One Cup of Sugar || Sasha x Niccolo

17 - Bitter End

TW: Please Read.

There is a depiction of an anxiety attack in this chapter along with many references to what anxiety feels like in a more sensitized way. If that is something that easily triggers you I would advise reading this chapter with caution.

This chapter is also a lot longer than my other chapters as coping with anxiety is a huge plot detail in this fic. I wanted to give that plot detail more time to shine, as Sasha's personality has a lot to do with her internal battle with her anxiety. The last 16 chapters were only the beginning, the real plot is starting now. The real conflicts start now. The real tropes start now.

And I hope you guys are ready because I'm going to throw you guys in for a loop in this fic. :)

Comment and votes are greatly appreciated <3

- J
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Sashas POV:

An off day. 

For me at least, by definition: A day where I wake up and everything feels just wrong. A day where my heart felt heavier in my chest, feeling like a giant weight I had to carry around as each beat was exceedingly difficult. 

That was one of the only ways I could describe how I felt right now as I stared at myself in front of my mirror. I observed every inch of myself, suddenly too aware of every feature I had. It made me queasy as I thought of how I was made up of a bunch of skin, muscle, and organs. 

I'd been up for hours now, trying to prevent myself from spiraling out of control. 

My heart pounded, each beat sounding in my ears as it expanded and contracted.

The vessel that I was trapped inside was nothing, just a body. Just skin, bones, and everything in between. I knew my thoughts came from my brain, but what was I?

Thoughts don't come from muscle or bone, but they respond to them. They were physically stronger than the brain, but the brain overpowered them. The idea that every thought that I had comes from something so small made me feel weak. Something that was so small had a chokehold on the vessel I inhabited. It was one small, physically weak organ that was able to defeat the entire army of skin, bones, muscle, tissue, and nerves.

But WHAT was I? I wasn't skin, I wasn't bone, I wasn't my brain either. I knew my strain of consciousness came from my brain, but that wasn't me. 

If it really was me, I wouldn't be in emotional turmoil with myself, fighting with my brain constantly as my anxiety battled me. 

It made no sense, I thought as each breath became much harder to take in. The oxygen around me was slowly going away, hiding from me as I tried so desperately to get the feeling of insufficient oxygen out of my system. Each breath was shallow, empty nothingness filling my lungs that started to burn as tears filled my eyes. 

I couldn't tell if I was getting enough oxygen, or if my brain was just begging for more of it. It was selfish, requesting me to give it more than it needed, watching me struggle to find the crisp air around me as I continued to panic. 

My body trembled under the weight of itself, each system in my body feeling like it was running around the vessel I was attached to, screaming at me to fix a problem that wasn't there. 

Comprehending their words sounded what like trying to imagine a brand-new color felt like. 

Impossible. It made the painful tension in my head ache more and more as I stood there, replicating a statue.

My body didn't listen to me as I tell it to stop, screaming internally as I told my heart to beat slower, telling it that there was no reason for it to beat so fast. But she did the opposite, beating faster and heavier as I gripped the edge of my bathroom counter.