CHAPTER TEN: WINTER

I wake up and I see the face of the devil and I ask him, "What time is it?"
And he says, "How much time do you want?"
-Diamanda Galas

Emma's

Sleep wasn't a friend to Emma Carter, a nor did it pretend to be. Insomnia, however, well Emma liked to think they were on the best of terms. They way she interacted with both jumped between frustration and friendly.

One night she'll exhaustedly drop into her bed and thank the world for letting her melt into the mattress, comfortable beyond belief.

And the next night she's not able to get to sleep until the sun's about to rise, and then wakes up tired after a bad night's rest of constantly moving and feeling angsty even when she was half-unconscious.

Though in Emma's mind, when taking into account the darkness in it, friendly had to be a lose term.

Emma hates it when people talk about suicide like someone's death doesn't matter in the long run, that just because they'd lie later in life and wasn't a celebrity it doesn't matter.  She hates it that they point of the stars still appearing, the sun still rising and another day passing doesn't make it any less devastating.

And she hates that she believed that.

That at one point when she wanted to kill herself she thought just because the world would move on, the people who loved her would too.

But that's not the case for everyone.

Because Jessie wouldn't be able to sit at their table at lunch anymore, she wouldn't be able to listen to the same music without imagining her best friend singing it and her laughter wouldn't sound the same, not anymore.

Their friend group would be changed, Xavier wouldn't have a sound place beside anyone anymore, Calum would blame himself for not getting to know her better but still daring to miss her presence like her best friend. Nolan and Cameron, her friend and cousin, would be devastated they didn't spend more time with her.

Her grandparents would break down over it because they buried their son, and now their granddaughter, and just once before they died they wanted to be outlived. Even her mother would feel it, standing in front of the mirror smelling like smoke and beer and asking herself am I the one who did this?

Maybe that's what would get her sober.

Or maybe she'd be drunk when she had to open the door for Xavier and Jessie, who just wanted some of her things to remember, to not give themselves the chance to forget.

And maybe she'd get her answer when they went to Emma's room and Jessie put on one of her hoodies trying desperately to remember the way she smelled, Xavier would grab her favorite blanket for the same reason. When she saw they took her phone and paid for it, only to listen to her voicemail because they couldn't get sick of the sound of her voice if they tried.

The sun still rising didn't make up for the announcement Emma knew they would have to give to the school, announcing that Emma Carter—Emma who nobody really knew—Emma who didn't fit in—Emma who people made fun of for her scars—Emma who sometimes came in smelling like smoke or the outside—Emma who was now dead—wouldn't be coming back.

Because that's bullshit, it is.

And sure, Emma knows that now.

But it doesn't change how at one point she thought because next spring, the flowers would still bloom and the sun would feel bright and the birds would sing and the world wouldn't miss her that nobody else would.

Despite the brighter sun, Jessamine told her that spring when Emma tried to take her life that it still felt like winter. It was a strange sense of guilt she had then, for surviving and not dying at the same time, like each option was simultaneously better and worse than the other.

Those very thoughts led Emma into cutting too deep and she wouldn't stop bleeding. She went to Jessie for help, as her older brother Julian has taken Emma to the hospital before, but this time she was completely unwilling to. 

She wasn't cooperating.

The only thing Jessamine really knew to do was to call Calum and beg for help, since even Julian wasn't getting through to Emma. That lead to the so called angel boy to call the Devil, who said that he's been hurt enough times to know what to do.

In less than an hour, the two teenagers were at Jessie's door but Xavier being Xavier, he just walked in, a small first aid kit in his hand alongside a wrap.

Jessie led Xavier to her best friend, who was sitting on the bathroom sink with Julian holding down a towel and chastising her for not going to the hospital—little did he know Emma wasn't listening, her head was spinning and if she talked she thought she might just pass out.

Even if it was what she knew she should do, Emma would rather pass out than go to the hospital again.

Emma didn't react when the Wolf boy takes over other than a small nod when he asks "Can I?" when motioning down to her wrist. He holds her arm still with a tight hand on her bicep as he skillfully places butterfly stitches down before sticking gauze down under a wrap.

"You should treat yourself better," Xavier grumbles, frowning as he turns her wrist over so he can continue to wrap it. He was angry, but he also felt so, so tired. "Put yourself above all others... even if it's your mom."

"You know about my mom?"

The Devil nods, hand coming protectively to the back of Emma's head as he leans down, ultramarine blue eyes meeting hers. 

"I know more than you think." Letting out a small sigh, he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her temple. "And I don't care how fucked up she is because it's her own fault, so please, promise me you'll call me the next time you need someone to take care of you. Because it's not your fault you've been given a shit hand at life."

A sting pricks in the corner of her pearl grey eyes, making the pale girl gulp hard, attempting not to cry. She's too tired to stop, and so the evitable happens and Emma Carter breaks into tears.

Holding her close, but loose, Xavier lets her calm down and doesn't try to engage in a conversation.

Emma sniffles, brushing her tears away with her sleeve. "Why haven't you said anything about them? Why haven't you asked me to stop? Do you... do you not care?"

"It's not that. If I asked you to stop, I don't think you would... and I also don't think it's fair to put pressure on you just to make myself more comfortable." Xavier shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong, Princess, it pisses me off that you're in pain. But it's—it's better than you killing yourself."

That, she agreed with.

Even if the sick part of her, those dark thoughts knew it wasn't true.

Emma has been waiting for things to get better for so long that she can't remember what it feels like to truly feel alive, except for brief moments of bliss—often spent laughing with her new friends, spent enjoying time with Xavier either in bed or comfortably talking about nothing.

Sometimes she feels like she shouldn't wake up one day, or if she just kept sleeping it would be okay. That's just because when Emma gives into those thoughts, her mind says it's better that way than fighting it.

It's hard for her to tell what's fake and what's real and she's heard that bullshit that say 'time heals all wounds' but she doesn't understand why, if that's the case, why the fuck after seventeen years she still feels like shit. 

Sometimes she thinks what if I died that day? and this is just her Hell. If there's a difference, she really can't tell. And it sucks, it sucks, because Xavier Wolf who is the Devil of all people, seems to be her personal heaven.

Nobody else has to tell her though, that he's better off without her. It's not something she thinks that she has to guess at.

"You need to sleep." Xavier says, hands moving down to the counter. "Can I pick you up?"

After she nods, the delinquent picks her aching body up as gently as he could and follows Jessamine into the guest room. Emma wants to be alone after that, and though they're all hesitant to give her space once Xavier says he'll stay up all night just in case she needs help, the other three head to bed.

As far as Emma's knows, the Devil works hard for the people he cares about.

It's difficult to exist when you get to the point where it's somehow too much work to even actively hate yourself.

And Depression just happens to work harder for the people it doesn't.