𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗡𝗔 ↝︎ ᵍʳᵃʰᵃᵐ ᵈᵘⁿⁿᵉ

𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧, 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙨

track two: i'll take you there

BLAIRE: In my head at the time, I fought so hard to believe that being away from my parents meant it healed of any psychological scars — that they couldn't haunt me anymore.

INTERVIEWER: And were you — 'healed'?

BLAIRE: No. No, not in the slightest.

I dreamt of their indignation. I dreamt of being in that house again. I dreamt of having no control over my legs and trudging back into that bathroom, getting my sister's blood all over my hands. Memories of their earth-shaking voices and the chill that always ran up my spine trickled into my dreams. An ocean of their venomous words contaminated whatever good thoughts I drilled into my mind.

As I silently wept on the bathroom floor with my sister in my arms, I could feel the walls getting smaller, threatening to take me with her. Worst of all, I wanted them to. Life without Eva didn't make sense. It was like someone had clawed a part of my identity out of my chest. Crimson blood discolored my clothes and my palms. I remember being unable to scrub it off my unsteady hands. So, so much blood that it felt like my own blood was pooling around me from the fresh cavity in my heart.

I screamed and screamed and screamed, but no one rushed to help. After all, no sound came out. Left alone to stare into her lifeless eyes, my fingers trailed over her facial features. The eyes that once knew every corner of my life and every inch of my personality were liberated from the shackles of melancholy.

My heart would not stop detonating itself with sorrow as I felt it splinter in half. Fragments of what our life could have been like dashed through my mind, taunting me, mocking me.

Oxygen seemingly having disappeared, the discomfort in my chest intensified, uneven breaths abandoning my lips. Where were our parents? Tears sprung from the corners of my eyes. What should I do? Tears glided down my cheeks, taking the same route other drops had, ingraining a story into my skin with indiscernible ink. How do I bring her back? Tears mixed in with the blood. How do I —

In a panic, I jerked awake, intimidated by my own beating heart. If it meant quieting it down, I wanted to rip it out of my chest. Too entangled in thorny vines of hysteria, I didn't notice someone knocking on the door at first.

"Blaire, you alright?" a voice said. Thin walls separated the rooms. It was no wonder someone heard my distress.

Shuddering breaths were the only response I could make. However, with shaky hands, I wrapped my arms around myself, doing my best to ease up to answer whoever was at the door. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you were alright," Graham repeated. Again, concern remained notable in his voice. Of course, it was him. It was stupid of me to think otherwise. Running a hand through my hair, I realized how clammy my skin was.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I whispered, unwanted tears finding their way down my face, proving me a liar and wrong. The silence he replied with seemed to doubt me.

"You sure?" he asked, struggling not to burst inside and see if I was telling the truth or not.

Chest contorting with pain, I nodded, forcing myself to believe my lie. "I'm sure, Graham. Promise."

GRAHAM: She's a terrible liar. I didn't believe her for a fucking second.

"B, please open the door," he whispered.

Right, I had left the door locked out of habit. The certainty in his voice told me he wasn't going anywhere until I opened the door. Wiping my tears and blinking rapidly to reduce my eyes' redness, I forced myself to move until I reached the door, unlocking it sluggishly. Before letting him in, I breathed in and out a couple of times, wanting to appear like nothing happened.