Rena | Alex

Rena felt the shift in his energy that occurred as a result of silence and idleness. Oh, how idleness could allow the brain to wander the darkest, most worrisome corridors. His breathing was fast beside her, he was wound tightly as he typically was. Somewhere in the deepest depths of her memory was a feeling, an image, some fragment of a memory from the night of the wedding. It felt familiar but foreign, undoubtedly due to the drunken haze that enveloped them. She’d been in his arms, something about glancing at the gradual rising and falling of his chest had prompted her to remember this. He was warm in the most comforting kind of way, especially to Rena who was always freezing no matter the temperature. Yes, his body was warm. To some extent, she knew that because some sort of physical contact had occurred. Asking him if he remembered seemed like the worst possible solution so she just kept the fragment of memory to herself. She glanced over at him before getting up, grabbing a few items off of the table on the other side of the room. “Get whatever you need between now and eight in the morning, it’s way too stuffy in here. We’re going for a walk.”

Slinging a gray backpack over one shoulder, then the other, Rena opened the door, slipping the key in her pocket after locking the door. In some haphazard attempt to keep herself warm in the freezing early hours of spring, she threw a fancy dress coat over the skimpy, ‘I would never wear that’ clothing she’d forced herself to put on hours earlier to go to the hospital. She fidgeted with the buttons on the coat as they walked out the corridor and into the sprawl of land they’d become so well-acquainted with.

“When did you start having panic attacks? I’ve learned with you, I ask the questions first so you can think about it and you don’t get all flustered and blushy by the time you should answer.” There was so much more she wanted to say, she analyzed him to the extent that she analyzed every person, but letting someone in on that level of perceptiveness wasn’t something she did often. It went over the heads of many people and in general caused her to lose faith in humanity. She wasn’t sure he could handle being let in on her gift just yet. So, she continued to walk beside him, watching her breath materialize in the cold morning air around them. Without glancing back over at him, she continued in that emotionless, neutral tone. “Mine started when I was fifteen. My doctor prescribed me antidepressants for some stuff that happened and as a side effect I started having panic attacks that haven’t stopped since.” Some stuff. That was really how she knew she wasn’t herself, she was able to keep things about herself private and personal. Typically she had an extreme inability to not share everything about herself, to say the things on her mind that she thought would make her more relatable, likeable, or trustworthy. Being able to call everything that had happened in her early teens ‘some stuff’ showed her how disconnected from her person she truly was.

“What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened in your time here? You seem like the kind of person who is always around when the drama happens and absorbs all the information because you’re quiet and unassuming. People unintentionally forget you exist, you know? No offense, of course.”

After yet another lull in their walk, it seemed to turn somber. Something about the air changed by their sixth or seventh mile, there was a certain comfort that they’d developed in the silence that allowed true colors to shine through. After contemplating whether to say it or not, Rena gently glanced up at him, gauging his expression. “You know I’m not stupid, right? I know you didn’t fall. I’m totally disconnected from every piece of myself that has any kind of emotional awareness so I don’t exactly have a filter, so I’m definitely going to ask you questions I probably shouldn’t. Write them in a letter or something, for all I care. I’m just curious in a generic way. Why choose a form of pain that leaves traces? The things I do to myself don’t leave marks, I think it causes me more pain to suffer in silence and to be the only one stuck with the memory of what I did to hurt myself. I think that I think that doing something that might draw attention would be too easy, too gentle on myself. Why that? No judgement, but you should know that by now.”

Another mile or two or three came and went, and finally, they stopped to rest. The sun was just coming up now, the earliest traces of dawn visible on the horizon. There, on the same park bench where she’d once fallen asleep in his arms, Rena was now comfortably numb, unfeeling. Her gaze fell to her shoes, anywhere away from the warm body beside her. She could feel the gentle rhythm of his breathing beside her, much calmer than her own. She had grown fairly unfit from being imprisoned under the floorboards of a barn for eleven days, and it was showing. He was so soft, so gentle, so vulnerable, and her intrusive thoughts were entirely fixated on all of the ways she could ruin that. She could crush him, she could ruin his life with a few words. She could render him unable to trust forever. She wrestled with that for a few moments before speaking.

“I need to say something and I don’t want you to say anything.” She drew in a half-breath, considering the fact that it probably sounded like this was going to be a profession of love. It was something of one in and of itself, but hardly the all-too-cinematic expression of love in its most direct form. “I need to stay away from you for a while, and I’m going to tell you why. Rather,” for the first time, she allowed her eyes to genuinely fall into his with no restraint, nothing held back. Yet, there was no vulnerability, no emotion, no love, no lack of. “I’m going to show you.” It seemed like he had known it was coming because of the way they gradually drew closer to one another. Her hand slowly came to rest on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. She glanced down at his lips. She remembered more pieces of that memory from the wedding, small sensory details she was numb to now. She’d been close to his neck, she remembered the smell of his cologne. She remembered that her dress smelled like him when she took it off before her walk with Viktor, she had left it aside, not wanting to wash it just yet. Someone must have put it somewhere, she didn’t remember seeing it in that place in her dorm.

Rena glanced down at his lips every few inches nearer they came, until finally their lips were almost touching. She stopped, letting her eyes meet his once last time. “That’s why,” she whispered, softly caressing his cheek. She moved away gently, watching something between bewilderment and betrayal flash through his stormcloud eyes. “What just almost happened between us made you feel something. Frankly, I have no idea what, but something, even if it’s disgust. I didn’t feel a single thing, and until I decide to turn my feelings back on, I won’t. I could hurt you so badly, Alex. So badly. And when I decide to feel again, I would never forgive myself for doing something to you that I didn’t mean. I love the me that loves you enough to stay away from you until I’m ready to grieve. When I kiss you for the first time, I want to feel every emotion. Right now, I can’t even feel one.”

She got up off the bench, watching him process what had just happened. She wasn’t even sure he knew what he felt about what had occurred. “It’s not forever, it’s temporary. I’m going to get myself right and then I’ll find my way back to you. I’m not sure you’re even ready for that, you’re going to be all I have left. That’s going to be crushing, I’m not going to be okay for a long time. I’ve done every hard thing in my life alone, and I’m tired of grieving. I need to be okay for just a little bit longer before I let the pain in again.” She smiled softly, forlornly, watching him process everything she’d just thrown on him. “I’m going to leave now, and I’m going to let you process everything I just said. Just know it’s not personal, okay? Or maybe it’s extra personal. Either way, please don’t be upset with me.”

She studied his expression for a moment longer, before gently saying, “I’m going to leave now,” once more, if only to give herself the courage to actually do it. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to be the villain. But unfortunately if being the villain meant protecting herself from the overwhelming weight of grief, she would choose it time and time again. She had to be selfish after so many years of selflessness. She turned and left, headed down towards the barn to check on Hugo. She felt nothing, not even guilt. Should she? Could she? The idea that she couldn’t turn her feelings back on was unsettling, so she didn’t dwell on it. She unlocked the tack room for the morning and turned all of the security alarms off. They reminded her of her own security, and suddenly she felt terrifyingly alone. She thought she saw Max on the floor, lying dead. His outline was marred by large puddles of blood. “Hallucinations,” she whispered to herself, “awesome.” She knew she was seeing things, but it felt so real. Even with every piece of herself knowing it wasn’t real, and no one was behind her, she continued to see the dead body, feel the feeling of being kidnapped from behind all over again. She couldn’t breathe, so she ran as fast as she could back to the door of the dorms. She was shaking. Hard. She hadn’t realized how much of a security blanket Alex had become for her until she did that alone. She dialed every number in her phone, though none of them picked up. Finally, an absolutely massively tall man of Spanish descent opened the door for her. His expression was cold at first, but upon glancing at her bruises and scars, grew quite concerned. Of course, her expression of terror and the shaking of her body did nothing to help this image. A short conversation ensued, introductions were made. Reyes Castel. Following an exchanging of contact information, the Romanian woman made her way back to her room, found the dress, which, by some act of God was still unwashed and smelled like Alex. She kept it near her that first night and all of the following nights until finally it had no remnants of a night long gone.

One week turned into two, and finally the beginning of a third was looming on the horizon. Rena’s bruising and scarring healed, and she put a handful of pounds back on--not nearly enough to look ‘healthy,’ but enough to start to look slightly better than she had. She wasn’t eating much because, as she had learned the hard way, eating utensils were the only true trigger from the trauma she had endured. She distanced herself from them completely, she distanced herself from places it was remotely possible they would be. She’d deal with them and with the trauma of remembering slicing her wrist open with a fork another day, but for now, this was the best she could manage. She didn’t eat in restaurants, she didn’t do much. Reyes had become a good friend of hers in those several weeks, a security blanket to replace the one she had folded up and put in the attic until she could properly deal with it. He brought her whatever food from the cafeteria didn’t have to be eaten with utensils, which was typically a generic, bland-tasting sandwich of some sort. Still, she didn’t complain. She was barely eating one meal a day, but she ate that one meal for her peace of mind and for her friend’s. After a week of healing, she got back on a riding schedule with Hugo, who was much happier to have his rider back than to be handled by Sofia. She had moved on to her own school horse, and Rena got back to her ambitious aspirations with her little gelding. She didn’t see Alex around much, she realized after the first week or so that he had worked his schedule around avoiding her. Or, if he hadn’t, it felt like he had. A handful of times, she’d ran into him when she was with Reyes, who she dragged with her everywhere she went now. He was quiet and big enough to make her feel secure about not being kidnapped, so she’d taken to following him around during his daily routine when she wasn’t helping the Petrovas grieve. She saw the pain in Alex’s eyes when he saw them together, and though she wanted to say something, she didn’t. Couldn’t? Wouldn’t? She didn’t know exactly what kept her silent, but the uncomfortability of the situation made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up every time. Nothing did more than feeling his absence in the barn, though. She kept telling herself it wasn’t personal, but something about it kept her from thinking that it could be anything else.

At three weeks exactly, Max came home from the hospital. He’d made a full recovery, and was completely fit to get back to his normal routine. Rena told him about Viktor, she’d reasoned that he already hated her and she didn’t feel anything enough to care about that in her present state. They didn’t talk much more than she spoke to anyone else, especially because she was avoiding the male hall like the plague. If it was personal with Alex, she didn’t want to interfere with his space. She wasn’t sure if he was angry or hurt or just being polite, she had absolutely zero idea how he felt. Was she imagining the pain in his eyes when he saw her walking around with someone who wasn’t him? Was that all in her head? She wasn’t sure, and frankly, part of her assumed that she didn’t want to know. She knew it was silly to avoid him, but she meant what she said about not wanting to hurt him, and she couldn’t make any promises yet. She was still quite apathetic, though Reyes taught her a lot about the importance of emotion that she still wasn’t sure she believed. There was little he said that she truly, wholeheartedly believed, but he was interesting enough that she didn’t mind hearing it anyway.

Now it was early May, almost a month after Viktor’s death and everything else that had ensued. His body had already been handled, for the Petrovas desired to go against Roman Catholic tradition and wait to hold the services until Maximilian was able to attend, which they knew would be far longer than they wanted to wait. The Virginia memorial began on a beautiful Saturday morning that was much too cheery for Rena’s taste. The sun was shining, the weather was absolutely perfect with the gentlest breeze, the birds chirped, the flowers bloomed. It wasn’t the cinematically rainy ambiance she had hoped for, it was quite the opposite.

Still, it went on as it was supposed to. She greeted all of the barn members who attended, spending extra time conversing with the ones she did know. Reyes didn’t go because of some horse event he had with another girl at the barn, so her circle was small. Reggie, Louis, who was much too optimistic at all times for her apathetic state; and Devyn, who she could hardly call a friend. She put on the fakest, most appropriate funeral mask she could hide behind, and answered all of the questions with grace and poise. She looked at the door and the inside of the church as if it wished her harm, refusing to go inside until it was actually time. She’d agreed to do the eulogy, for she was not only Viktor’s best friend, but the only person who could do so much as think about his death without crying. So she did, and so she would. She tried to ignore the feeling of impending doom and the certainty of having a panic attack in that building, she felt so trapped in there. She didn’t even know why, she’d just gotten it in her head that it was not going to go well from the moment she’d planned the event weeks prior. She felt nauseous even standing outside.

She waited for the first song to begin before she entered the building, lingering towards the back of the church. There was a seat saved for her on the end of the first pew with the Petrovas, but she had already told them that was likely not going to happen. She couldn’t add to the feeling of entrapment, she knew how much worse it could get. She continued to promise herself she’d get through it, clutching the handbag she was carrying that had nothing in it but an emesis bag she carried around with her everywhere. It wasn’t comforting her today.

She sat through the readings they’d chosen, two of Viktor’s favorites. Messages of hope and joy and happiness and everything he was. It was far too cheery. It became less cheery when Sofia broke down crying on the altar, rendered unable to finish the reading. Rena had been panicking now for ten to fifteen minutes, far too many. Her mind was numb, dizzy, blank. Her head was floating far above the rest of her body, she was dizzy. She was sick. She couldn’t see straight. She couldn’t think straight. Her consciousness wavered. Every piece of her knew that she needed to get out of there as fast as possible, the walls felt like they were caving in. Why wasn’t anyone else panicking? Why were they staring at the face of a tsunami and she was the only one drowning? She sighed, smoothing over her black dress. It was the same one she had waited so long to wash. Alex. Where was he? Not that it would help to have him here while she was like this, no one could help. She couldn’t let anyone help, she didn’t know how. She could only help herself, not that she was doing a very good job. Leave. Now. Get out. You’re not okay. You can’t do this. The voices in her head were screaming. Every instinct in her body, every nerve ending, everything screamed that she needed to get out. Still, she put one foot in front of the other, glancing down at the bag in her bag. That was her worst-case scenario. She bowed in front of the altar. She started heaving. She thought she was going to vomit. It would have been entirely too easy to. Before she could even try, just as she’d reached the ambo, she simply collapsed, a lifeless body sprawled out before an empty casket. Perhaps it was meant for her, anyway.

Alexander Littlewood | Rena

"Twelve. Somewhere around there, at least." That was a lie. The day was ingrained into his memory, despite his frequent attempts at erasing it. It meant nothing, it was just another ugly memory he preferred not to think about, and yet he still flinched when he spoke. Only for a moment, and then his body returned to its forced strength. "It wasn't prompted by anything-" why did he feel the need to clarify that? As if a panic disorder was better than being affected by his surroundings. At least his priorities were in the right order. "- just my body malfunctioning as per usual. One moment I was staring at the ceiling, trying to make sen-" he stopped himself. "Trying to fall asleep, and then I couldn't breath, or anything else." Could he ever do anything else, other than the bare minimum? Unlikely. That itself seemed difficult, recently. If he cared to look back - which he definitely didn’t - it probably wouldn’t come across as just as out of the blue as it felt. Everything was a gradual shift, until there was a sudden breaking point which was the only point that you remembered. “My mom-” again, that telling pause “-dragged me to a psychologist, they threw a bunch of labels in the air but said nothing substantial. That’s about it.” He was talking too much. A simple ‘I was twelve’ would have sufficed. He hated the effect Rena had on him: either he was too dumbstruck to be able to string together a coherent sentence - and of course you can do that usually, idiot - or couldn’t hold his tongue. He hated it with all his might, but for a reason he couldn’t fathom - didn’t want to fathom - he kept finding himself circling back to her. There was something about her charisma that made him want to come closer, remove his cracked shell for whatever illogical reason leapt into his mind at that moment. She pulled him closer without any touch or movement, like a hidden force that was invisible but that was unmistakably there. Gravity.

Her next words, which broke the pondering silence that had formed between them, brought a rueful suggestion of a smile to his face. That’s the point. Stay unassuming, slip into the curtain, deflect any attention that you accidently drew. An apparition in the shadows, and he intended to keep it that way. He only wished he could forget he existed as well. “This place attracts the wildest shit.” He didn’t mention that, earlier on, he had been relatively instrumental in creating those events. Midnight shenanigans in the loft, accidently - although the jury was still out on that, since Pax had always been a wild card - lacing the beverages at one of the farm functions with some drug that he hadn’t asked the name for, and too many excursions that had mainly ended with both of them in punishment. That last one held enough emotion, but not too much that he couldn’t talk about it, for him to continue.

“None taken. Someone, not really sure who-” fraud “- spiked the coffee at one of those events Kholo’s fond of hosting. No idea how she got her hands on the stuff, but the result meant that half of the trainers were higher than Everest by the end of it. Had one of them come up to me and tell me in all honesty that they were the batman.. Same dude who took away our saddles the previous lesson and yelled at everyone for having seats of spaghetti.”

They fell into that same silence again, both preoccupied with the task of walking. He glanced at Rena every so often, not so much of a searching gaze but more to check in with her, that she was still comfortable. He was all too aware of her slightly heavy breathing, and for a brief moment he thought of stopping. But of the little he knew of Rena, he knew enough that she wouldn’t want pity. How the tables had turned - that first day, the day they met, it was a reverse scenario. Her careful glances, his attempt at appearing fine. Now it was Alex that sneaked a glimpse every so often, mindful not to let his eyes linger long enough to be noticed.

Clearly, he hadn’t been careful enough. Her gae met his, and for a moment he was undecided whether to look away or not. But once she began speaking, it was impossible. His eyes darted away, focusing on the path with an overly determined force. It was inevitable. He’d shown up at her door with blood dripping down his arms, and yet he’d expected for it to be brushed over. Hoped for it to be ignored, if he was being honest. Hope was a fickle thing. The question could be ignored for only so long. Was he supposed to speak? Yes. No. He could write a letter, take the time to find the exact phrasing that would translate his thoughts into tangible, understandable words. Things like that, whatever ‘that’ happened to be, weren’t supposed to be talked about. The more one spoke, the more real it became, until eventually there was no way of denying it. Still, he spoke, albeit with a lower tone in an attempt to mask his voice’s traitorous shaking. He was better than this. Wasn’t he?

“It’s supposed to scar.” He was suddenly conscious of the tenderness of his skin each time they brushed against his shirt, the need beneath it that demanded to be answered. Not now, not yet. His jaw tightened, eyes scampering around the path, before he found the voice to continue. “It isn’t - I usually hide it better.” And now he’d essentially gone and said that he trusted her more than most. Was he trying to hurt himself, not physically this time but by removing another wall? Exposure led to pain, he was more than aware of that. This was an unjustified decision. There was another voice in his head, quieter but not lacking strength: you worded it that way for a reason. Did he? Unconsciously, maybe, below his logical thinking. I’ll write you a letter. It was a moment before he realized he’d spoken out loud, but somehow he wasn’t irritated at the events. He would sit down somewhere quiet, write with the accuracy he longed for but which was always just out of his grasp. Speaking was unnecessary.

Finally, after a while longer of walking by which point his breath was closing in on Rena’s tempo, they came to a standstill by the same bench of the wedding night. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Was every action always going to circle back to the past? Apparently so. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until she finally broke the hush.

“I need to say something and I don’t want you to say anything.”

That wouldn’t be difficult. Silence, the act of not speaking, was one of his better skills, if he could call any of them that. But this time, it felt strained. There was something in her tone that at first had made him tense up, expecting a barrage of emotions he wasn’t ready for, but after a second’s reflection realized it wouldn’t be that. Her eyes were numb, without the intensity that always drew him closer. Still, he couldn’t break away from her gaze. I need to stay away from you for a while. Of course. He should have seen this coming, he should have anticipated the bone-shattering crash that had always been inevitable. He couldn’t blame it on gullibleness this time. He knew, he should have known, but it was just as jarring as always. I need to stay away from you for a while. That was fine. It was fine, she at least had the strength necessary to isolate herself from him. It was better this way - how, exactly? He should never have opened up to her, in any of the countless ways he’d done in the past weeks.

Even so, despite every sensible voice telling him to pull back, he found himself leaning closer. Her hand was on his cheek, and although he could have flinched had it been anyone else, it was peaceful. It was Rena. He was vaguely aware of her words, although his senses were entirely focused on the touch of her skin on his. But focused was too purposeful of a word. They pinpointed that single sensation without any request for that, more natural than any other obsession he tended to concentrate on. It was instinctual, intuitive, as if he’d known her for years instead of the truthful two months. It was little more than a brush of his skin, like she was holding her hand as lightly as possible, and yet it still set his emotions on fire.

It was only once she withdrew that her statement truly hit him. Something. One could phrase it that way if necessary. But ‘something’ was too weak a word for such a waterfall of the feelings he’d tried so hard to lock away, and now which he had welcomed back with little more than a flinch. Now, he was able to listen to her with his full attention, or the closest thing to that. Even so, it felt like he was watching the events from a distance. He couldn’t let himself observe as himself, not when the words were as painful as they were. I would never forgive myself. There’s nothing to forgive. I’ll find my way back to you.

“Please don’t be upset with me.”

You don’t understand, he wanted to say. I couldn’t be. Whether this was because of the paralysis he was protecting himself with, or because he couldn’t bear to hurt her more than he probably already had, he wasn’t sure. Most likely a combination of both. “I’ll find my way back to you.” I’ll be waiting.

***

He wrestled with himself for the rest of the week, torn between the desire to see her and the equally strong need to keep as much distance between them as possible. A voice murmured that he was being dramatic, but for once he ignored it. This time, he didn’t want to find the energy to dispel the drama that had entered his life when he first met Rena. There was enough else he could do to swallow the pain that he tried to deny. A couple more horses were added to his list, a returned call to a client checking if they needed any help, finding whatever arbitrary task that would fill his mind for as long as possible. Whatever could remove the ache. With his busied schedule, it was difficult to avoid Rena, but he managed to wrangle it until it was unlikely he’d bump into her. The few times they inevitably saw one another, usually in the tackroom or an equally-frequented place, he hadn’t known where to look. Her eyes, the ground, or the man that was beside her almost every time he saw her. That was the first time that doubt settled into his mind. He’d managed to brush it away at first, but after noticing that she never was without the tall man he’d come to know as Reyes, it became harder to believe that she’d truly distanced herself for his sake. The truth would have been more palatable.

The chaos, or the closest thing that he allowed into his life, at least hadn’t transferred into his association with Max. They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement on what their association would entail. Little engagement from either party with the other, and no talk other than necessary statements. Occasionally, one of them - always Max, honestly - would make a humorous comment about something, before remembering that he wouldn't find any camaraderie with his roommate. And, of course, there were the purposefully icy remarks. In this case, Alex couldn't excuse himself from blame. Simply because Max had had some type of near death experience didn't exempt him from the hooded insults he rightfully deserved. Most days, though, the room was silent. Alex still avoided staying there for long periods of time, partially because of Max and partially because of the irrational, illogical fear that was associated with that room. Either way, their paths crossed more than he wanted but less than they would naturally.

This afternoon, though, he'd landed back at their room for surprisingly long, without any of the usual panic linked with it. This was probably to do with the fact that other than a glance around the room when he'd first entered, he'd barely looked at it twice. The drowning noise from his earphones helped as well. He wasn't listening to the podcast at this point - something about new advances in neuroscience, something he should've enjoyed but instead ignored with a type of apathy - since its only purpose was to silence every other distraction. His thoughts, Max's breathing, the faint echoes of a conversation a few rooms away. Everything possible.

Apparently, the volume still wasn't loud enough. He caught a comment from Max, tossed it away as the usual garbage that left his mouth, but quickly returned his attention when he picked up on the subject. Rena. He refused to think about her - what was there to think about? Nothing, nothing at all. Whatever they'd had between them - fleeting signs of friendship, nothing more, he insisted - was gone. Or at least put on hold until she could feel again. He wasn't waiting on the edge of his seat for that, even if his thoughts had an irritating habit of wandering to her in his spare time. He'd respect her choice, step away until she called him back - if she called him back. That was what she wanted. Wasn't it?

After a few minutes of painful talking, he'd managed to extract the information out of Max. Viktor's funeral, the Virginian one, had happened today. That at least wasn't a surprise - as much as he wanted to pretend he had no feelings, he'd considered going to it himself. But Rena had asked him to stay away, and he'd be an imbecile to ignore that. This was what was best. According to Max, she'd collapsed while delivering the eulogy. She was fine now, he insisted, just probably a bit embarrassed if he knew her. You don't, Alex wanted to say. You have no idea who she is. The only thing that stopped him was the painfully accurate voice that reminded him that he probably didn't know her, either.

It took a bare moment to make up his mind. She’d told him to stay away, he was supposed to keep his distance, but this decision was too simple. He would check up on her, satisfy his need to make sure that she was fine and also see her as shattered as he felt, and then pretend that he’d never met her. Turn a new page, a new chapter. He had lost count of what number he was on, by now. Too many to keep track of. Alex ran his hands through his hair, self-conscious of his appearance even though it was probably better than it had been in days. This visit meant nothing - it was just to assure himself that she was fine, to tell himself to move on. And yet he still took those extra few minutes to glance in the mirror, become overly aware of the wreck he called his body, and force his steps down the passage.

It shouldn’t have taken long to arrive at her room. He kept stopping every fifth pace, overthinking his impromptu choice. She’d asked him to stay away. Was he so feelingless that he couldn’t even respect hers? The momentary pauses added up, and by the time he eventually made it there he’d had time to rehearse all of his actions. He could operate on auto-pilot, the last kindness he could spare on himself.

The knock was firm, harsher than he’d wanted, and he winced at the sound. This was supposed to be gentle, thoughtful, and even by his entrance he’d already messed that up. His face froze when Rena opened the door. Alex forced his gaze away, anywhere but those eyes which he refused to look at again, not when he still wanted so much more from them than what they’d give.

“I know you told me to stay away.” He’d practised this on the walk to her room, silently memorizing the words he wanted to say - needed to say. “I can leave as soon as you want me to. Say the word and I’ll disappear.” If he was following through with this, he needed to at least set up some safety barriers. His voice dropped slightly, softening it as much as he could allow. “I just wanted to check in on you.”

(I'm so sorry this literally goes nowhere x_x)

Dublin | M: Blair, Louis

His eyes widened in some quick flash of fear, or surprise. The "stealing" of the glowy talking device was quite unexpected and he didn't exactly register it until Blair was already explaining the situation to Louis through it. Now, this was suddenly the most awful thing in the history of forever. His crying worsened incredibly as if he'd just been stabbed. Worst thing to ever happen to him, apparently. Clearly not, considering he'd gotten himself to this point, but in that passing moment, the focus was flipped from his long history of troubles, straight to this absolute atrocity of "no more glowy thing." How dare she.

Dublin made pathetic little grabby motions toward Blair as she went to return his phone, hands halfway hidden in his sleeves and stringy strands of long hair covering bits of his pale face. He looked at her sort of like a beaten puppy, as if he'd done something wrong and was about to be thoroughly punished by her. Afraid. His cheeks were red and puffy from the crying, perhaps furthered by the copious amounts of alcohol, and he was in a constant state of trembling that worsened and bettered in back and forth waves. Truly a sight to be seen; someone who seemed loud and angry and impulsive while sober, completely shattered and submissive while intoxicated. Small, really. They do say "alcohol's honesty," or something of that sort.

"Wheeere'd he gooo?" Dublin was hardly audible then, more like a depressed, needy squeak of a sound. He'd just realized the phone was turned off, silent, and suddenly he really missed Louis. Sure, he'd talked to him-- if that interaction could really even be considered that-- for only a few moments, but now this felt like complete and utter abandonment. That was a thing he had dealt with before, and a thing he was terrified of, and that he seemed to consider worth total panic. He was going to call back, right? Or did Blair tell him to do something? Oh god, why was he so anxious, now? The guy just hung up the damn phone, for fuck's sake!

"Is he--. Maad?"

In what felt like the next eon, Dublin was curled up in a tight ball with his crossed arms hiding the lower half of his face, twitching and hyperventilating in both the dying down of his ailment, and the gut-wrenching panic he was wrongfully spiraling through. He came super close to more puking, but managed to hold it back with what little power he had in him. Damn, he was so exhausted. Why did this have to fail? All he wanted this time was to black out for as long as possible, not rock himself crying for the millionth time. Being drunk was supposed to feel good, right? Why did it always suck like this, then?

Some mindless mumbles were thrown here and there, not that he had any idea what he meant or who it was directed towards. Actually, he was zoning in and out of the driver's seat, freaking out in this spot at one moment, then a different one later with no recollection of the last minute. Maybe that was good. He wanted to feel as little of this as possible. And, little to his knowledge, it meant Louis came sooner. When the tall man appeared, some apparent mixture of humor and concern, he didn't even notice for a while. But when he finally did, he gave a giant flinch, first only noticing the "magically appearing shadow thing" of which was quite terrifying, and then having some confusing burst of feelings (excitement, even more fear?) as he realized who he was.

It took him a while, but eventually Dublin replied a squealy, "No," the quiet voice muffled behind his sleeves. If only that were true. He tried to look at Louis, who was now down beside him, but his vision was so blurred and incomprehensible, especially through the night, that he was basically just glancing around the general vacinity of a familiar blob. Louis didn't sound upset with him like he'd feared, but he was still on edge. Not only because of that, but because of the next ocean that decided to start pouring from his eyes, remembering the hurt that'd even got him here in the first place. Funny how that'd left the front of his mind, when everything was still awful. God, this crying lasted too long. How is it even possible to keep up so steadily for so long anyway? After all this time, it felt like there were knives playing with his eyeballs. Maybe Louis could snap his fingers and make it go away. That'd be cool. Really cool. He couldn't bring himself to ask, though.

"Louieee." He started instead, a muffled whisper as if this were a secret. "I'm. Ss-so druunkk." Dublin released some quick, spaced apart laughs, more like giggles maybe, though clearly he wasn't amused at all. They were empty, confusing, nothing more than jerks of his body to worsen whatever was going on inside. It wasn't clear what he was laughing at, though each break between them was full of sniffles and more tears, until those replaced it entirely. He wiggled a bit on the ground with a wheeze before, without warning, grabbing Louis' sleeve. The motion was lacking direction but very purposeful. He held on with all the energy he had left, maybe tugging at him a bit, fumbling over a burning question he asked with much interest. "How. How did-- youuu. Why a-are you. Heere?"

Rena | Alex

Rena had been through a day that was entirely too long, and still, she couldn’t sleep. How was that possible? She knew how, she had been there with herself to experience every tiny little horror that had manifested as a result of everything she had been through. She wanted to cry. She had cried. There were tears streaming down her face, her olive-hued skin unfortunately making that so much more obvious. She’d been crying for hours. It all hit her at once. It always did. It was the only downfall of storing them up and putting them off for so long.

A knock sounded at her door. It was late, maybe even early. She wasn’t sure how late it was, had it already reached the A.M. hours? The knock was unfamiliar, it was rough, it was hasty. Maybe anxious rather than demanding, but she assumed it to be the latter. She jumped, nothing had improved in her terror over being alone. She’d been alone more than she desired to be lately with Alex gone. Reyes was a good substitute until curfew, then he absolutely refused to offer her any sliver of humanity outside of the clearly defined rules they were called to follow. Once eight in the evening hit, he was gone as if he was never there. That left her alone to be miserable, to jump when the air conditioner made any kind of noise, to compulsively open and close the blinds, afraid of what danger may lurk on the other side of her window despite it not being on the ground floor. She had reached levels of insanity even she thought she was incapable of reaching.

She opened the door to see the only person she wanted to see and the only person she truly hadn’t expected to see. She was sure her face showed the surprise, or maybe just more tears, but he wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes were everywhere but on her. Vaguely, she recalled trying to get him to see why she couldn’t be with him then, but that was weeks ago. The piece of that that replayed in her mind was his reaction to her, the very physical and subconscious one that reminded her that he had a pulse, that he was a living, breathing being before her. Carefully, she put something in front of the door in order not to lock herself out, then she silently took a step forward, closing the gap between their bodies. She flung her arms around him, her head buried into his chest to feel his heartbeat, to feel the signs of life. Something about the sound of his heartbeat grounded her, it reminded her of the present rather than lingering in the past or the future. He was so warm, exactly the way she remembered him. He smelled the same, though by now she could barely associate it with anything other than sleep. The only difference was that she remembered the feeling of his breathing being softer, gentler. He was breathing faster, his heart was beating faster. Was it because of her? Was it because of the walk to get here? She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that she was safe inside his arms, perfectly protected from the dangers of the world and of her mind. Everything that mattered no longer mattered, even if just for a second. She was home. Back in her body, back in his arms.

“I never want you to leave,” she said in the faintest, most emotion-filled voice. She had partially moved from her position in his arms, only to raise her gaze to meet his without being close enough to make it uncomfortable. He still wouldn’t look at her. Though she’d done it once before, she was much more apprehensive this time to touch him--really touch him. Slowly, she reached up to cup his cheek in her hand, turning his head down to look at her. Tear-stains and all, runny mascara and all, bruises from passing out on an altar and all. It was barely a glimpse into the terror of imperfection that she constantly felt, but it was a peace offering. “Look in my eyes,” she whispered, “I’m home.”

Did she mean in his arms? Back in her dorm, her geographical home? Back in her body, feeling every emotion magnified by a power of three-thousand? All of the above? She smiled gently at him, that same faint, sleepy look that seemed to consume her. It was a refreshing change of pace from the typical look on her face. Terror, if she had her feelings on, and absolutely nothing, a horrifying numbness, if not. She started crying again, but her face never faltered. Tears fell from both eyes like a river, but the smile stayed. Couldn’t he see her breaking? Did he see how hard she was trying to disguise her pain as unproblematic beauty? Could he see the years upon years of pain that it had taken to create the ability to cry with a smile on her face? Finally, she couldn’t keep it together anymore. She turned away from him, her face fell for ten seconds, she took a choked breath, and then she turned back with the smile plastered back on. Was he impressed? She was making herself so tolerable for him, so attractive, so easy to like, so low-maintenance. Was it working? Was she earning his love by being satisfactory?

“Come in,” she opened the door, gesturing for him to enter. “My roommate still hasn’t come back. I’m not sure if she’s going to at this point.” Her voice was emotional, it was thick with excessively-masked grief. Hoarse, raw. Not from speaking, from crying. From praying to God, from pleading with Him, from begging for answers. She sat down on her bed, unsure of where he was going to sit if at all. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold despite many blankets inches from her. “I was going to come find you,” it seemed like a good enough excuse, a reason to be sorry. She always had to have a reason to be sorry, didn’t she? To take the blame for any situation that she could? To feel herself suffer? “I just wanted to make sure I was better first. Nobody needs to deal with me when I’m emotional and ugly and ahh,” she smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m still coming to terms with everything that’s happened. It’s not like I was held hostage in a barn for eleven days or anything, it shouldn’t take too much longer to fix myself.” The wry smile remained. “Anyway, I’m sorry I pushed you away. I don’t regret it, I was saving you from myself. No one needs to deal with this, like I said. No one wants to, it’s just ugly. But it needs to be dealt with, so for the last couple hours I’ve just been sitting in it. I can turn it off for a little longer, though, I can shut it back off until you head out for the night. I’m guessing you heard from Max about the utter failure that happened at the funeral today? That’s what prompted this little trip down the hall, yeah?” She grew defensive, briefly. Her body stiffened and she crossed her arms. “Wait, did he send you here? If he sent you here you can go back and tell him that I’m fine.” Her face changed briefly, processing an emotion of some kind. They ran through her like bolts of lightning every so often. She did the only trick in the book that actually caused her to feel like a psychopath. Her voice went completely neutral, completely emotionless and normal in a sickening way. “I’m fine, see? Listen to the sound of my voice. I was just being dramatic earlier. You can tell by my voice that I’m fine, it was just drama. Unnecessary drama and narcissism and ugly things. Yeah? Tell everyone I’m great. Better than great. Fantastic.” All of the childhood wounds started to stab at her like knives, one after the other. Words that lingered, that defined her, that made her unattractive. She could still feel them with the same emotion she did when it was someone else’s vile tone spitting them at her. In fact, she replicated that tone when she said them about herself. She smiled at him neutrally, walking the line between emotion and apathy. She looked to be on the verge of a breakdown, if not already in one. She felt mentally unstable in the most uncontrolled way. “See? Fine. Perfect. Brilliant. And all the other adjectives.” She glanced to the door. “Maybe you should go. I’m sorry to let you in and then kick you out, but you don’t need to be here for this. No one does. No one needs to see me like this, no one deserves to see me like this. You have to go. You can’t be here.”

Alexander Littlewood | Rena

“Hey.” Her immediate embrace was too swift to avoid, if some part of him still believed that he would have tried to. The action was so familiar, but so removed from the world he’d placed himself in, that he couldn’t mask his stiffening as her arms wrapped around him. Lately, everything felt as if it was trying to drag him back, away from his path and into the past. Her mannerisms were distinctly Rena - it was grounding, it was intolerable, that he recognized her characteristic gestures already - but there was a shadow or something else, so fleeting that he wasn’t sure whether it truly existed or whether he was blending memory with reality. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Still, Alex found himself relaxing, after a moment of indecisive tension. His breathing was still rapid, a remnant of his hesitancy en route, and he was too aware of the proximity of her body to his, but the tightness from the unexpected hug was fading. Touch was something his brain was constantly at odds with around her: he wanted to - needed to - never look at her skin again, and yet it took all of his self-control not to use those meaningless, petty gestures that were supposedly affectionate but had no real purpose: a graze of knuckles when they pass, a hug similar to to the one she’d just prompted. Pointless, illogical; but this felt like the opposite of that. He had a vague sensation that this was what people meant when they spoke about touch as a love language. He’d never understood that - it was something you tolerated for certain people, but it was never enjoyable. Relationships were built on trust, belief, all the things he’d never quite mastered - not the walking hand in hand, sleeping on someone’s shoulder on a long car drive, the feeling of skin on skin that had always repulsed him in some manner. Relationships of any kind weren’t built on that. At least, if they were, he had even less of a chance at them than he’d thought. But this - this felt right. Carefully, hesitantly, he returned the hug. His movements were mimicking his own uncertainty, at first putting barely enough pressure to be felt and then, as he became more sure that she wasn't uncomfortable, tightening it into a firmer enveloping embrace. The moment allowed him one vulnerable phrase. "I missed you." He had, and so much more. He wouldn't have been able to put it into words, even if he'd wanted to.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Her hand was on his cheek again, and although a faint flicker of disquiet went through him - was this going to be another repetition? - he had to fight the urge to trace her jawline with his hand. She was beautiful; not only in the visible sense, though that never had a huge pull over his emotions, but in her consuming soul. It was more than the tear-stains that littered her face that gave her the feeling of fragility - that was the only thing stopping him from going any further, other than his own blockades: the sense that if he breathed too roughly, she would fall.

The tears began again, and somehow against all odds her smile remained. It was supposed to show strength, he knew that he should have seen it as strength, but all he could see was how heartbreakingly broken she was. He hated using that word - it boxed the person it applied to immediately - but in this scenario it seemed the most apt. They were all broken, to some extent. Some cracked more than others, and others with barely-healed scars they masqueraded as bravery. Bravery. She was trying so hard, that much he could see - too hard. He wanted - no, needed - to comfort her, give her the last offering of peace he could spare. To do anything, other than hold her in his arms when she was clearly hurting. Anything that might make a difference. He couldn't remove the pain - he was at least self-aware enough to know that - but was there nothing he could do to let her feel it? Truly feel it - not crying with a plastered smile, or repeatedly assuring the world that everything was fine, just fine. It was almost ironic, if he'd been in the mood for humour, that he of all people was the one thinking this. Shutting off emotions was easy, too easy, but it was more disturbing to see someone else do it in front of him.

Alex followed her wordlessly into the room, pausing beside the bed. He couldn't sit. His body screamed for rest, any rest, but he didn't want to know what he'd do if his face was that close to hers. He had no trust in himself at this point. Time had proven, again, that trust in anything - people, knowledge, his own mind - would only result in pain. Instead, he leaned against the wall with careful, forced nonchalance. His gaze was still on her, as if studying each movement. Which, if he was being honest, he was. Memorising the small gestures that made her Rena, filing away each new piece of knowledge with the care of a seasoned professional.

“I was going to come find you,”

The words almost settled that feeling of vulnerability, of fear, that was always exaggerated around Rena, except for the apologetic tone she used with them. "It's fine. Seriously." His face changed, partially winced, as he spoke. That wasn't supposed to sound as passive aggressive as he knew it had. Instead, he settled for a quieter, more measured and therefore less feeling, tone. He stared straight ahead, before shifting both his posture and gaze to make eye contact with her. "You needed space, and that’s alright.” And then, as if he wasn’t sure if that was enough, he added, “It’s fine.” This time, he allowed a shadow of emotion into his voice.

"I just wanted to make sure I was better first. Nobody needs to deal with me when I’m emotional and ugly and ahh." Even though she was smiling, or perhaps because of that, he again had that sense of - not weakness, not delicacy, since Rena was everything but those two words, but the overwhelming awareness that she had been strong for too long.

You don’t need fixing. He was intruding on a moment he wasn’t supposed to see. Her voice was steady, a trait he simultaneously admired in strangers and found disquieting from Rena. He must be imagining the frailty. Of course he was - she was strong, she was fine, he was clutching straws. It was vain, really, that he was so eager to find flaws in others. This isn’t a flaw. Was that the only way he found the nerve to validate himself? His superiority complex was disgustingly big; if this is arrogance, I’d love to see an insecure person.

“Wait, did he send you here? If he sent you here you can go back and tell him that I’m fine.”

Alex started to interject, his barely-formed words dying on his lips as she carried on. I came of my own accord. I swear. But that thought seemed to have spooked her. Her monologue was now rolling out at top speed, leaving him no space to intervene with the corner she was driving herself into. Fool. Would he have spoken, if she'd paused for more than a moment? He wanted to believe that he would. That somehow, even though no generic phrase could be stolen for this situation, he could find the words that would do something, anything, to help. But the more logical voice that he'd been ignoring spoke up again. We all know the truth, Alex, and that isn't it.

“Maybe you should go. I’m sorry to let you in and then kick you out, but you don’t need to be here for this. No one does. No one needs to see me like this, no one deserves to see me like this. You have to go. You can’t be here.”

He was supposed to say something. What the words were, though, eluded him as usual. They had to be kind, comforting, supportive, but not too warm to falsely raise her expectations. There were countless phrases he’d memorized over the years - he briefly wondered what that said about his friendship with Pax - for times like these, times when he knew he would never think of the right things to say himself and so instead plagiarised others’ phrases in order to complete the task. But it was unfair on Rena to soften her with sugar-coated expressions he could never mean. With most people, he couldn’t care less about what they thought of what he said - the way to uphold his appearance was to speak as little as possible, which neatly removed that problem. But as soon as he knew them well, or - dare he say it - wanted to know them better, everything that left his mouth was inadequate. At least it matched every other opinion about himself. It was easier when everyone was held at arm's length, he told himself. There was no expectation of a better person, no belief that they would find ‘the real Alex’ beneath his exterior, nothing to tie him to this temporary place. He hadn’t made up his mind whether he was referring to White Oaks or the world. Without attachments, he could exist peacefully in his nihilistic side that was the best at disconnecting from reality. Rena was everything he fought against, and still he was drawn to her. He hated it, he hated her; the only reason being that she was unknowingly breaking down the walls he’d built to protect himself. Fool.

“I’ll leave. If you really want me to.” He couldn’t. “I know I’m just some random guy you barely know-” now that phrase stung more than it should have, but he had to acknowledge the truth “- but I know you enough to know you’re not fine.” His expression had fallen back into that slightly judgemental appearance in the kindest way he could muster. “You’re allowed to feel.” Viktor would have known exactly what to say. “Rena-” Was he supposed to hold her? Leave her alone? No advice had prepared him for this. He needed desperately to do the right thing, say the right thing, be the right thing. It was impossible, everything was, but was it so terrible to try? Yes. No. Alex reached forward, almost touching her wrist but stopping himself before any contact could be made. His tone softened. “It’s okay not to be okay, you know?”

And now he was spouting cliched proverbs that meant nothing at all, and which he could still hear in Pax’s voice in his head. It was nothing if not a full circle, that much he could admit.

Rena | Alex

Deep breaths. That was all Rena could focus on. Controlling her breathing, avoiding his eyes, smoothing over the little intricacies of her appearance that could indicate to him the state of her being. She knew his personality much better than she let on--she couldn’t trust him to listen to her analyze every little intricacy of his personality and not walk away terrified. Sometimes her level of intuition felt like a curse, like a scarlet letter that made people run away from her. She could break down every wall someone put up in an instant, but it wouldn’t keep them from rebuilding their walls twice as high at the realization of what she’s capable of.

With a fearful, conflicted look in her eye, she watched his arm extend towards her. He hesitated, and she sighed in relief. He had read that well, he was good at that. She had suspected and confirmed that he was good at setting boundaries, at keeping distance, at being extremely respectful of others. This was equally her favorite thing about him and her least favorite. In this moment, she was more than thrilled to not have to flinch, to aggressively pull her hand away. Yet, most of the time she thought of him, she also feared whether or not his lack of ability to display affection would eventually cause her to lose interest in him. It was a fine line in her mind, part of her believing that once she settled into her natural state around him it would be a perfect fit, and the other part fearing that it wasn’t even close.

He spoke to her softly, more gently than she’d ever heard him speak before. Something resembling affection smoothed over his quaint accent and made it even more pleasant than it usually was. As was usual with Rena, she mirrored him. When he softened, she softened. If he had become more panicked, she absolutely would have as well. She took another deep breath, but struggled to contain the ragged quality that wanted to consume it and cause her to burst into sobs at any moment.

“I don’t feel safe here,” she whispered, fear in her eyes. “I don’t feel safe anywhere. Anywhere I go, I feel like there’s someone behind me I don’t see. Like I’m going to end up back in that barn. Except this time,” tears were now running wildly down her face once more, her tone inconsolable and unhidden. “Viktor won’t be here to safe me. I have no one anymore.”

She buried her face in her hands, ever-hiding her true emotions from anyone who was capable of judging her. She couldn’t show pain, remorse, anything. She curled up into a ball on her bed, hugging herself with her arms, her back against the headboard. She wiped the tears away, her eyes glued to the floor, taking deep breaths to regain control of herself. Except every time she stopped, she started crying all over again. She kept repeating the same things in her head, the saddest, most bleak and desperation-filled notions she could manage. Anything to keep the pity party going. After about ten minutes, she finally felt emotionally raw and too exhausted to continue. She felt the closest to her true self she ever did, as was typical after an emotional breakdown of that sort. This time, she wiped her tears away and didn’t fall back into a crying fit. The room took on a gentle, sleepy ambiance that was reminiscent of the night of that wedding. Looking back, that night made her cringe, though she couldn’t particularly put her finger on why. She was too drunk to really remember, but the feeling of humiliation came so naturally to her that she just wore it as if she were destined to. Her facial expression shifted slightly, just for a moment, and when she realized that it had, she glanced up at Alex. She tried to resolve whatever feelings of humiliation she felt, justifying that if whatever she was trying to remember was really so bad, he wouldn’t have come. She offered him a bleak smile. “Well that wasn’t cute,” she smiled just slightly brighter. There was still some level of facade keeping her strong and upright, but the drowsiness of the room was suffocating and it was causing her to be calm and still. “Nobody likes that. But, thank you for staying with me.” She had learned to replace ‘sorry’ with ‘thank you’ because it felt healthier to her. She still struggled not to ramble and turn everything into a self-deprecating rant anyway, and she felt physical pain at the response of not completing that thought. Leaving it in a healthy place physically hurt her in her current mindset.

“You don’t have to stay, so don’t feel obligated at all, but if you do want to stay, we don’t have to sit here and talk about our feelings or anything like that. We can play a board game or something. Except I’m too tired to really comprehend a board game right now, but I do have this.”

She pulled a little box off her shelf, setting up the cards on the table. “Basically this game just fosters deep conversation. And, since you said you barely know me, that needs to change. So, I’ll draw a card and then you will answer. Then, you’ll draw a card and I’ll answer. I’ll go first.” She drew a card off the deck, then glanced up at him, avoiding his eyes. She pretended to check the time on the clock across from him to make her inability to make eye contact less obvious. “What was your first impression of me?”