Bitter Rose [Diabolik Lovers]

Chapter Eight: So, About That Therapist I Mentioned Earlier

NOTICE: Shit's about to get real ;)

Translations:

Je vais bien - I'm fine

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"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

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Rose woke up slowly, as though she was being dragged out of her own head through layers of molasses. The first thing she noticed was the pain in her neck. However, her body soon caught up, and Rose groaned as all her muscles protested any movement. She must have been clenched up in her sleep.

Sitting up with a few muttered swears, Rose glanced around the room. There was no sign of Sabirah, and maybe it made her a bad friend, but Rose was glad. She didn't want to deal with Sabirah's sympathy, no matter how well-founded it was. Rose just wanted to forget.

Unfortunately, her mind didn't seem to want to get with the program, and as Rose woke up more, she was assaulted with memories, both years old and recent. The phantom feeling of hands on her body, teeth sliding against her neck, pain, fury, and the anguish that came with one's bodily autonomy being ripped away all filled her head, and a scream built up in her throat. Panting through clenched teeth, Rose bolted out of Sabirah's bed and into the adjoining bathroom, wanting some way to wipe herself clean.

Before she could make her way over to the shower--she could no longer willingly enter even a bathtub--Rose caught sight of herself in the mirror. Shock ran through her at the too-thin face, cracked lips, and hollow, near-colorless grey eyes that stared back at her. She looked washed out and downright ghostly, and that was saying something considering her natural coloring. Even the purple tips in her blonde hair were surprisingly muted.

I look like utter hell, she thought numbly, turning away from the mirror and starting the shower. Tapping her fingers against her thigh anxiously as she waited for it to warm up--another thing she couldn't force herself into: cold showers--Rose felt herself glancing around the room, paranoia welling up inside her. She couldn't be sure the brothers wouldn't find her, and that thought alone sent her into the shower, scalding her skin in her impatience.

Rose quickly down the temperature as she maneuvered around the spray to avoid being burned again, and soon she was scrubbing at her skin frantically as though she could scrape away the memories if she cleaned hard enough. Rubbing at her arms and waist until the skin turned red and raw, Rose felt tears well up in her eyes. She was on the verge of a meltdown despite her best efforts, and the pain that flared as she moved to scrub her neck didn't help.

Finally, Rose just sank to her knees and sobbed, the warm water mixing with her tears as they ran down her face. She hated this place, hated the constant fear, hated how she'd run from one cage only to be caught in another. It felt like Rose was living more in her past trauma than the present, slowly going insane under the pressure of the memories, but Rose didn't know how to fix it. She didn't know how to fix herself. You can't.

Rose jerked to her feet, startled by the voice. It felt like someone had whispered it in her ear, but as she spun around, she couldn't see anyone. Look at her, gawking around like an idiot searching for something that isn't there. Poor little Rosie's going crazy. Rose flinched. This one was clearer and dripped with malice, where the other was breathy with sorrow. This wasn't the first time she'd heard voices, but they came from inside her head, and she could respond to them with enough sass and confidence to shut them up. These, Rose didn't know how to handle these. She didn't even know what they were.