Feyd coughed up the water in his lungs as he gasped for breath, the thudding pain in his chest overrode by his need for oxygen. He still knew tin man wouldn't kill him, but Feyd knew that his time could be spent better than antagonizing the man. He sat with his legs crossed, back turned to tin man, with his hands in his lap. He had been reading up on meditation, hoping that it would help him create fire instead of just manipulating it. And he had nothing but time to try it out now.

He regulated his breathing, focusing intensely on each breath that he took. There was a book that put forward the theory that anything in your past that was unresolved could keep someone from unlocking their inner calm. Feyd hoped that his inner calm was tied to creating fire. He took a long exhale and began to reflect.
-----
His father had beat him mercilessly and drank even more. And he had spent most of his young life thinking it was his fault, and he would often think about how he could make it better until the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him and he would cry himself to sleep. He eventually learned to accept that there was nothing that he could do to stop it, so that he would just have to learn to deal with the pain.

He grew up in a poor neighborhood, and was often singled out for being the 'weird one', which only led to more beatings. His father would become enraged at him for this too, and didn't show his son any mercy. He remembered the last night his father was alive. Feyd was made to stand in the kitchen and watch his father eat because his father claimed Feyd had stolen the grocery money that he had never been given.

“You know, what I really fucking hate about you is how much of a faggot you are. You're just a whiny little bitch, and I can't understand why the Almighty would take your mother away and just leave me with you. Can't even get the goddamn groceries. Fucking faggot.”

As far as Feyd knew, those were the man's last words. The fire happened that night, which was another demon that lurked in the dark corner of Feyd's mind. He had escaped and his father hadn't. He told himself that he escaped because he wasn't passed out drunk on the couch, but he didn't know how true that was. Maybe he escaped because he knew what was happening, and he left his father to die. But no one, no matter how twisted or evil, no one deserved to die. Feyd tried to tell himself that he wouldn't do that, but he wasn't really sure what he would and wouldn't do to that man.

He didn't want to think that he could take a life. This was only a small slice of the demons that played across Feyd's mind as he sat in the cell. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe there really was something to the whole 'meditation' thing, but Feyd swore that he felt the palm of his hand get noticeably warmer as he sat there.