Chapter Text
Blood.
On the ice.
There was blood on the ice and blood on the snow and blood on Bessie’s wrists, dripping slowly like syrup down to the ground. The droplets looked like buried rubies in the fluffy white powder, dark and gleaming against the blank background of winter’s tears.
The blade of the ice skates had been difficult to snap off, but her will had been much stronger than whatever had attached them to the bottom of the shoe. She hoped the owner wouldn’t be too mad if they ever came back for the skates they left behind, but surely they would understand why she did what she did.
She had to.
The setting sun reflected across the frozen pond in shades of red and orange. It looked as if the surface was covered in blood, and Bessie fantasized as it being her own.
She wanted it to be her own.
She wanted to die.
Bessie dragged the blade down her wrist again, gritting her teeth through the bright pain. It was stinging, familiar, soothing. It distracted her from seeing faces in the gnarled trees all around her, made her avoid seeing the wicked reflection in the ice. The pain let her Not See, and in return, she gave it blood.
That was how it’s been for a long time. She couldn’t remember when it started or why she even started doing it, but she couldn’t stop. Not anymore.
She was too far gone.
She needed to be Put Down.
(she wished she could do it herself but she’s scared she’s so scared)
Bessie looked at the pond again. The beast reflected across its surface seemed to be beckoning her over. She obliged to its silent calls, standing up and dropping the bloody blade into the snow.
She tentatively stepped onto the ice. It proved to be stable beneath her feet, so she took another step. And then another. And then another.
Bessie stood at the center of the pond, knees wobbling treacherously against the slickness of the surface. She looked down, and her reflection was not her own.
“Look at you,” Said The Beast. “What a mistake. How does it feel? Do you enjoy actively dripping your own blood?”
Bessie didn’t answer. Her eyes were as glassy and hollow as the ice she was standing on.
“Go on, feel sorry for yourself.” The Beast said. “Since there’s no one left to do that for you.”
Bessie stomped her foot as hard as she could, willing the ice to break. She longed for the dark depths beneath its mass. The water seemed to be calling to her, longing to hold her in its chilling embrace. She wanted it more than anything.
Hiding her problems from others was easier than she expected it to be when only, like, three people gave a shit about her.
She thought, at some point, that people did their best to make her feel included and a part of the group, but they’ve given up since then. They’ve marked her as a lost cause and have moved on. And Bessie didn’t blame them.
She was falling deeper and deeper into depression as the days went by.
She couldn’t remember when it started, she just knew it came about from lack of attention and lack of love and lack of friendship and lack of everything. And that was pathetic.
Why couldn’t she function properly? Why did she turn into such a mess?
What was happening to her?
Blood dripped down onto the ice, splattering beautifully upon hitting the surface. It was such a glorious bright red color.
Cutting wasn’t an act of needing attention, like she knew she would be accused of if people found out, it was more of an act to get adrenaline, to escape the constant pain and anxiety that thrummed through her body on the daily. Letting the edge of a sharp object, whether it be a knife or a glass shard or a piece of aluminum can or an ice skate’s blade, carve off pieces of her skin, scratching away the dead, bad parts of her, deeper and deeper each time, just released the most amazing endorphins that she couldn’t even begin to explain. It was like she was floating. And it was the only thing that made her slightly happy anymore, as disgusting as that may have seemed.
She hated it. She hated herself. She didn’t know what she hated.
But she did know that she wanted to be in the water. It was calling to her louder. Its voice was so velvety and silky, almost like molten honey.
It sounded like it cared. And she craved care more than anything in the whole world.
Tears joined the blood on the ice. The Beast was smirking up at her, she knew it was. It loved seeing her like this.
“You can’t escape me,” The Beast said. “You can’t run.”
Bessie gripped her scathed wrist tightly. The blood oozed through her fingers, hot and slippery.
“Join me. Nobody will miss you”
Her lips quivered. She ground her heel into the ice, wanting it to break so badly. She needed to be held.
“Just do it already!”
Blank Space by Taylor Swift cut through the voice in Bessie’s head.
Her ringtone.
Someone was calling her.
Bessie turned, sniffling. She could see her phone flashing on the bay, by one of her shedded jackets. She slid back over and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” Aragon’s warm, soothing voice overcame the roaring in Bessie’s ears. “Did you still want to come over for dinner tonight?”
“Yeah,” Bessie answered, biting back the wavering of her voice. “I’ll be there soon.”