→ ฬђєгє เร ๓ץ ๓เภ๔? → norman x reader

25. orpheus's song; to the owl

Nova stares for a moment longer, and then looks away, seeming to give up on looking at you for any answers.

You exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding. It's harder to hold yourself together with an audience.

You make your way to bookshelf, holding your hand up and closing your eyes to randomly pick something. Once you do, you open your eyes, fingertips on what you hope to be a viable distraction. Nevertheless, as your hand pulls the book out of its organized space, it trembles, and grips the book a little tighter.

You move stiffly to sit at a table, it's a dark cedar brown, with a matching chair. The chair perfectly matches the table, it has the same exact intricate carvings on its legs as the table does. You place the book down and slowly pull the chair out.

Your hands have not stopped shaking; you feel as if your hands might've been set on fire. You feel uncomfortably hot, as if you are running a fever. You feel destructive, like an uncontrollable need to let something— anything out. You take a deep breath to try and get rid of such a scary feeling, but it feels as if your head might explode. Your heart-clenches with intense grief and the uncovering of something more horrifying:

A need for revenge.

Before you know it with all of your strength you fling the chair to the floor as strongly as you can, causing two of the legs to snap into pieces. You don't hear the snapping and splintering of wood. 

But Nova did, jumping out of his skin and standing up at your abrupt tantrum.

You seethe, breathing heavily. It wasn't enough so you throw the book at the bookshelf, causing other books to tumble off. 

Nova rushes to you and taps your shoulder, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

You clench your fists, sending him the most venomous glare you can muster, but Nova doesn't back down, crossing his arms.

You're still shaking, it's so awful, what an awful, disgusting feeling. You've grieved before, but it's nothing like how you feel now. You want to inflict it, it's scary how much you want it given to someone else.

"[I--...]," you speak but no matter how much you will it not to, your anger slips into sadness, your lip quivering.

Nova tilts his head, un-crossing his arms and stepping closer to you, his eyes softening, and his expression concerned.

He watches as tears roll down your face as you let out a watery, "[I'm sorry.]"

You don't know why you're apologizing to him— maybe for startling him? Maybe you're not really saying sorry to him. Maybe you are feeling sorry because you felt a destructive evil start to cloud your sensibility. You don't know at this point because it's all too much for you to handle.

You're only a kid after all. You can't be tough and cold all the time, you're not like the heroes you read about in books, so good and happy, or so solid, never a negative feeling. Hell, you might not even be a hero.

Nova takes another step towards you, but you turn away, muffling your sobs behind your hand, trying your best to calm your breathing.

"[I'm so sorry,]" you say again, hiding your face.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

It's too hard.

You feel a hand softly rest on your shoulder, you wipe your eyes, and reluctantly turn to Nova.

"It's okay to be angry...or sad."

You sniffle, and mumble again, "[Sorry. I'm fine.]" You aren't, but you are too embarrassed to admit it. You'll just have to wait to cry later.