𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | 𝐁𝐋

𝟎𝟏𝟗

a/n; got a little carried away so here's a 5.5k word chapter instead of the usual 3.3k lol — we are entering the juicy parts of the story!! don't be a silent reader and remember to vote and comment as it really keeps me motivated!

—

You were the kind of person who didn't get sick. But on your fifteenth birthday, you got sick for the second time in your life.

It was quite dramatic, actually. According to Silvia, you had collapsed in the middle of nowhere. You remembered faint blips of it — you had felt Silas desperately pressing on your neck, where your pulse was — you could hear the smattering of feet as Silvia ran to call for help, and you could feel the faint thuds of your heartbeat against the cold floor.

You felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness, and for once, you felt the anxiety bleed out of you.

Silvia called it a bad omen, and Silas had looked at her with irritation and had told her to keep quiet. Silvia could only slip by your room occasionally for she was being hounded for work, but Silas had the freedom to stay by your side to care for you. He dabbed at your forehead with a cool towel whenever you started to sweat, and draped blankets over your body whenever you started to shiver.

He was thirteen now. Both Silvia and Silas were. In a flash, you had watched the six year old boy whom you had once carried in your arms turn into a teenager. A two years age difference might not have seemed like a big deal to anyone, but to you, it was like a growing chasm. In that one year that you had transitioned from fourteen to fifteen, you had grown more aware of the world you lived in.

Nothing had changed, really, but your mind did. And your mind tormented you by playing memories of your family over and over again, leading you to dissect every single thing. And the realizations that came with it embittered you.

You had grown to resent your family. You were fifteen now, with more questions that answers. With more crushed hopes than high spirits. You were no longer a child of eight begging and begging for your parents' attention —

No. You still foolishly wished for that. You were fifteen now, and yet you still didn't want to grow up.

You envisioned yourself as eight, picking berries with Silas. You envisioned yourself at nine, your mother before you, wiping your cherry-stained fingers as the light shone on your face. You envisioned your life at ten, peppered with cruel training and horrible tears. Then you skipped the useless year eleven and headed straight for twelve. Your twelfth year had been a heartbreaking year, but the thirteenth year had mended you — you remembered laughing so hard that your belly ached. Your fourteenth year had been dismal, less bright. However, you still remembered the clearness of the sky and your sticky fingers, the endless summer that poured in front of you.

You remembered so much joy, so much pain, so much grief.

You remembered Silas. You would always remember him. You thought of writing about him in your journal again, but you didn't. You were starting to be afraid of how to handle your emotions: you were too angry, at times, too happy at times, too scared at times. Your fifteen year old self shivered with panic fraught nerves, and you so desperately wanted someone to strip you to a subatomic layer, to examine you, eviscerate you.