That little voice in her head pushed and prodded and shoved.
They died because of you. They blame you. Everyone blames you. You should have died with them. You deserve to die now.
This is what you deserve.
Murderer.
Rose didn't realize her eyes were screwed shut until they slid open slowly. Her vision was blurry. The sharp pressure increased on her wrist, but her hands shook. Why wouldn't the skin break? Why wouldn't her hands stop shaking? This was supposed to be quick. It should be over by now.
Her eyes locked on the tiny, welcoming sliver of steel. Comforting. Cold. Deadly.
She wanted to throw up again.
Coward.
With a gravelly, muffled scream that rose from the very depths of her gut, she flung the razor across the room. It hit the mirror and marred its pristine surface with a long, narrow scratch before clattering to the tiles and sliding across the floor. It came to a stop in front of the door. The door that creaked and strained under Caroline's persistent pounding.
Rose brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, clasping her freezing hands together. No longer possessing the strength to hold up her body, she fell against the side of the tub. Its cold, smooth surface brought goosebumps to her skin, but soothed her feverish cheeks. Her fingers weakened as well and released each other; fingertips grazing along the ceramic curve of the tub's bottom.
The relentless banging abruptly ceased. The air was thick and smothering.
Suddenly the door burst open with a bang, nearly flying off its hinges. A fleeting image of Jack Nicholson, ax in hand, crossed Rose's mind. Here's Johnny!
It wasn't Johnny, nor was it Jack Nicholson. Caroline stood there, leg raised, foot flat against the space where the door had just stood vertically. So much for the lock.
She let her leg fall and started rushing towards the tub, but faltered at the sight of the razor sitting there; docile and quiet and shimmering in the pale yellow light. Rose saw it too, from the corner of her eye, and she could not stop her eyes from being drawn to it.
There are no dangerous weapons; there are only dangerous men.
Dangerous, dangerous girl. A danger to herself. A danger to others. The razor would not harm on its own.
Caroline's gaze traveled slowly across the floor from the blade to Rose's pale face. Her voice was soft and raspy. "Rose?"
Rose's eyes were dead, and her fixed stare would not leave that damn razor. Caroline picked it up cautiously between two fingers, as if it were a wild thing with gnashing teeth and the eyes of a cornered animal. But the razor would not hurt her; could not touch her.
She need look no further than Rose to find a feral, desperate soul.
Caroline tossed the razor in the sink before approaching the bathtub. Rose felt warm arms envelope her as shadows closed in on her vision. You must have never loved them; you can't even die for them now, she thought to herself, just as she succumbed to the darkness of exhaustion.
********
Her tata stood there at the counter holding a fresh cup of coffee, his silver-threaded hair ruffled and large dark circles adorning his bright eyes.
A half-smile grew on his rugged face, not quite agreeing with his perpetually weary expression. He reached out and ruffled Rose's hair, and her 8-year old self let out a squeal of protest. His grin stretched wider.
Suddenly the smile faded and his expression turned grave. "Rose," he started, and the grim undertones in his voice made her shiver. "Rose...my boboc de trandafir...I need you to promise me something. You may be too young to understand this, but remember what I say, yes?"
Rose then said something about being smart for her age, and for him to not underestimate her, and he laughed; a deep laugh straight from the gut. "I suppose not, clever girl," he said, his words threaded with chuckles.
"If you ever reach a point when you have nothing in life, know that you still have your voice. Know that no one can take that away from you. People may be under the pretense that they can control you, but just know that they can't. Not as long as you have your voice. It doesn't matter how strong you are, or how strong they are. Your voice can always be your weapon. Got that, Rosie?" He smiled gently.
Rose nodded. He was right about one thing; that she didn't quite understand, but maybe she would someday.
********
Rose woke up five minutes before her alarm went off. She lay there staring at her ceiling.
That dream had been the first in two weeks that hadn't been a nightmare. She couldn't quite remember what it was about, though.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Rose shot up in bed, eyes wide, hair disheveled. Right. Today's Monday. School day. Not okay.
She shut off her alarm and went to stretch her arms and legs. She didn't feel prepared to face another school day. She had already been to school last Friday, but there was something about a Monday that made it all the more merciless.
Two weeks yesterday.
Sunday had been exactly two weeks since the...incident. She had been forced to go to school on Friday, which was also the day she fought with Eli. She made up with Eli on Saturday. She tried to kill herself last night.
Tried and failed.
Monday. School again. And next Thursday she would be on a plane to Ireland. Time was going by far too quickly for her taste.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. She noticed a stream of tears running down her face. When did I start crying?
The dream. It was a...childhood memory. It all came rushing back to her.
Listen to the night as the night knows your truths, your stories, your aches, your dreams, your cravings, your forgotten memories, not so forgotten.
Her father. Her father had been in her dream. She gently touched her wet cheeks in awe and an indescribably bittersweet feeling washed over her.
Tata.
Rose dressed hurriedly in torn jeans and a t-shirt, pausing only to brush her teeth and pull her hair back in a French braid. She grabbed her school bag and nearly tripped down the stairs, shocking Caroline at the sudden noise.
"Rose..." Caroline said, and smiled at her wearily. Caroline's eyes were dark, and she looked exhausted. She must have stayed up all night to make sure my night terrors wouldn't drive me back to the edge.
Rose surprised Caroline even further by wrapping her in a hug. Caroline tentatively returned it, and pulled back after a second to study Rose's face. No words were needed to show that Caroline was almost chronically anxious and that Rose was trying to humor her to no extent. Rose smiled-- a small, sad smile-- before pulling away and grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter.
"You don't have to go to school," said Caroline. Rose only shrugged.
"You should eat more. You're not going to be late." Rose shrugged again.
"When you get back..." Caroline hesitated. "I want to talk to you." Rose nodded and threw a wave over her shoulder before bursting out the front door.
********
First period: Orchestra.
The only class that Rose didn't feel obliged to interact with anyone or anything but her violin. The melancholy notes would erupt from deep within her and transfer to the strings, resonating from the belly of the instrument. Her fingers would in turn fly across the fingerboard or gently caress the strings in a solemn vibra--
"GO LONG!"
Rose jerked and nearly dropped her instrument. She glowered at whomever had interrupted her warm-up and had to abruptly duck when a crumpled up ball of soggy looking notebook paper flew past her head.
She opened her mouth to protest, but opted to brood silently in her chair.
Eli had been watching the scene as it went down and had tensed when Rose opened her mouth. It almost seemed as though she would speak, but he also knew that she was far too stubborn--ahem, strong-willed-- to give up her silence to an aerial paper ball.
Eli had the misfortune of sharing a stand with the idiot that threw the paper; Uriah Johnson. He was a brilliant cellist, but quite literally one of the most thick-headed people in their grade.
Eli glanced back at Rose and managed to catch her eye. She looked exhausted, even more so than last Friday. He would have to ask her about it later.
Rose tentatively lifted her violin again. In truth, the music was her savior during these past weeks, and playing became a chance to escape her living hell, if only got a short amount of time. Now, not only was it a savior, it was a distraction.
A distraction from the sliver of razor-edged metal that now haunted her every waking hour.
(A/N: Hey guys, I know this is a weird place to end this chapter, but my life has been crazy hectic and I wanted to post something before school started. I didn't want to leave you guys with that last cliffhanger. I have known the wrath of pissed off followers... *grins nervously* Any who, please vote (even though I probably don't deserve it with how long it's been since I updated) and never hesitate to tell me what you think. Thanks, Ciao!)