LABYRINTH | Scarlett Johansson x Daughter

19 | bloodied knuckles.

"Just keep breathing in and out. You're doing great, Kenzie," Ryan speaks in a gentle manner.

I've been awake since the ungodly hour of four-fifteen this morning and the crippling anxiety toward my parent's funeral kept me from getting back to sleep, so I just decided to get up.

I went for a run first thing, which I knew I'd regret but did it regardless. Now I have a scrape on my left knee to remind me of my stupid decision to do it in the dark, whilst it was raining.
After getting back and cleaning myself up in the shower I figured I may as well start getting ready, so I threw on the only black dress I own from the suitcase I still am yet to unpack.
I then did a light layer of makeup and straightened my hair before sitting back in my bed and staring at the wall.

It has become a new habit of mine.

I let my thoughts consume me enough to the point of feeling numb, and then I would typically either fall asleep or, not feel enough to finally be able to function...sort of.

This time, my endless thoughts led to an anxiety attack. My dress suddenly felt too tight, my makeup felt dirty on my skin, my bed sheets felt as though they were restricting me, and it felt like my bedroom was closing in.

Clearly not in my right mind, I turned to punching and hitting of the walls until my knuckles were bloody and bruised with the idea that it would somehow make me feel less constricted by everything surrounding me.
It didn't.
But apparently I was making enough of a noise to send Ryan and Sam both running into my room.

They got me to stop before I broke any bones, but in the meantime I think I bruised Sam's ribs as he tried to hold me back.

Now, with my back leaning against his chest and Ryan's hands softly grasped onto my wrists I'm finally getting my breathing back under control.

"Sorry for hurting you," I mumble. I'm not entirely sure who I'm aiming the apology at, but I most likely accidentally hit both of them at one point so I'm sure it won't hurt for either of them to hear.

"Don't be," Ryan answers, a small but sad smile resting on his lips, "I'm just going to get a few things to clean up your hands before Scarlett gets here, okay?"

"Is it already nearly nine?" I question with a frown. She's picking me up for the funeral at that time and last time I looked at the clock it was only seven-thirty.

"It's just past now," he informs me, stepping out of the room.

"I need to fix myself up, I probably have mascara all down my cheeks," I panic. I hate running short for time.

"No, hey. Hey, your mascara is fine. Just relax," Sam speaks calmly.

"Don't tell me to relax. I don't need to relax. I need to finish getting ready. I can't be late."

Before he has the chance to speak again, I've stood myself up from the floor and locked myself in the bathroom.
All the makeup I took out from my suitcase earlier is scattered across the counter which internally makes me cringe. I hate that in less than a week I've become a completely unorganised, unmotivated and unproductive human being. I don't care how bad the circumstances might be, I can't afford to lose grip on the things that make me feel as though I've got it under control.

As I look up at myself in the mirror, I bring my bloody fingers up to my face. My makeup is perfectly fine, just like Sam had told me which is why I'm unsure my next course of action is to try rubbing it all off with my bare hands. I only end up with blood stained cheeks and black eyes.

"You idiot. I hate you," I say under my own breath, kicking the bottom of the the sink. Thank goodness for the boots I'm wearing because I'd hate to imagine how much that would have hurt otherwise.