𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘 ⤞ 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡

5 | 𝐎𝐡, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞?

❝There's no coming to consciousness without pain.❞

- C. G. Jung

       "That stupid bitch," Penelope growled underneath her breath as the elevator began its ascent to the floor she was staying on. Bits of the furious emotion she had been overwhelmed with still remained in her bloodstream, and soon, she would need another dosage to keep her from going over the edge. "Always getting in the way, always getting in my business."

       I'm going to kill her one day, her clouded mind growled, still swimming within the adrenaline that'd poured itself into her system. She needs to be put in her goddamn place, sooner or later.

       After unlocking her room's door, she used her foot to push it open as she tugged her leather jacket from her tense shoulders. The cool material did little to soothe the needles of rage as they pricked every inch of her tanned skin, enticing another burst of fury to rip itself from her. But, Penelope fought it as best she could. She didn't want to have another dangerous episode - she couldn't - not like the previous one. The one where her own subconscious turned her safe haven into another charred place in her head. It was devastating to hear those words leave Tex's manifested lips, and Penelope knew she wouldn't be able to survive it, not again.

       Salt water stung at corners of her eyes, and with a shake of her head, Penelope tossed her jacket onto the couch before making her way towards the bathroom. While staring into the mirror, the pads of her fingers roamed over the space of her facial features, making sure to brush over each oddity that'd appeared in the last seven months. The area containing her eyes were sunken in, and her cheeks were hollower than she remembered. Much to her displeasure, a coat of makeup smeared itself onto her fingers, and her frown, the one that had taken residency on her lips, deepened.

       "So much for smear proof," Penelope muttered, rolling her water filled eyes at the reflection occupying the mirror. The tap was turned on, and a cloth was dampened thoroughly before it was brought to her skin, rubbing at the foundation caked into her pores.

       That was one of things she grew to despise since the accident. Instead of letting the world know how much she was hurting, the habits she'd gained from her childhood days made her hide away, away from her family and friends, away from the entire population.

       Penelope was teetering on the edge of self destruction, and no one caught onto a single red flag, or she so deeply thought.

        The dark t-shirt that covered her torso was pulled over her head, tousling her dark locks a bit, a piece of wavy hair falling into her watery eyes. Her left hand raised to push it back when a patch of thin lines caught her attention. Those ultra fine, white lines that branded her wrist made her gut lurch, and a few tears spill from their keep. Those lines were a sign of her moments of weakness, the few times she couldn't hold in her anger and agony. The times where she had broken the one of the most precious promises made between that deceased boy and herself.

        The gruffness that filled Tex's voice made the water in her eyes double, "Promise me that you'll never cut yourself, again. Promise me, Penny."

       "Why? Why should I?" Penelope argued, glaring at that beautiful boy as he knelt in-between her legs, hands grasping her damaged wrist gingerly. "You still drink like you're trying to run from your past. This is how I run away from mine."