*ON HOLD* clutch me tighter ↠ chloë moretz & nick robinson

four ↠ demise

↠ (pic above of Sadie 😍🙌🏼)

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↠ chap song // bridges - broods

↠ Sadie's P.O.V:

I needed stitches, fifteen of them, in my forehead just above my eye. I was supposed to be thankful that Nick hadn't aimed a little lower because then I wouldn't have had an eye. But how was I supposed to be thankful when my face felt like it was splitting apart?

The doctor said it was a deep cut; there would be a scar and there was nothing that could be done about it. Even when the bleeding had stopped and the stitches were done, the cut was a brutal streak of red-hot pain, searing its way across my forehead. And that wasn't all.

There was something else too, a feeling blooming in my chest that I didn't understand. I knew that I'd been hurt, that I should be angry at Nick for what he'd done. And I suppose, I was, but underneath that thin layer of typical emotion, there was a terrible twisted excitement for the fact that I would always have the scar. He'd said I was his, and now there's a mark on me forever to prove it.

A mark right across my face, to remind everyone of what had happened to me. And to remind me that I was linked to Nicolas Lucca Warren. That he'd practically signed his name on me like I was one of his drawings. I didn't really understand what that meant at the time. I was still young after all.

However after that incident, Alex stayed in the emergency room beside me. We were separated by the light yellow binding curtains. One night after the stitchings, I pondered over and lifted the curtains to see a flaxen haired lady with bright red lipstick snoozing away, her hands clasped together with Alex's. Her clothes and jewellery screamed rich. The lady looked about my mother's age. Alex had all sorts of oxygen tubes attached to him, his injury looked pretty serious. There was a patch of bandage stuck to his right cheek, the soft apple skin that I held, the undefinable warmth that I felt.

But the question that flowed through my head from time to time ever since that incident was, why did Alex save me? Why hadn't he just kick me off the road and ran off with Nick? The question remained a solitare mystery. I never saw Alex again, ever since that happened.

When we came home from the emergency room that day, my mother looked so old. She had aged somehow between the whiteness of the examination room and our doorstep. She kissed my forehead and apologized over and over for what had happened to me. Her tears dripped into my hair.

"I should have known better Sadie", she sobbed clutching me to her chest. "Your daddy was right, your daddy knows better than me." My father had hugged me for a long time when we came home from the emergency room. But, unlike last time, he didn't seem to be able to look at my face. He left the house, slamming the door behind him. A once-in-a-lifetime event. I'd never seen him act that way before, and I never have since. My father is not the type of man given to storming off.

"It's not your fault mum", I told her faintly after the headlights of my father's car receeded down the driveway and into the darkness. "Nick is so good."

"What do you mean?", she asked me. "You can't tell...", I trailed off, unable to articulate what I wanted to say.

My mother put me to bed, read my favorite storybook three times over, even though I should've outgrown my love for it by then. Even though earlier that year, I'd decided I was too old to be read to at bedtime. It was something about a princess, something corny with lots of pink in the illustrations. After that night, it ceased to be my favorite. We never read it again, although it remained on my bookshelf for a few years afterwards. Until one day I boxed up and donated a bunch of things I thought I was too old for, including storybooks.