Ashes, Ashes

The Ruins

- c h a p t e r   t w e n t y - 

Emma had gotten herself into the most monotonous existence she'd ever been through, and there didn't seem to be any way to stop it. Weeks could pass by without even a slight change in her life. Oh, she loathed the way it pressed down upon her like the world would cave into her - but she still tried her best to get through it all even if it took hundreds of sighs.

Of course, Emma didn't want herself to go through such monotony. She tried to push herself away from it as much as physically possible, even though it often left her fall into an abyss of far more harmful things. Emma didn't know what she was doing with her life any longer, and yet she decided it would be best if she continued heaving herself through it.

She didn't want to get sent back to the psych ward because of anything she did. She didn't want to be labelled as mad - it was bad enough with everything she'd been through thus far, how her mind tended to weave itself into the fabric creating a waking nightmare.

Perhaps it was better to be bored, then. Sometimes she would pick up her cat. Other days she would pick up her cello. Now and then she'd tie a ribbon on her project, if she felt up to it. All she knew was that she had to hauling herself onwards, no matter how numb she felt.

As if it were to solve her looping dilemna in a single morning, Emma woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. It sounded as if it were a prosester trying to screech at the top of their lungs. Nauseated, she began to force herself to sit up. She'd been drinking and smoking the previous night, and frankly she hadn't gotten enough sleep. Her feet pattered out a rhythm as scattered as the stars as she stumbled over to where the phone would not stop howling.

"What is it?" Emma asked, irritation flooding her voice.

"It's Molly," the voice over the line said. And it was most certainly Molly. She could hear the quiver of emotion in her voice. God, she sounded horrible.

"Okay, Molly. What is it?" she asked. After realising the way she'd snapped, Emma continued with an explanation. "I'm not feeling all that great today. So if you could, please make this quick. I do want to help. Really."

"I broke off the engagement with Tom. But would've seen that coming, yes?"

"Um..." Emma said, this statement not processing her mind. She remained in somewhat of a haze, her still half-asleep brain replying to her thoughts with shattering ripples of pain.

"Are you trying to say you don't know?" Molly asked. "You have to know. Sherlock just came over here and told me what was happening, and then I asked Tom and he...we had to break off the engagement. Don't pretend you're oblivious to what's happening."

"I don't have the foggiest what you're going on about, Molly," Emma said, letting out o groan. This conversation, while the most interesting one she'd had in ages, was persisting on for far longer than she could bear. "I'm sorry that you're no longer engaged. I know it feels horrible. Well, I wouldn't really know, but...sorry."

"Emma, no," Molly snapped, her voice turning into a sharpened dagger. "Wait. I know what you did. Sherlock told me that you slept with Tom. And Tom said you did it, too."

A wave of nausea coursed through Emma, causing her knees to quiver. Oh, God. Now she remembered what was going on. It had taken her long enough, of course...oh, God. Emma really had done that. She remembered it painstakingly well. And it had been after the Watson's wedding, too. Oh, God. She'd made a fatal mistake there. How had she managed to forget such a thing?

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Molly asked, trying to inject force into her voice but instead managing to make her voice crack as if it were made out of glass which had just been pulverised by stones.