INVISIBLE STRING ― pedro pascal

-REAL LIFE

Willow pulled away from him as he spoke, not letting him finish. Shaking her head and running form the trailer, feeling the oxygen trapped in her lungs, she tied to keep herself from crying.
She needed to get away from them, away from him.

Was this another coping mechanism? Was she moving from one addiction to the next? Was he her new addiction? She could only go so long without speaking to him — maybe this was convoluted punishment from powers that be to torment her after the accident.

She deserved it. She didn't deserve him. He was the sun; warm, radiant, loving. She was like rain; cold, cloudy, and only tolerable for so long. Inevitably, she killed the things around her. Drowned them in her own pain — she would do it with him, too. She was sure of it.

She let out a gasp as her feet hit the pavement, trying to breathe in fresh air, but all she could smell was smoke, and gasoline, and the bitter taste of alcohol.

Trembling, she couldn't feel the pavement beneath her sneakers anymore, the thin sweater over her shoulders, the thin fabric of her shorts — she felt blood, sticky, matted, all over her head and hands.

She turned to look, tried to see Pedro, but she couldn't find him. She turned to the left, seeing a woman, spluttering, blood seeping from her mouth.

"Mom?" She asked quietly, walking towards the woman. Her ankle hurt, it felt like it was on fire. But it wasn't. She limped on it, stumbling to her mother's crying body and fell to the ground in front of her.

She was stuck in the car, the stupid, stupid car, her head covered in blood, her mouth coughing and spluttering the same red substance.

In her chest was something metallic, she didn't know what, and she looked down in shocked curiosity.

She wondered if she should pull it out. Would that help her mom?

"Mommy?" She asked again, tears falling down her cheeks. Her mom spluttered, barely registering Willow's presence.

"Mom," Willow reached a hand over to her mom and cupped her face in her hand. "Mommy, please, Mom, look at me."

Her mom didn't respond, just chocked on her own blood, eyes widening in fear before the familiar warmth normally found within them was gone.

Her head sank to her chest and Willow trembled next to her, shaking her head and pleading for her to wake up.

"Momma," she shook her body lightly, only for her head to lull over to the right side. "Mom?" Her voice broke, tears falling down her face and mangling into her dampened hair.

"Please, Mom," she choked out, sobbing as her mother's breath came no more.

"Mom? Mom? Mom!"

—

Willow awoke with a start, shaking and sweating, looking around the room with wide eyes.

It was unfamiliar. Small.

A small room, barely the size of her closet back home, with a large mattress and a small tv hooked up on the wall.

Green silk sheets and a large black comforter donned the bed, and in any other situation she may have commented how oddly reminiscent of Harry Potter's Slytherin colors they were.