❝Ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves?❞
( joel miller x fem! oc)
(age gap!)
(mature themes!)
(follows the HBO show
and game the last of us part i)
...
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" the shrapnel of my faith in you is cutting through my skin "
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Pittsburgh, 2023
THERE WAS A NEW WEIGHT UPON HER Colette noticed. An icy presence that seemed to constrict her chest and cause her difficulty breathing. The act of taking a life, even in a desperate bid for silence and survival, left a stain on her soul that she feared would never wash away. Five, she counted as the stark truth settled over her. She had killed five people. One bound and begging for his life, two Fireflies, one armed male while it had been her that was chained, and the hunter lying merely a few feet away from her.
The sensation of her knife sliding across flesh, the warm spurt of blood against her hand, and the final, choked gasp of the man she had killed replayed in her mind with merciless clarity. Shock had initially numbed her to the core, a protective barrier against the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Yet, as the adrenaline that had fueled her actions began to ebb away, the tremors in her limbs increased. She stared at her hands, the ones that had wielded the knife with a deadly precision she hadn't known she possessed, and felt a disconnection from herself as though the person who had done such a thing wasn't her at all.
Guilt and horror intertwined, coiling around her heart with suffocating intensity. As she stood there, Colette wondered if she would ever be able to look at herself in the mirror again, or if the ghosts of the people she had killed would haunt her reflection forever. Logically, she knew, that it had been him or them, that in the lawless world they inhabited, such acts were a necessity for survival. But understanding that did nothing to ease the burden of guilt she now felt as if it were a physical weight pressing down on her.
Suddenly, big hands laid themselves on her shoulders, a touch surprisingly gentle against the backdrop of chaos that had become their lives. "Cole," Joel said, his voice a soft but firm anchor in the tempest of her thoughts. She didn't respond, couldn't find her voice amidst the cacophony of guilt and horror that screamed inside her head. But Joel persisted, his presence unwavering. "Colette, look at me," he urged, his tone commanding yet laced with an underlying concern that managed to pierce her trance. Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. The world seemed to pause, the only real thing in that moment being Joel's steady gaze holding hers, a lifeline thrown across the dark waters threatening to drown her. "You're okay," he said, his voice softening—such a stark contrast to the gruff exterior he so often presented. "You're okay, just breathe." His thumb brushed lightly against the skin of her cheek.
