decisions (n.)
a conclusion or resolution reached after consideration.
CHECKMATE #4
"world-changing decisions are hard to make, but learning you have to sacrifice is even harder."
Life has gone back to normal in the Adelaide Woods five years after t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
track #02 in cadence aurora di angelo
enhypen // go big or go home
I LIE awake at night staring at the blank walls, the purple bruise on my arm throbbing and pulsing with extreme pain that rubbing won't bring away. I can't imagine how painful the cut is for Trissy, if a measly bruise like mine can keep me from falling asleep. It's deja vu for all of us. Injuries like these cause flashbacks, just like how it did for Eunice in the game room. Flashbacks like killing people and suffering the Gods' karma from injuries of our own.
This bruise, especially, reminds me of the time I bumped into a lamppost as I was walking home from school. It was exactly the same size and hurt nearly as much as this time.
Something in the back of my brain urges me to go check up on Trissy and apologize, so I do exactly that, but in my own way.
I slip out of bed and sit down at my desk chair. Pulling out a piece of lined paper from my drawer, I scribble down what I have to say to Trissy. See, I have a stubborn personality, which means my face-to-face apologies always end up making the situation worse. Way worse. And awkward too. Plus, he might be asleep, so I don't want to disturb him.
After a while, I sign my name at the bottom of endless scribbles. I fold up the letter and walk up to his room, trudging up the stairs, being careful not to wake anyone up after such a long day. Once I finish walking up the two flights of stairs, Trissy's yellow door stands in front of me. Hurriedly, I slip the sheet of paper under his door and hope he sees it tomorrow morning before scurrying away.
As I turn back to the staircase, the door behind me slides open and Trissy steps outside, the sheet of paper in his hands. He looks down at it then to me, an incomprehensible message in his eyes. "Cady, I'm sorry for calling you a kid and pushing you away when you were trying to help me," he whispers, and I glance back at him. "You looked angry when we went back to our rooms."
I gape at him, eyes wide. "I thought you were mad! I was so worried." I hesitate before speaking again, and this time, the words flood out of me like a waterfall. "I'm sorry, Trissy. I shouldn't have hit you. I should've just let the headset fall. I should've fixed the wires when I could. I'm sorry. I-"
I blink multiple times when I see the look on Trissy's face, full of worry. "Are you okay?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side. "Cady, you seem upset about something. Do you want to talk about it?"
I recoil instantly, a singular word ringing in my head like a fire alarm. Rylie. Rylie. Rylie. This sentence. Rylie's said it to me before. "Why are you just like him?" I mutter under my breath, so softly that Trissy probably couldn't even hear. "I'm fine, but thanks for asking."
My eyes immediately fly to his leg injury as Trissy stares at my elbow. "Does it hurt a lot?" we ask at the same time and double over chortling.
