The aftermath.

Alaska always hated the aftermath of her own mistakes, when the consequences came reckoning. She took a moment to focus on anything besides opening her eyes. The spring of her mattress that poked into the small of her back. The faint twinge of cinnamon in the air from the candle perched on her nightstand, and the pounding in her head. Her stomach was knotted, and heart swollen by guilt.

Sourly, she cursed herself as she watched waves of light move across her eyelids. The sun bled through the curtains- brightening like God was punishing her. How could she have been so stupid? There was a weight hanging over her, a looming wave sent to swarm her lungs. It left her ears muffled and waterlogged, or perhaps that was the beating of her heart

This water, thick enough to drown in, was collected of all Alaska's regret. Cassian was going to be so mad.

She was picturing his face. How his disappointed eyes would act as Atropos' scissors, severing the trust he had in her. How this mistake could dismantle their relationship, because he cared. Her mother had never cared when she came home drunk. Always lethargic on the couch- too busy counting her grievances to pay Alaska any mind. Shame thickly washed over her. The feeling pumped from her chest to veins, hastily as narcotics.

She wondered if she someone had been waiting for her to get home for the first time.

Had he been worried? Alaska's hand twitched to her wrist, and she dug her fingernails into her delicate skin. The memories of last night were scattered, wavering and sparse after she and Melissa had started making out. A sigh escaped her lips, remembering the lipstick smudged across her neck. A naive little spark of hope embedded itself in Alaska. Realism vied with optimism, providing a sliver of hope. She thought- hoped, he hadn't noticed it, somehow.

Or it was just another reason for him to be furious with her.

The sound of knuckles rapping against her hollow door made Alaska flinch. Her eyes finally opened blearily. Tiny renegades of light threaded through the crack in her slightly open door. It accentuated the scarlet exhaustion in her gaze. Her heart rattled in her chest, crafting clouds of worry in the bottom of her churning stomach. Cassian didn't wait for a reply from her before he opened the door. It creaked at his touch and complained until it swung shut again.

The volume of her pounding headache escalated as Cassian shook a bottle of advil at her. She winced. A tinny veil of amusement was peppered through his dark eyes, which Alaska could only see vaguely. "At least it looks like you got some sleep," he murmured, more to himself seemingly.

Alaska didn't reply. Her voice was caught in her throat, trapped by the thick guilt above it. She didn't mean to, but she found herself avoiding his stare as she attempted to understand why he wasn't already yelling. His sock adorned feet shuffled across the carpet, until he was in front of her. He held out the bottle of medicine, and she took it hesitantly.

"Thank you," Alaska managed to mumble. Her words came through a fog of manufactured indifference. The apathy tried to mask her abundant worry, though it did a poor job. She was a caged animal, backed into a corner and waiting to be preyed upon by fangs of disappointment or anger.

Cassian cleared his throat quietly, and swatted her legs. "Move over," he said, keeping an even tone. It was then that Alaska realized her uncle was attempting to bury an emotion as well, under the pretense of being calm. An earthly level headedness tried to skew his... worry? His eyebrows were knit, and he held himself like his shoulders were heavier than usual.

Questions. They were what filled the gaps of silence in her mind. Her eyes were brimming with uncertainty, and as he sat on the edge of the bed, her heart dropped. Alaska typically always had something to say, stupid comments or jokes to ease tension... she couldn't conjure a word now.

Neither were eager to speak.

Cassian's lips were etched into a deep frown. The expression was so misplaced, Alaska swore it could have turned the whole world blue. The dim illumination was just the same, morose in a way fit for mourning. The lines around his mouth carried multitudes, and told every story he chose not to voice. They were reminiscent to a tragic Picasso painting, desolate.

Alaska switched positions so she was sitting beside him. She tapped her foot, over and over again in a deafening rhythm. It made the static quiet less screeching, however it couldn't soothe the heavy atmosphere.

Cassian tilted his head to face her to allow his eyes to roam her face. They flicked over her, reminding Alaska of bees who flew from flower to flower in July. His eyes- they flew, delicately from her the mirrored hue of her irises, to the bruise on her cheek.Then down to her neck, where the cherry lipstick was now smudged and hickeys had formed. Like a play, going from the first act to the second, Alaska's demeanor shifted to calamitous panic.

Even in the brief window to her anxiety, Alaska forced herself to swallow and hide it. A foul pill, slicing up her throat and lacerating her cheeks until anything besides neutrality stung.

Her mouth fell into a line, her hand climbed to her neck and shuffled to cover the lipstick best as she could. It nearly looked like she was trying to choke herself- hell, maybe she should have. She looked away, avoiding eye contact and attempting to shield the regretful stains. He was angry, he had to have been. Her mother had been seething when Alaska tried to tell her she liked girls, so why would Cas be any different?

She heard a dry sigh tumble from his lips, and tried to brace herself. It won't hurt if you don't let it. She tried to convince herself of this as she awaited some sort of scorn, or judgement. That wasn't the truth, of course. Every good, safe moment she and Cas had came with renewed life in her head. It made her bones ache, and lip threaten to tremble against her will. This was like looking at pictures of a loved one after they died.

Her mistakes were ready to burn away the replicas of happiness in an effigy. She could hear the eulogy now.

In an instant his hand landed softly on her shoulder, which Alaska hadn't expected. When the weight and heat of his arm had inched towards, she'd prepared herself for a touch less careful. She flinched beneath his palm, and closed her eyes tightly. A caged animal. She was a caged animal, unable to escape. She always had been, a prisoner in bars concocted of turmoil of the past.

"I know you're mad," Alaska had decided to speak at the same time as Cassian. Whatever he'd been starting to say was extinguished in an instant. "But can you please just say something? You're freaking me out and I don't know what to do-"

"I'm not mad, Alaska," he cut her off. His voice made her sick. It made the room sway, and the sun seemed to retreat as to not contend with his blinding earnest. He didn't sound mad. He sounded exhausted. And it was her fault, and she didn't understand it. Confusion was a bullet sinking into her skull, making her ears ring and head thunder in roaring pain.

"Why?"

A knowing distance reverberated in the waver of his tone. "Do you remember anything that happened last night?" He asked. "Anything you said?"

This simple question lurched forth her nerves. It was unbearable, the words sent a fleet of needle prick bumps all across her skin. This was a tornado she was staring at, watching frozen as it wreaked havoc before her. Unable to stop it, unable to run, unable to look away. She searched through her mind, sending spotlights across her memories in hopes of accessing anything after she came home last night. It all vanished, hid in the darkest corners of her head to where no light could recover them.

Her foot tapped faster.

"I don't." What could she have possibly said to warrant Cassian's solemn atmosphere? Alcohol was a catalyst, it prompted you to do stupid things and exhale your secrets in a slurred waft of booze. And she'd been a master at keeping secrets since the first child services visit at the age of eight. "I fucked up, Cas," she admitted ashamedly. "I'm sorry. I swear I wasn't going to get drunk last night-"

"And then you were reminded of the boy," Cas hummed, a transcendent sympathy crossing his lips to a frown. "Mason..." Alaska barely heard Cas utter his name. It diminished as he spoke, like the petals of waterlily getting smothered underneath rivulets. "Who passed away. And that coming back up was too much."

"So, that's what I said last night then?"

Cassian nodded lowly. "You told me some other things too, Alaska."

The skin around her fingernails suddenly became very interesting. She focused on ripping it up, and the pace of her breathing in hopes that Cassian would continue on his own. Or that the conversation could end there. Fear, her beast, her burden, her keeper, lurked around her heart. It always did, but usually it slumbered in the depths of her soul, waiting to wake at the oddest of times. With it's jagged knuckles, and blood stained teeth, it came crawling back now.

When he waited, she sighed again. Softly this time. "I ramble when I'm drunk, and I can never remember anything I said the next day," she explained, still refusing to turn to face him. "Whatever I said," she shook her head, exhaling through her nose. "I'm sorry."

Cas offered his hand for her to hold, a gesture which any other time would have made her skin crawl. Alaska was grateful for this now, strangely, and her hand instinctively fell into his without thought. It was a visceral desire plucking the strings of her anxiety, begging to be silenced and a hand to hold helped stifle the noise.

His skin was warm, and he had calluses on his fingers from his work. Gently, he squeezed her hand. So gently. The kindness touched a piece of Alaska, feeding the touch starved kid beneath the surface. Tears threatened to sting her eyes, and draw in pools above her lashes. She blinked them away hastily, ensuring they didn't fully form. In the same breath, it made her sides ache dully.

It healed and hurt all at once.

He must have noticed her breath hitch because he allowed her to settle before continuing. Just say it. She wanted to scream.

She tapped her foot still. Constantly, drumming it into the hard wood flooring below.

"You mentioned August, that she was an angry drunk- actually you said that I should be happy you were just a talkative drunk, unlike her," he chuckled half heartedly. The stale attempt of humor fell flat, but Alaska gave a slight smile anyway. "You also told me that," he paused, took a deep breath. "That you felt like nothing mattered because she died, and everyone else died too." He spoke the way one when did when telling the news of someone passing, like visions of a funeral were crossing his mind. With poison decimating his tongue, most likely spiked with the bitter lick of his sister's death still in his mouth.

Sharply, Alaska sucked in a breath until her lungs seared. Heat blossomed on her cheeks, whipping her face to a scarlet hue that made everything maroon. Her knuckles flexed, accidentally tightening her grip on Cassian's hand. His sentence wasn't final, it trailed off drearily to make space for a final lament. His eyes were searching, extending past her the surface of her watery gaze and excavating layers of her thoughts.

Her distorted reflection came to life on the surface of his stare. It was more beautiful when etched onto the hazel color, fainter as though she hardly existed. She had thought many times that her name would look better engraved on a headstone. If this was true, her face was more enchanting when a ghostly apparition in another's eyes. Even if the ones she peered into now were alit in turmoil, and lost to an indecipherable labyrinth.

"I don't know how to say this last part," he meekly hesitated.

"Please, just say it, Cas," Alaska desperately replied, fighting her desire the jump up from the bed and run until her legs gave way beneath her.

"Kid, you said that the night you came home looking like hell a couple weeks ago that you were going to..."

Before he even finished his sentence her hand went slack. The end of what he was saying was predictable, a reference to a truth she never wanted to escape the clutches of her secrecy. Life became elusive in her eyes, powering down in an instant as her emotion instinctively shut itself off from the outside world. The defenses were up, surrounding her vitality to protect her battered heart.

From the outside perspective, it was watching the death of a firefly. Seeing it's light falter, and dim until only darkness remained. It became clearer how young she was, painted in tiny scraps of sun which highlighted the bags under her eyes of her youthful skin. Her breathing wavered, becoming quick and rapidly flooding her chests then leaving it. Somehow, she managed to save face in spite of the physical distress she cringed to picture herself in.

When her grip loosened, his tightened soothingly and he traced small circles on the back of her hand.

"You said you were going to commit suicide."

She said she was going to commit suicide.

The pulsating ache in her head worsened- her mind threatened to burst. Morbidly, Alaska held her breath, leaving room for her ringing ears to deafen her. Her brain cleared, plain stark white with each rational thought draining between the teeth from her parted lips.

She tapped her foot.

It mimicked the sound of her tires screeching against the pavement that night. Jarringly, it was the lonesome song amidst the distressful avowal.

Over and over again, she tapped her foot.

"So?" Her nasally indifference directly contrasted Cassian's overwhelming concern. He opened his mouth, then closed it and knit his eyebrows. She interrupted before he tried to speak again. "I was plastered. Nothing I said mattered, I was just talking without meaning," shards of desperation created thin cuts in her bleeding words.

"Honey, you don't have to say that," Cas tried to squeeze her hand, and she couldn't help but push it away now. Alaska was blinded, in the middle of the tornado of her own misery that was set of destroying everything.

"Stop," she rose her voice a hair, and dragged her hand away and back into her lap. The comfort it provided mere moments ago was tainted now, ruptured and broken. "What don't I have to say?" She argued, unsure what she was even saying. She couldn't collect herself, and she kept stumbling over her words like a fool. A caged animal, backed into bars without escape.

She couldn't escape this. No lies could change how defensive she became, or bring vibrance back to her colorless face.

She tapped her foot, harshly. Almost stomping. The noise ricocheted, and for some reason every minute detail screamed at Alaska. The scent of the cinnamon candle was sickly, curling into her nose and making her ill. The sound of her foot was thunder clapping in her ear, disorienting her excruciating headache. The twinges of alcohol on her breath was repulsive, like a fresh shot that still burned. The sun was bright, taunting her in it's lucky distance that divided it from humanity. Her reddened face was no longer restrained, but blistering.

"I was drunk, I wasn't right in my mind and I was lying for attention or something," she tried, but the fractured waver in her voice was evidence against her lie.

Cas shook his head, in what Alaska deemed as disappointment and sympathy. There was no edge of malice, and fury but a perpetual glint of woe. He pulled his hand away, and ran it along his jaw. "When you came back that night I knew something was very wrong," he evenly countered. "Ever since you got here you've seemed miserable, but I just-" he rubbed his forehead and frowned. "I just assumed it was because of your mother, not because things had gotten so dark for you. But there are two things that I know, Alaska."

She rolled her eyes, half expecting it to be the final straw that ensnared her uncle in some form of anger. She wouldn't have blamed him. "What?" She snapped.

He swallowed thickly. "That night you were the most hopeless looking that I had ever seen someone. And people usually say the truths they can't manage to say sober when they drink."

He was being as soft as could be. The reality got lost in the cacophony, and his sympathetic  lullaby morphed into a blade. Judgmental, and dully sawing into her bones back and forth, furious enough to want her to suffer.  Once again trying to recreate a comfort that had worked moments ago, he tried to place a hand on her shoulder. And flashbacks of her mother punishing her for crying at her father's funeral crossed her mind, convincing her it wouldn't be a kind touch.

Nervously, she threw his hand off and stood up off the bed hastily. "Don't touch me," she hissed, putting her arms across her torso as her hands clutched the fabric of her shirt. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her glassy eyes were dampened with the spilling tears that she couldn't stop. "Please, just don't," she whispered, her former bluster evading her to be replaced with a pitiful voice crack.

She tilted her head up to the ceiling, not recognizing the paint she'd stared up at every night. Alaska wanted to tear into her skin, distract herself with a different pain that wouldn't hurt like this. Her head was racing, brimming in disjointing thoughts that ended before she could fully understand them. Her tears were hot, searing, even.

"Alaska," Cas murmured from the bed. The pity was nails on a chalkboard. So tender and mild it almost sounded condescending to her defensive ears. She tried to open her mouth to tell him to leave, but she couldn't. It was how it felt that night, like her throat was burned shut and she couldn't get a word out. No matter how hard she tried.

She bit her lip, sinking her teeth into it deeply to stop the trembling. Her hands moved from the fabric, to her wrist to dig her nails in again to the ridges left from before. Then her cheeks, where she hastily wiped her tears away and closed her eyes tightly. She heard Cas' feet tap across the ground quietly, yet every ounce of strength she could muster wasn't enough to open her eyes.

Him reaching out and hugging her was a bleary blur. She tried to push him away at first, and for the first time he didn't let her avoid the comfort. He, at first, wrapped his arms around her lightly and Alaska knew if she wanted to slip away she could. And he would let her if she tried to again.

But she didn't. She couldn't. Her shaking form relaxed into the touch of one of the only genuine hugs she'd ever received. The tears won, and a strangled noise escaped her throat until sobs shook her body mercilessly. It was too much. Everything was too much. Trying to internalize it was rotting her heart, festering like an infection and making her sick. She couldn't keep it to herself, her body was too exhausted to house it all anymore.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured shakily, between each agonizing sob which shook her like aftershocks. Cassian's arms tightened around her. Not the straight jacket she would have expected- rather, a soothing security. He set his chin on top of her head, shaking it against her hair.

"Don't apologize, sweet girl," he hummed, and she could feel the buzz reverberating through his chest. "It's okay, it's going to be okay," he assured. And after that, Alaska wasn't sure how long he soothed her while she cried. Stroking her back, and murmuring assurances that it was okay. What she did know was how heavy the atmosphere was when she dried her eyes.

When they were in the aftermath.

~if you gave this chapter a soundtrack what song would be on it first?~

Soooooo- this was kinda a big chapter... what did you think? I wrote this chapter a little while ago, and it's kinda what prompted me to keep writing the story after such a long break. Therefore, I hope you liked it! I was pretty proud of it, and It's given me a bunch of excitement for the rest of paper planes! I listened to Words Fail, from the Dear Evan Hansen soundtrack while writing and I feel like it shows lol. Anyway, if you enjoyed, please tell me in the comments and vote! Thank you, and have a wonderful day/night!