Your Fall

Notebook

It's been nineteen days since the shaking and twitching have stopped. It's been eighteen days since your last seizure. You have been keeping count. Not in your head. It's too cloudy and confusing. You've been keeping count on your skin.

Your left arm counts the number of days for shakes. Those are deep. Dark reds. Tight and short cuts.

Your right arm counts the days for the seizure. Those are messy. Not straight. Not deep. Long and crossed. Mistakes and slip-ups.

"Y/n." The door to the living quarters closes. You abruptly shove the piece of glass back in your sweatshirt pocket, tugging forcefully on the sleeves. You sit still and allow your glassy gaze to sweep over the bathroom. You lick your lips. They are still dry. The bruise is still there. You continue to bite it. Always earning a sigh from Raven and a beating in your head.

"I see you haven't moved." Her chipper voice seems hollow. She leans down in front of you keeping her eyes on yours. She leans in and squeezes. You sit like that. The calm of her squeeze, the reassurance you feel even if fleeting.

She pulls you up from the floor of the bathroom, helping you find your footing as you both move out to the main room of the living area. She heaves you onto the couch before moving to grab a blanket and wrap it around your small torso. Your eyes lock on a beaten-up brown notebook laying on the table.

"You know, eventually, we are going to have to get you into the shower." She moves to the kitchen. Her footsteps lightly tapping the ground. You stay still, rubbing the fabric of your worn sweatshirt against the raw skin of your wrists. The brown notebook is close to the edge of the table. It could fall if it is pushed hard enough.

There's a clatter in the kitchen but you don't move. You know Raven is fine because you can hear her humming to herself as she makes another clatter. A thud sounds behind you and you flinch. Your body tightens beneath the blanket. Your head is stuck forward, stuck on the tattered cover. No matter how hard you try to move it, nothing in your body seems to react.

"You know..." Raven places a plate in front of you on the table on top of the notebook, before sitting beside you on the couch, "eventually, you are going to have to talk to me." The cushions beside you shift as she gets comfortable, copying your criss-cross applesauce.

You don't respond. She sighs beside you, leaning against you as she reaches forward to grab your plate and hand it to you. The scratches of the cover look old.

"That's for you." You push your gaze to her, her eyes on the notebook. "If you aren't going to talk then I ask you to at least write or doodle it down as you did with Cayen." The room seems to freeze. Your throat tightens. You hadn't heard his name for a few weeks. Over nineteen days, your skin burns against the ragged interior of your sweatshirt. You stare at the journal, your hands warm and numb. You can hear Raven scooping her food. You can feel her eyes on you. Her stare is worried. You can feel the anxiety crackle around you but you don't move. You didn't even realize you had started to cry until the plate was taken out of your hand and you were pulled into a hug; Raven slowly wiping the tears off your cheeks.

"I forgot to tell you," her arm wraps around your shoulders, playing with the ends of your hair, "Arly and I made a tattoo based on your father's nickname for you."

The notebook is quiet. It makes no sense that you expect it to move. That you expect it to surround you. Your neck relaxes as Raven continues to play with your hair and though your gaze doesn't move from the table in front of you, your body seems to melt into Raven letting her warmth wrap around you.

Raven lightly hums beside you, her fingers play with the tune within the tangles of your tousled hair. Your eyes close with the leather-bound notebook playing in your head as her hum vibrates within you.

You exhale before the peaceful dark overtakes you.

~

You flinch at her gasp as your sweatshirt hits the floor. You stare at the running water in front of you, knowing there are tears in her eyes. You know that you are hurting her and that you don't deserve her.

"Y/nn..." Your skin flinches at her touch. You close your eyes to stop the stinging of the tears. "Okay... I- I will go wash this. Please remember, we need to leave to see Arly within the next hour." You don't move. Just pay attention to your breathing as you hear her step away from you and close the door behind her.

Releasing a breath you open your eyes and look around the bathroom. The sink's counter is empty. You won't find any help there. Your eyes drift to the mirror and freeze. You see someone stare at you. The bags under her eyes drag down the murky browns of her orbs. Her skin is pale and patchy making the blue-purple of the bags stand out against the sickly pattern. Her nose is pink. Her lips are raggedy with a slight bruise to the left side of them.

She stares at you through her distant orbs. You stare back, frozen. Your skin is cold. You know hers must be cold as well. You close your eyes trying to remember what the notebook looks like.

Your hands shake as you slowly begin to undress. First your pants. Then your underwear. You take a breath and drag the shirt over your head, relishing in the pain of your wrists scratching against the cloth. Next your bra, that you let drop by your toes. You struggle to get your feet out of the holes of pants but finally, you enter the shower.

You let the heat rage against your skin.