𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗘-ᵗʷⁱˡⁱᵍʰᵗ¹

twelve

TRIGGER WARNING: CHAPTER THIRTEEN CONSISTS OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS (asterisks are placed above and below it incase my counting was wrong)

Some days getting out of bed is the hardest task imaginable, you just wrap yourself in your cozy blankets and imagine the world ending as you stare at the ceiling or a wall. Sometime you may even exist only under the covers, never daring to peak your head out from under them, because they provide a shell of misguided trust that when you finally come out of your cocoon the world wont consist of misguided hate and misconstrued words.

These were the feelings circling Sage's chest and brain as she peeked an eye out to check the time, only to see it was barely noon. She groaned lightly as she pulled the blankets up higher, wrapping them under her head as she imagined who shed be if she wasn't forced to live the life she had. She could hear muffled voices outside her door, speaking amongst themselves as they tried to pinpoint what set this in motion. She laid, blocking the voices out as she stared at her blanket through sun broke darkness.

The next time she checked the time it was finally five, and her thoughts were broken by a soft patterned knock left unanswered. She could hear the intake of air as her door opened. "Sage?"

The only answer he received was the girl pulling the blankets under her eyes, squinting as the evening sun glared at her, punishing her for hiding away like some kind of coward. She watched cautiously as he slowly walked towards the end of her bed, before pointing at the empty side. "can i join you."

This time his answer was the girl rolling onto her side as she pulled the thick comforter back over her head, shivering lightly as she felt the bed dip down where he sat. The room stayed quiet as he laid down, and suddenly the girl felt her face become dappled with streams of salty water. She bit the inside of her cheek until the metallic taste flooded her sense. A reminder that shes alive, that she exists outside her bubble of self pity and haunting thoughts, a reminder she forgot would happen in her desperate attempt to muffle her soon to come sobs.

The air in the room was thick, like the air in a funeral home during the showing or service, so Paul wasn't surprised when the muffled cries reached his ears. He knew her better than he knew himself so he knew not to try and console her or make promises that everything will magically be okay. They dont exist in a fairytale world, their world consists of monsters hunting each other and humans falling prey to ones with a taste for blood. So he laid on top her blanket, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to ignore the pained sound, but his mind had other plans as it began to wonder if he'd ever been the reason she cried like that.

Sage had learned a few things in her sixteen short years, the biggest being that people always view mentally ill people as a puzzle they have to figure out, as if one piece added to the thousands they already pieced together will magically cure them and make them whole by societal views. It was a lesson she'd learned time and time again. Every time she had a bad day, she was tip toed around or catered to as if she was incapable of caring for herself. As if she hasn't been caring for herself since she was able to do so. Instead of responding to these circumstances with so called rational behavior she lashes out, her words hitting their soul in a way she knows deep down she'll regret, but in the moment its the only response that makes sense. She cuts deep and doesn't apologize because she assumes if they're on the receiving side, they know her well enough to know she doesn't mean it— a definite character flaw that she doesn't quite know how to fix, after all, how do you apologize for something you regret so deeply?

This was something Paul found himself on the receiving side of for the first time, as he watched Sage pour milk into her cereal while her mind was miles away. No one could've prepared him for the bullets fired at him when the milk began to pour over and he rushed to help her clean. When she got up and stormed back to her room, bowl long forgotten and eyes following her every move, Embry was quick to look towards the boy, who's expression would make you think he was handed a death sentence. "She gets like this when she isn't doing well, its best to leave her alone."