✥ L A N D O N ✥

"Hey, you okay?"

Evelyn blinks herself out of a trance, and I shoot her a worried look. She has been like this since we met up, drifting in and out of reality. She smiles at me, her eyes lighting up. "I'm fine," she assures me, grabbing a handful of popcorn and all but stuffing it into her mouth.

"You're still as ladylike as I remember," I tease, and she gently shoves her shoulder into mine, barely holding back a laugh. The movie on the TV plays on, but we pay no attention as we mess around. Evelyn struggles to chew the salted popcorn in her mouth, spluttering as I laugh at her.

"You're a sadist," she announces after taking a huge gulp from my 7Up can, wiping the tears from her eyes with a shit-eating grin.

"Only for you, baby." She scoffs and rolls her eyes, cuddling into me as I wrap an arm around her shoulder. She smells like fabric softener and vanilla, the scent of her hair tickling my nose.

Insidious is one we've watched at least twenty times, but Evelyn always insists we watch it every time we have Movie Night. I'm not complaining, though; it's scary, but it's worth watching to see Evelyn scream and flinch, and then be able to tease her about it later on.

The movie plays on the screen, but I notice the subtle shift in the air. Evelyn stares straight ahead, unblinking eyes full of sadness.

Something's up with her. The second I saw her face this afternoon I knew something happened. Evelyn is like a closed-off open book. Very confusing. It's easy to notice that something's wrong - that something bothering her - but in order to notice that you'd have to know her and be able to catch those telltale signs.

Something happened and put her in a depressing funk. I feel like confronting her about it, but she'll close herself off and pretend everything is alright. I'd rather see her in pain and comfort her the best I can while dodging around the situation rather than her hiding it from me with a wide smile.

I lean my head against hers in the most platonic way possible, even though the intense affection I feel for her is anything but platonic.

∞

☾A L I Q U I S☽

27th of April. 18 days since I last cut.

Evelyn quickly scribbles it down before walking to her last class, the small notebook getting shoved deep into her bag. The cold masks over her eyes deflect curious stares and prominent gazes as she traipses through the halls. Keep moving forward. I am my own person. Keep moving forward.

She seats herself at the back of the classroom, ignoring the filthy looks thrown by the majority of her female classmates. The sluts. The girls who'd bend over backward and flash their g-strings at Jesse just for him to give them a glance. Evelyn scoffs at them, shaking her head as the teacher begins the lesson.

It flies quickly and without warning, the bell rings, signaling the end of school. Nearly everyone's gone in a cloud of overpowering perfume and curse words before Evelyn stands up. The teacher doesn't even spare her a glance as he walks out of the classroom.

"Fucking great," Evelyn mutters to herself absently as she slings her satchel over her shoulder, making her way out of the classroom and down the hall. A sinking feeling makes her queasy, and when she turns her head, she sees everyone looking in the opposite direction of the hallway. She sees everyone looking into the cafeteria.

Shocked looks are plastered on some faces while the rest of them hold back laughter, their loud voices echoing. What is happening. . . ? Evelyn instantly knows it's something to do with her, and she turns on her heel, shouldering her way through the thick crowd.

Most people make way for her, too absorbed in what everyone's looking at. The stench of sweat, cigarette smoke, and cheap deodorant makes her cringe, but she pushes her way to the front of the cafeteria, and her heart almost stops in her chest.

Pictures. Just one picture, but many copies plastered around the cafeteria. Of Evian. Bile rises up her throat at the sight of his face scattered around the hall, except it isn't his face. Not really.

The picture was of him at a football game, smiling at the camera. His team had won, and he'd been ecstatic over that. Grin wide, eyes shining and cheeks glowing. He was eleven that time.

But someone edited the photo. His eyes are bottomless pits of black that burn through the laminated paper. His straight white teeth are replaced with sharp fangs, and blood trickles down his temple and lips. Horns sprout from the sides of his head, and the background is a dark shade of scarlet. In his hand, instead of the trophy, appears to be a bloodied head.

Evelyn's stomach churns, and she can't help clapping a hand over her mouth to contain the scream that wants to escape her lips. Who would do such a vile, disgusting, horrible thing?

And there are several copies around. More than one hundred sticky-taped to the walls, spread around enough for everyone to see. Anger, helplessness and disgust bubble within Evelyn. She knows who did this. It's obvious. But why would he do it?

She doesn't bother tearing down the photoshopped pictures. She turns and leaves the scene. Let them say what they want, she can't bear seeing his face, haunting her. The sound of whispers and laughter bounce around the school. A teacher will walk in any second and see what's going on.

As she's leaving, the color purple catches her eye, and she finds it hard to breathe at the sight of Lio. She just stands a little away from the crowd, a blue-haired boy and Hartley - her shy, blond best friend - at her side and talking about something or the other. But she isn't listening. She's staring straight at Evelyn. A look of hurt and loathing towards her passes over her face, there long enough for Evelyn to see Lio's face crumple. And then she's back to her neutral self.

"Devil worshipper." She's not sure if it's her imagination or reality, but the words pulse around Evelyn's brain, repeating themselves. The words Join Him In Hell that were scrawled in red over the walls burn into her brain, searingly. Her breath catches in her throat, she feels as if she's going to throw up. Pale blue eyes and dark gray eyes burn into her back as she gets the hell out of here.

She speeds up her pace until she's running out of there, no tears running down her face. She has cried too much in the past week. She's bruised and battered, physically and mentally.

The wind bites at her face, but she continues running, away from the building, away from the school campus. A force slams into her heart, breaking it even further.

At this point, it's been broken too much and set on fire too often that it's now a pile of dust.

∞

‎➹ D R . P A I G E ➹

I pull out my stuffed notebook that has her name, flipping to a blank page. 27/04, I write the date, and I put my hands on the table as I glance at Evelyn.

Her eyes are downcast and unseeing, lips slightly pursed and cheeks flushed pink. She looks tired and worn, like an old rag doll. I write down how she appears to be, and kick start the session with my overused line: "So, how are you today?"

Evelyn's quiet for a moment, her long, dark hair covering half her face. "Awful," she speaks up, and I'm taken aback for a split second. It's the first time she has ever admitted to feeling something other than just fine or not too shitty.

"And why is that?" I jot down her previous answer, adding a few notes of my own, and watch her watch me.

She has such a pretty face, but it's clear she doesn't know it. If she did she wouldn't be covering it so much, she wouldn't be beating herself up over things that are not within her control. If she knew just how necessary she is then she wouldn't be questioning her self-worth or relying on someone else to provide happiness.

"I'm . . . not having a good day today. Actually, I'm not having a good week." She sits on her hands, shoulders hunched forward, and a subtle yawn escapes her lips.

"Did anything in particular happen?"

I can see her contemplating lying to me. A range of emotions passes over her face as she tries to make her decision. She has lied to me before; she always lies about her emotions and reasons for her many states of distress and angst. It's as if she doesn't want to bother me with the news, but I'm not sure she knows that this will help her in the long run. Either way, if she decides to tell me or not, I'll get the truth out. One way or another.

"Yes. A chain of things, but I, um, don't want to talk about it right now," she says, and, again, I'm stumped at her honesty, but I try not to show it as I nod curtly.

What has gotten into her? "Okay, then. So is there any news you might want to share? Or anything you want to get off your chest?" My subtle way of asking for more information, but not outright saying it.

She looks uncomfortable for a minute before she shrugs, staring around at the kaleidoscopic patterns on the walls. "My birthday was last Friday, but you already knew that. I saw you at the party, by the way, I didn't get to say hello.

"I slept with Jesse at the party and he turned out to be someone completely different. He's nothing he puts himself out to be. I've realized I have no real friends because he scared them off with the rumors. Well, I'm not sure if he spread the rumors, or even wrote those words in my locker, but I think it's the same thing. He played a part in it."

She's devastated, I know. Her breathing is shallow as she stops her hurried rant, but my mind has wandered off somewhere else as thoughts niggle at my mind. "Is he bullying you?"

"He—no, he's not b-bullying me, well, I don't think telling everyone we had sex and allowing people to fuck me up is bullyin—" She shuts her eyes and winces at her bluntness, and I give her an appalled look.

"That's what most people would call bullying." My wrist aches as I begin to write down what she just told me, but her hand reaches out to stop me.

"P-please, don't write this down. Can it be off the record?"

There's a hopeful and yet sad expression on her face, my willingness to record every word exchanged between us crumbling. "Evelyn, this . . . "

"Please, I just—I don't want my parents to find out like this, I w-want to tell them myself." I study the determined look on her face, looking for a trace of something out of place. But all I see is depression, hurt and self-loathing in her eyes, which makes me have to physically tear my eyes from her.

I set my pen down, sighing deeply at my decision that I feel I will live to regret. Evelyn's lips curve into the faintest of smiles, wistfulness washing over her features like a wave hitting against the shore. "It's true when they say you never really know how wonderful something is until you lose it. Jesse always made me laugh. He was funny and cute most times, other times he was downright annoying in the best way possible. He made me happy," she sighs, tilting her head to look me straight in the eye.

It angers me how someone like Jesse - who I haven't seen but heard a lot from Evelyn - could do something like that to Evelyn, to manipulate her into trusting him. I don't know what exactly happened between them, but I have a fair idea.

"Evelyn, this may seem out of place but . . . you need to remember: no one can make you happy. No one can make you truly happy but yourself. Call it self-love, call it contentment; it doesn't matter. There's something I like to tell myself often: No one can make you happy. You can only find happiness within yourself and pass it on."

Her eyebrow lifts, a teeny smile on her face. "Wow, that's . . . deep."

"I can be philosophical when I want to be," I smile, before getting back to the situation at hand. "But it is true."

"Well, how come whenever I was around Jesse I felt happy?"

For the first time since I started my therapy sessions, I shrug. I honestly don't know. I'm not going to bullshit her. "That's unclear at the moment. Maybe it's because you didn't actually feel happy; you felt safe, felt pleased that he showed an interest in you. Maybe it was just a happiness that you internally longed for, and you associated Jesse with that happiness, so whenever he was around, you assumed you were happy because of him."

As I finish speaking, I look up to see that I've struck a nerve. Her face is crumpled, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip as she struggles to hold in tears. I have the overwhelming urge to hug her and comfort her, but that wouldn't be professional. Nothing about this relationship is professional. I run a hand wearily through my ponytail, exhausted. I just want to go home and sleep. But I have another four hours worth of sessions left.

"Yeah, maybe." Evelyn sniffs, accepting the box of tissues. "Actually, no, I think the last point is right."

"So what are you going to do from here?" She shrugs, lowering her tired eyes to her pair of gray sneakers.

✯ E V E L Y N ✯

"I don't know. I think I—"

Blood. Blood on the sheets, over my arms, on the side of my face. The coppery stench of the scarlet blood makes my stomach churn and nausea stabs my entire being.

My vision is blurred by tears but I see the outline of him, standing less than three feet away from me. I blink a few times, and the knife pointed at me comes into view, thick, red liquid dripping from the tip onto my bloody tank top. My wrists and ankles are shackled by an unseeable force, an invisible hand crushing down against my esophagus. I can't breathe, my lungs are screaming for oxygen.

Black dots dance at the corners of my gaze, and Jesse melts into the black until he's cloaked in it, everything about him dark, but his eyes are blood red. I try screaming, thrashing my limbs on the bloody sheets but my mouth is sewn shut. All I see is Jesse plunging the knife into my heart before everything disintegrates and I'm jerked back to reality.

I'm screaming, sobs wracking through my body as I shudder. My head is pushed between my legs and I'm forced to drag air into my lungs. I can't help spluttering, mind reeling from the snippet of the recurring dream I've had this week, and it takes a soothing hand on my back to calm me down.

I push my hair back with shaky fingers, my cheeks damp with tears. Dr. Paige is crouched on her heels in front of me, a worried expression on her face. I can't look at her. I shut my eyes and try to inhale without my chest trembling.

"Evelyn. Evelyn," she repeats, and I open my eyes to gaze at her. My hiccups echo around the room. Dr. Paige gives me the softest look I've ever received, and it makes me burst into tears. "You're alright. I'm here."

But, that's the thing: I'm not alright.

∞

☾A L I Q U I S☽

She's a sniveling mess.

She tries to contain her crying so as not to wake Amora and Tara, but it's tearing her apart inside. Slipping out of bed in one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of shorts, she pads her way to the hallway, quietly closing the bedroom door behind her.

The house is so quiet she can hear the sound of silence. She grips the object in her hand as she tiptoes down the winding staircase. Her messy dark hair is pulled into a sagging bun.

Evelyn unlocks the front door, leaving it partially open so she can creep back in. Seating herself on one of the benches in the expansive lawn, she shivers at the cold breeze brushing over her bare arms. The darkness presses against her eyes, and she throws her gaze upwards at the glittering stars amongst the velvet sky.

She braces herself for what she's about to do and lets her phone light up. She taps on his name and her phone rings for a few seconds before she's sent to voicemail. A lump forms in her throat at the sound of his voice.

"H-hey, it's me. Evelyn. I j-just want to sa—I miss you. A-and I know you d-did all those bad things b-but I forgive you," she choked out, her voice the loudest sound in the never-ending darkness.

"Please, Jesse." Her voice steadily raises three octaves higher, hysteria filling her tone. "I think I'm g-going crazy without you. I really miss you, and it's k-killing me not be able to talk to you. Please, c-call me back or answer my texts, I need you. I need this to end. I'm s-sorry about that nigh—"

Her sobs are cut off by the tone of the voicemail ending, and she brings her knees to her chest, burying her face in them. She knows she shouldn't cry over him, that he did her more wrong than she did to him, but she can't help it. She misses his laughs and his hugs and his smiles. She misses the way he could make her feel better. And, even if all of it was part of a plan that would eventually break her, she'd still take that over the gaping hole in her soul.

∞

"I need this to end. I'm s-sorry about that nigh—"

Jesse sighs heavily, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He stops walking, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk. Anger and regret surge through his veins and he can barely hold it in. All of the negative emotions he's feeling are aimed at him, for using Evelyn like that.

He sits on a nearby bench and holds his head in his hands. He shouldn't have come up with the bet. He should've backed out. He should've picked someone else who isn't as sensitive as Evelyn. What the fuck was he thinking?

What the fuck is he doing? Why is he going to her place? Does he think she'll take him back after he's fucked everything up? She may have said she misses him in the voicemail, but she probably didn't mean that. She's probably going to cry and scream at him when she sees him.

And that's okay. He'd prefer that than having to keep his distance. But the thing is, everyone thinks he loves her. He does. But the rules of the now-completed bet were simple: 1) it must be done within five months, and 2) you can't fall in love with the girl. The last rule was added as a joke between all of them, but Jesse realizes how he broke one of the rules and how he should've taken it seriously.

He can't stop them from doing what they're doing. They'll mock him and shun him for not participating or approving. He knows he has more power social-wise than all of them combined, but they can come up with the craziest shit and spread it, and within ten minutes everyone in the school will have known. And they also have something over me; the reason behind the bet.

He huddles in his hoodie, gritting his teeth at the numbing cold. For the first time since he befriended Evelyn, he feels tears prick his eyes, but he inhales deeply. It has already happened. There's nothing I can do. But he wished he hadn't caused her so much pain. He could hear it in her voice, from the way it broke, and he could see her in his mind's eye, tears falling down her flushed cheeks.

He would give everything he had to turn back time and stop her from slowly dying, even if it meant not meeting her at all.