Chapter 6
A/N: Thank you for your patience, I'm a tad bit late, but either way, i hope you enjoy this chapter :) It was a bit of a challenge to write because there's not as much dialogue as before, but I still wanted to hit a similar word count. So I hope I don't disappoint. Also, let me know what you think of this chapter and the story overall, I'm always interested in hearing out your opinions and feedback. Moreover, thank you to everyone who reached out for me, I hope I do this story justice.
As always, shoutout to my friend Will for editing and etc. I appreciate it.
You’re back in your hometown; you don’t even call it home anymore. It has lost its meaning a long time ago, years even. It’s just that you’ve never realized that before you met Clarke. Her arms have become a new home for you, a space where you could nestle into her, drink in her warmth. But now she’s too far away and there’s no comfort for you. You’re emotionally homeless, there’s nothing that ties you down to this world. There’s only emptiness, bareness here, and it makes you uncomfortable. You feel like throwing up every five minutes because of the stress and severe anxiety. It’s like a black hole that sucks you into the void and renders you helpless. Sometimes it feels like there’s no escape. The emotional rollercoaster doesn’t help much either. One second, you feel dead and gone, the other - feelings come crashing down, sudden, like a tidal wave. You think about Clarke, about her golden hair and the harsh words. About the beauty mark just above her top lip and her long legs, supple hips. About the destruction that the both of you seem to bring to each other. It’s as if you’re going back and forth through a minefield with no warning sign. You think about Clarke and how you’ve probably already lost her. It’s unclear if you can rebound from it all; maybe you’re just playing a game that has been doomed from the start. You clench your fists, your knuckles turning white, and it gets hard to breathe, way too hard. You gasp for air, but it’s like the oxygen doesn’t reach your lungs, like your body rejects it, ignores it. The panic makes you convulse, your breathing becomes even more erratic, your head light. You can feel the muscles contracting underneath the pale skin. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize that it’s cold, way too cold, in this god forsaken room.
“Lexa?” You hear your dad’s voice from the corridor and you sit up straight in the bed. “The bathroom is free. You can go shower like you’ve wanted,” he says behind the closed door.
“Yeah,” you cough, clearing your throat. “Yeah, thank you. I’ll do that.”
The warm water of the shower runs down your face. You feel like drowning. Maybe you are.
*****
The holidays went by in a haze. It’s as if you were rooted to the spot while everything around you went in fast-forward, it was just you who was in slow-motion, forgotten by time, frozen. You can’t believe it’s already January, you remember it being autumn just a few seconds ago. You turn your back to the window, scanning the room, barely believing that you grew up in this small space, this tiny shoe box. Your room feels so foreign, like it is not yours anymore, like it belongs to someone else and you’re just an intruder. The bed is too hard, too small and uncomfortable in general; the walls seem too close for comfort, pressing in, trying to crush you. There’s nothing left here, only the bad energy from the times you poured your soul out into this room. Your bedroom walls have absorbed everything – your screams, your tears, your blood, your failure. You take a step towards the closet which is half-empty now, mostly because all of your stuff is at the dorm. You stare at the mirror fitted inside of the door. A girl you can’t recognize stares back and you struggle to understand that it’s your reflection. That girl looks and feels like a different person altogether. You stare at the mirror and cannot seem to figure out which one is the real you. The dark circles under her eyes indicate a lack of sleep, a thing you’re awfully well familiar with.
“Lexa?” Your mother shouts from the kitchen downstairs and startles you. “There’s a letter for you. Can you come here and take it?”
A letter? But who could have sent it? You sigh and close the closet door, the other girl disappears. Only Octavia and Raven know your address, but why would they feel the need to send a letter of all things? Maybe they have sent you postcard or something? You honestly have no idea why they’d do that, you all agreed to not exchange gifts; but rather spend an evening together, hanging out.
“Lexa!” You hear your mom shout again. You stand in the middle of the room, already forgotten what is it that you needed to do. Sometimes, you forget about your own existence, as if you’re floating somewhere, no solid ground beneath your feet because everything you touch crumbles. Including other people.
“Just a second, mom,” you yell as you stumble through the door, hitting your shoulder into the hard wooden doorframe. You curse under your breath as you carefully make your way downstairs, trying not to slip. Your mom is making dinner; the TV in the living room is turned on and your dad is nowhere to be found, probably taking his time to clean the garage. Your mom smiles at you and points to the letter on the counter, then takes out some produce out of the fridge.
“This just came in the mail,” she says as she chops the vegetables for the stew.
“Does it have a back address?” You ask her. “I have no idea why I’d have a letter be sent here. Only a few people know this address,” you try not to act too surprised.
“No, there’s no address. Weird,” your mom stops what she’s doing, wipes her hands and takes the letter, inspecting it. “Here,” she gives you the light envelope.
“Thank you,” you unwillingly extend your hand and take it, as if afraid that it will bite you. “I’ll go read it,” you take a step towards the stairs, and then stop in your tracks for a bit.
“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour,” your mom says after glancing at a bubbling pot on the stove. “It’s your favorite stew,” she says proudly.
“Great, but I just… Don’t really feel hungry. Either way, do you need any help?” You ask her, but secretly wish that she doesn’t and you can leave peacefully.
“No, I’m almost done. I will call you when dinner is ready,” she smiles. “Oh, your aunt, cousin and uncle are joining us for dinner. They really wanted to see you, so I hope you’ll spend some time with them,” she says casually, but the dread has already settled in your stomach.
“Sure,” you answer generically, not really wanting to see anyone. “Ok, I will go read this,” you say as you wave the letter and go upstairs again.
*****
Dear Lexa,
I imagine the surprise on your face when you get this letter. I’m sorry, but I asked Raven for the address, I hope you won’t get mad at her for giving it to me. I was relentless and she was annoyed at my constant nagging.
I know this isn’t enough, but us both being in our own respective cities, this letter is the closest I can get to you. I know, I just could’ve called or texted, but it wouldn’t feel the same, not with what I want to tell you in this letter. Of course, the letter doesn’t do any justice either when I could have just spoken to you, but for the life of me, I cannot figure out how words work. I was never good with them. This is like my tenth attempt to write this, there’s a ton of crumpled ones on my desk, the ones that never made it.
I know that what I will write now won’t compensate for the damage I’ve done. Not even close. The reason why I avoided talking about my problems was to protect you, or so I thought at the time. I just couldn’t bear to see you cry or harm yourself again; my heart wouldn’t have been able to take it. But in being protective, I ended up being destructive. I wanted to give you breathing room, I wanted for you to be able to have some peace of mind, not to add my own issues to the ones you were already struggling with. I think I low-key wanted to forget my own problems, because talking about them would mean dealing with them and I wasn’t ready. To be honest, I don’t know if I am now. Either way, I wanted to tell you that you are far stronger than you think you are. I’ve been crumbling under all this shit that’s been going on in my life; I can’t stop thinking about how you deal with so much more and seem relatively calm, unfazed. I know that it’s only a mask, but still.
I just… I don’t know, Lexa. I have felt on the edge for so long, I couldn’t even tell when I stumbled and fell. It’s pathetic that I can’t even recall my breaking point. But I started skipping lectures to visit my dad. I thought I’d fail all of my classes. When I got home, my mom wouldn’t stop crying about my dad, forgetting herself, forgetting me. Whenever I was with my dad, he wouldn’t stop acting as if he was going to die any day now. I couldn’t take it; I didn’t want to drag you down with me as well. But you were far more understanding, far more caring than I could ever hope for. I always was the one who bottled up her feelings inside, it was too big of a challenge to change my methods. I guess the same applies to you as well.
I take full responsibility for the hurtful words I said, even if I didn’t want to. It was not my place to question your methods, not when I didn’t deal with my problems at all. I didn’t want to be like that, I promised myself I would never hurt you like that. But I did and I’m sorry. Like I’ve said, I never wanted to hurt you, but it probably hurts even more when it’s unintentional.
Please don’t give up on me, I really miss you.
Yours,
Clarke Griffin
You fold the letter back, your hands shaking heavily. You fall to bed and clutch the letter to your chest tightly, your fingers tracing the edges of the sharp paper.
Five minutes later your mom calls you to dinner.
*****
You suddenly seem to remember all the reasons why you hate going back to your hometown. One of those is dealing with your relatives and their constant intrusive, stupid questions about your personal life.
“So, Lexa,” your aunt begins and you brace yourself for yet another round of not trying to break down in front of your family. “Is there anyone special in your life?” She winks as you take a generous gulp of the wine in your glass.
“No,” you say without even thinking. It doesn’t matter what you say, it’s the question you can never win at. You hate it.
“Well, then we really need to introduce you to this marvelous boy,” your aunt looks at your parents knowingly and you try your best not to smash your fist into the goddamn table.
“Oh really?” Your mom seems interested and you roll your eyes. “What does he do?” She asks, pouring more wine for the guests and looking at your aunt expectantly.
“He’s studying engineering, he’s got a great career ahead of him already,” she explains. “And I heard he’s single. He’d be a great match for our little Lexa,” your aunt giggles and your stomach turns. You try your best to ignore it, pretend. But this kind of talk always happens when your relatives visit. And it seems that you can never escape it.
“Lexa, darling, you seem pale,” your uncle comments as your dad passes him the salad. “Are you feeling alright?” He asks not even looking at you, putting the salad onto his plate.
“I’m fine, just tired,” you lie because that’s what you always do. “I had a lot of studying to do, even if it’s winter vacation,” you take a sip of wine as if to mask the blatant lie.
“Lexa, you barely ate anything,” your estranged cousin says. “Are you ok?” She knits her eyebrows in confusion.
“I just don’t feel particularly hungry,” you answer. “Don’t pay attention to it. How are you doing? You’ve been quieter than usual,” you ask your cousin that you’ve never been very close to. You just need a distraction, to divert attention. You’re not interested, but you need to change topics fast.
“I’m doing great!” She says excitingly. “I got engaged a few months back!” Your cousin squeals with joy and you grip the wine glass tighter. Would it be inappropriate if you stabbed yourself with a dining fork right about now?
“That’s wonderful, dear,” your mom says proudly. “I hope we’re invited to the wedding?” She asks hopefully, smiling.
“Of course! Though we haven’t set the date yet, but you’re all invited,” she grabs your hand and looks at you hopefully. “Maybe Lexa will attend the wedding with someone special,” she winks at you and you don’t remember the last time you forced a smile so hard, the corners of your mouth start hurting.
“Maybe,” your laugh couldn’t be faker even if you wanted, but these people are so oblivious to everything around them, they don’t even notice it.
They never do.
*****
It’s weird how you still feel so out of place even after you’ve returned to the dorms. You stare through the window; see the snow, the dirt, the buildings not so far away, and it still feels as if it’s not you. As if there’s another person doing all of that, seeing all these things. You feel an overwhelming desire to smoke, but you’re too lazy, too tired to go outside.
“Fuck it,” you say loudly into the thin air.
You decide to open the window and just go with it, you don’t really care. You light up the cigarette, and as you inhale the smoke, you can feel your head get lighter, your fragmented thoughts dissipate. It’s been a while since your last cigarette. Clarke has shown her disgust for the things and you never were addicted to nicotine, you smoked just to calm your nerves, so it was easy to quit. Too easy.
You think about Clarke again, about her letter, about what she’s doing. Clarke’s pleas from the last conversation you had ring in your ears as you try to shake off the feeling of uneasiness. Can you really go back to where you were? Or were you irreparably flawed right from the beginning?
*****
“Well look at you, you look great, Lexa,” Raven says after you’ve accidentally run into her in a shop nearby campus.
“I feel like shit to be honest,” you yawn and take off your gloves. “What are you up to? How were the holidays?” You ask her, grabbing an empty basket as Raven does the same.
“As always, I’ve spent them with Finn,” Raven picks up a carton of milk. “I saw Clarke,” she says while reading the label or at least pretending to do so.
“How… how is she doing?” You swallow roughly, and then turn your head for a second so Raven doesn’t see your face and desperation written on it.
“She’s… Well…” there’s a pause that makes your heart stop and ache. “She’s been better,” Raven concludes as she shakes her head slightly.
“I figure,” you look at your basket. Three packs of cigarettes, a lemon and a bottle of tequila.
“How did you spend yours?” You both head to self-check-out. “Was everything ok?”
“You know, the usual,” you take out the leather wallet from your bag.
“Let me guess – they found you yet another boyfriend,” Raven laughs as she puts the change away in her pocket, then takes the groceries in her hands. “And everyone is as ignorant as ever?”
“Wow, Raven, didn’t know you were stalking me,” you pay for your stuff while Raven waits patiently. “Have you been following me?” You pretend to be shocked. There’s a pause again.
“I’m really sorry for how your family is treating you,” Raven says softly.
“It’s not your fault, Raven,” she pretends she doesn’t notice the tequila bottle you’re putting away into your bag. “Besides, I thought it would be worse. My parents were not their insufferable selves. Honestly, that was very strange for me,” you head out of the store, into the coldness, pulling out gloves from the pockets of your coat in the process.
“She misses you,” Raven says abruptly, before heading towards her dormitory. “See ya, Lexa,” she shouts from the distance. It starts snowing; you heard there will be a blizzard tonight.
You don’t say anything in return. You’re not sure you’d be able to say what you wanted.
*****
The headache keeps pounding, your head is pulsing. And spinning, spinning, spinning… You’re drunk on tequila, mixing it with cigarettes that you’re smoking right in your dorm room. It’s clearly against the rules, but you can’t be bothered since you don’t care anymore. You leave the half-empty bottle on the table and find your way to the bathroom. The cold water helps you focus, but when you raise your head, again, you see a girl staring back at you. You look at your reflection and can’t seem to recognize the person in the mirror. It’s not you, it’s not, it can’t be. You don’t know who she is, but it’s not you, that’s for sure. You pop a few pills from the cabinet because of your headache, then head back to the table and take a big gulp of the tequila. You blast the music loudly from the laptop, not even bothering to turn down the volume.
“You’re disgusting,” you say to yourself quietly after a few minutes. “I hate you, you ruin everything,” you spit out the venomous words and grab the bottle again.
No one says anything back, there’s a heavy silence in the room. No wonder.
*****
You’re drunk and everything is blurry, like a mosaic with vibrant, bright colors, but there’s no clarity whatsoever. You have lost yourself again, hurt yourself again. The bathroom tiles are cold against your bare feet, but you don’t care. Your hand with the razor is shaking too much, and you accidentally cut in too deep. Shit… You stare at the hole in your wrist as dark blood pours out, dripping on the bathroom floor. Your hand goes numb, and you figure that you’ve probably cut into the nerve or something. But tequila numbs down the pain if you even feel any, you can’t tell.
“Fuck!” You say out loud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you grab the towel and it immediately turns crimson red, soaking up the blood.
You turn on the sink, wash the towel, put it against your wrist. Repeat. Repeat it again.
After a few times of doing that you just get too tired, too sleepy, too drowsy. You take the razor again and put it against your skin, but don’t cut it. Blood flows through your arm, staining the white bathroom tiles. You think how nothing ever changes, bad habits never disappear. The self-destruction will always be there, lurking just around the corner, changing shape and size, but never going away for real. Your hand shakes.
No, don’t back out. You never back out. That’s just who you are. The razor kisses your skin again. The weight of reality evaporates like smoke. You’re all alone in this.
*****
You were always the one everyone talked about. The one with the highest grades, the smartest, the prettiest, the nicest… You always carried high expectations like a burden, like a boulder on your back. And you could never shake off the feeling that you’re a disappointment. It never mattered what you did right, it was always about what you did wrong. Failure was inevitable. One could only succeed so many times. You could’ve made a hundred things right and one wrong, and you’d still fuss over that one thing. Failure was rare, but that made it even more painful because you could never get used to it. You tried adjusting yourself, no expectations, no disappointments. And sometimes, you managed to do that. But those times were rare as well. You realized that people never really change, they adjust; get better at masking their flaws and weaknesses. But we are who we are. Does that mean there’s no escape, no salvation? Does that mean that depression will always follow you around? It appears so. The worst part is not that you’re the one who is condemned; it’s that you will always drag other people down no matter what. Pretending to be fine uses up most of your energy, and besides, you don’t want to pretend in front of the people you care most about. It’s a weird cycle. Pretending to be fine would be lying; being sincere and open would be dragging them down with you. You just can’t win or so it seems.
“It is all about loving yourself”. But how can you love yourself when you’re truly the only one who knows yourself the best? How can you look into the mirror and not feel disgust for every lie, every action? How can people push that aside and live a happy, healthy life?
You have never understood that. You probably never will.
*****
You’re certain that you’re dying. Or at least, it feels like it. Probably not eating and not sleeping finally caught up with you. Among other things. Not to mention that there’s a hole in your wrist and the bleeding didn’t stop for a very long time. But now the blood has dried off and it’s fine, you’re fine, right? Probably not. The few painkillers you washed off with tequila don’t help either. You stare at your reflection in the bathroom again and feel like you’ll pass out any second. No, it’s fine, you just need to lie down. You need some sleep, some rest, you need to relax and forget about everything. You step out of the bathroom and your head starts spinning like crazy, you stumble and stop. Who knows how long you’ve been awake now. After another step, your legs give out and you fall onto the floor on your back. The carpet doesn’t soften the blow one bit and there’s a hard thud as you fall down. Everything seems to disappear for a bit. You lie on the floor for about 20 seconds, closing your eyes due to the intense light, opening them again. No, it’s not fine, you’re not fine… Why’d you do this? Why’d you hurt yourself so much again? “It’s because I don’t care about myself. I don’t give a damn” a thought flies by somewhere in the back of your mind. You close your eyes because they start watering and your shaking fingers carefully travel to your pocket in search for the phone there. There’s nothing left to say. Yet still… You feel conflicted. But you hit the call button and wait for what seems like centuries, your vision blurry.
“Hey,” Clarke’s voice is so soft and familiar that tears form in the corners of your eyes, but you just gulp roughly, feeling overwhelmed by it all.
“Clarke,” you barely breathe out, your fingers clutching the metal of the phone. It becomes difficult to breathe, you gasp for air.
“Lexa? What’s wrong?” Clarke’s voice gives you strength. Just a little, a little more…
“I’m, I’m sorry,” you apologize wholeheartedly, trying not to black out just yet. “I’m so sorry,” the tears fall down your cheeks. The numbness starts spreading all over your body.
“Lexa? What happened? Where are you?” Clarke’s voice is full of alarm. “What happened?”
“I just… You were the best thing that ever happened to me,” by the time your fingers start feeling numb, cold, dead, you feel yourself drifting away, bit by bit.
“Lexa? Where are you? What’s around you?” Clarke’s voice gets even more desperate. “Please tell me,” her voice shakes and you curse yourself for doing this to her. She doesn’t deserve this.
“I’m in… I’m in my room, back at the dorms. God… Clarke, I am so sorry,” the tears keep running down the sides of your face. “I didn’t want to… You don’t deserve this,” you exhale.
“Oh God, what did you?” Clarke asks in a panic, her voice high. “Lexa? Lexa?”
“I don’t… I haven’t…” your grip on the phone seems to lighten against your will.
“Fuck! And of course I’m nowhere near the dorm. Shit!” Clarke’s panic is evident with every syllable. “Lexa, I’m going to be there in about 20 minutes. Please don’t…”
You try to hear it, hear the words she was going to say, but heavy silence falls down like a curtain and there’s nothing left anymore.
*****
You jolt and a violent gasp leaves your mouth. You gasp again, trying to suck up the oxygen, but with no success. Everything is dark, you can’t see, but you feel that there’s someone else in your room, if you’re still there.
“Lexa,” you hear Clarke’s voice. “Oh my god… Lexa!” She screams your name.
You want to say something, you try, you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You can’t breathe, you struggle with breathing in oxygen into your unresponsive lungs, but it feels like it’s in vain. You see spots of things around you; your eyes can’t concentrate, so you have to close them before it becomes too much. You open them again to see a golden strand somewhere, the green of your curtain, the chestnut wood of your table, but it’s all so unfocused, so unclear. It just feels likes splashes of paint on black paper. You feel more movement around you.
“Hello, 911?” You barely hear it, the faintest of words. “Yes, hello, I need an ambulance…” the sounds disappear again. In a second, you see Clarke more clearly, her eyes wide and her mouth moving, but everything is such a blur and it feels as if you went deaf.
“Can you be really quick?” The noise comes crashing down and you hear a sharp ringing in your ears.
You wince and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to make it go away, but it doesn’t; it just becomes sharper. Everything hurts, your veins seem to pulse, your muscles are contracting, your head is going to explode any second now.
“I don’t know what’s happening to my girlfriend. Yeah, I’ll try to...” the sounds switch off, the world is silent again.
“Clarke…” you don’t hear yourself, you’re not sure you even say her name, but it feels like your lips are moving so you give it another try. “Clarke…”
Clarke seems to hear your whisper; she puts her phone away and looks at you, cradles your head carefully. Her beautiful face is obscure, but you recall her every feature - the slope of her nose, the blue of her eyes, everything. The light hits her hair and it is golden again.
“I found you, Lexa,” you hear her cry. “You’ll be alright, you’ll be fine,” she clutches you to her chest and you faintly smell her favorite perfume. “The ambulance is going to be here any minute now,” Clarke says.
Clarke’s words are the last thing you hear before the darkness swallows you whole.
*****
Too white, everything’s too white and your eyes hurt. You stand in the middle of the space you’re in, but it seems like there’s no end to it. You take a step forward, but everything stays the same. There’s nothing around you, you can’t understand what this place is. Are you dead? Dreaming? Somewhere in between? What is happening?
“Hello,” you shout into the void. “Hello?” You yell louder.
You walk around some more, realizing that there’s nothing, really nothing. It’s empty, everything’s so empty, and the ringing in your ears reappears again, as does the pain.
The floor disappears and you fall for what it seems like an eternity.
*****
You open your eyes and there’s too much brightness, too much light. Is this the same whiteness? The same emptiness? Or are you somewhere else again, forgotten by time, lost in space? You close your eyes and try to breathe. Suddenly, the pain appears and your whole body feels as if it’s on fire, engulfed by flames.
“Hello, Lexa,” a voice says as your eyelashes flutter open once again. Every nerve of your body hurts. It hurts to breathe, there’s numbness mixed with a sharp pain. You’re disoriented to say the least. Where are you? Who’s talking? What’s going on?
“What, what…” you can barely speak, your throat feels dry. “What happened?” You ask, not sure if you’ll get an answer; not sure, who you’re talking to, if any of this is real.
“Later, Lexa. You need to rest some more,” someone says. The voice is soft, laced with concern… Clarke.
“Clarke?” You manage to say as your head swims.
“You got me worried sick, I can’t even…” you hear a sob escape her mouth.
“I’m no good, Clarke,” you close your eyes, still under the influence of something you can’t put your finger on. “I’m no good,” you repeat as you relax into the warmness surrounding you.
“It’s not…” she tries, but stops.
“I hurt you. Again,” you say. You feel even drowsier, you’re probably on meds.
“Sleep, Lexa. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Clarke’s voice is somewhere on your right, barely a whisper, but you still manage to hear it.
“I’ll take your word for it,” you repeat the phrase from what seems like ages ago.