𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⟡﹒

chapter twelve

SASHA

‧₊˚

play bad religion by frank ocean

Guilt.

It was a rather strange, sort of thing.
Creeping up on you, quiet and still. Sitting by your side in the dark as it strokes your hair as you sleep.

It disguises itself as a mixture of self loathe, shame and utter disgust—as a companion of yours. When in reality, it was really just your greatest enemy.

Your greatest enemy right behind yourself.

Sasha was a monster. The worst kind at that.

Siding with Jean didn't gain her anything but the satisfaction of making a statement. She knew, deeply and truly—that even if Y/n was to leave, Connie would never reciprocate her feelings. It would only make him dislike her even more.

Yet still, she wielded.

She bit her tongue and suppressed any sort of empathy towards Y/n and allowed Jean to control her however he so much as pleased.

She was his puppet. Or rather she was a puppet to love. A puppet to the love that she craved to receive from Connie.

It was a bad religion. A bad religion to be in love with someone who could never love you.

And as she sat idly on her bedroom floor, staring at the disheveled reflection through the silver knife in her hand—she debated whether or not it was worth it to leave, and never make him love her—or to stay, and live with the burden known as unrequited love.

He would not speak of her, and nor would he speak of this. So her best bet was to leave . . right?

"I don't want to feel, anymore." Sasha breathed aloud, placing her malnourished fingers against the butt of the knife.  She'd stopped eating ever since she found out that Connie and Y/n were together.

It was her . . extreme fasting.

So as tears trickled out of her eyes, blinding her with the person that she once was and shattering her with the person that she'd now become—Sasha muses for the first, and final time.

Will he think about me when I'm gone?

But the abrupt ringing sound coming from the deep depths of her left jean pocket essentially saved her...saved her before it was too late.

Hesitantly, she reaches for said pocket and swoops her phone up and out of the minuscule hole. Sasha's heart races in her chest as she looks at her phone in nothing but pure shock, and nonetheless confusion.

She wills her hand to stop shaking as she slowly reads the contact name again.

'Connie <3'

"Yo," he says, wind flowing freely from his side of line.

Sasha felt pathetic. Maybe things were meant to be after all?

"H-hello?" She sniffles delicately, voice distant and morose as she spoke.

This was the first time that Connie had ever called her. Which meant that he'd finally realised how much he'd needed her.

"I'm gonna' ask you somethin' and I need you to answer as honestly as you can."

Sasha gulps, nodding her head even though he couldn't physically see her,

"That's fine, what's up?"

She could audibly hear what she assumed—was his footsteps from the other side of the line as he spurred,

"Where is Jean?

Sasha scrambles for words. Searching for the right syllables and letters and vowels to satisfy Connie, but nothing sounded right. "I— I actually don't know . . ."

'Shit—' he replies, taking even more footsteps, "Can you ask him for me? And don't let him know that I sent you."

"I—"

"Connie, what are you doing?!" A female voice says frustratedly, a few moments before the line suddenly cuts off.

To this, she was rendered speechless.
In the midst of a few seconds, any sort of hope that Sasha had for her and Connie finally being together had dispersed. Though she wasn't exactly surprised.

Sasha knew that voice— for it only belonged to one person.

Y/n.