#did the message go through? did cyrelle hear it? the Mystery

[rachelbflynn]

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☮: AN ARGUMENT I THINK MY MUSE WOULD HAVE WITH YOURS.  

( TRIGGER WARNINGS: implications of drug abuse + alcohol abuse, mentions of suicide )

FEBRUARY 9, 2019

Stay safe until then. It’s five in the morning and the irony of Cyrelle’s words aren’t lost on her. The warning signs had lined themselves up over the phone, providing a mental checklist of indicators that Cyrelle was the one who deserved the worry, who deserved the reminder to stay safe. Unsteady breathing, check. A voice rough due to more than the early hour, check. Chattering teeth, although she can't tell if it is due to emotional stress, the cold, or perhaps even withdrawal (except it wasn’t that bad, was it? had she missed the signs again?), check. No set answer on when she’ll be back, which could mean she’d see her next week or next month, check.

The redhead reaches for the water bottle that rests on the edge of her bedside table, swallows the water as if it’ll wash away the lump in her throat, the temptation to call Cyrelle back and echo those words. Stay safe. Come back. Let’s figure this out before it gets too hard to fix things. But Cyrelle chooses her words carefully, and there’s no guarantee that the other woman will answer even if she calls again, and they’ve always struggled with talking about the parts that hurt. So when Mac reaches out and puts his paw up on her chest, Rachel runs her fingers through his fur and closes her eyes, knowing sleep won’t come.

FEBRUARY 27, 2019

When she goes home for independent research and Cyrelle returns to Darkwood, the phone call lingers in the back of Rachel’s mind. Her friend’s voice isn’t as haggard, and when they brush shoulders while walking down the street, she can feel that her skin isn’t icy like she had imagined it to be that night. Still, she disappears at night sometimes, leaving texts left unread until a day or two later. Rachel overhears biting comments about that Abbott girl, narrows her gaze at the speakers, although she can’t see who they are. Perhaps her glares now are even more effective, the white scarring on her eyes more cutting than the former icy blue. 

One night, before Cyrelle heads out for a reason she doesn’t voice, Rachel speaks up. “You could stay, you know,” she offers, not specifying if she means staying the night at the Flynn’s small flat, or staying in Darkwood, in Oxford. Stay with her. Figure things out between them, even if they have to force the words out, because maybe the sunlight has a chance to be antiseptic. Maybe they have a chance at fixing things if they do it together, instead of fighting their own silent battles. 

Cyrelle still leaves, though, and Rachel doesn’t push it. She may only ever get her in bits and pieces, there long enough to remember what it was once like between them but not long enough to convince herself it’ll go back to the way that it was. If the choice was having Cyrelle in small doses or not having her at all, she knows which option she’ll pick. And addressing the crack that’s formed between them, the way she fears Cyrelle is getting lost in things she can’t pull her back from, feels as if it could be enough to lead to not having her at all. So Rachel doesn’t push it. She picks up the phone when Cyrelle calls, and takes what she can.

APRIL 17, 2019

A year ago today, Cyrelle had came to pick her up at Oxford, and they’d went home and spent the day with Mx. For hours at a time, it was almost like it used to be, Mx bringing up the strangest topics of conversation while Cyrelle and Rachel laughed at his antics, cans of Kopparberg held between their fingers. When she tried to picture it, she imagined the two of them just as they were four years ago, smiles bright, that shared mischievous look in their eyes. For hours at a time, it didn’t feel like anyone was missing, but the past always came back. Even when they tried to outrun it, even when they tried to let themselves forget for just a day.

This year, there’s no forgetting. This year, there isn’t even a reason to celebrate. This year, Jesse holes up in her student housing with her and they actively don’t talk about it. It’s by chance that she finds out about Cyrelle’s whereabouts, hears her voice on a video that comes up on Jesse’s phone. Her words are slurred, and the video is loud, and despite how quickly Jesse attempts to turn it off, she hears enough. It isn’t until hours later, when he’s fallen asleep on the couch and she’s restless in bed that she picks up the phone and calls Cyrelle.

It goes to voicemail. Either dead or intentionally unanswered, although she guesses it is more likely to be the former. Still, as she lays on her back and thinks back to what life was like a year ago, the frustration and anxiety bubble up and instead of biting it down, she speaks into the phone. 

“Remember when it was you calling me last month?” The question hangs in the air for a moment, and she hates the way her words never come out right when it really matters. “You sounded awful, Cyrelle. You sounded awful and yet you told me to stay safe. It’s almost funny.” Almost, but not quite. Because as much as she tries to push the worry and anxiety down, it always comes back. If things kept going the way that they were, who was to say that she wouldn’t be doing the same thing on Cyrelle’s birthday, spending October 29th wondering how she had missed the signs all over again? “I don’t know where you are right now, but I hope you’re doing better than you were that morning. And I want to talk about this, in person, when you’re here and I know you’ll get the message.” She’s quiet again, trying to keep herself steady, and Mac whines as he notices that she’s upset. Her hand finds his face, and she brushes her fingers down his snout, in a way that’s always been able to calm him. 

“I miss him, and I miss you. And I can’t go back and help him, but you’re still here and I think  I think you need that. I think you need that help, and I don’t know how to give it to you, but I want to. I don’t want to have to miss you, Cyrelle. I really don’t.” Even if the redhead had wanted to say more, she doesn’t get the chance, as a tone comes through the phone. She can’t be sure if the message was simply too long or if Cyrelle’s voicemail was full, but she hopes that it makes it. She hopes they’ll get to have that conversation, no matter how messy or difficult it might be. She hopes that next year, things will be different.