antebellum [t. riddle]

lxviii

march 1945
brief mention of suicide
mentions of substance abuse

"i didn't lie. i was misled."

"then explain yourself."

sicaria wanted to scoff at thomas, to remind him that he had no right to demand anything from her. after they had talked yesterday, she waited up in her room for the summons that had never come, meaning tom had never felt her leave the castle, and never got the opportunity to chase her down upon her return.

she woke up the following morning only to be greeted at breakfast by a supremely angry nott, who practically shouted at her in the near-empty great hall, attracting the attention of several ravenclaw first years. as much as she wanted to be nasty, and say that it really wasn't his business, she decided not to intentionally pick away at his patience. 

further isolating herself, especially while already on a short fuse, would only further stress her.

she wandlessly cast a muffling charm over them— apparently, everyone in the hall (which was few, during the early hour) had decided that whatever was going on between sicaria and thomas was their business as well. she stared him directly in the eye and talked slowly, more condescending than necessary. "i got a letter saying that i'd be summoned last night. i wasn't. it's that simple. and i really don't appreciate the five of you keeping tabs on my whereabouts."

he rolled his eyes, ignoring the last part of her statement. "you still need to talk to riddle. circumstantial changes isn't some loophole you can—"

"i'm aware, thomas," she drawled.

"i really don't think you are. you don't seem to be trying very hard." 

she sneered at him, fingers twitching with agitation. "i've tried very hard to be patient with the five of you since the day i met you, but i've had it. imagine the person you love going behind your back to once again invade your space because they've decided you're a pathetic junkie too incompetent to stay alive."

"stop conflating your perception of yourself with his perception of you."

she was stunned silent.

say something. change the subject. reflect later.

"i don't need to be saved, not by any of you, and certainly not by him."

he was silent for several seconds before sighing. "sicaria—"

"no, thomas. i don't want to hear that it's because you all care so much about me. i want you to admit that i have every right to be angry at him and at the rest of you."

thomas, of all his friends, had always been the most emotionally intelligent. his own childhood had forced him to become self aware at a very young age, and dealing with his emotions became second nature. sometimes he wished he could stop. he didn't like feeling so detached from his humanity and robotic in his approach to reconciliation. thomas had to force himself to anger to bring forth some sort of passion that was buried in his soul. he spent years doing the same to abraxas, who was led by anger, tom and adrien, who were let by fear, and adonis, who was led by insecurity. he always had to be the one to pull them down to earth, and the stress of it eroded him. he often felt less human, even less so than tom.

but sicaria was a new person to pick apart. every new fact about her opened up realm upon realm of possibilities of the amount of emotion one person could hold. she was an overflowing glass, and thomas needed to figure out how she hadn't shattered yet.

sicaria meant every word she said, but she honestly had not intended to snap at him like that. it was a culmination of infrequent, nightmare-filled sleep, minor withdrawal symptoms, and isolation that was making her so irritable. she was usually not prone to emotional upheavals and exhaustion at the rapid pace they had recently been inflicted upon her, but, as always, she was forced to adjust.