act fast he quickly changed his plan.

"Dad help!"

Using his innate he contracted his diaphragm and inhaled to get the maximum amount of air, expelling it to vibrate his vocal cords as aggressively as possible he shouted.

"CODE 4 KITCHEN"

His voice boomed through the house at an inhuman volume. Knowing his dad was coming, he began trying to survive the current situation with all limbs intact. Feeling the other shoulder dislocate and the very uncomfortable feeling of his arms being stretched beyond the joints capacity he tried to follow the force.

Taking offence to this move she gripped his back with one hand while the other maintained the grip on his arms. Nails digging in and definitely creating nails shaped holes in his back she started to slowly twist his arms.

"Not good. Not good, why is she so riled up today?" he groaned in frustration as he felt his wrist begin to strain against the twist.

*Snap*

Grimacing a bit as he felt one of his wrists break he couldn't help but hope his dad got here fast. The other wrist followed and he felt his arms start to creak.

"Mom! Please stop it hurts. Please"

It didn't really hurt too bad but he wanted to keep his arms, growing them back would be a major pain. It did seem like his plea helped as he felt her let go, but before he could be relieved she regripped and kept twisting.

'I guess she was just readjusting …fuck'

Accepting his fate he just left his arms to twist. 'There goes the elbows' he flinched and was now just preparing himself for the regrowth process.

——-

I finally heard footsteps coming down the hallway, but they sounded suspiciously slow. Expanding my ear canal while trying to block out the pain of my soon to be dismembered arms I realised why they sounded so slow.

*step* *step* *step*

Is he… walking?

He can't be, I said code 4? Who the fuck walks when they hear a code 4?!

Maybe he didn't hear me. Clearing my throat I repeated myself,

"CODE FOUR! I REPEAT CODE 4"

. . . .

*step* *step* *step*

He's still walking.

Shit now I have to do something, by the time he gets here I might just be a torso. Did I do something to make him upset today too? Contemplating all of my actions this morning I wonder if I was too loud during my cycle and that's why everything got to this point. My train of thought was soon interrupted by the feeling of wetness by my shoulder.

Blood.

My skin has ripped and we are exiting code four and entering code five. Teleportation it is I guess, shutting my eyes I envision the panic room. I think of the large room with 4 white soundproof walls, imagining the feeling of my toes on the plush gray carpet. I smell disinfectant coming from the medical station in the corner as I think about the bed in the other. I open my eyes hoping that was enough but for some reason I see my brother.

"Stephen? Why are you here"

Flinching out of his book it looks like I startled him as he quickly looked up. His brown eyes quickly turning from shocked to concerned as he takes in my current state.

Isn't this perfect, somebody with responsive ears.

"Hey. Just by the way, apparently mom and dad are having a really bad day. I thought it was you calling me this morning and I accidentally yelled back and well, as you can see that didn't go well. It got to the point where I had to call a code 4 and guess what? Dad was walking! I heard him, he was taking his sweet time. A freaking code 4, it's like he doesn- whoa what are you doing?"

Interrupting my rant my brother gently touches my shoulders. Taking a second to look at the blood before pushing me to the medical station. I want to say something but for some reason he looks very upset, I've never seen him make that face before so I uncharacteristically stay quiet for the second time today.

He carefully sits me down on the gurney, the medical sheets crinkling uncomfortably loud in the stifling silence. Grabbing the scissors and slowly cutting open my shirt he asks me the last question I was expecting.

"What's a code 1?"

Huh? Shouldn't he ask me what I did to get like this, or like if it hurts or something? He should know what a code 1 is, he taught me…maybe he's trying to test me. I decided to humour him and answer like a good student.

"A code 1 is a sign of agitation, symptoms are dilated eyes and a raised voice. Protocol is to approach carefully."

He doesn't seem to be listening as he takes in the twisted state of my shoulders. I finally chance a look down and I can see the bone poking out on both. Oof, that's gnarly. At least it doesn't hurt that bad, now that it's not being actively twisted.

"What's a code 2?"

"A code 2 is a sign of danger, symptoms are snide comments and upturned lips. Protocol is to begin calming techniques."

"3?"

"A code 3 is the beginnings of violence, symptom's are being unresponsive to stimulus and slight physical violence. Protocol is to try to exit the situation-ugh"

Gritting my teeth as he twisted the right shoulder back into the correct position I realised he might be asking these questions to distract me.

"Code 4?"

"A code 4 is the possible loss of limb or equivalent, symptoms are extreme violence and abnormal strength. Protocol is to call for help and try all means to escape"

I was ready this time as he twisted the left shoulder back into place.

"5." Now setting and wrapping most of my upper body he asked about the last code, his voice sounding a little strained.

"A code 5 is the definite loss of limb, irreparable damage, or death, symptoms are complete loss of rationality and cruelty. Protocol is to escape no matter what, life above minus."

Robotically answering the last question, I wonder if I passed the impromptu test. A distraction wasn't really necessary as I feel pain a hundred times worse than this every 2 months. I don't think I should say that out loud right now though, my brother still seems very upset.

"It doesn't really hurt that bad, and they're still attached so it should be healed by the morning! It was my fault anyways I shouldn't have yelled back I wasn't thinking."

I don't think I helped, his face just got sad. Why is he so expressive today?

"What's wrong why do you look so sad? I'm ok and dad should be calming mom by now. Also why are you in the panic room?"

Dropping his head in his hands with a heavy sigh he now looked angry. I'm starting to think my brother has developed bipolar disorder.

"Nual"

"Yes?" This seems serious, he's looking into my eyes now.

"This" gesturing to my arms "Is not your fault."

"Huh? But it is, I shouldn't have yelled back, it was already a Code 1 when she raised her voice I should have known that and it wouldn't have gotten to this point."

He let out a deeper sigh and started looking sad again. Now I'm getting concerned this is the third mood switch in like two minutes. Do we have lithium in this little medical station?

"Nual"

Snapping me out my thoughts he's back to serious Stephen.

"This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. Making a mistake does not constitute almost getting your arms twisted off for gods sake!"

Now's he exasperated, I'm gonna check for anti-psychotics when this is conversation is over but for now I guess I'll try to listen.

"This is your first real code 4 since… I was hoping it would never get to this point but now it has- Jesus, in the past you've had code 3s at the highest and you've come out with broken bones at most. I was holding my tounge because I thought you could handle it. I didn't know this was what you were thinking."

…..Now's he's whispering to himself and looks sad again, maybe he's developing schizophrenia. I might need dad's intervention for this.

"Nual! Stop thinking about random shit and listen. Please."

Oh, he's serious serious, "You caught me, I'm listening"

"Thankyou" biting his lip he hesitated before continuing to speak. "Our parents… no. What crime do you think someone needs to commit to get their arms twisted off?"

"Um, probably something really bad like treason or murder. That's a pretty gnarly punishment."

"So do you think that you deserve that punishment because you accidentally yelled back?"

"Well, most people's arms don't grow back so it's not like it's permanent-"

"That's not the point!"

"Woah geez. What's the medicine for schizophrenia? I'll get it for you."

"haaahhh" letting out a very long sigh he continued calmly. "It doesn't matter if your arms grow back, you didn't commit treason or murder to constitute them getting twisted off. The times before this, nothing you did warranted the treatment you received. A dropped plate should not equal a broken wrist or arms. I thought you were blaming the people who did this to you not yourself or else we would have had this conversation a long time ago."

"But the people who did this are our parents, how can I blame them?"

Stephen started blinking a little harder as he thought about his response, but before he could say anything the world went black.