#opposite. Jessica Jones. profanemouth.

[godblooded]

“Let me hold your hair back, at least.” - for trish

she’s not being difficult to be difficult. for once in her fucking life, patsy trish isn’t being difficult. she’s just laying there on a bathroom floor braving wave after wave of horrible nausea. she hates how much this feels like memories she wants to bury deeper in the earth than she can reach. she hates the memory of her skin, clammy beyond reason, and how even if @profanemouth made her feel like she was baking inside her own body she couldn’t detach herself from the other. she was stuck to her so close, the only way to remove her would’ve been to peel her off like the wrapper from a square of grossly neon yellow cheese. (dairy is bad for your skin she can hear her mother talking. she hates this she hates—)

“ i’m fine. ”

she’s breathing out when jess is at her side so quick she barely sees her out of her peripheral vision. they’re fifteen again, and trish is crying because she’s miserable, because she’s begging jess to help her make this stop. she had been pleading for an ativan, then, would’ve done anything for one fucking tablet— this time, it’s only partially her fault.

she’s not fine. once her knees buckle, the blonde is grateful only that jess has super strength enough for them both. she can hardly manage to make her weight anything but dead. her eyeballs are beating inside her skull— she’s fifteen again. she’s fifteen again.

“Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

she claws blindly for old, worn leather and the way it comforts her. she’s fifteen again. her mouth tastes like blood, like metal. when she’s sick again, she can’t stop feeling the way her blood rushes. she doesn’t have a lot of hair to hold back, anymore. she’s cut it all off, let her natural ashen blonde grow in. she’s fifteen again. fuck her, she doesn’t—

there’s a plink and it takes trish a feverish nod to notice something— like the fact that she’s missing a tooth. and there it sits at the bottom of her toilet, a ribbon of red unfurling from the ivory. she feels that flush again— heat, and nothing but.

“ shit. jess? shit. ”