ꜱʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ┃ɪꜱᴀʙᴇʟʟᴀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ: ʙᴏᴋᴇᴛᴛᴏ

As I'm at the tree, yet another seemingly impossible feat arises: stuffing the 2500cm rope into the hole of a tree. I swear I'm here for at least a half-hour, stuffing, folding, rolling. Doing all I can to fit the tablecloths into the hollow space with frozen fingers. After numerous failed attempts, the rope fits perfectly. There's already a decent-sized rock atop the wall to throw with the rope, so I waddle home. I'm almost positive my cheeks are scarlet.

As I'm about to walk into the house, I notice a black gleam from across the yard. A small figure is curled under the oak tree and shivering. They're the only child outside in this weather, and her hair is a dead giveaway.

I call out to her. My voice is hoarse, and not as loud as I intended, but she looks up anyways. I'm jogging over just as her head starts to lift and receive a perfect view of her dark circles and pink nose. She coughs and looks up at me. Her eyes lack passion. I kneel down next to Isabella and wrap my light jacket over her shoulders. Her shivering subsides slightly, but it doesn't do much otherwise.

"Don't want to go inside? You'll freeze out here." I try speaking to her. She nods her head no, and I settle into a seat. I plan on making this quick.

"So, our escape." Her eyes dart to me quickly but look away just as fast.

I explain the plan and all its little details through chattering teeth. Isabella remains silent. I explain to her that I'll do most of it on my own,

"There is one thing I need you to do, other than trust me." She continues to stare ahead. I observe her shivering to worsen. It seems my joke has fallen flat.

"I need you to be the one to drop the melatonin into mother's tea tonight." Initially, Leslie was going to. He was going to fake an illness during winter, or, hopefully, contract one (as he always did this season) and use the advantage of already being near mother's room to spike her drink. For obvious reasons, the plan was altered.

She looks at me, almost terrified, and opens her mouth. I anticipate her to speak, but she coughs instead. Raspy, dry coughs. Not normal. I ask her again and regret it instantly. Isabella stands, her eyes are crazed and alert- I would not have guessed that the moment after she would faint, but she likes to keep me on my toes. Her face is deathly pale, and she appears to be unconscious.

In a panic, I stand too. My head is dizzy with the cold, and I feel as if the wind had fogged my vision. Regardless, I lift her body and carry her with shaking legs to mother. My joints were frozen solid.

Most events after were a blur. Mother took Isabella from me, babies were crying, kids were confused. The clearest thing I can remember is making camp on the chair aside Isabella's bed in the infirmary. Mother tried coaxing me into my room, but I blatantly refused. I was too stressed to be nice to her. Giving up, mother assured me Isabella would be ok.

"Stay here as long as you want, but she'll sleep through the night- probably most of the morning too. She was just out for longer than her body could handle, she's fine."

I had already planned on staying for as long as I wanted, but I nodded anyway. I'd be here when she awoke tomorrow.

While Isabella was out, I did nothing more than watch her breathe. Her chest rising and falling under the covers was calming. A gentle reminder that she was still alive. It was heartbreaking to watch from the sidelines as my exuberant angel became fragile. I could no longer believe that ignoring her grief was the better option, even if it did push our escape forward. I could have waited a few more weeks. I could have spent time with her, mourning in a healthier way.

My body shakes, and I sob silently. The frail girl in front of me was part of my doing, and you have no idea how shitty it felt. For hours, my crying was non-linear. I had episodes of hard-to-control tears, and episodes of dead silence. Isabella wasn't sick, she wasn't dying, and she was perfectly healthy. You still hurt her though. The voice in my head is relentless but correct, and somehow, it makes me feel worse.

The abnormal cycle of hurt and consideration was interrupted by a shift in the bed. Isabella's head was lifting from the pillow, and her hands were rubbing her eyes. We made eye contact, and she just stared at me for a minute or two.

"I'll do it." She says, and I honestly don't know if I'm relieved.

♡♡♡

【Vault】

✘ Surprisingly, their mother didn't suspect that the two were planning to escape. Their mother thought they were acting weird because of a fight.

✘ Isabella sits to the left of the tree, even after Leslie is gone.

♡♡♡

WC: 1411

Everything is too angsty (says the author) let's make it more angsty (author again). Hope all is well at your homes! I feel like I just started this story, but I think my writing is improving! My stamina certainly is. My grade has gone up in English :) It's becoming easier for me to write without taking a break, and I feel like I can better communicate my thoughts compared to a few weeks ago. Ty all for joining me on this little journey of mine.

mwah,

rem