Millie played anxiously with her selected mourning necklace of the day, an intricate locket of dark brass and swirling, thorn-studded vines encircling the centerpiece--a lock of black hair, much like her own, a white ribbon neatly tied to keep the dry curls together. It was a gift her parents had bought off ebay and had shipped right to her as a celebration of her starting therapy. Millie had been surprised--she had no idea her parents knew what she liked and wanted. No idea they would pay so much for a gift for her, even though they struggled with money. They were trying to support her, the best they knew how. It was a start and it was...nice.
She ran her fingers over the intricate vines, the design reminding her of the poem she had written about Dylan. How would she ever be able to face him after how selfish she had been?
She stood in line at the local pharmacy, just a few blocks down from her therapist's office. There was only a pair of old ladies in front of her, both arguing with the pharmacist about some sort of heart medication.
Prazosin for nightmares. Trintellix for depression. Buspar for anxiety. Propranolol for panic attacks.
She had only been to therapy four times now, and to a psychiatrist once. Ms. Keys was nice and helpful, and Doctor Simone was short in her speaking, but insightful. She didn't realize just how many problems she really had--and shame from the words Funtime Freddy had said to her in his judgement still burned. She had denied she needed medication, deciding that she wouldn't let it "change" her, but after her doctor saw she hadn't ever visited the pharmacy for pick-up and continuously avoided questions about her experience on the medications, she had called Millie's grandfather.
He seemed dubious about medications too, but his concern for Millie overrode everything else and he implored her to at least try. She finally relented and said she'd give it a shot--after all, what did she have to lose?
She stepped up to the counter and spoke to the pharmacist, but she still felt miles away from him. She felt like she was back in Ms. Key's office, knees to her chest and eyes to the floor. Ms. Keys always started their appointments complimenting Millie's fashion and makeup, but Millie always felt like it was superficial--you know, with Ms. Key's auburn hair, pulled back with floral headbands, pearls, and modest pink lip gloss and a different turtleneck and pencil skirt each week.
But... Millie told herself she would start being more positive. Believing in people more, rather than what her head told her. She just couldn't shake the paranoia that she was right in her miserable judgements.
She grunted a quiet 'thank you' to the pharmacist after she paid with the cash her grandpa had given her, stopping by the bathroom to touch up her makeup. She touched up her pale pallor and the dripping effect of her eyeliner before heading out to meet her grandfather outside. She looked down at the bag, listing out all her prescriptions as she walked. Her chest tightened.
She was most excited for the prazosin, she had to admit. Ever since...the incident, she had recurring nightmares about Funtime Freddy, and would often wake up in the middle of the night, unable to move and swearing she heard the whispers of his giggles right under her bed. She could also swear she would hear him moving around outside, see the flash of his eyes in a dark corner, hear the clanking and groaning of old metal... That he was laughing at her and her paranoia.
It almost felt like she was waiting to die.
Grandpa forced her to tell the doctors about what happened to her and her continuous fears. Apparently it was maladaptive daydreaming and hallucinations due to stress. Some kind of nightmare that manifested from unresolved trauma.
As time went on and the animatronic bear hadn't come to kill her despite her nightmares and paranoia, she tried to believe what her care team told her. Ms. Keys was always sympathetic, but she still felt embarrassed whenever she brought up the robot. She desperately tried to convince herself it really was all just a dream, but even more desperately she wished her grandfather would get rid of the pile of junk.
But Ms. Keys said overcoming her fear of Funtime Freddy was the key to overcoming her suicidal ideation--the two were linked, the animatronic itself the emotional embodiment of her desire to die, and her fear of it the will to live.
"Easy peasy." Millie sighed heavily, shielding her eyes from the bright sun overhead. Grandpa waved at her from the driver's seat of his old dingy tan car, a big smile on his face as usual. Millie forced herself to smile back as she slid into the passenger's side. "Hey Gramps."
"Hey there, Millie. How was therapy today?"
She shrugged. "It was okay." She paused, forcing the discomfort and lump in her throat back down. "She thinks... I should try to be a little more social. I've still been avoiding Dylan and he hasn't tried to talk to me, so she helped me write out some different ideas for apologizing to him and making amends. I'm going to leave a note at his locker asking him to meet me at the coffee tea shop we went to together this weekend." She also had talked about some of her poetry, and how she felt getting help was useless for someone as miserable as her--but for now she left that out. She promised the psychologist that she would at least put the affirmations up on her bathroom mirror.
"That's great, girlie!" Her grandfather beamed. "You seemed a lot happier when you had a friend. I think it'll do you some good, even if it's not some kind of fairytale, or Poe, sort of ending. You don't have to be friends with everybody, but even one good friend makes a difference."
"Sure."
He exhaled. "Well, in any case, I thought you and I could check out a couple of antique and thrift stores before we make the drive home! I know at least one antique store around here carries dead things, and maybe you can find some new clothes? Maybe something colorful?"
She felt a smidge of excitement ignite in her chest and shrugged again. "That sounds cool, Grandpa. You're pushing it with the colors though."
He backed the car up and smirked. "I'm just saying, Millie--color really does affect mood!"
"So you say."
XXX
Millie trotted slowly through the stalls of the antique store, keeping her eyes peeled for old books or taxidermy. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her faux leather jacket, platform boots clunking noisily in the quiet space.
She paused in front of a large oak bookshelf, eye glittering as she began scanning the spines of the dusty old tomes. Upon seeing the author Percy Bysshe Shelley, she let out an excited squeak and pulled it from its place, a cloud of dust in its wake.
She hurriedly flipped the book open and felt her heart glow--it had been so long since she had gotten a new poetry book, and such an old one no less! She skimmed the yellowed pages, her fingers fluttering over the frayed edges delicate as a moth. She snapped it shut and hugged it to her chest, doing her best to focus on this small joy and stroke of luck--another thing Ms. Keys had told her to do to help her mental health.
She looked up, eager for the opportunity to find something else in this dusty old shop when her eyes met with a pair of pale purple plastic eyeballs.
Millie screamed, jerking back and jamming a glass table into the small of her back. A box of vintage magazines and signed baseballs crashed to the floor, breaking the fragile silence of the shop. "G-Grandpa!"
Millie's grandfather rushed around the corner as if summoned, eyes wide. "Millie? What's going on?"
The girl pushed her fists into her eyes, trying to hold back the tears, knees shaking. "I-I'm sorry. It's just a toy. I just thought..." She pointed at the shelf.
There lay a small blue rabbit of metal and plastic, bright blue with a rose-red bow tie and cheeks and a gaping smile. The plastic eyes were expressionless and dull--nothing like the lively, cruel sparks her captor's had been. It was just a toy.
"Oh, Millie! There's no need to be scared." He smiled softly. "Can I touch you?" When she nodded, forcing her trembling lips into a scowl,he squeezed her hand. "It's alright, dear." He turned to take a look at the blue rabbit, humming to himself. Millie sucked in a breath when he plucked it off the shelf, shocked at its full length of nearly two feet. He flipped the rabbit over and chuckled to himself. "Wow, Millie, would you believe it? This is one of the missing parts I need for that old bear! It's the old Bonnie Hand-Puppet! I remember this little fella way back in the day..." He stopped when he saw Millie's face, even paler than usual. "...Oh."
Millie exhaled, her mouth dry as she remembered what her therapist had told her.
Facing her fears was the key to being...some semblance of happy. At least stable.
"No, Gramps, it's okay." She forced herself to say, even though she felt goosebumps prickle across her skin. The shame that washed over her from nearly bursting into a panic attack in public was even greater than the cloud of dread. "I know you've been wanting to fix that pile of junk up. It was one of your biggest projects before...the incident. This is a really cool opportunity. Don't let me stop you. Or something like that."
The old man looked thoughtful for a moment, looking at his granddaughter and then back to the metal hand-puppet. "Millie, are you sure? I don't want to do anything that would upset you."
"Grandpa. You made quinoa and cauliflower steak for the first time in your life. And it was good! You do so much for me." These kinds of words still felt foreign and itchy on her tongue. Action isn't easy, not like snuffing all the bad things out is...but it's worth it. Her skin crawled. "Do the things you love."
Her grandfather smiled, eyes crinkling. "Thank you Millie. Do you still want that book you dropped on the floor? We can both go home with things we love today."
"I would like that." She nodded, resisting the urge to shed her skin like a cocoon and float away. "Thank you, Grandpa."
"Sure thing.Now, let's get down to the register and get going! I'm getting a bit hungry. It was an adventure making that quinoa though... I think I may go the easy route and do spaghetti tonight. Want some garlic bread with it?"
"Sounds good to me."
XXX
Millie smoothed her skirt as she approached the You and Me Coffee and Tea. She had taken extra care with her makeup, jewelry and clothes today, even though she knew Dylan wouldn't take any notice. Not how she wanted him to, anyways. She had no idea if he'd even show up after all, which only made her nerves even more electrified.
"So what do you think, cupcake? Electrocution? You'd be shocked at how effective it is! An electrifyingly good time!"
Millie shuddered, rolling her shoulders back. Not now. I took all my meds, and I'm just feeling weird. Just remembering. I'm fine. It can't hurt me. It had been three days since her grandfather had brought the hand-puppet home, where it rested on an already-crowded ottoman in the living room until Millie's grandfather had time to work on it. Two since she left a note with Dylan.
She reached into her jacket pocket to double check she had her propranolol and traced her finger over her name on the bottle label as if it was a lifeline, breathless. She opened the door to the cafe.
There he was, in all his frizzy fire-engine red haired glory.
Dylan sat in one of the corner tables, almost looking as anxious as Millie did. He listlessly stirred at a mug of hot tea--she knew it'd be chai--and fiddled with the piercings lining his ears. When the door opened with a soft melodic ding, he looked up and gave her a tight smile.
She lifted her hand in greeting, feeling her legs turn to jelly. Even still, she pushed forward, and then was suddenly sitting at the table in front of him. "Hey."
"Hey." He looked viscerally uncomfortable, and Millie was aware of every little movement he made. "So... You wanted to talk to me."
"I'm sorry." She blurted. "I was too quick to judge. I was...just really jealous. I've never really had friends, Dylan. I don't know what it's like.To have a friend that's a boy but not a boyfriend. I've never been able to connect to people like normal people, and the one friend I had as a kid left when she wanted to hang out with the popular kids. Or she realized I'm weird. I don't know."
She desperately tried to force her tears away--she didn't want to make Dylan feel guilty. "I just really liked you. You were the first person that was nice to me in a really long time. And... I felt like I was abandoned. But I wasn't! You were a really good friend, I was just lost in my daydreams and obsessing over someone finally liking me. It was selfish, and stupid and judgemental. I'm sure Brooke didn't deserve it." The tears came. "I was...acting just like the people who hurt me. You were right, I am a hypocrite."
Dylan watched, his face impassive as she blurted it all out. Then, his eyes softened, and he reached out across the table. "Hey, Millie... It's okay. I mean, it's not, but it is. It seems like you've been doing a lot of thinking, and I appreciate you explaining it to me." He hesitated. "I didn't know you didn't have other friends. Not even online or outside school?"
She swallowed. "No. And..my parents are halfway across the world right now. It's pretty much just me, my Grandpa and my cat."
"You never told me that." His mouth twisted, and Millie forced herself to look away from his lips.
"It's not about me, Dylan." She said. "It's about you, and how I hurt you. And Brooke."
His hand perched on top of hers, and she felt like she might die.
"It's okay. I understand a lot better after you explaining it to me. And not using it all as an excuse. You've always been really smart, and I'm glad you've been reflecting."
"I... " She remembered Ms. Keys telling her that she needed to give trust to earn trust. No matters how much the vulnerability hurt. "I'm in therapy. It's been helping a lot. And talking to my Gramps a little more."
She had expected Dylan to react in some sort of shocked way, but he just smiled. "That's good. Therapy is helpful--it really helped me a few years ago, when my dad died."
Now Millie was actually shocked? His dad had died? A few years ago... He had to be barely older than ten. What loss. Her heart wrenched. "I'm really sorry, Dylan. That must have hurt."
"It did. It still does. But actually talking to people, communicating, it really does help." He squeezed her hand. "I'm still pretty hurt by the way you acted, and I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet." Her heart skipped a beat. "But... I wouldn't mind starting over, and seeing how I feel. Just as friends? Maybe with some new boundaries?"
Millie choked back the disappointment in not being instantaneously forgiven. She had to earn trust. Had to take action. She couldn't wallow in pity and isolation forever. "I would like that."
"That sounds good to me too." He leaned back, relieved. "I think you would like Brooke, Millie. I know she may not look the part, but she's into horror and we've been playing some cool roleplaying games with some of the other kids from school. If you ever felt comfortable... Maybe we could get together and do something fun?"
"Maybe," Millie said, and instead of pushing down the flutter of excitement and replacing it with bitterness, she let the butterflies soar. "But first, let me start with some earl grey and just talking to you a bit. Maybe we have a bit to catch up on." She unzipped the black pack she had brought with her, knocking three tubes of black lipstick and a face powder away to pull out a book. "Plus, I found a really nice copy of Carmilla online. I brought it as a peace offering. Would you...want to read it together?"
Dylan grinned now, flashing his mouth full of braces. "I'd be honored, Millie!"
Millie smiled her black smile, all teeth and happiness. And for just a while the thoughts of death and a robotic bear making it happen floated away. Rebuilding the friendship wouldn't be easy, but this was a nice place to start.
Tomorrow was another day.
A/N: Hope you guys are enjoying! Thanks for reading. :3 Feel free to visit my blog on tumblr @chicatenders for more fnaf stuff, headcanons, and possibly art. Take care you guys, and stay safe during these stressful times.