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jgukmilk · 4 years

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he won’t know (m) 02

➔ summary: after an unforgivable weekend at Jimin’s summer house, you come home and decide to set things right, you wish you hadn’t.

➔ pairing: Jungkook X Reader

➔ genre: cheating!au, smut (not this chapter tho), lots of angst.

➔ warnings: sexual harassment (please refrain from reading if this is a trigger), lots of angsty scenes, reader cries so much:(( protect her, mature language, degrading, a lot of inner-conflict my gOD, jungoo is a soft idiot.

➔ wordcount: 9k

➔ notes: If you haven’t read the first part, then please make sure to do so otherwise the story won’t make sense!

part 1 part 2, part 3 (final)

Sunday, 07:36 AM

You swear you had never bolted out of a bed as fast as you did the morning after, which wasn’t like you since you always enjoyed staying in under the sheets a few hours more than necessary, especially because this was the perfect opportunity to get a little extra shut-eye.

But when you fluttered your eyes open the next morning, only to find yourself wrapping your naked body around another’s – you couldn’t even begin to explain the adrenaline rush that had coursed through your body.

It felt as if Satan had visited the room with a flick of fire from hell on his finger, and scratched it along the naked spine of your back.

Faster than a prey being chased by a predator, you grabbed your shirt that had been thrown to a far corner of the room the previous night. Along with your panties, you threw on all clothing items swiftly yet quietly in attempt to not wake the boy sleeping soundly on the master bedroom’s bed.

You stopped wrestling through your shirt when you caught a glimpse of his ruffled hair peaking throw the duvet. You walked to the side of the bed, seeing him sleeping peacefully. Subconsciously a warm smile threatened to twitch on the sides of your lips.

His eyes were gently closed, letting his dark lashes lay perfectly just above his cheekbone. His lips were cutely pouting, slightly chapped but you found it adorable. His shoulders were rising and falling slowly indicating he was taking small gentle breaths. He looked so peaceful, so warm.

In an ideal world – you would’ve crawled into bed with him and wrapped your cold form around his, in attempt to warm yourself up while nuzzling your nose into his neck. But this wasn’t an ideal world. This was your reality, and things were different whether you liked it or not.

You made your way to the door; slowly opening it you scanned the halls making sure they were empty. The lord was on your side today, having marked the hallway completely clean from any trace of your friends. You sighed lowly in relief as you quickly tiptoed back to Jimin’s room you had supposedly shared with Mina.

Mina…

“Fuck,” you had completely forgotten about the possibility of your best friend noticing the lack of your presence throughout the night. You stood just outside the door with your nose a few breathes away from the finely carved wood while looking up at the ceiling, silently praying that you would open the door, only to find your best friend asleep on the bed.

Your sweaty palm turned the knob gently as you made an attempt to peak your head through the opening of the door you had just created.

You saw an outline on top of the sheets of what looked like a spread out body, you couldn’t see her face but you saw locks of hair hanging down the edge of the bed. Once again you sighed before stepping into the room completely as you gently shut the door behind you.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Your feet sprung from the ground as if hot lava was under them, “Christ, Mina!” You whisper-yelled placing your hand over you chest to see if your heart was still where it was supposed to be. You took a moment to collect yourself before looking up at the girl who had now sat up on the bed, back leaning against the headboard of the bed with her arms crossed, awaiting an explanation from none other than you.

“You just made my heart drop to my ass, you know that?” you huffed while rubbing your chest, trying to ease your increased heartbeat.

“Then you know how I felt when I woke up this morning to see you weren’t there, where in the world were you, woman?” she tapped her index finger that was placed over her right bicep.

“I was—uhh…”

Getting dicked down by Jungkook the entire night.

“Out for a walk! Yeah!” you exclaimed happily, you coughed awkwardly when you noticed her eyes squint in suspicion. Only by then had you realized how made-up your tone made the statement sound.

“I-I mean—I was out for a walk, you know, fresh air and… stuff,” you casually leaned against the door behind you, blowing the lock of hair in front of your hair to give you that chill, laidback image, while you calmly held eye contact with the unconvinced friend in front of you.

Her eyes left yours, scanning you from top to bottom. You saw her eyebrow raise in confusion, you mirrored her action unaware of her state of puzzlement.

“Dressed like that?” your cool left you face, you stood up straight on both feet, tilting your head down to scan your clothes, when you realized. You were barely wearing any.

“What’s wrong with what I put on?” you pouted a fake pout, acting completely oblivious about the fact that you were basically half naked as you spoke.

“‘What I put on,’” she mimicked you, “Y/N, the catch here is that you barely have anything on!” she wasn’t wrong, you stood in front of her solely wearing an oversized t-shirt along with a pair of very petite panties that covered just enough to maintain your dignity.

You sighed in defeat not knowing how to properly tell her the truth, “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but at least don’t lie to me,” she uncrossed her arms in sync with her facial expressions beginning to soften.

“Yeah, you’re right. I know you are,” you started, “I just don’t know how to tell you without sounding like a complete jerk.”

Did you regret it? You didn’t know, but you knew you felt guilty. Not because you cheated – well that too – but because you actually had to dig deep to find any form of moral regret. You felt bad because you hardly felt guilty.

Or maybe you just hadn’t wrapped your head about what had happened yet, you hadn’t even been awake for a full hour, and you knew for a fact you needed more than that to give it some proper thought and wrap your head around it.

“I want to talk to you about it, I just need to process some stuff before I let you in on this whole mess,” you cracked your knuckles as you spoke, a habit that had grown on you every time you grew nervous or even slightly uncomfortable. “I just… I want to understand the situation,” you wanted to understand your feelings.

You looked up only to see Mina’s face soften with slight concern, “is it that bad?” she tilted her head, “n-no—well, yes… I don’t—I don’t know?” you shrugged defeated. “It’s – it’s just very fresh and I-“

She held out a hand in front of her, “you don’t need to explain yourself to me, at least not yet,” the edges of her lips curved up softly, forming a smile, “come to me when you’re ready to talk about it, take all the time you need.” Mina’s kind words only made you sigh in relief. You truly could not express how grateful you were to have gained such an understanding and patient friend like Mina.

You nodded, running your hand through your hair only to grimace at the oily feeling of your locks, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Yeah please do, you stink.” She pinched her nostrils shut with her thumb and index finger, “I can smell you all the way from here,” she waved the air in front of her, playfully. You too a quick whiff at your armpits, “it’s not that bad…” you pouted.

–

Wrapping the towel around your frame, you exited the shower while rubbing another towel in your hair trying your best to dry it. You scanned the room quickly seeing that you were alone. Strolling over to the mirror to get a better look at yourself, you flipped your hair to your other shoulder wanting to dry your hair from a new angle.

“WHAT THE FUC-“ you slapped your hand over your mouth only to remove it again seconds later, you rubbed your eyes, internally praying that your eyes were playing some kind of sick joke on you.

You traced your fingers over the reddish-purple like bruises that had been painted generously across your neck, “no, no, no, no!” you tried rubbing it away as if it was some prank someone had pulled on you and that there was no other explanation to the hickeys smeared all over your neck. Though it only resulted in you hissing from the pressure you had applied to the sore skin.

You ran to your bag, rummaging for your makeup bag to desperately pull out the concealer to cover up the marks. When spotting the tube, you raised it up in the air as if you had made a marvellous discovery. Jerking the applier in and out of the tube you heard a sudden knock on the door. You looked at the door in horror.

“Just a second!”

You turned your gaze back to the mirror hurriedly applying the liquid over your necking, blending it in to look as natural as possible. “What kind of blood-sucking leech–” you whispered aggressively to yourself when you saw the kiss marks still very noticeable. You could have done better applying it but time was against you, so you spread your hair in front of you to cover up as much of it as you could, fluffing it out.

“Come in!” You said to whoever was behind the door. You saw the knob of the door twist and open, revealing Jimin sticking his head in with a bright smile. “Morning, Y/N,” he entered the room completely, “breakfast is ready,” you smiled forcefully, “who’s cooking?”

“Jin, as always, anybody else would burn the kitchen down,” you giggled at his comment, “perfect, ‘cause a bitch is hungry,” you pointed dramatically at yourself which only led him to smile even brighter, he extended his hand out for you to take it, and you gladly did so.

You both walked down to the kitchen to see that most of your friends were already present by the kitchen bar table.

“Good morning,” you exclaimed kindly, they all greeted you back, “what are we having,” you licked your lips, clapping your hands excitedly at the smell of the goods while hovering over Jin’s shoulder to get a peak of what he was cooking, “there’s French toast, omelet, bacon, bread and spreads of course.” He explained.

“Oh! There are also fruits like strawberry, blueberry and raspberry in the fridge if you’d like some. So a little bit of everything,” you let out a pleased hum, turning over to the bar table where the cutlery and plates were placed.

Heaven, is that you?

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” you asked hovering over the French toast to pick up a couple of pieces.

Yoongi wiped his mouth with some paper towel before looking at you, “Hoseok went with Namjoon to the grocery store to buy some milk and orange juice,” you felt your throat burning from the name you felt on the tip of your tongue, “and Jungkook?”

“He’s out for a morning jog, he’ll be back in a few, at least that’s what he said,” you nodded while seating yourself between Taehyung and Mina.

You grabbed a plate and started to grab bits of everything, assembling the food nicely on your plate, “someone’s hungry,” Taehyung snickered playfully as he watched you fill every corner of your plate. You rolled your eyes followed by a flick to his forehead, you had quite the appetite, you couldn’t help it.

“Yesterday was exhausting, I need to fuel my body,” you justified yourself and grabbed a fork and knife. “What did you do yesterday since you’re left so famished,” You gulped, cutting the toast on your plate with your knife, with little more pressure than necessary.

“S-swimming, obviously,” you felt the palms of your hands start to break a sweat. Before anyone else could comment, the doorknob to the main door jiggled loudly, followed by three figures entering the room.

“Honey, I’m home!” Hoseok had his hands cupped around his mouth, a bright smile plastered on his lips. Behind him stood two tall frames. Jungkook and Namjoon panting behind Hoseok from the weight of the grocery bags they were carrying. The youngest was panting slightly heavier than the rest, you had assumed it was from the jog.

“I sent you to buy milk and juice not the whole store!” Jin clapped his hands on the side of his hips annoyed. Namjoon smiled innocently, “If it makes you feel better, half of this stuff was on discount.”

They walked over to the kitchen counter, placing the heavy bags filled with goods on the marble surface. The youngest made his way out of the kitchen, while Namjoon and Hoseok comfortably joined the rest of the group at the table, “you not gonna eat?” Yoongi asked with his mouth stuffed with berries.

“I’m gonna take a shower, don’t wait for me,” Jungkook announced before speed-walking up the stairs. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy at how he didn’t spare you a single glance from the moment he stepped in.

–

After breakfast you were left to dry the dishes. Everyone had helped clean up and now you were simply doing your part of the chore, “sure you don’t need help?” Taehyung asked nicely for the umpteenth time

“Yes Tae, I’m sure. Thank you though,” you smiled at him sweetly and he returned the gesture before running off to wherever, leaving you alone in the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes that needed to be cleaned.

You turned your focus back to the plates that needed to dry. Rubbing circular motions of the fine white porcelain with the sky blue towel.

“Wow… you don’t even smile at me that way,” you almost dropped the plate then and there before snapping your head toward the all too familiar voice – Jungkook entered the kitchen with a towel hanging around his neck, a white t-shirt that was stained with a few droplets of water dripping from his hair. You subconsciously gulped the thick spit that had gathered at the back of your throat, fist tightening on the plate at the sight of wet spots sticking to his solid frame.

Without a word you fixed your gaze back at the plate in your hand and continued to wipe the already dry platter, you tried to convince yourself that your palms weren’t sweating, but that they were wet from the beads of water on the plate.

You heard footsteps approach you, “why are you ignoring me, angel?” your toes curled at his calm and collected tone, “don’t call me that,” you chimed firmly. You weren’t looking at him but you saw him tilt his head to the side, he leaned against the counter, which you were sternly facing.

“You liked it yesterday,” you shivered when you felt him brush your hair out of the way, exposing your neck to him. He frowned at the layer of concealer on your skin, anything but the logical answer raced through his mind: why did you cover his marks? Did you regret everything? Were you ashamed? Were you disgusted when seeing the marks in the mirror?

“Why’d you cover them up?” his voice shifted into an unknown tone. A tone you’d heard before, but still – you couldn’t put a label on. He could switch so easily around you; one moment a confident smirk was plastered across his lips, subtly getting on your nerves, and the next he would look so fragile, so insecure, as if you could blow a breath of air his way and he would collapse.

His fingers travelled across the covered red and purple shades on your neck, rubbing off the makeup with his thumb gently, but you only pushed his hand away with a hiss from the applied pressure on the bruise, “I don’t want people to see,” you sighed as if the answer wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world – which, frankly, it was.

“Can I give you more?” You sat the plate down on the pile of porcelain, “what?” you turned around to face him completely, sure you had heard him incorrectly, “I want to mark your skin up some more… will you let me, angel?”

You felt weak to your knees, if your hand hadn’t been on the counter you would’ve fallen on your face for sure. You looked in his eyes for any sign of sike-bitch-you-thought, but you all you saw was hope – hope that you might let him touch you again.

You wanted to slap yourself in that moment. His duality was driving you to the brink of insanity. His eyes were so gentle, so big and doe, god you felt like crying, but his words contradicted his facial expression completely.

You couldn’t bring yourself to utter a word; any trace of your voice at the back of your throat was gone. You stood there, in front of the beautiful boy completely lost in his eyes that held the universe.

You wondered – when stars die, are they reborn in his eyes?

When you didn’t answer, he placed a tender kiss on the curve of your jaw, testing the waters. He knew this could go either way – you’d either slap him across the face and proceed to bolt out of the kitchen screaming, or you’d let him.

He pulled back shivering, seeking for any sort of hint that you wanted him to resume. But all he saw was your closed eyes. Your eyes were so tightly shut it looked like his lips had stung you. He pouted; did you still not feel safe with him?

Forcefully brushing the thought out of his mind, his fingers began to travel up your arms, stimulating every fine hair he’d touch to stand up on its own. Though you never saw, his eyes never left you.

He cupped your jaw with both hands, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. You flinched when you felt a pair of soft rosebud-like lips right under your eye – peck – the bridge of your nose – peck – the tip of your nose – peck.

Your closed eyes softened, slowly opening them up letting your blurry vision adjust to the exposure of light. A relaxed exhale left your lips at the meeting of his eyes.

He damn near melted at the docility in your orbs, you were looking at him so sweetly, so gently.

What he wouldn’t give to have you look at him like this all the time.

He leaned in closer to your face, eyes fixated on your parted lips. You held your breath thinking he was going to kiss you – well he did, but he kissed your chin. Leaving you to have intuitively puckered your soft lips right above his upper lips. His dramatically defined cupids bow barely brushing against your bottom lips.

You had to force yourself from sinking your lips down to his.

He pulled away with a sigh, smiling gently, but you could see it was enforced. He turned around making his way out of the kitchen.

You wanted to stop him, but you knew it’d be for the best to let him leave. Still you stood there, facing the entrance of the kitchen perplexed.

–

Monday 06:16 PM

The weekend was now over, and so was the small break at the beach house. You were now back at your dorm, sat at your desk hitting the books – quite literally – you slapped your fist on and unknown page of the book, frustrated at your lack of concentration.

A line of curses left you mouth, rubbing your hands aggressively against your face in efforts to slap the procrastination out of your system.

Once you got back from the beach house, you immediately rushed to your shared dorm room with Mina, while she had left shortly after to visit Jimin at his dorm, you dug through your pile of school books to find something – anything, that would take your mind of off this weekend.

You sat with your mathematics book, opened up to the chapter about calculus and analytic geometry. You spent the last 45 minutes or so reading over the same sentence talking about how calculus is used to improve architecture, not only buildings, but also bridges and such. Or something along those lines, Ugh!

Finally, you came to the conclusion that this was absolutely useless, so you closed the book and jumped onto your bed. Reaching over to your nightstand to grab your phone, you pressed the button on the side to light up the previously black screen with traces of unread messages.

-1h ago

Jaehyun <3: hey princess

Jaehyun <3: can you come over?

Your stomach curled in an unknown way. Guilt hitting you like a ton of bricks all at once, fuck. You rose from the bed; leaving the phone on your pillow only to look down on it as if it was the ugliest thing you’d ever laid your eyes on.

You covered your mouth with a hand as the other pointed to the phone like it was a maleficent device. You felt your eyes begin to sting with fresh tears. It hit you – It finally fucking hit you. You cheated.

You felt overwhelmed with emotions, all the sentiments written down in the book washed over you to the point where you felt like you were going to burst. Infamy covered every inch of your body – how could you do this?

You felt ashamed, embarrassed of yourself. Not because you were afraid to hurt someone’s feelings, but because this wasn’t you – this wasn’t what you believed in. Cheating was never something you believed in. If you stood by that statement then how could you have let this happen?

How could you let the devil in the form of man tempt you this way? Cajole you to throw away what you believed in for the sake of – of what? God, you didn’t even know.

You didn’t want to admit that you had been selfish enough to carelessly give yourself to Jungkook, while your heart was supposed to belong to someone else.

Someone else, who you were supposed to dedicate all your faith to, all your loyalty, and you couldn’t even do that. How were you supposed to trust yourself if you couldn’t let yourself stay true to one person.

You threw it away – this relationship – you shoved it down the drain, and for what?

Jungkook.

Jeon fucking Jungkook.

The spawn of Lucifer himself. All of your sadness and shame slowly turned into anger. You hated him, you hated Jungkook. He seduced you, and you let him.

Did he do it on purpose? Was he trying to fuck up your life, your relationship? Your faith in yourself? You convinced yourself that this was his plan, that he wanted you to feel like this all along. What other explanation could there have been?

You never exchanged more than two – three on a good day – sentences with the boy, until Saturday. You never spoke to him properly, and he never approached you, until Saturday. He never showed any form of interested in you, Christ – you thought he hated you. You were never sure, until now.

He wanted to fuck up your life, that’s why he did it. Yes, that’s why. There was no other possible explanation to this, but why did he want to ruin everything for you? Did he actually hate your guts so much? You had never done anything to him, at least not of your knowledge. As mentioned, you barely spoke to him at all.

You tried to convince yourself you wanted him to hate you, and you almost believed.

Almost.

It would make things so much easier: You could reciprocate his hate, never speak of the night you two shared together, and then proceed to never speak to one another.

You sat yourself back on your bed with your hands aggressively running through your hair. Looking down at your thighs you saw a wet stain. You wiped your eyes not realizing you had been crying.

“Shit, I forgot my – Y/N?” snapping your head up to the source of the voice you automatically put on a fake smile, forgetting about the contradicting tears streaming down your face, “h-hey.”

She shook her head entering the dorm room completely, shutting the door behind her, “no, Y/N. You don’t give me that shit,” she fell onto the bed with you, wrapping her arms around you in which you immediately accepted.

You couldn’t stop it. Your tears were flowing freely now, low sobs were heard from you whilst your best friend was rubbing her palm in circular motion on your back in attempts to comfort you.

She didn’t speak, and you were thankful for that. All you could do was quietly sob on her shoulder, dampening her pink woollen sweater with your tears, but she didn’t care.

Once you finally calmed down, Mina pulled away, her hands still rubbing up and down along your arms, “is it really that bad?” Her words only made fresh tears dwell under your eyelashes – you instantly saw the regret in her face from asking, but you shook your head trying to communicate; It’s okay.

Rubbing on your already red nose, you sniffled before taking in a deep breath.

“Who’s bed do I need to shit on?” For the first time in a while, you giggled genuinely. God, you were thankful to have her.

“You seriously don’t need to tell me what’s going on but –“ you shook your head, “n-no, no I think it would be nice to let it out to someone.” Her gaze softened.

You lifted your feet from the edge of the bed, turning to her completely and folded you legs comfortably. Mina mirrored your action.

How were you going to tell her? Fuck, she would be so disappointed in you, wouldn’t she? Sure she had always secretly paired you and Jungkook together but certainly this wasn’t what she was thinking. Deciding there was no way to sugarcoat it, you told yourself the best option was to be straightforward.

“I cheated on Jaehyun.” You exhaled, not realizing you had been holding your breath in the first place.

“With, uhm.” You exhaled, “with Jungkook,” her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her skull, neck leaned forward. Not sure she had heard you correctly and surprised ‘what now?’ left her throat.

You couldn’t bare to say it again, so you simply hid your face behind your hands as your head sunk low. You jumped at the feeling of her arms wrapping themselves around you, squeezing you comfortably.

“And you’re beating yourself up because of it I’m guessing?” you pulled away looking at her, “how could I not?!” her eyebrows furrowed melancholically at your glossy eyes, “I cheated! I fucking cheated, I am not that kind of person!” your eyes were pouring with tears at this point.

“At least I thought I wasn’t.”

“You’re not,” you looked at her perplexed, “I’m not telling you cheating is okay, and I definitely think you should talk to Jaehyun about this,” she wiped your wet cheeks, “but your relationship with him… isn’t even a relationship anymore.”

You sniffled, “yeah I know, it’s not a proper excuse,” she explained, “but you of all people would never do this to someone you truly loved.”

You looked down at your hands that were placed comfortably on your lap, fiddling with your fingers while her words rung through your ears, “but I…I do like him.”

She smiled sadly, “and that’s the problem. You don’t love him, you only like him.” She caressed your arms, soothing running her palms up and down. “The way you said that sounded so depressing,” you looked at her, “you even hesitated.” You’re eyeballs were stinging from the hot tears.

“Y/N,” Mina chimed softly, holding your hands in hers, “does he make you happy?”

You nodded looking down at your lap, “look me in the eyes and tell me he makes you happy, and I’ll believe you.” Your blurred gaze shifted to meet hers. They were such easy words, why couldn’t you form them?

“He’s really nice,” you sniffled, “he’s just nice?” she questioned your statement, “damn, I would cheat on my boyfriend as well if nice was all I could describe him as – OW!” she rubbed the sting on the side of her arm, a result of your semi-playful smack, “I’m just messing with you.”

She cheekily smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but feel the corners of your lips twitch.

“It still isn’t an excuse… I should’ve talked to him about our relationship instead of –“ you couldn’t finish you sentence, feeling yourself choke on the words.

“Well.. maybe that’s what you should do now then,” she smiled softly. Yeah, maybe that’s what you should. He deserved to be told the truth, even though it was ugly – but what would come after that? Would he forgive you? If he did, would you even want to keep going with your, so-called, relationship?

What if he absolutely hated your guts after? He didn’t deserve it. Jaehyun wasn’t a match for you, but that still didn’t give you an excuse to go and have sex with Jungkook. You knew that very well.

“Yeah, I’ll go talk to him,” she nodded. You stood up from the bed, grabbing your leather jacket, “wait – right now?” she asked stunned. You nodded back at her while unlocking your phone to text your boyfriend.

“I might die from guilt if I don’t,” you put your phone in your pocket, “I’ll see you tonight,” and with that, you were out the door.

–

You knocked three long knocks on the fine wooden door in front of you, your palms damp with sweat as a result of your boiling nerves. It felt like years before the door opened.

“Princess,” you boyfriend smiled at you, pulling you by the forearm to engulf you with a hug. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist while yours were hanging loosely around his shoulders, he didn’t seem to notice however. “Come in.” he smiled fondly at you, guiding you into his own dorm.

You both sat yourselves on his bed comfortably, it didn’t take long for you to start fidgeting in your seat and it took just as long for him to notice.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with concern in his voice. God, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him.

He placed a finger under your chin attempt to have you look at him, “w-we need to talk.” Your eyes met his. He raised an eyebrow at the significance in your voice. “Okay, talk.”

Where the fuck were you supposed to start?

I fucked a guy I hardly talk to over the weekend, what were you up to? No

I cheated on you because I don’t have feelings for you anymore. No

We should break up. No!

“Hey,” Jaehyun started when your breath became unsteady, “you can tell me anything, you know that right?” No, this you just couldn’t tell him.

“I uhm…” your eyes started stinging. Not the best timing you fuckers! You mentally cussed your tears, “I’m sorry,” a small sob ripped from your throat, “I’m so sorry, Jaehyun,” you were already a mess, tears streaming uncontrollably like they had not even an hour ago.

Jaehyun’s face twisted with concern, puzzled at why you started crying. “I’m horrible. I’m fucking horrible and you don’t deserve it.” Similar to Mina’s actions, his instinct was to wrap his arms around you, soothingly rubbing his thumb on your back.

“No you’re not, you’re perfect for me, Y/N.” you shook your head, disagreeing, “why would you say that?” his voice was gentle.

“I slept with someone else.”

You said it, you finally said it. You had expected that the feeling of a burden taken off of your chest would take over – however, that wasn’t your case at all.

If anything you felt even more terrible than you did in the first place, and the way your boyfriend’s arms loosened around you only made you cry harder.

“What?” was all he could say, looking at you. Any sign of mildness left his face, a cold stare washing over his face.

“Who?” you didn’t answer, “who did you fuck?” your cheeks had turned red at how hard you were rubbing them in attempt to dry your face.

“Y-you don’t know him,” you decided. Who it was, didn’t matter. You didn’t want any drama to escalate; you could clearly imagine a fistfight take place in front of you between Jungkook and Jaehyun. So if you could prevent it, you most certainly would.

“Bullshit,” he spat, “was it one of those fuckers from the weekend,” it was your turn to bark, “fuckers?” you were the one at fault here, there was absolutely no reason for him to label your closest friends so harshly.

“I’m the one who fucked up, don’t attack them,” you pointed at yourself, he scoffed, “you didn’t even deny it,” you stood up from the bed, tears still present under your eyelashes, “I told you! You don’t know him! Does it even fucking matter who it is?” he stood up with you.

“Yes! I have the right to know who the fuck you’re whoring around with!” your eyes widened.

Whoring around with?

“Tell me who you fucked!” at this point you were afraid the whole goddamn campus could hear what you two were fighting about. “No –..!”

In a matter of seconds you were pushed onto the bed, your boyfriend hovering right above you while placed perfectly between your legs. His fingers were tightly wrapped around your wrists, pinned above your head.

All the oxygen was punched right out of your lungs when he aggressively eyed the skin of your neck. Fuck, you hadn’t put concealer on. “You let this fucker shamelessly suck your neck, huh?” he practically crashed his mouth onto the already sore skin of your throat.

“J-Jaehyun what are you doing?” you squirmed uncomfortably beneath him. “Reminding you who the fuck owns you.” You couldn’t help but cringe at his words.

You twisted your wrists uncomfortably, “w-we should talk about this.” He scoffed, his tongue licking a long strip up you neck, sucking harshly. You wanted to scream. “Stop – stop,” you pleaded, wiggling in attempt to shove him off of you. You couldn’t.

“I don’t think just talking is gonna make you keep your hands to yourself. I need to discipline you, princess,” he uttered bitterly. The hairs at the back of your neck rose. Your face was wet, you couldn’t tell if it was from your previous sobs or if new tears had formed.

He moved his lips onto yours, forcefully moving them over yours.

You had kissed him before – many, many times, but it felt so unfamiliar to you. You didn’t like the feeling, not one bit. At this point you had stopped trying to get out of his grip, it was no use.

You felt useless, you felt numb. You didn’t move your lips, you stopped moving your feet, your hands. You didn’t even know if you were breathing anymore.

You laid there, completely still. You were sure the blood circulation at your wrists was cut off from the tight grip around them. You couldn’t feel your fingers, you wondered if they had turned pale from the lack of blood.

You felt him gather both your wrists in one hand, the grip still tight. His hand descending down from your arms down to you neck, and finally your chest. His grip on your breast had you whine out in discomfort, but he misunderstood it as another emote, “you like that, slut?” You didn’t answer. You just looked up at the ceiling with your glossy eyes, wishing you didn’t feel so weak.

His hand moved away from your breast, descending lower. You felt his cold fingers cup your sex above the fabric of your pants

And that’s when you felt it. It was as if his hand had been the electricity you needed to ignite your nerves back to life. “This cunt belongs to me.”

Your eyes shot directly to the disgusting man in front of you. “Get the fuck off me!” with all of the strength you had left in your body, you yanked both hands as hard as you could away from his, jolting your legs up and onto his chest trying to kick him off of you.

You bolted off of the bed, only to find a tight grip on your shirt yanking you back on the bed. However, it didn’t stop you from trying to escape – no – you had to get out of there.

With his fingers tangled in your shirt you pushed yourself near the door of his dorm. Reaching for the knob of the wooden material, you felt your shirt rip – you didn’t care.

You twisted the doorknob, opening the door and ran away as fast as you could.

You felt drowsy, but the adrenaline in your blood fuelled you enough to make it far enough for you to be safe, however you didn’t stop, you didn’t feel safe. So you kept running.

“Y/N?” a grip on your wrist stopped your feet in place. You looked back with fright written all over your face. Wincing in pain at the pressure applied to your already bruised wrist.

You were panting with heavy tears streaming down your face, your lipstick was smeared all over you lips, your hair was a complete mess, your shirt was ripped, revealing so much skin you felt your dignity wince. You tried holding the torn fabric in place but your bra and skin was still very visible. Bruises and marks were plastered all over your neck.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, taking in your appearance. You yanked your hand out of his grip, “d-don’t touch me…” your voice was weak

“Who did this to you?” his voice was quiet, stepping closer to you he took your hand in his, “Y/N, who the fuc-“

“I said don’t touch me!” once again you jerked your hand back, turning away before running back to your dorm.

You couldn’t stand to look at his face, you hated him with all of your heart. It was his fault. If he hadn’t touched you, your relationship with Jaehyun wouldn’t have ended, it would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine. But you weren’t – and it was Jeon Jungkook’s fault.

Making it back to your dorm, you found Mina already sound asleep on her bed. Thank god, you sighed out of relief to yourself. In no way did you have the physical or mental capacity to explain your wrecked form to her, and on top of that would she, with no hesitation, go down to his dorm and beat the living shit out of Jaehyun if you told her what had happened.

You didn’t want any more trouble, so this was a secret you were going to take with you to the grave. You took off you leather jacket and changed your shirt into a non-damaged one. You wiped your face with a baby wipe in attempt to remove your smeared makeup.

Sinking your head into the pillow you let your quiet sobs mute themselves through the soft material.

–

Tuesday, 08:34 AM

You woke up feeling like absolute shit. Lazily you dragged yourself out of the bed to make your way over to the hall bathroom to get yourself ready for the day. Taking the essentials that you needed you dragged your feet down the hall.

Looking at the mirror, your eyes were slightly red from the countless amount of tears that had poured down your face the previous night. You wanted to cry again when you saw the marks on your wrists and neck.

No more crying, you have a day to get through, you thought to yourself while applying the concealer above the stains of dark purple and red. You applied cold water to your face in attempt to make them look somewhat normal again.

You finished your routine and made your way back to the dorm only to find Mina awake, on her bed scrolling through her phone. The sound of the door shutting caught her attention, shifting it to you, “Y/N, oh my god,” she dropped her phone beside herself on the bed, “how did it go yesterday?”

Trying not to have you voice crack you shrugged, swallowing thickly, “we broke up,” you smiled sadly. Her eyes softened.

Opening her arms to invite you into a hug, you gladly ran into her arms. Tears starting to form on your waterline once again, but miraculously you were able to stop them from spilling. “You wanna skip classes today? We could make it a fun girl’s day out!” she exclaimed excited.

You couldn’t help but chuckle a choked giggle, “n-no that’s okay, It’d be nice to get busy with studies – I need to distract myself from this mess,” you pulled away from her embrace, “we could do something after classes are done if you want?” you suggested, but she only returned an apologetic look.

“I can’t, I have plans with Jimin – I could cancel them if you’d wa-“ you shook your head rapidly, “no, no don’t do that, there’s no need.” She smiled, “I have classes in like,” you checked your phone, “twenty minutes,” you told her while making your way over to the door, “I’ll see you later?”

She nodded, smiling warmly at you “definitely,” and with that you shut the door.

You couldn’t focus. Images of the previous night kept flashing through your mind. Never had you ever imagined your now ex boyfriend would forcefully prey himself upon you. And Jungkook… his face was smeared with concern, he looked so worried – why did he care?

He didn’t give shit about you, clearly since he tried to jeopardise your relationship with Jaehyun, and frankly, had succeeded clearly.

Class ended – packing your shit you left the hall with your gaze low, you weren’t in the mood to see, nor talk to anybody. You wanted to go back to your own dorm room and bury yourself in books until your disturbing thoughts left your mind.

You felt your phone vibrating against your hip. Reaching towards your pocket you pressed the home button, lighting up the screen.

-1m ago

Jungkook: Y/N

Jungkook: are you done with your classes?

You rolled your eyes; a text from Jungkook was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

You: yeah why

You put your phone back in your pocket but he was quick to respond, having you sigh as you stopped walking to view his message.

Jungkook: can we talk?

Fuck no you couldn’t talk. You couldn’t talk now, heck – you never wanted to ever talk to him again. Your stomach couldn’t bare the thought of talking to him, much less – see him.

Not after everything that happened between the two of you. You wanted to claw your fingers at his face for turning your life into a living hell. Or was that entirely his fault?

You: no

Jungkook: please, we need to talk.

You: I said no

Your phone kept vibrating but you didn’t care. You had to put your own mental health first here, you wanted to focus on yourself and your own goddamn well-being before fixing things with everyone else, and by everyone else you meant Jungkook.

There was no way in hell you were going to talk Jaehyun again.

Finally, you made it to your dorm room safe and sound. You placed your phone on your nightstand before dropping yourself onto your comfy, welcoming bed.

It had been such a long day, and it wasn’t even over. You felt like dunking your head in the toilet and flush, thinking it would feel much better than whatever you were feeling now.

Your eyes grew heavy, feeling yourself slowly shut them as you were about to fall asleep when and loud, too loud in your opinion, knock was heard from the door.

Whining, you stood up from your bed, unwillingly dragging your feet over to the door and opening it. What a big mistake that was. “Y/N,” you didn’t respond, attempting to close the door in Jungkook’s face, but his foot stopped you from doing so.

“Move,” you said sternly, “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit,” his eyes widened at the vulgar tone in your voice. “Move your foot,” you warned, that didn’t stop him though, “No, wait please –“ he attempted to open the door you had so rudely, almost quite literally, smacked in his face.

You didn’t care; being rude to him was the last thing you cared about.

“I really need to talk to you,” he pleaded, “ten minutes, that’s all I need,” you stopped abusing his foot with the door. Sighing heavily you thought about his proposition, “five minutes.”

You opened the door to let him in, “ten,” your patience was running thin, “five, take it or leave it,” you said coldly.

Nodding gently, he entered the dorm. You sat on your bed, watching him awkwardly stand in front of your bed, “you can sit I’m not gonna stab you,” you huffed, which only made him chuckle, “you look like it,” he coughed awkwardly seeing the unamused look on your face. He quietly sat himself beside you, keeping a closer distance than you’d like.

“So…” he started, looking at you cautiously, “you’ve wasted two minutes,” you said checking your phone. Your cold eyes glanced back at his warm ones. “Uhm… Saturday huh.”

“Get out,” you pointed to your door, he furrowed his eyebrows sadly, “wha – I still have three minutes,” he let out gently, “yeah, not anymore. Get out of my dorm,” you stood up from your bed. “You can’t keep running away from this, Y/N,” he started, still seated on your bed, “we have to talk about this one way or another.”

You ran your fingers through your hair frustratingly; you really weren’t in the mood to talk to Jungkook, let alone talk to him about what the fuck had happened on Saturday. As immature as it seemed of you to run away, that’s what you needed. You needed to run away from this situation, from him.

“I don’t want to talk about Saturday, so if that’s all you came to talk about then you can be so kind and get the fuck out of my dorm, before I shove you out myself.” He tilted his head, rising from your bed, you stepped away when he took a step closer to you and he noted to keep his distance with you.

“Why are you so mad–“ you almost punched him in the face, “why am I so mad?” you repeated to yourself, “I don’t know, Jungkook. You tell me, why am I mad?” you smiled, but it wasn’t sincere, you were sure you looked like a complete psychopath to him.

“I d-don’t know, that’s why I’m asking…” he said in a small voice. You questioned why he looked so fragile in front of you, Jungkook had a well-built body, and if he needed to he could put it to use. Visibly he was much stronger than you, so why did he look scared of you.

“Because I fucked you!” you yelled, “we fucked! We had sex!” your voice grew louder by every word, you could visibly see him shudder at the sudden volume of tone.

You, however, kept going, “have you even begun to understand what the fuck that means?!” he shook his head, “that’s why I wanted to talk, I want to know what it means–“

“It means I cheated! I cheated on Jaehyun with you!” he sunk his head low, he looked like he was getting scolded by his mom.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in attempt to calm yourself down, “what were you trying to achieve. Honestly,” he was about to answer but you beat him to it, “were you trying to ruin my relationship.”

“What – no I wasn’t–“ you didn’t let him finish, “we broke up, so congratulations. Mission accomplished,” you clapped sarcastically with a bitter smile plastered across your lips. He stood there, completely mute. Silence took over the room. Was he supposed to say something?

“Do… do you want me to talk to him–“ your fists were tingling, begging you to put them to use and launch them towards his jaw.

“No!” feeling his knees giving up on him, he sat himself back on your bed, “don’t you want to get back with him?” he questioned in such a small voice you almost felt bad.

“No, I don’t,” the relief that washed over his eyes briefly only fuelled your anger, “why are you mad then?” Unbelievable.

“This is not about me cheating on Jaehyun, this is about me cheating in general!” he looked puzzled. “Why did you seduce me into it? Is this what you wanted? To see me on the brink of insanity?” he shook his head no, “then what?!”

“B-because I actually wanted you!” for the first time, he raised his voice. “that’s why.”

The protest at the back of your throat died, “you fucking liar,” you were fuming with anger, you were sure you were going to go insane. “I’m not lying, I never acted to hurt you or make you feel used. I did what I did because I want you.” You didn’t believe him, no matter how reassuring his words sounded; you didn’t believe him one bit.

“Angel–“

“Don’t call me that.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so mad at me… didn’t you want me?” You felt like crying, you had explained yourself to him countless times, he just didn’t understand. He wanted to hurt you, and clearly it was working. You were sure of it. Warm, fresh tears started forming, slowly blurring your vision and you saw Jungkook’s eyes softened at the sight of your teary eyes.

“I don’t know how the fuck I am supposed to feel about this. I cheated on my now ex boyfriend with you, and I have no fucking idea how I should feel about it.” You let your tears fall. “Do you regret it?” you felt weak, you forced your knees to keep you standing.

“Are you shitting me – was that all you heard?” your mouth was quivering. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You didn’t want to appear weak, but the damage was already done.

“Jaehyun can go to hell. How you feel about this is what’s most important to me,” you felt powerless under his gaze – it was your turn to feel small. “it’s a simple ‘yes’ ‘no’ question, Y/N, it shouldn’t take this long to answer.”

“what, I-“ it was his turn to cut you off, “did I fucking stutter? Do you regret it yes or no?” you stayed silent, “do you regret fucking me?”

“I don’t know!” you finally let out, your form trembling, “I don’t know…” You sighed deeply; you rubbed your temple, trying to ease the agonizing headache that was forming.

“I hate that I let myself go this far with you, but what I hate more is the fact that I don’t know if I regret it or not.” He rose from his seat, once again – attempting to reach out to you but you gave him a warning look. “Don’t,” you held out your hand in front of him indicating that he should stay in his spot exactly.

You mentally cussed yourself when you saw his gaze shift to your wrist – your bruised wrist. Completely disregarding your warning, he took your hand in his, carefully inspecting the dark blue and purple stains plastered all over your skin.

He ran his thumb over the dark discolouration gently, but even at that did you hiss – causing the dark-haired boy’s eyes in front of you to shoot up and meet yours. There it was, again, the unreadable expression on his face. Was it pity? Was it anger? Was it sadness? – You couldn’t tell. “Did he do this?”

Jungkook’s voice was quiet; his eyes sunk to your wrist. You lazily pulled your hand back to have it fall to your side, you didn’t have the energy to yell at him anymore, you didn’t have the energy to explain yourself, you didn’t even have the energy to lie to him.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m done with him,” he looked at you again, “of course it matters, he hurt you,” he started in disbelief, “how could that not matter?” his eyes widened as if he had realised something, “yesterday… in the hallway, when I saw you running.” He didn’t finish his sentence, taking in your lugubrious expression. His heart sank when he saw your face twitch in discomfort, as if you a painful image had flashed before your eyes.

Your eyebrows furrowed, lips trembling while small quiet sobs rung through his ears.

He wanted to hug you. Fuck, you looked like you were going to break in half if he didn’t wrap his arms around you then and there. But you’d push him away and he knew it, so he restrained himself. “Y/N... I-I’m sorr–”

“Leave,” you whispered, you were tired, you were exhausted. You just wanted to be alone why was that so hard for him to understand? You looked down at your feet, you felt embarrassed. You didn’t want him to know you couldn’t protect yourself; you didn’t want to tell him what had happened to have left you with so many bruises.

“Jungkook, please, I’m begging you,” your voice was shaking at this point, and at that he let your hand go.

“Leave me alone.”

You failed to notice the hurt in his eyes, he slowly stepped away from you, heading towards the door with his head hanging low – to leave you alone, just like you had requested. You failed to notice the tears that had begun to sting his big doe eyes.

You failed to notice him.

–

A/N: not gonna lie, writing this part kind got me emotional. please don’t hate me for taking forever to write this part i’m sorRY, i tend to rewrite things a lot so i take my sweet sweet time :(( hope you liked it cuties, pleaseeee let me know what you think, i would love to improve my writing so don’t hesitate to give me some feedback! I think i rewrote this part at least twice ajhndshb. okkk bye for now! mwahhhh

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wolfinshipclothing · 3 years

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Summary: I need to hurry up, she kept thinking. Any minute now, her dad could come home early, tired from a lazy dayshift. Or her mom could drop with the excuse she forgot something, and use the opportunity to check out on her daughter. Her independent, smart and intelligent daughter. Then Connie would have to explain to her what said daughter was doing sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower, holding a blood-stained shirt over her forearm, with a pair of scissors resting at her side.

The same pair of scissors that went missing a month ago, by the way.

Excerpt:

But what about you? You never tell me what's up," said Steven and Connie perceived the sourness. "How's cram school going?"

"It's going," she said flatly.

"That's good. How about Lion? I haven't seen the little rascal since forever."

"You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases."

"Right, right." Silence. She wished Steven would stop asking questions and just talk. "Connie, are you alright? You sound a bit under the weather; and I am the one about to be soaked."

Steven's attempt at humor was ignored; the red lines over Connie's arm caught all her attention. There was not a discussion inside her head. There was a whole fucking debate, with a hundred people committee and a chairman that was chewing her nails as she waiting for the lunch break.

"I don't know," she said, choosing simple words.

"What do you mean? Did something happen or…?"

"It's just one of these days, you know?"

Steven's silence asked her to elaborate. The cuts of her arms seemed to shine brighter, mocking her for her weakness.

Welp, i came crawling back from my hole with this fic. Mind you its a very angsty, sensible fic bout self-harming and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I wrote this because 1) its always Steven the one that is hurting and needs helps, and Connie the one who is there to put him back on his fic. Few times i have seen the opposite.

And 2) this has been a shitty year. To everyone in the world, obviously. Just have been very garbage to me. Or maybe I AM the one who was being garbage to myself. In any case, i haven’t been feeling well, and decided to write up my feelings into the characters i am currently hyper-fixating on.

Is it healthy? Who knows! But it DID made me feel better. I hope this fic, if it doesn’t trigger some catharsis in you guys, at least entertain you all for a while.

Anyway, that’s all. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year folks.

(You can also read it in Fanfiction, btw)

"You might imagine that a person would resort to self-mutilation only under extremes of duress, but once I'd crossed that line the first time, taken that fateful step off the precipice, then almost any reason was a good enough reason, almost any provocation was provocation enough. Cutting was my all-purpose solution." —Caroline Kettlewell, "Skin Game".

Connie’s mind was beyond herself; far, far away, where she couldn’t reach it. Her body was heavy; lead weight held together by rusted tin bolts. And Connie was trapped inside it, with no company but the stinging pain on her arm and the weight of the shirt she kept against it.

How long have I been like this? She wondered. It felt like hours. Her legs were like paper; where she not sitting on her bed, she would have already plummeted to the floor.

I need to hurry up, she kept thinking. Any minute now, her dad could come home early, tired from a lazy dayshift. Or her mom could drop with the excuse she forgot something, and use the opportunity to check out on her daughter. Her independent, smart and intelligent daughter. Then Connie would have to explain to her what said daughter was doing sitting on her bed, in her bathrobe, fresh from the shower, holding a blood-stained shirt over her forearm, with a pair of scissors resting at her side.

The same pair of scissors that went missing a month ago, by the way.

Connie lifted the shirt. The bleeding had stopped. The cuts were all dry out now —probably had been for a few minutes— but they still shined with a disgusting color. The marks from last time were underneath; red rivers over dried out canals. Feral slashes over healed scars.

Connie dropped her head onto her hands, elbows on her knees, and applied pressure over her temples. That usually helped her think.

“Stupid,” she said with a sore voice. “Stupid, stupid. You always do the same.”

Connie’s harming habit have come, less like a metaphorical descent into madness and more like a —also metaphorical— walk down a descending staircase, where each step would disappear behind you, leaving you no choice but to go further down, into the dark.

It gradually became a routine. If she’d messed up a test, she would spend all night studying the subject. If she’d snapped at her mom in a moment of hormonal-fueled rage, she would skip dinner —breakfast too, if possible. If she’d been so absorbed in her own world she’d ghosted her friends, she would train with her sword until her palms were all blistered. Small pinches of pain she could administer, in measurable doses and only when it was justified.

It was astounding how quickly she lost sight of what was measurable and justified.

But the real aggravating part of it, in Connie’s opinion, was how much of her time it takes. It’d taken her a whole morning of self-loathing for the static to take over her body. Once it did, she lost control and started attacking her outer forearm with swift, brutal slashes, instead of the controlled cuts she usually administered. When she saw what she’d done, she panicked and reached for her neatly folded white shirt. What a waste. She had barely bled a few fat drops, yet it was more than enough to ruin her favorite shirt.

She’d been quiet since then, holding the soon-to-be-rag over her arm and trying to grasp her slippery psyche at the same time. She could feel her body, but she wasn’t in it. Her brain was working itself to death, but she’d no control over its thoughts. Like Schrodinger’s cat, it was like she was there and not there at the same time. Alive and Dead. Connie has come to call this dissociative state ‘the limbo’. And she was knees deep in it now. And it must be past noon already!

If I could make my butt to get up and clean up this mess, maybe I could sit down and have some work done. Otherwise, this would be a lost day.

The thought loomed over her. A lost day. She couldn’t let that happen. Now she just had to find a way to get out of the fog of her mind…

The phone ringed. Connie as much as jumped from the bed, dropping the shirt and scissors on the floor. She reached for her phone on the table.

BISCUIT

Just left the hotel and hit the road. The engine sounds like it’s about to choke to death, tho. I hope it doesn’t break before reaching New Orleans. Call me when you have a break! Love you!

Connie sighed; her heart’s palpitations echoing in her ears. How ridiculous! Jumping to grab her phone as if she’d been caught. Like some bad horror movie; someone on the other side would said ‘you have been seen’ and then hang up, leaving Connie panicking like a fool. Ridiculous!

She grabbed the scissors and the shirt with one hand, the phone with the message she ought to respond in the other. She glanced at the bed; the sheets were wet, she ought to change those. Her arm was still stinging; she ought to treat the wounds. Also, she ought to get properly dressed. And her test was still on the desk, waiting for her…

Connie groaned and gravitated naturally towards the bed and felt into it. She’d never had trouble compartmentalizing before. She also had never been in the limbo this long before, however.

She found herself thinking of Steven; living on the open road, driving that tank with radio he calls ‘car’, doing whatever he wants, going whenever he wants to go —previously checking his rigorous list of places to go. Being whoever he wants to be.

This made Connie mad. She didn’t want to be mad. She rotated her phone in her hand several times, thinking.

I could call him, she thought. You are supposed to reach out when… in situations like this, right?

Her stomach grumbled with acid reflux. She definitely didn’t want to talk to Steven —nor anyone else, really. But hearing a friendly voice could be what she needs to get back on her feet.

She pressed the name on the screen and put the phone on speaker. It rang. Please don’t pick up, please don’t…

Schick.

“Hey Connie! What’s up?”

“Hey Steven. Are you busy?” she asked.

“Not at all. The road’s pretty calm. I think there is a storm coming though; there are some mean-looking clouds above me,” said Steven, a bit uncertain. “Are you on your break?”

In a manner of speaking. “Yeah. I just thought… you know, checking out on you.”

“Making sure I didn’t pick any new hitchhiker? I’ll let you know I haven’t done that since Miami Beach,” he laughed. “Seriously though, you should have seen the motel I crashed last night. ‘Sir-sleep-a-lot’ was the name, and it was great. There’d a real-looking imitation sword and shield above the bed! That’s the stuff you won’t see in any fancy-brand hotel.”

Connie smiled briefly. Despite everything that’d happened to Steven —and he really broke the limit of shit that could happen to a person—, he was still the same kind-hearted boy that got emotional over the simpler stuff.

“But what about you? You never tell me what’s up,” said Steven and Connie perceived the sourness. “How’s cram school going?”

“It’s going,” she said flatly.

“That’s good. How about Lion? I haven’t seen the little rascal since forever.”

“You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Right, right.” Silence. She wished Steven would stop asking questions and just talk. “Connie, are you alright? You sound a bit under the weather; and I am the one about to be soaked.”

Steven’s attempt at humor was ignored; the red lines over Connie’s arm caught all her attention. There was not a discussion inside her head. There was a whole fucking debate, with a hundred people committee and a chairman that was chewing her nails as she waiting for the lunch break.

“I don’t know,” she said, choosing simple words.

“What do you mean? Did something happen or…?”

“It’s just one of these days, you know?”

Steven’s silence asked her to elaborate. The cuts of her arms seemed to shine brighter, mocking her for her weakness.

“I’m doing badly,” Connie said quickly. “I’m feeling real bad right now and I don’t even know why,” she added, only half-lying.

There was a long mmm on the other side of the line.

“Alright. I’m going home,” said Steven.

Connie’s heart started to race. “You can’t do that. You are driving... a-and your schedule-”

“I’ll just park on a side of the road. There are some nice trees I can park under. Then I’ll call Lion and be there in a flash.”

No, no, NO. “Steven, you really don’t have to.”

“It’s no problem at all! I want to be with you-“

“Steven, I don’t want to see you, OK!” Connie bolted upright, sitting on the bed. “Nobody asked you to do anything! Why do you always have to make things about yourself?”

Silence. A gust of wind came from the window, chilling Connie to the bones. She squeezed her left hand until it hurt. The scissors were still there. She glanced at her right arm; smooth and clean of any mark. Connie was right handed, but she could make an exception.

The thought alone shook her to her core, making her open her palm. The scissors felt with a clink-clank. She brought the phone closer to her face.

“Please,” Connie muffled a choke with her free hand, “please don’t go. Can you just talk to me?”

More silence, and there was a moment in which Connie knew ‘this is it, my best friend hates me forever’. But then there was a sliding noise, and the rumble of dirt being removed. There was also a distant boom; a storm was about to drop.

“I stopped the car,” said Steven. “I’m here for you, if you want.”

Great. It’s not like that’ll deepen Connie’s guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. Dark walls were closing around her, and the only source of light was her phone and the person on the other side. Obstinate tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Please don’t say that. I know… you know that’s not true,” Steven measured each word as he spoke. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, “I’m just being a big baby, that’s all.” No answer. He’s not gonna make it easy for her, is he? “I’m mad. Really mad.”

“Mad at me?”

Connie grumbled as an answer. She heard Steven’s struggle to swallow.

“Right. Not about me.”

“Exactly,” she said, although it was a half truth.

“I’m mad at myself,” she proceeded. “I’m mad because I fail at everything I do.” Connie took several breaths. Here comes the bomb: “I flunked at my practice college entrance test.”

More silence.

“Go on,”

“Aren’t you gonna say its stupid?” she asked cautiously. She’d expected a scoff, a snicker. Maybe even some laughter.

“I’m listening,” Steven insisted.

Connie tried to put some verbal sense in the ball yarn that was her mind.

“I really flunked it, you know,” she said, waiting —hoping— for a reprimand. “Even the stuff that I’ve studied and re-studied.”

“But it was just a practice test. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything, Steven,” she cried. “If I’d taken it today, I would have gotten a garbage grade.”

Connie cleaned the tears away with the back of her hand. The gust coming from the window was making her shiver. Her wet hair and the soaked sheets were not helping either.

“It like everything I had done, all the hard work I put into it was for nothing,” she said. “Everything feels so pointless.”

“I don’t think it was,” said Steven, carefully. “Even if you failed, you still practiced for the real one. Don’t give up. Going to college was your dream.”

“Was it? I don’t really know.” Connie bit her lip. “No, that’s a lie. I do want to go to college. I just wonder if it’s worth it. I mean, what’s the point of trying so hard if I fail anyway? Do you have any idea how many nights I lost for this? O-or how many times I had to put my friends on hold because I was busy studying?”

She stopped. She felt as if her breath was stolen from her.

“Of course you do,” she sighed. “And it was all for nothing. I failed at this as I fail at everything else.”

“What is ‘everything else’?”

Her blood was freezing cold, as was her answer. “You know.”

There it was again; the roar of thunder, followed by the sound of a million drops falling down. It was starting to rain somewhere.

“Connie,” said Steven, on the verge of shattering. “Have you been thinking about Homeworld?”

Connie clenched her free hand, her teeth, and everything else that required physical exertion.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

“I know I have no right to feel bad about it. You are the one who suffered the most from it-”

She was cut by her own throat shutting down, and for a moment only tiny hiccups came out. There was a blinding, white rage inside her. It commanded her to grab her sword and slash, lunge and cut all her problems away. But she didn’t. She stood still and cried.

“But I was there too. I saw what White did to you and I couldn’t do anything.” Connie gasped for air. “I trained so hard for nothing. When you needed me I… I failed you.” She stopped to gasp and clean her tears. “H-how can I know I won’t be a mess in everything else I do, that I won’t flunk on my first year of college? Studying was the only thing I was good at and… and I’m not even good at it anymore and just…”

She stopped to let the tears roll freely. It was too much; too much weight, too many tears. Everything was in the air now. All her failures, all her fears, like an enveloping toxic cloud around her; it’d always been there, but now someone else could see it. In the middle of her wailing, she caught Steven’s concerned voice.

“Connie, can you hear me?”

It could be easy to hang up now, forget this ever happened, and call back when she was strong and put together. ‘Hey Steven, sorry about that, everything is better now’. But Connie couldn’t do that —not to him. She mumbled a reply.

“Alright. I want you to breathe with me, OK? Can you do that?”

Well, that’s easy for him to ask. He’s not the one hyperventilating. And to think many times she’d said the same, when Steven was going through a panic attack. How the turntables indeed.

She knew the instructions to the letter, but she coordinated them to Steven’s voice. Four seconds inspiration. Hold it for seven seconds. Eight seconds exhalation. They repeated it until every corner of Connie’s mind was occupied with this routine.

“Feeling better?” Steven asked.

Connie noticed she wasn’t crying anymore and with one last sniff she said: “A bit.”

“Good. Now I want you to listen,” said Steven. “First, just because I was the one who was attacked doesn’t mean I got the monopoly on trauma.” He stopped to see if his joke caused any effect. ”What I mean to say is, that day was… it was a literal hell for all of us. Maybe more to me than to the gems, but it was so for you too because, like you said, you were there with me.”

“Which brings me to the second point: nothing of what happened in Homeworld, or that happened to me, to us, was your fault,” Steven said, firmly and fluently, like a practiced speech. “And there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. I know you are mad because you couldn’t take a swing at White’s giant nose…”

Connie laughed. She imagined Steven raising a triumphant fist into the air.

“But you did help me. You carried me to… to me! If I’m alive now, it’s because of you. And I should…” Steven stopped. Connie could see him, hand on his mouth, trying to hold the tears back and be the rock she needed. She knew that feeling too well. “I should’ve told before how much you did to me. You saved my life back then, a-and then you saved me again, months ago, when I got corrupted.”

Connie gasped. Steven never brought that topic unprompted, and he never called it for what it was. It was always ‘the incident’.

“You were there for me since day one,” Steven laughed dryly. “Actually, I should be the one apologizing. You had to go through all of that because of me.”

“I wanted to do it,” Connie retorted. “I wanted to go through all of that with you.”

“That doesn’t make it right. It wasn’t fair.”

Connie huffed. They were scratching the surface of a deeper conversation. Because Connie was mad for wanting to go to Homeworld so bad, and for all the times her life was in danger before that. And she was mad at her parents —what were they thinking? They shouldn’t have let Connie run around with a sword, fighting a war that wasn’t her own; they should have locked her up until she was eighteen. Damn, she was mad at the whole Universe for needing to be saved. They were kids! Stupid kids who didn’t knew better than to take such a task over their shoulders.

And deep down, in a corner she dared not to look, she was mad at Steven. Because from the first day they meet, he chose her. To be his friend, his partner-in-crime, his… And in an even deeper place, Connie was mad at herself. Because she had chosen Steven too, and if it came to it, she would do it all again. Back then, in the middle of the chaos, with the fear of death and the threat of the destruction of the Earth as her everyday bread and butter, life made sense.

But now the war was over, and the books Connie studied so much felt as unreal as any fantasy novel. How do you go back to being normal after having a destiny?

Connie let her head fall back and softly touch the wall. She was far too tired to shine light on those darks corners. She just wanted to rest. She was half-way napping when Steven’s voice brought her back.

“Connie? Connie, are you there? Please talk to me.”

Connie slapped herself awake. “I’m here Steven. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, as convinced as anything. “How about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Well I… I worry about you!” Steven protested. “So I guess we are in a loop here.”

That comment wasn’t particularly funny, but Connie started to laugh; a short, weak laugh that grew up to be a roar. On the other side, Steven laughed too.

“Oh man. This sure feels familiar doesn’t it?” said Steven, and eased a bit on the laughter. “I guess you are better at making me feel better than I am doing it for you.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short. I do feel better. A little,” she confessed. “I’m sorry you had to deal with me being dumb. I don’t know what came over me.”

Steven was quiet for a while. When he spoke again, it was with the clearness of a professor giving class.

“Connie, do you remember one of the first things Dr. A. told me when I started therapy?

“Life sucks?” She heard Steven breathing raggedly, trying not to laugh.

“That is the first thing,” he said in a short breath, “but I mean the second first thing.”

Connie scratched her head. “The thing about the pond?”

“The frozen lake,” he corrected. “She said that, for people with depression —not saying you have it— or have gone through some trauma —again, not pointing fingers—, anxiety is like a frozen lake. Every day you bring new problems to the lake; little, everyday stuff that’s not too heavy. Then some days you bring heavier stuff, and the ice starts to crack, but you don’t notice because you hide the heavy stuff under the lighter stuff. Finally one day, you bring a new little problem and you put it on top of the pile. You know what happens next?”

“The ice breaks?”

“It breaks,” said Steven, like a satisfied lecturer. “It breaks and you fall in the frozen water, with all of that heavy shit you have been hiding.”

Connie’s hand grabbed the front of her bathrobe. She was still not used to hearing Steven Cutie Pie DeMayo Universe curse —even if she was the one who taught him the coolest words (besides Amethyst, of course).

“I remember the story now,” Connie scratched her head, feeling the hard knots of her hair. “I always thought it was a bit complex as a metaphor.”

“My point is-“

“Why not use a house of cards? Every anxious thought is a new card, and as you pile them up, the house loses stability. Finally, one day, it just falls under its own weight,” Connie explained with renewed vigor. “See? It paints a much clearer picture.”

“The point, Miss Wiseguy,” grunted Steven, and Connie could see him folding his arms. “Is that if you don’t want the ice to break-“

“Or the house of cards to fall.”

“Or the house of cards to fall,” he conceded, “you have to deal with that heavy stuff before you are overwhelmed. You don’t need to do that now,” he added, predicting her complain. “But at some point, you will need to talk to someone. Your parents or your friends… Or I can give you Dr. A.’s number. She knows everything we went through.”

“That ought to save me some time,” she said. “Maybe she’ll give me a discount card of ‘Friends of Steven Universe’.”

“See? Now you are being positive,” Steven laughed.

Connie smiled sadly. “What about you?”

“I’ll always be here for you. By phone, video chat, or to visit you… If you want me to,” he whispered that last part.

“Only if you promise to not turn into a Kaiju when we start exposing my inner demons.”

“Ha ha,” he said robotically. “I’ll assume by your sarcasm that you are the same old Berry now.”

Connie mulled about it for a few seconds. The cloud of anxiety was slowly banishing, and she no longer felt the claustrophobic walls closing around her.

“Yes, I’m good now. Thanks to yo-aaah” a loud, long yawn took over her. “Sorry. Guess I’m more worn out than I thought.”

“Yeah, I can tell… Have you really not been sleeping at all?”

“Unless you count passing out of tiredness as sleeping,” she joked.

“Ah,” said Steven. “Have you been, well… you know?”

Connie didn’t answer. She knew what he meant, but she’d no voice to say it.

“Connie, have you been hurting yourself?”

“This conversation is hurting me.”

“Connie.”

The phone vibrated and got hot to the touch, before cooling down real fast. Connie’s head vibrated too, like a snow globe being shaken. Steven’s control over electric devices had been growing.

She lifted her arm to look at the cuts; they still stung, although she hasn’t been paying attention to it. All the slashes were dry and had a dull color.

Fuck it, why not?

“Just a few cuts,” she said flatly, “with my mom’s scissors.”

There was silence for a while, but Steven’s was still there; his breath was ragged and odd. Has he turned pink? Did Connie throw him into a panic attack?

Finally, he spoke: “Connie, I need you to do me a favor.”

Oh boy, that doesn’t sound good at all. “What is it?”

“Throw those scissors away.”

Connie pursed her lips. “Steven, I can’t do that. My mom would be mad,” she said, although it was a poor excuse. If Connie cared about her mother’s feelings, she wouldn’t have stolen the scissors in the first place.

“I know. I don’t pretend to tell you what to do,” he said, measuring his words like a baker measures flour, “but it’s something that helped me a lot. I mean, when I was in a bad place, I would go into these blank moments when I wasn’t thinking at all.” Connie nodded. He was talking about the limbo. “When I started therapy, I was told to try to be more conscious of myself. More present. So when I felt I was, you know, getting in the mood,” Steven groaned at his own choice of words, “I would take a step back and do something different. We can’t always control our situation or our mood or even our actions, but we can make small changes to have some power over ourselves.”

The way Steven spoke in plural said that he wasn’t doing vain motivational talk; he was talking from a place he’d been in… and maybe still was. Connie remembered sitting on Steven’s bed, trying to cheer him up to eat or step outside and get some fresh air. She also remembered coming home, locking herself in the bathroom and taking a long shower while she cried.

Connie held onto that thought and sat on the bed. She picked the scissors with her free hand and put that memory in them. She also put the memories of White Diamond, the monsters’ attack on Beach City, the arguments with her mother. All her anger, her insecurities, her fear of not knowing who she was— she grabbed all of it and put it into a ball, one she was carrying in her throwing hand. She extended her arm all the way behind her back. And when the wind blew the curtains opens, she propelled her arm forward like a whip.

The scissors —and metaphorical ball— broke free of her hand, made a straight line and finally flew out of the window; out of sight.

Connie stood still, catching her breath. The first thing she noticed was that her chest, while still swelling with anger, felt notably lighter. The second thing was Steven’s voice calling her from the phone. The final thing she noticed made her scream:

“Holy shit!”

“What? What happened?” she heard Steven calling to her.

“I threw the scissors out of the window!”

“…WHAT?”

Connie dashed towards the window, holding her bathtub with her free hand, and stuck her head outside.

“Is everyone ok?”

“Yeah… yeah I think so,” said Connie with a relieved breath. “The street is desert at this time. Anyway, I think I can see the scissors. They felt right by the trash can, so maybe I accidentally stabbed a rat?”

Steven was hyperventilating, but he took a break from it to scoff at her. “Now is no time for jokes, missy! Oh man… you could have killed someone! Why did you do that?”

“Because you told me to, you dumb-dumb!”

“I didn’t tell you to throw a sharp object out of the window, you dumb-dumb!”

Connie shook her head. “Forget it, I don’t want to fight.” She leaned against the wall and let gravity slid her to the floor.

“Me neither,” said Steven. The sound of rain was quieter now. “At least did that helped?”

“Yes. Almost killing innocent bystanders always cheers me up.”

“That’s my girl,” Steven laughed and so did Connie, albeit weaker.

Still, she felt better. Her body was recharging energy quickly and her mind was emerging from whatever black hole it had been hiding in.

“I think I can go on with my day now,” she said and she meant it.

“Are you sure?” Steven asked. Connie reaffirmed her decision. “Well, that’s awesome. So… would it be cool if I drop by and check on you?”

Connie’s heart started to race up again as the anxiety came back. Check on you. Like she was sick and she needed to be taken care of.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” she said, firmly. “But later. Definitely later. I’ll call you.”

“But I… OK. Alright, w-we’ll talk later then.”

Steven sounded really bummed out, but Connie could pay it no mind now, lest she wanted to feel down the whole again. “Thanks for everything. And I’m sorry I made you stop in the middle of a storm,” she said.

“Oh it’s not so bad. Kinda weird though,” said Steven. “You know, usually you hide from the rain, lock yourself inside and look at it from the window of your house. But I’m under it right now. The sky is falling around me but I’m as dry as clean clothes. And, I don’t know, it’s beautiful. It makes you appreciate everything there is, even stuff that’s supposed to be ugly. Does it make sense?”

The words struck something deep inside Connie, but whatever meaning Steven was trying to transmit was ignored. She was not in the mood for lessons right now.

“I know what you mean,” she swiftly said. “So I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright then. Please be safe. And call me.”

“I will.”

“Ok… I love you.”

Connie blushed. “Goodbye.” She cut the call. She should have said something else, something more. She didn’t know why she had been in such a rush to hang up.

She just knew saying ‘I love you’ was easier when they weren’t dating.

With one long, invigorating breath, Connie stood up. She stretched her arms over her head until her bones cracked, then she bended and touched her finger toes until her legs were burning.

With the sudden rush of adrenaline, thinking became easier. The rage was gone and her chest didn’t feel as heavy. Connie has left the limbo, at least for now.

She looked for her phone. Her last study break was one hour ago. Most of that time had been spent talking to Steven. So much time —hers and his— wasted in vain…

Alright Connie, compartmentalize. There’s a lot to do. What comes first? She asked herself. Well, her red, stinging arm would be a good starting point. She headed for her bedroom’s bathroom and closed the door shut.

The bathroom was still mildly warm from the shower she took. The first aid kit was where she left it; resting over the sink, opened. It’s where Connie usually hid the scissors. She hung the bathrobe on a perch and checked the cuts on the mirror. They ran deeper than Connie’s usual handiwork, so she applied the process she used for her training injuries. Soap and water to wash the wounds. Dry well, apply antiseptic to prevent infection and then bandage the whole thing, from the elbow to the wrist. She’ll have to change the bandages after tomorrow at least.

Some petroleum jelly could help the wound heal faster and prevent scarring, and Connie’s mom had some in her first aid kit but she discarded that thought. Explaining to her mom how she got these wounds was out of question.

Connie was about to put the kit away when an idea hit her. She brought the bandages out and applied them over her right arm —her clean, unharmed right arm. There; now if anyone, be it her mom or her friends asked, she could appeal to a training accident. And if her mom wants to check the wound herself, Connie will show her the right arm. Her mom will comment on how well the injury had healed, or she’ll simply believe Connie was overreacting to a minor rash. In any case, she’ll be none of the wiser.

Connie looked at herself in the mirror —naked, except for the bandaged arms. Her reflection smiled sadly. You think you are so cunning, don’t you?

With that done, she left the kit over the sink and tiptoed into her cold room. She went to the wardrobe and chose a long sleeved shirt, some jogging pants, and a sweater.

Next thing were the sheets. They were soaked; perfect to catch pneumonia. Connie started to take them off. She stopped and instead she left her room —with the same feeling as Robinson Crusoe leaving his island—, and headed for the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of juice and drank it like an old man in the desert. She poured another glass and headed back upstairs.

Once in her bedroom, she took off the sheets, rolled them all into a ball and poured the orange juice over the sheets, with extra care as to not wet the mattress. The textile absorbed the juice like a sponge. Finally, she went back downstairs, threw the sheets into the dishwasher and set it on. In the unlikely event her mom questioned Connie about her dropping a glass of juice on the bed; Connie only had to point at the orange colored stains.

They’ll disappear after a few washes, anyway. Ironically, the marks on Connie’s arm might last longer. She entertained the idea of putting her shirt to wash, but she scratched it off. Being a doctor’s daughter, she knew blood stains were a pain to get rid of.

Satisfied with what she had accomplished, Connie’s heart gave a little thud as she approached the door. She didn’t feel like going for a walk, but she’d to recover the, sort of speak, crime’s weapon. She stepped outside and walked aimlessly around the sidewalk for a minute, looking for the scissors. She found them on the floor right next to the trash can. Five inches left and they would have landed on top of the trash. It really makes your mind think.

Or someone else’s mind. Not Connie’s. She didn’t have time to metaphors.

She knelt to pick the scissors. And then she saw them; or rather, they saw her. On the other side of the street, a young couple crossed sights with her. They keep their glance on her for less than five seconds before walking away, laughing. It was enough to throw Connie down a hole. Eyes seemed to materialize out of thin air, staring faces, judgmental glances; all of them pointing at Connie. All of them knew what she’d done. She’d been seen.

Connie dashed inside the house and slammed the door behind her. She felt to the ground, short of breath. That couple must be on their way now, totally oblivious of the effect they caused on Connie, and she can’t blame them; she couldn’t predicted that either. Her social anxiety had been tame for so long, Connie thought it was a thing of the past. That’s another thing to scratch out of her accomplishments list.

Nevertheless Connie had the scissors in her shaking hands, and all she wanted was to put them away.

She stood up and moved around the house exhausted. She picked a pair of clean sheets and went back to her room. She locked the door, shut down the windows and closed the curtains. She breathed out loudly. Now she was unseen and nobody could judge her.

She set the clean sheets on the bed. A strong scent of lavender hit her. Finally, she went to the bathroom; put the scissors inside the first aid kit, under everything else, and put the kit on the back of the cabinet, until next time.

Next time… now that was an upsetting thought.

With everything else done, she just had to get rid of the shirt. She had second thoughts about washing it, since throwing it away would be complicated. Feeling a headache incoming, Connie opened her closet and threw the bloody rag inside. It wasn’t like her to postpone things, but… who was she kidding? This is standard Connie’s stress dealing procedure.

Connie looked at everything she’d done, and felt at peace for the first time that day. Then her eyes felt onto her standing mirror.

Oh no, this won’t do, she thought, meaning her hair. More specifically, the crow nest that had taken over her head and that she usually called hair.

She grabbed her blue hairbrush. Her hair was so entangled the regular ministrations won’t do, so she attacked it with brutal brushing motions. In the meantime, her mind kept producing images. Steven under the heavy rain, checking the soaked engine that broke down when he stopped to talk to her. The disappointed glance of her mom when she finds out all the scheming Connie went through to hide the truth. Her own hands shaking with anxiety as she takes the real test and she realizes she doesn’t know any answers.

She set the brush down. There. Now the image in the mirror was presentable —although some days, Connie wasn’t sure if it was really hers.

“I’m alright,” she said, with a voice that felt alien even to her. “I’ll be fine. I’m a warrior,” she added, more convinced with each word.

She was a warrior. Maybe she’d lost her center, but she could find it. She could be strong again. Once she gets a grip of herself and gets into college, everything will be alright.

Right? Right.

With this new resolution, Connie walked to her worktable. Her failed test was still there. Next to it was the half-done new test she had been working on when the static became too much.

Now, she could keep working and pretend all of this never happened. That this was just a very long study break, that everything she did was normal and healthy. It’s what she was expected to do, right?

Once again she thought of Steven, taking time from his trip to sit down under a deluge to talk to her. Breathe with her, as if they were one.

Connie’s hand reached towards the test… And then went left, grabbed the nearest book and dropped it over the papers.

This can wait… she thought, uncertain.

“This can wait,” she verbalized defiantly to the World.

With that problem done for, she had a free afternoon. She tapped her chin —she hasn’t had this free time in a while.

She picked her phone and flipped through the library. There was this reboot of ‘Crying Breakfast Friends’ that Steven had been bugging her to watch, but she’d been rain checked until she could pass the test. Maybe it’s time to keep the study waiting. She shuddered at that inch of her rebellious younger self taking over.

She picked her earphones and lay comfortable on her fresh, lavender-scented sheets. Five minutes into the first episode and she was cackling and crying with a cartoon about animated fruits while her papers —her physical future— waited on the table. And they’ll keep waiting until tomorrow.

Connie didn’t know if this was a step forward or backwards. But a step’s a step nonetheless; and she was still moving.

#connie maheswaran #Steven quartz universe #connverse #self-harm #tw: blood #ptsd mention #dissociation

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