#idk if anyone needs a tw or something tell me i hardly want to trigger someone into feeling what i do atm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zwowow · 3 years

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this might be very triggering so its fine if u dont do it, but kells self harming secretly and em finding out and kells thinks he’s gonna be mad but em is comforting instead

sorry for the ask, im the same anon that went thru a break up and it aint going well

tw: self harm

I’m sorry my love, break ups are rough and it really sounds like ur goin thru it. sorry this took a while! but hopefully you’ve had time to heal a bit between sending this ask nd now.

psa to all I’ve never self harmed, so i’m just hoping this captures the idk headspace? alright :/

He started when he was a teenager. That’s how long he’s been doing this shit. It’s fucking shameful that he hasn’t grown out of it in over a decade, but it’s also one of the only things that’s consistently soothed him. When weed isn’t enough to calm him, or shake him from a spiral of self-loathing, he always comes back to this. Not because it makes him feel better, but because it makes him feel something.

He can focus on the pain and only the physical pain. His emotions, the real world shit he has to deal with, can fall to the side for a moment and he can revel in the hurt. The hurt that he has control over.

That’s a part of it, too. Control. So much of the existential pain he feels is beyond what he himself can change. Everyone gets to have an opinion on him, and regardless if it’s good or bad, he has to know it and internalize it. He has no choice. Time moves on and he can’t control what his past self has done, but the regret eats him alive. His head spins when he thinks about all of the shit that’s wrong in his life that he no longer has the power to change.

But the harm he does himself? Knowingly and methodically? It’s all controlled. He’s got it all under control.

Or at least he did. Recently, he’s had the itch to hurt more and more frequently. There’s so much going on in his life that he’s no longer in control of even the one thing that makes him feel grounded. The old scars and fresh wounds are getting harder to hide. Even on his inked skin, raised bumps and sensitive bruises are easy to find when his boyfriend spends all of his time roaming his hands gently over his body.

But Em can’t find out. Colson refuses to let him. He’d think Colson is pathetic (he is). He’d be disgusted by him (he should be). He’d hate him (but he couldn’t hate him more than Colson hates himself).

He tries not to hurt himself around Em because of this, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Sometimes he needs it.

Colson sneaks out of bed one night at Em’s place while his boyfriend is sleeping. On his way out, he grabs his small bag that has just a few of the items he uses to hurt himself. His fingers shake around the bag and his breath quickens in his chest.

Ain’t it funny that the shame he feels from doing this just makes him want to do it more?

When he makes it to a bathroom far enough away from Em’s room that he doubts he would make the effort to find him all the way down here, he lays the bag on the counter and opens it up.

This hadn’t started with the razor blades and lighters he keeps in the bag. He’s worked himself here from pulling out his leg hair and scratching his own arms raw just to feel the sting. The older and more well known he got, the more out of control he felt, and from there he made the jump from nervous ticks to genuine self harm.

He used to starve himself, too. He thinks back to only a couple of years ago and picks up the lighter. He could go days without eating, even while on tour. There were times where he’d pass out after shows from the hunger, but he’d write it off to others as exhaustion. That had been one of the most pleasing ways to hurt himself. The gentle build up to physical depletion to match what he felt emotionally was fulfilling in a way he couldn’t possibly explain to anyone.

And that’s why he stopped. Em started to catch on. He started to ask questions no one had asked before. He was obsessed with feeding Colson and keeping him healthy.

Colson started eating regularly because Em would’ve hated to know his not eating wasn’t just absent-minded forgetting. He would’ve been so disappointed to find out it was deliberate starvation. Colson didn’t want to disappoint Em.

He still doesn’t. Colson puts the lighter on the counter and takes out one of his blades, too. Em would hate to see this. He wouldn’t understand.

Inhaling shakily through his nose, Colson looks between his two options for tonight. He leaves the blade on the counter and picks up the lighter. Em is sure to notice if he has a fresh cut. A burn is easier to hide.

He flicks the lighter to life and is deciding where to hold it on his body when he hears the first knock.

“Kells.” Shit. He loosens his grip on the lighter and the flame goes out.

What is Em doing out of bed, and what the fuck is he doing down here?

“Kells,” Em tries again, “You good?”

“I’m fine.” He lies.

“Are you fucking smoking in there?” Outside, Em’s voice grows suspicious. He heard the lighter go on and now he thinks Colson is smoking weed in his bathroom. That would be easier to explain.

After too long of a pause he says, “No.”

Em doesn’t give a warning before he throws open the bathroom door. Colson wants to knock his head into the mirror for not thinking to lock it. He dives for the blade on the counter, but Em is staring right at it.

“What the fuck?” Em looks between Colson and the counter multiple times. It’s a stupid overdramatic response, but he wants to slit his fucking wrists from that look.

Em’s brow furrows. Colson feels sick to his stomach. Em is pissed at him. He’s disgusted by him. He doesn’t know whether to throw him out or call a mental hospital. He hates him. He must be so angry.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out. I was trying to hide it. I shouldn’t have done it here. I know it’s fucking sick. I know it’s fucking crazy to cut and burn myself, I know but I...” Excuses and apologies trip over each other running off of his tongue.

“You’re cutting yourself?” Em interrupts him. His intense gaze sweeps over Colson. He’s not disgusted or angry like he’d thought. He’s shocked, confused, and even a bit hurt.

“I... yeah.”

“Why?” A loaded question like that shoots Colson right through the chest. Why? He can hardly answer the question to himself, how is he supposed to explain it to Em?

Em said it himself, he was just clownin’ when talking about cutting himself, how fucked up does someone have to be to actually do that? Colson doesn’t want to explain to Em how fucked up he is.

When he doesn’t answer, Em looks back down at the blade and then at the lighter still in his hand. Kells sees the thousands of things he wants to say and the million questions he wants to ask in his eyes. Finally his eyes set, and Kells braces himself for the next thing to come out of Em’s mouth.

“Don’t do that shit tonight, yeah? Just come back to bed.” The response shocks Colson even more silent than he’d been. Does he still want to know why, or is he just dropping it?

As if reading his mind, Em shrugs, “You can tell me why when you’re ready. Tonight, I just want to cuddle your ass.” He holds out his hand to Colson and laces their fingers together tightly when he grabs on. Em tugs him gently out of the bathroom and down the hall back to his room. Colson leaves the lighter and the blade on the counter.

When they’re back in bed, Em holds him differently than he has before, His arm feels weighted, it presses Colson gently down into the bed, unable to move from the hold. Em holds him from behind protectively and breathes into Colson’s neck. It’s so close it’s almost claustrophobic, but Colson wouldn’t pull away from it even if he could. The urge to hurt himself is immediately replaced by the need to burrow in closer to Em’s grounding touch.

He falls asleep easily, letting the last of his shame and fear at Em’s reaction leave his body without a fight.

In the morning, he goes to clean his stuff up in the bathroom, or to throw it away, but not to use it. When he gets there, the bag, the razor, and the lighter are nowhere to be found. Instead of being anxious at the loss, he feels a bit calmed by it.

This isn’t the end. He won’t be able to stop hurting himself just because Em got rid of a few of his blades and one of his many designated lighters, but it is a start.

Em knows now, he’s looking out for it. And if the way he always acts toward him, from the making sure Colson is eating to the cuddle last night is any indication, he’ll be there when Colson needs it. He’ll take care of him.

#Anonymous #emgk #zwowfic #kind of a rushed ending #but i hope u liked it bebs #also like askbox nd messages are always open for those who wanna talk #tw: self harm

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pretty-perdita · 7 years

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We’re Here for You |*| [The Dalmatian Quartet]

Perdita summons Roger and Paul to an intervention for Anita, who has been acting very, very strangely.

[tw: frozen heart?? idk i don’t think there are trigger warnings]

@paul-patts @dalmatianplantationsensation @truly-aninspiration

ANITA If you asked Anita, everything in her life was going, for the first time since leaving for uni, perfectly. She had been hired as an event coordinator at the community centre, all that volunteering finally paying off. She was directing the play this year (had volunteered to step up to the role to help Mr. Foley out without a single hesitance) and had a decent sized flat with her best mate, Perdita The babies were still with Paul, so no more of that annoying crying—and Viola was with Roger, so none of that pesky whining.

She rose full of strength and energy and glided through her day without a worry as she arranged her checklist and crossed off each and every item. In fact, she barely noticed the hours past. Only at night did Anita feel a little—strange—and she looked out at the balcony wondering why she was restless, after having done everything that she needed and wanted to do. But ah well. The next day came and Anita didn’t have to worry about that either.

Today was one of these days, an extra hop in her step that had been there since the masquerade (a good shag will do that for a girl; Alasdair was a /good/ shag, as she shared in detail with Perdita). She entered her apartment with fresh groceries and a plan on the tip of her tongue—

“Perdy, are you here? I was thinking we could go out to Pixie to—“ And then Anita stopped in her tracks. Because as she turned around, she saw Perdita, Paul, Roger, the babies—even Viola—all gathered in her living room. Anita raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, was there a party I wasn’t invited to?”

PERDITA Perdita was the first to notice that things had been...off with Anita. At first, she'd just thought that it was--because of the ghostly hauntings. Every time Perdita walked by the balcony, where they'd since gotten the doors replaced, a little shiver ran down her spine, and she knew it must be affecting Anita tenfold. But, it didn't go away, in fact, it got worse. Much worse. The day that Anita had paraded into the flat, dragging Perdita by the wrist to the couch to regale her (in detail that Perdita certainly did not want to know) about her escapade with Roger, she knew something was wrong.

She'd talked about it with her therapist--feeling crazy herself, even as her gut instinct screamed at her. Eventually, she'd broken down (after the Alasdair incident) and texted both Roger and Paul in a group message, who had readily agreed with her that things were certainly off.

Which was how they found themselves here, now, staging, what? An intervention? Perdita had been pacing nervously, Penny on her hip when the door opened. She'd stopped in the middle of the living room, shifting Penny a little higher.

"N-no," she said, and then glanced at Paul, chewing on her lip slightly. "We just--why don't you come sit down?" she beckoned her, voice soft, like she might frighten her. Viola, who had been sitting next to Roger, trotted over to Anita, though her ears were back and her tail did not wag as it should. Perdita cleared her throat a little.

PAUL Some things to get straight: Paul was here for two reasons, and two reasons only: 1. Perdita and 2. Roger.

At first, he'd not been happy about the idea of being in a room with Anita again after all that'd gone down between her and Roger in just one short year. He'd always envisioned that when it happened, he'd get to tell her /off/, not sit down and pat her knee and tell her he was /here/ for her and all that sort of bull. But Roger was looking worse by the day (he'd been miserable for too long) and Perdy had asked him and-- Paul didn't want Anita leaving Perdy alone too, if she really was having a mental breakdown, so here he was.

He had Patch in his arms, standing right up against the balcony doors. He bit his tongue so he didn't say anything equally as snarky to Anita. In fact, he just held his tongue. He'd chime in after he had something to say.

ROGER The whole situation had him all sorts of concerned. Not that--well, yeah, he felt like shit. Like Anita just tossed him aside after getting what she wanted (did she want that? From the beginning?). It didn't make sense though. Why /now/ of all times? And, 'course, yeah he felt bad for himself, but he'd seen her flounce off with that older fellow at the masquerade and that seemed very un-Anita-like.

But he tried to tell himself that she was happy, she was doing what she needed to do, and then he'd gotten the text from Perdita and felt relieved. Like he wasn't making this all up in his head. He sat next to Paul now, watching as Viola trotted over to Anita, then flicked his eyes towards Anita, trying to get a read--if any--on her face. It would be better for Perdita to take the lead, he thought, but offered a small smile to let Anita know they weren't ganging up on her.

ANITA Anita didn't care about Roger's little smile. Or Perdita's. Or Paul's wary eyes or the dog that was approaching her, as though she was some sort of stranger. It was to Viola that Anita's eye dropped now and she waved her hand a little, shooing Viola away, and the pup turned and skitted right over to Roger, which made sense as he smelled a lot like dog these days.

And after she looked back up at Perdy and sighed. "Well, alright, if that's what you want," she said, and she smiled a little because she didn't want Perdita upset, even though she figured her friend-- and the boys-- were probably overreacting. Anita made her way to the couch and plopped down on the cushion, flicking some of her hair over her shoulder as she crossed her legs. "There we go. So. Go on. What have I done now?" She teased, smirking.

PERDITA Perdita watched with worried eyes as Anita shooed Viola away. It was the nail in the proverbial coffin, if you asked her. Anita loved her dalmatian more than anything. When she'd brought Viola to Perdita, in tears, crying about how she couldn't keep her since she had to leave, Perdita was afraid that Anita would fall apart without her faithful hound.

"Thank you," she said, meeting Anita on the couch and perching on it next to her dearest friend. She looked up at Paul again, as if to make sure he was still there. He was there, after all, more for her than Anita.

"Well, uhm, we just--we're all concerned. We know you've been going through a lot lately, and we want you to know we're here for you, but--but well, we--" she pressed her lips together, "--we're just concerned, is all."

PAUL Paul nearly barked at Anita then: /Sides being a bitch?/ He managed to hold his tongue though, shifting Patch up in his arms and turning his eyes on his son. Patch smiled at him, his cheeks all rosy.

And that made Paul smile too, and as he glanced back at Anita, he did feel a glimmer of fondness for the girl he used to consider one of his best mates. And Perdy was right; she'd been through a lot.

"It's hard losin' someone," he said, kindly even. He glanced at Roger. "No one knows that more than me and Rog."

ROGER Roger let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, his left hand fiddling with the fabric on his right sleeve, and he looked back up at Anita. "We just want to let you know that you can talk to us," he said and it made his heart hurt, but he said it anyway.

He wondered if she could see right through him, if she'd always been able to, if she thought of him and turned her nose up and laughed nowadays. He jiggled his foot slightly.

"It's hard to bear it on your own and we..." His voice trailed off. He swallowed. "What Perdita said. We're concerned."

ANITA Anita stared at them three. Her eyes bounced between them: Perdita, Paul, Roger, then back to Perdita. She was waiting for there to be /more/ to this strange intervention, something that made sense. But the more never came. Silence came, a little pause, that Anita figured she should fill, and so her eyebrows crinkled together.

"This is-- all very unnecessary," she said. "Sweet, but-- I'm fine. I told Roger that weeks ago-- I'm not sad or grieving or worried or -- or being haunted." She rolled her eyes. That had been so dramatic. "In fact, I think I feel the best I've ever felt. My father's moved on, and so have I."

PERDITA "That's the problem," Perdita said at once, and then paused. She glanced at Paul again. "I-I've never lost anyone close to me, but--I--I know people who have and it's not just...you don't just move on. I'm glad you're father is...at rest, but, you--it doesn't seem natural not to be upset, Anita. /I'm/ upset. I loved your father like he was part of my own family. I can't imagine what you're going through but this--sleeping around...being...rude--it's not the way to get over it. It's not...you." She gave Anita's hand a little squeeze.

ANITA "I'm not being rude," Anita said and she pulled her hand away from Perdita very fast. She even shifted farther away. "I'm being honest. I'm being straightforward. In fact, I think I'm being quite a lot like you, Perdita, so I don't see why you're faulting me for my confidence. /Alasdair/ loved my confidence," Anita said, lifting her chin and smirking.

"He said I was like a completely different person and I agree. And this version of me is much, much better."

PERDITA "But you /are/ a different person," Perdita snapped right back. "And I'm not rude to the people I care about." Perdita glanced at Roger, but looked away again quickly. "It's not--there's nothing wrong with confidence, but this just...developed overnight. One day you hardly wanted to get out of bed, and now--"

ANITA /Not rude to the people I care about./ That was the bit that stuck with Anita and she raised her eyebrows and leaned back a little. "Oh, is this-- is this because I'm not "in love" with Roger?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Goodness, this isn't a fairytale, Perdita. Look, Roger's a mate. We're still friends. I just-- didn't feel anything when we slept together." She shrugged. "I thought I would, I really did, and it was-- really Roger, it was wonderful-- but I didn't feel anything. It was just sex."

ROGER Roger had already felt like he was being kick in the gut, but now it was like he had no guts at all. Like someone had taken an ice cream scoop and just hollowed him out and he was just staring at Anita, as if looking at her for the first time, feeling like--like nothing and like everything. His foot jiggled a little faster and he did his best to just keep his face neutral and nod along.

PAUL "Alright, that's /it/, I'm callin it!" Paul exclaimed, taking almost a threatening step toward the couch where his friends sat. Patch squirmed in his arms, making a little noise at Paul's outburst.

"She's possessed. That's right, we're /all/ thinking it, so let's just say what it is. We live in a /magic/ town where /magic/ demons threaten people's lives and /magic hell hounds/ run amuck, so I'd say the odds of Anita's weird ghost dad or /something/ taking control of her are pretty high because nothing else makes sense. I say we tie her up. I'm not kidding, Perdy, give Penn to Roger and grab her."

ROGER Roger was stunned for a second, but then shook his head, gesturing to Paul. "Paul--even if she were possessed--what the bloody hell are we going to do after we tie her up?"

ANITA "Oh for goodness sakes," said Anita and rolled her eyes. "Paul, you've been reading too many books."

PERDITA Perdita was stunned into silence by Paul's outburst, looking at him like /he'd/ been the one that was possessed. She clutched Penny tighter, whose face crumpled a bit at the yelling. Her eyes flicked to Roger as he spoke and then jumped to Anita, her brain scrambled. Perdita didn't do well in situations like this, she didn't jump into action like Paul did; she'd rather hide behind him. But, it made sense--didn't it.

She pressed her lips together and turned back to Anita, putting her hand on her friend's again. "A-are you sure? Has anything--odd happened to you in the last week or so? A-anything at all?"

PAUL Paul really didn't know why they thought /he/ was the crazy one when /Perdy/ was the one with a haunted apartment and Roger had been threatened by the ghost of Mr. Dearly himself. And it was like Anita and Perdy both said-- she was a /completely different person./

That was basically a confession.

"Yes-- exactly, Perdy. See, /that's/ what we'd do. Interrogate her, figure out what happened-- do an exorcism or somethin'!" He shrugged his shoulders, then looked straight at Anita. "Answer the question."

ROGER Roger did not want to chime in that none of them could perform an exorcism. Instead, he just looked at Anita, eyebrows raised slightly.

ANITA Anita still thought this was ridiculous. She knew good and well that she was not possessed. Though-- well, she did know what had changed. She remembered a little 'before' the meeting with Elsa and how she'd not wanted to worry her friends and that was why she did not tell them. Afterward, it just seemed irrelevant.

But if she didn't tell them, Paul Patts, in true Patts idiocy, would probably start throwing holy water at her face and chanting some ridiculous gibberish, and that was even more pointless than all of that. It was three against one. It was only logical (and what did she care anyway?) that she inform her friends of what happened to her.

"Alright, if it will put your minds at ease," she said and then turned her smile a little to Perdy, because Paul's face annoyed her and Roger just looked so sad-- and it made her chest feel too heavy which she did not like. It had not felt that heavy for weeks now.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd just tell me to go to the police and it would get nothing done. But my father left me one last message to go see Elsa Arendelle and ask her for peace. For my father. To make everything better. So I went and she froze my heart-- but it's /fine./" She smiled even brighter, figuring that might help Perdy stay calm. "Really Perdita, I /told/ you I feel better. I'm not sad or confused anymore. I finally say what I mean. Before I was just such a silly little thing, crying all the time." She waved her free hand at herself. "So see, there's nothing to be worried about."

PERDITA Her heart was frozen. Well, that made a fuckton of sense. Did it make it an easier pill to swallow? No, not at all.

Anita smiled at her, and she looked just like Anita, her eyes even twinkled the same way--but, it was not her. It wasn't Anita. Because Anita always followed her heart (or, well, she tried to--either way, she felt very deeply, always.)

"You--your--heart. You /froze/ your /heart/?" Perdita's voice climbed with every word in fear and disbelief. It caused Penny to look up at her mother, face still crumpled.

PAUL It was dead quiet for a second before Perdy spoke, Paul just staring at Anita. He'd been really on board with the whole possession thing. It followed the narrative arc, if you asked him, considering all the spooky bullshit that had been going on.

But he knew nothing about a frozen heart. He didn't even know that magic could do that-- freeze someone's heart-- and the thought made a chill move through him too. He cupped his hand over Patch's head, tucking it against his own rapidly beating heart and bit at his lip.

"Can-- can we -- undo it?" He finally blurted after Perdy.

ROGER Roger felt like his own heart had been frozen, the way it chilled at Anita's words. He was staring at some fixed point on the wall.

"Well, are you happy, Anita?" he asked, after everyone else had spoken, his heart thumping hard (it almost felt like it was choking him). "Because you--you don't have to undo anything."

Anita Anita was about to say that exact thing. That she did not /want/ to undo it. She opened her mouth and everything, only for Roger's voice to come out of nowhere. Her eyes jumped to him and her chest did that thing again and for a moment-- just a moment-- just wished that Roger would look at her. But then she flicked her eyes away too and everything sorted itself back out again.

"Well. First of all, Elsa froze my heart," she corrected Perdita. "And second of all--" her words caught in her throat, like she was hesitating. It was a funny thing, happiness. She assumed that's how she felt, because it was much better than how she did feel before. Right?

"I think I'm better this way, like I said."

PERDITA Perdita felt her eyes feel with tears. One of them slipped out in shock as she turned to look at Roger, her mouth twisting down into a frown. Part of her--well, didn't agree with him, but she understood where he was coming from. He was giving up. Perdita did a lot of giving up, a lot of running--it was kind of her "thing" but it shouldn't be anyone else's, least of all Anita's.

Her heart burned for all the pain that Anita couldn't feel at the moment. She swallowed and looked down at the cushion between them.

"But, you're not--you," she told her friend softly. "Not like this. We--can--you can be happy. Not like this." Her voice caught at the end as she looked back up at Anita, blue eyes shimmering with tears.

PAUL Paul also looked at Roger. And he regretted every time he'd told him to stop loving Anita. He felt like a damn hypocrite (both of them knew that) but never more than right now when it looked like, finally, Roger was gonna listen. But Paul didn't want one of his mates to be some kind of frozen robot (because thats' definitely what this Anita was-- she'd accused him of /reading too much/ like /what the fuck/) and the other to be so brokenhearted he'd give up.

And maybe that's cuz Paul didn't know how to give up. He really didn't. He was here in Swynlake wasn't he, after having smashed his heart into the concrete over four months? He sighed then, shaking his head.

"That doesn't even sound like happiness to me," said Paul. And then, even more confidently: "Sounds like bullshit, Anita. You'd know it too if -- y'know-- you didn't have a bloody frozen heart."

ROGER Roger wanted to listen to Paul and Perdita. Wanted to believe that they could help Anita--that they could snap their fingers and Anita would be back to normal. He just didn't know if he could. Because even if Anita said she wanted her heart back--what could they even do?

He managed to tear his eyes away from the wall and looked at Paul first, which gave him a bit more strength, enough to take a deep breath and look at Anita.

"I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was steadier than he thought it would be. “I should’ve…I should’ve done more for you.” /If you even wanted my help anyway,/ he thought, and then looked up, blinking. “But we’re all here—Anita, please. We can help you.”

ANITA Anita was baffled. This whole thing from the beginning to the end... it was like they were all speaking a different language than her, or seeing things a way that she no longer did.

And because of that, Anita realized for the first time since these weeks began that she was alone, wasn't she? She blinked at the thought. Being alone would not kill her, of course. Being alone was a fact of life, she added internally to this line of thought. You were born alone, you died alone. You grieved alone. She'd not understood the lesson her father was trying to teach her in all this, but perhaps it was simply that: she was alone. Even as her friends told her quite clearly that she wasn't.

"I just don't...understand," she said finally, her brow furrowing. She looked up at the light fixture in the ceiling and it was not unlike how Anita used to daydream. She looked back then at all three at them: Perdy-- Paul-- and finally Roger.

She spoke to him in the end. "I don't see what's wrong with this me. I don't know why you'd want the old me back."

ROGER Maybe this was what Anita wanted. Roger could not imagine living without a heart. Yes, it grew heavy. When his father died, it felt like lead—a cold, hard, heavy lump dragging him down. It could be the heaviest, most painful thing in the world and yet—yet it could be the lightest, it could carry you far far away, make you feel like you were leaping over buildings, soaring among the clouds. He’d take it all over nothing.

And he thought—he thought Anita would too. She must have been so scared, he thought, to make that choice. To listen to the ghost who wanted nothing more than to torment her. That’s what the ghost wanted—it didn’t make /sense/ that this would be a good thing for her—the ghost wanted her to /suffer/. Which meant—she didn’t want this. She was cold and frozen and she did not know that this was exactly what the ghost wanted.

So he had to try.

“We want the old you back—because she was…is…lovely. She sees the world in a golden sky. She dreams. She gives me books with little notes in them. And we love her, Anita—all of us. We love you. Through the good and through the bad.”

ANITA Anita got that heavy feeling again. But her confusion was greater. Again, her brow furrowed, and she was distracted from Roger because Perdy had begun to cry, and that bewildered her too.

She looked at Perdy again, almost-- frightened-- unsure what to do to get her to stop (which was not very Anita at all). All she did know that all her friends were very upset and she did not know how to fix it.

"But-- but Roger-- those things-- dreams and-- romance novels and secret notes-- those things are for children," she said, and she tried to say it very kindly. "Oh Perdita, don't cry," she said next and awkwardly pat her twice on the arm. "I'm not hurt at all, I'm not in any pain."

PERDITA Perdita couldn't stop the way her head bowed and she began to cry.

The one person who had been there through everything had suddenly turned into some sort of unfeeling doppelganger, she wasn't Perdita's Anita at all. Perdy couldn't lose her. She'd already lost Paul and Roger too, if she'd ever had him. She didn't even know if she had her babies' affection, and she certainly didn't have any other friends, at least none that were close to her.

With Anita sitting there, saying things so un-Anita, acting so un-Anita, Perdita too, felt so, so alone. The words of supposed comfort did nothing to make the feeling go away. In fact, it made it worse.

"But you don't love us," Perdita whimpered and wiped at her eyes. "I-if your heart is frozen you--you don't l-love /us/, me. How is that fair? I love you, so much."

PAUL Paul was reeling from all this. Every word was another dagger thrown, and it kept hitting its mark. He couldn't believe something like this was even possible, that /magic/ could take someone and change them entirely, so they didn't even believe what they'd once held so dear. It terrified him. It made him wanna run and it made him wanna fight because he couldn't imagine ended up like that, literally heartless and loving, like Perdita said-- nobody.

He shook his head, Perdy's tears triggering that fight response in him too. Needed to /do/ something. Needed to change this. It wasn't too late, it couldn't be.

He was shaking his head without even realizing it. "This isn't gonna-- we're not gonna let this go on," he said it, he insisted. His eyes jumped from Perdy and then Roger and he pledged it to them both-- damned what Bodysnatched-Anita thought. "We're gonna fix it."

ROGER Without even realizing it, he blinked away tears. Roger was not a loud crier; but he was not one of those blokes who didn't cry, who thought that it was beneath him. Roger cried. Not often, but he did. And it snuck up on him whenever it happened, because he would always be doing so well till that moment and then he was blinking and his vision was blurry and it was the sound of Perdita whimpering that really got him.

Anita did not love him--them--any of them right now. She was alone, cold and alone. He wanted to believe Paul, but Paul had a way of jumping into things and pledging to do them without really thinking of it. How the hell were three Mundus with not a lick of magic on them--three Mundus struggling to pay their own bills--supposed to reverse this...whatever it was? They could try, they could try, they could try. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and cleared his throat.

"Yeah," was all he could manage to say, for his throat felt like closing.

ANITA Anita almost wanted to argue, but what was the point of that? She wanted to point out that love was a fairytale too-- that it faded or it turned sour, that love never stayed. That she was strong now and she respected her friends, and that was better than any love.

She knew all of that would be met with more hysteria. And the more her friends cried, the more Anita felt like she should not be sitting there at all, that her friends were further and further away now-- and she would have to find new friends, wouldn't she, who would understand her-- but none would quite like these.

And as silly as it was to cling to old friends out of habit, part of Anita (and she couldn't explain it-- it was irrational) /didn't/ want to lose them. She almost wanted to shout at them, really, for all this. Just start shouting /stop crying, stop complaining, stop being so stupid./

Instead, she raised her hand and rubbed over her chest a bit uncomfortably. And then she stood up.

"Well I can't stop you all from doing whatever it is...you /think/ is right. You may...try whatever you please." said Anita. "But I'm going to my room. I have a script that needs annotating. Roger-- I'm... sorry," she said, almost frowning at the word. It wasn't the right word. Her chest twinged again.

"Perdita, if you feel better, we should go clubbing later. And Paul--" she looked at him last and squinted her eyes a little. "... Good bye."

And with that, she crossed the living room and closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as she did. Maybe being alone wasn't so bad after all. Now...where was that script anyway?

#bdrpanita #bdrppongo #bdrproger #pernita #fate #fayecliffe #the dalmatian quartet #we're here for you

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