Celeste's childhood wasn't something she loved talking about. It was filled with nothing but painful memories. Whether they were the ones from when her father, along with her brothers, left, or the ones from her mother's death and her stepfather's a...
tw: mentions of suicidal thoughts and suicide, please be careful while reading
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— 3rd person pov —
QUIETUDE SNUCK INTO one's life in many different shapes and forms. A peaceful quietude existed. It was gentle and sweet. It was calming and soothing. Its arms offered the warmest hugs, and its hands were capable of curing every single ache that had taken one's heart as a habitat.
Then, there was the haunting quietude. It was the one that lingered in the shadows and resided in the horrific darkness. Its arms were coated with pins and needles: ones that not only pierced one's ears and tore them into shreds, but also extended to the rest of their body, wreaking havoc and unleashing a beast of destruction and mayhem upon their organs.
Celeste loved quietude, but she also happened to fear it. At times, its amplifying echo was no different from an ephemeral breeze that kept her warm, shielding her from the cold. At others, however, its deafening scream was a scorching flame of ruins that burned everything it touched. Her views on quietude altered with the changing circumstances of her life.
With every tick of the clock, Celeste drowned deeper in the quietude as she clung tighter to its deceiving features. She allowed the silence to engulf her and circle her thoughts as it pulled her deeper and deeper into its suffocating depths. She let that fierce beast settle upon her lungs and squeeze them, draining them of every ounce of Oxygen. Her chest constricted and despite that, she found herself breathing a little easier.
When she opened her eyes again, she ignored the way they stung and stared blankly at the thin barrier separating her peace from reality. A small wave danced in her line of vision, and she mentally smiled, thinking of how it carried her pain away.
Despite the momentary tranquility that wrapped around her senses and the short-lived numbness that bandaged her wounded heart, Celeste's throat constricted. And for the first time in a while, it wasn't due to the sob that had settled upon its walls. It was rather due to the lack of Oxygen—the lack of an element so essential to her life that she began to give up on it.
Celeste didn't process what was happening. Not really. Her mind was elsewhere. Her senses were trapped in a trance. All that mattered to her was how quiet it sounded down there. All that mattered was that the deafening voices and the haunting murmurs that occupied her mind had finally perished and died, suffocating before she did.
Her flickering vision watched the bubbles bouncing above her. Her attention was entirely captivated.
For the first time in a while, she was safe. Or that was what she believed—that was what she deceived her mind into believing. Jack could not touch her, and his friends could not reach for her. The bitter reality about the horrors her mother had lived in got diluted. It was fading, even if for a moment. Beneath the barrier that separated her from reality, Celeste was shielded from the cruelty of the world. For the first time, she was the one in control of her body. Not someone else. Not something else. Not her fear or panic or sadness. It was her and only her.
