➜ " 𝐍 𝐎 𝐓 𝐄 𝐒 " 𝐑. 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞

{~ chapter 22 ~}

But once the world went completely blank, it would be filled with red and blue lights, ringing with ear splitting sirens and shouting instead. Her mind felt hazy with alcohol, unable to think properly. Without realizing, she managed to lift herself from her seat and dragged her feet towards the door.

For some reason, she didn't bump into anyone in the elevator that hummed softly. Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, the numbers kept changing on the panel above the buttons. Finally, the twelfth and final story. The door beeped open. Her legs led her towards the direction of the stairs. There was a man in a business suit, likely back from a late overtime flinched upon seeing her walking sluggishly down the halls. In his eyes, he saw a wobbling woman with disheveled and skin as if she was the dead and dazed eyes heading towards the stairs that led to the rooftop of the complex. The man quickly speedwalked to the other side of the hall.

Y/n pushed the door open as it clicked shut behind her figure. Her bare feet with mismatched slippers echoed in the empty concrete staircase as she slowly made her way upstairs. After what seemed like forever, another door stood in her path.

A puff of cold wind slapped her face the moment she opened the door. The woman stood there for a moment, unfocused. Closing the door again, she walked straight on.

White flakes nestled themselves in her hair, soon melting upon contact with her. Cold fragments gently kissed her face, peppering her freezing skin with even colder touches. But it didn't feel that uncomfortable.

A hand filled with halfway closed glass cuts shakily reached out, reaching her palm out to cup the snow that soon melted on her touch.

☆

Her hand reached upwards, as a small flake of snow landed on her fingertip. It melted as soon as it was there. What a shame. Such beauty, gone the moment it touches anything slightly warmer than itself. Born to be eternally cold, only to have a taste of the welcoming warmth that would momentarily kill it.

Y/n shook her head and clasped her rosy cheeks between her hands to wake up from the daydream. Stepping into the store, she didn't bother grabbing a basket and began to stroll around. It wasn't as crowded as she had expected considering it was after school, but there were still handfuls of people around. Let's see.. Bananas so green they could cast as Shrek's children, suspicious looking Buelle fruits on an even more suspicious discount, and a teenage part time awkwardly stocking the lady's undergarment section. He was a boy who looked to be around sixteen, and looked like he wanted to evaporate into the air. Poor guy.

The bananas were too of the same colour to paint. The flowers, which she usually loved, looked particularly colourless today. How strange. There was no one interesting enough to use as inspiration.

Art block can burn in hell until it became a crispy black ash that she would put into a urn and throw into a river.

Y/n wandered around the supermarket, occasionally looking through the clothing racks and trying out free samples of crackers that tasted like air and flour. Lemon squeezes, cutting boards, a package of purple glitter, a water bottle with a missing cap, and someone's drink that they left on an isle. Everything looked so... Uninteresting. This was getting increasingly frustrating.

While munching on some kind of cereal sample she took from a sample station, the teacher aimlessly walked around the book section. Cooking for beginners, a romance book with a cringey cover of a werewolf man that had an eight pack and some petite looking ginger lady... A children's storybook and

A guide on how to get along your teen! Ft. Psychiatrist _______

She snorted softly while picking the cover up. Maybe she could really use a guidance on how to talk to a certain teenager in her own home who wouldn't come down from his room.