☾A L I Q U I S☽

I didn't think many people would cry over her. 

It turns out that I was wrong. That girl - Aisha - she cried the most. Even Evelyn's mother didn't cry that much, though she had her fair share of tears when Evelyn was first admitted. Charlie did shed quite a few tears, when nobody was looking. Calliope did too, surprisingly, seeing as she doesn't know the girl as well as she thinks. Jesse, who had never had that much compassion for someone in his life, got hit by a bout of emotions he'd never felt before.

The only person who was close to crying but didn't is Landon. He may have had a few tears spring up in his eyes, but they never fell.

✯ E V E L Y N ✯

They're allowing me to get some fresh air.

I've been cooped up and recovering in that same hospital bed for five days, but it feels like it's been five weeks. I begged them to let me out - told them I felt like I was suffocating, which was an exaggeration they believed - and they did let me out. I'm able to go outside into the back garden behind the hospital and spend at least an hour there. Provided I have a nurse and a visitor with me, but I'll take what I can get.

In the duration of last week and the days leading up to today - Wednesday - I've had to undergo Laryngeal Electromyography (LEMG), CT scans and Phonosurgery. I have no idea what those mean, but apparently during Phonosurgery they repositioned and reshaped my vocal folds.

The nurse wheels me out to the back garden, and it's so breathtakingly beautiful that I momentarily forget about her whiny voice and cheap perfume.

The garden is lush green, neatly trimmed hedges and bushes sprouting up everywhere. A crystal blue fountain is positioned at the center of the yard, a marble statue of a leaping fish the center of attention as clear water spurts out from its mouth. The water catches the light, glittering briefly before it falls to the base of the fountain. Flowerbeds and shrubs full of lilacs, roses, daffodils, hyacinths and violets catch my eye, and my fingers ache to pluck one and inhale its sweet, earthy scent.

My admiration for the garden is disrupted when Nurse Cameron comes to a standstill, setting me near the fountain. There's a gentle breeze running through my hair, making my gown brush against my ankles and rise up to expose my socks. "Here you are, sweetie. Your visitor will be here in a few minutes, and I'll just be over there. Holler if you need me," Nurse Cameron - is that her first name or last name? - tells me in a rush before she strides to the back entrance of the white hospital, her bright green scrubs making her stand out. I watch as she approaches another nurse - male - and start talking animatedly, occasionally touching his arm flirtingly.

I roll my eyes and face the fountain, reaching out and letting the water dribble from the slits between each finger. As I do so my eyes catch my wrist, and I let it fall to my lap. Water droplets dampen my gown, but I hold my left arm in my right hand.

My fingers trace over the scars embedded in my skin. I don't have many - I count them and total them up to eleven scars. The older ones have faded, and will continue fading until they're almost the same colour as my skin. But I'll always know they're there.

I let my thumb brush over the blemishes in my skin, each scar throwing me deep into thought until I'm trapped in another world. Another world of screaming and blood and agony and razors. I have a vivid flashback of when I first cut -

The day after Evian's funeral. Me, Eva and Charlie were sitting at the kitchen table, silent as we drowned in grief. Tears were freely streaking down my face while Eva's cheeks were damp and Charlie's eyes were welling with unshed tears. The kitchen table was laden with gifts and food and letters of sympathy from relatives who'd heard of the news but were unable to attend the funeral.

Eva's shoulders were bobbing up and down as her sobs wracked through her body, and Charlie stood up to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. They both broke down, and it . . . it hurt me to see them so vulnerable, and everything felt so fake and unreal. I'd never seen Charlie or Eva cry; I was freaked out, and without a word I ran to my room.

I don't know how I found the razor . . . or why I had it in the first place. But, as I sat on the floor, legs crossed and wrist out, I lightly scraped the sharp end against my flesh and I winced. Tears blurred my vision. It was painful, and I hadn't even made blood appear. A slip of my finger and my skin split in two, and it was all I could do to not scream. Pain lanced though my arm, like a million daggers stabbing my wrist, and a steady trickle of blood oozed from the fresh cut.

That night I hardly slept. I was ashamed of what I'd done. I'd disgusted Eva. I'd disappointed Charlie. And most of all, I'd disgraced Evian.

No one found out about my cutting until a year and a half later. And by then it was too late.

"Hey," a soft voice calls from behind me, and I quickly turn my arm, facing my wrist upside down in my lap. I recognize the voice as Lio, and sure enough, when I angle my face towards her form, she's standing behind me.

Dressed in a band T-shirt and skinny jeans folded upwards to expose her dainty calves, the sun falls on her face, causing her to squint but nevertheless smile. I manage to return her smile, and it's only when she frowns and pushes back a strand of hair from my cheek that I realize I'm crying.

"What's wrong?" Lio asks concernedly, dark eyebrows pulled together in a worried frown as she perches on the edge of the fountain to face me.

I shake my head wordlessly, hastily swiping my cheeks and mustering up a grin that briefly makes worry disappear from her face. I gently nudge her sneakers with my foot, and she looks down at her Vans before raising an eyebrow at me. I give her a thumbs up. "You like them?" I nod, admiring the unique design of multicolored paint splatters on the white material. "I got white Vans, but they were kind of dull so I tried to liven them up." Well, job very well done.

I notice her jeans match her eyes and make them shine brighter than usual. My eyes trail down to her collarbone, where a rose gold pendant peeks out from underneath her T-shirt. Her T-shirt is a band shirt - a white shirt with the Fall Out Boy symbol in black scrawly writing.

I envy her shirt, and then notice her T-shirt is a bit tight, the outline of her . . . generously sized bust heavily defined. My cheeks turn hot with embarrassment, and I look away before she assumes I'm ogling her. Which I definitely wasn't.

From the looks of it she doesn't seem to care. With sunglasses perched in her wild blonde hair and her smile taking the attention off her makeup-free face, she looks the epitome of stunningly natural.

I appreciate the fact that she doesn't push me to tell her what's wrong. Like Eva. I relax in my wheelchair, soaking up as much sunshine as I can get as it streams through trees in slivered rays. Lio stares at me for a moment, a small smile playing on her lips as she absently swings her legs back and forth. A laugh bubbles out of her when she takes in what I'm wearing. "Why are you wearing that?" she giggles, and I look down at my duck-printed nightdress, failing to compress a smile.

I shrug helplessly, smiling as Lio's laugh intensifies until she's clutching her stomach and her laugh is echoing around the garden. "The hospital gowns are actually itchy as fuck," I say through a slight laugh, and that's when she stops laughing.

Her brown eyes widen with disbelief and her wide smile is slipping as shock freezes on her face. I can't stop smiling at her shocked expression, and a partially hysterical laugh slips from her glossed lips. "D-did you—did just talk?"

I brace myself for the slightly grazing pain in my throat and speak, "Yeah." Lio squeaks excitedly and throws her arms around my neck, giving me the best suffocating hug I've ever received. I laugh softly, briefly hugging her back and inhaling her jasmine-scented perfume before she pulls away.

"And when did this happen?" she demands to know, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.

"Since I underwent Voice Therapy and Phonosurgery." Lio nods with a bemused smile, and I let out an extremely unladylike laugh.

"You have no idea what that means, do you?" I ask, staring into Lio's liquid blue eyes. She barks out a laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth at the sound and her shoulders heave with laughter.

"No, not really," she admits, "But as long as you're able to speak, I don't really give a damn about what happened."

I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and a pained sigh leaves my lips. Lio notices the fleeting grimace on my face and she frowns. "What happened? Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?" she questions, her tone taking a panicky edge.

"It's nothing. My throat's just a little sore from not using it."

"Oh, no, you should rest your voice then. Ugh, here I am making you use your voice when it should be resting, you're recovering and you shouldn't strain—"

"Hey," I interrupt, shooting my hand out to grab her wrist and stop her from standing up to call the nurse. Her eyes slide to mine, and something flickers in them before it dissipates. "All's well. And, besides, I want to talk to you."

A long silence follows that, in which Lio stares at me with an unreadable expression until she looks away, cheeks turning red.

To relieve the awkward silence, I glance at the book she has in her hand. It's black, with a purple spine and gold glitter decorating the outside. I can't see what the front cover of the hardback says, but judging from its worn-out exterior and many pages stuffed inside messily, I'm guessing it's a personal book of some sort.

Lio follows my gaze and does a little jump. "Oh, right. It's just, um, a journal I keep. I didn't know if you'd be awake when I came to visit or if I'd even be allowed to visit, so I thought it'd be a good idea to keep myself busy," she explains.

"What do you write in it?"

Lio blushes, her eyes darting around everywhere as she avoids eye contact. I suppress a smile at her embarrassment. She's so cute. "Uh, um, well, I-I just write random stuff. Like, I don't know, quotes I like or random stuff I heard, my feelings, poems, shit like that."

I smile but I can feel a heaviness weighing me down, and I know it's past my regular afternoon nap time. Why is it that every time I have visitors I end up falling asleep? I remind myself it's because I usually sleep the whole day because of the sedatives. "Could you read something out to me?"

She doesn't say anything but flicks through the book, holding on tightly as the wind picks up and whips her hair around her face. I look at her, really look at her, and my mind throws me into a series of random thoughts which disappear the second I hear her voice.