In The Light

Bloom and Grow Pt. 3: Blossom of Snow

Tor felt three things when Aaron kissed her on the cheek under that mistletoe. Firstly, she felt the realization that he would only ever see her as a friend settle on her heart. His solidly platonic gesture soundly doused whatever feeble hopes she had been kindling for the past months. Secondly, she felt a new flower open over her heart, blotting out the last bare patch of skin over that shattered organ. Thirdly, she felt her skin tearing open at the raw edges of the newest petals, like a knife was tracing along the edges with just enough force to make her bleed.

Any one of those sensations separately would have been enough to make her sway, but the combination of them nearly felled her. Aaron was still holding her shoulders, thank goodness, because otherwise, she would have crumpled at his feet. A small gasp broke through her lips, mercifully soft enough for Aaron to miss it. She slammed her mask over her pain, cutting herself off from the emotions that accompanied it long enough to give him a smile and a soft "Merry Christmas."

She forced her feet to carry her to the dining room, every step feeling like it was shaking something loose within her. She pressed her hand to her chest when she sank into her chair, begging her traitorous heart to stop pounding long enough for her to get her bearings. The fabric of her dress was damp with sweat, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

It wasn't sweat.

It was blood.

Shit.

She quickly smeared it on the thick black fabric of her dress and excused herself. She damn near tore her dress in her haste to get it off the second she closed the bathroom door behind her. Tears burned her eyes, and panic closed her throat as she fumbled with the zipper, curses breaking through her control every time her clammy fingers slipped. Finally, she was freed from the damned shroud. A single glance was all it took to tell that she had not been imagining it. The edges of the fresh flower were red, like a tattoo where the needle had sunk too deep and dragged through the skin. She stood there, her dress pooled at her feet, her chest heaving, and her bra red from the blood trickling down from her flowers.

"Shit," she hissed, snatching a wad of toilet paper and blotting at it in a panic. Yet every time she cleaned her skin, fresh droplets appeared. "Double mother fucking son of a bitch shit!"

She grabbed fresh toilet paper and packed it onto her wound, praying to any deity that hadn't decided to ruin her life that it did not fall out of her dress and land in a bloody heap at the feet of her coworkers. If she could just keep it together- literally and figuratively, for the rest of the party, then she could go home and make a plan.

She had no idea what that plan would entail, but that was future Tor's problem. Present Tor had enough to deal with.

Fucking pathetic, the shadows crowed as she redressed herself with shaking hands. She kept having to stop to fix her makeshift bandages, making the whole process take so long that she half expected someone to come looking for her. Clean up the blood, Victoria, they commanded her. No one can know.

No one can know.

No one can know.

Enduring the remainder of David's party felt like a death by a thousand cuts. Every passing glance from Aaron- every flicker of a smile and quirk of his brow- sent the knife deeper into the skin around her freshest flower. Aaron stopped her when they were returning to the living room with the others.

"Are you alright?" he asked lowly, his eyes darting between her and the mistletoe hanging ten feet away from them.

"I'm fine!" she insisted brightly.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line-" he began, and Tor could have sworn she felt her wound deepen at the sound of his regret.

"Hotch, it's fine," she assured him quickly. "Please, don't trouble yourself over me!"