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m. braxton

                          MAVERICK IS TOO FUCKED UP TO EVEN be embarrassed by the fact that he’s relying on someone else, for the first time in a long time. for most of his life, he’d rather flee the scene than ask for help — and while it’s gotten him hurt more often than he’d like to admit, it saves him from the embarrassment that comes with classic braxton judgment. 

he wants nothing more than to snap out of this agonizing CRASH, to get up off his ass, stand himself up, apologize to ella for being a nuisance, and head back to his apartment. but he can’t — he physically cannot stand; he can hardly remember half of the things she says, even a few seconds after the words leave her lips. he’s FRUSTRATED, that he can’t be better, can’t be all the things he’s set out to be because of her. he’s tired of himself, of his self-sabotaging ways, of the fact that he can’t even express his own self-disappointment to her, because it’d take too much energy out of him. his RAGING headache isn’t helping either. fuck. he’s struggling to make a note of it in his head, to tell her later how sorry he is … but it’s wishful thinking to think he’d remember it in the morning. “ yeah. i’m sorry, i’ll … be quiet … ”

he has no choice but to react when she speaks — he’s no stranger to the comedown, the fall, the crash after euphoric highs. it’s just the CIRCUMSTANCE of it all that makes him feel everything a thousand — no, a million — times stronger. his mind is fatigued, body completely exhausted; it’s taking a far bigger toll on him, one his body has never experienced before. it’s fucking embarrassing and terrifying at the same time. he wants to cry, to let streams of tears fall freely on his face, like they’d carry the pain out of his face, but he’s too exhausted to even muster up the strength for them to flow. he lives, right now, in a state of oblivion. 

“ okay, ” he responds to her request to relocate, but he can hardly remember what he’s agreed to until she’s maneuvered her way under his arm. “ yeah, y-yeah, i can stand, ” he’s actually completely unsure if the feat is possible, but he tries, HARD, so goddamned hard to cooperate — he’s already caused enough trouble for her. “ ella … i’m sorry, ” he says for the dozenth time, yet his heart does not feel any less free of guilt. “ i’m sorry. ”

his head hits her pillow: it’s soft and cool and just what his head needs. it smells like her, too — her shampoo that he can’t quite figure out in his state of mind. it feels SAFE, a feeling that is almost foreign to him at this point. the braxton estate hardly feels safe; it had never really felt like home. his apartment, though warm and cozy, with great company in wolfie, was never his place. and before he can even process the feeling, he feels cold water trickle down his throat — and water has never tasted so damned good. 

her bed is so soft, he thanks the gods above that he’s been able to find shelter this nice, when minutes ago, he’d been lost in the cold. yes, he can feel his fingers again — tingling as they clutch the bedsheets beneath him. he focuses on the texture — how soft they are, as a distraction to her question, one he DEFINITELY does not want to answer. she can certainly tell, by his current state, some of his darker, less favorable tendencies, but admitting them aloud is another thing. he’d never been good at admitting his own shortcomings — it wasn’t in braxton blood to be anything less than picture-perfect. except maverick never perfected the formula. would he risk, in his mind, his image of the one person who might think of him as someone GOOD ? maybe he should have thought about that before he’d shown up on that one person’s doorstep, high out of his mind. he sinks into the bed more, accepting that he’s already failed in his personal quest to better himself — at least, in this attempt. 

“ i’m … i’m fine, ella, r-really, ” he says, in an incredibly weak attempt at trying to dodge the question, because the answer would be that he doesn’t know. it might have started out as a couple drinks and a few lines, but with the variety of shit he has tucked under his bed, he doesn’t know — and that thought alone is TERRIFYING. “ you don’t need to take care of me. ” it’s as if he hadn’t registered the last ten minutes at all — and he realizes, of course, that he’s in her bed, drinking her water, not lying in the snow, thanks to her. “ i just … i just need to sleep. that’s all. ” his eyes are blinking shut, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. “ fuck … wait … i didn’t mean to … i can … i can sleep on the couch, s-seriously … i don’t … ” his voice fluctuates in its urgency, but one deep breath relaxes him a little too much. one hand reaches for her, an instinctive need for maverick to hold something before he sleeps — usually a pillow, a sweater, a book — he needs something to ground him before his dreams take him on emotional rollercoasters, like they always had. 

ella shushed him as reflexive apologies flow from his mouth. she always apologized, for basically no reason, but it sounded wrong coming from mickey. he clearly couldn’t stand on his own, ella taking a good chunk of his weight, but still she insisted “it’s okay, mickey, it’s fine.” all mickey needed was help, and to learn how to accept it. 

he was so exhausted and desperate, it was hard not to cradle him close, press kisses to his brow. everything about him was wrung out, wrung dry, and ella didn’t even wanna think about what kind of cocktail was brewing in his system, what it could mean. his skin was clammy, but his heart was still beating at a semi-reasonable rate, she presumed. nothing too concerning. “no, you’re not,” ella insisted, voice almost shaking. “you’re not okay, mickey, please, i need you to tell me what you took.” she didn’t want to sound as scared as she felt, mickey didn’t need that right now. she did what she always did; tamping down her own emotions to better serve the emotions of others. 

she shook her head, pressing a hand to his forehead for a moment. ella stood up, leaning across him to grab the blanket that was lying on the other side, wrapping it around and tucking it under his body. he still had his boots on, and ella cursed, going done to untie them and slide them off. “i know i don’t have to,” she insisted, glancing back up at his glassy eyes. every time she looked in them, her heart panged. she hated to see them like that, not as alive and mischievous as usual. “i want to.” because mickey had taken care of her in more ways than he could possible realize. 

she tugged one boot off his foot and placed it on the floor, before working on the other. ella prayed that she wasn’t making a massive mistake by letting mickey sleep, that he would wake up the next morning. she was in the middle of taking care of his other boot when he started to talk about moving, and ella looked up at him again, shaking her head. “no,” she said, voice soft. “no, just... just stay here, okay?” she’d figure out somewhere else to sleep; the rug on her floor was pretty fucking plush.

once the second boot was off, ella made to stand, to go grab a bucket or something, just in case mickey got sick in the middle of the night, but then she feels mickey’s hand reaching for her own. she clasps his right back, sighing to herself. there was something so innocent about this touch, so simple, that it absolutely broke her heart. she scooted down the floor towards him, checking to make sure he was actually asleep. “good night,” she murmured. she hoped he slept well. 

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text 📲 🌹mary

rosie: i told lot that he should ask if the cops can escort him to see star wars

rosie: so they'd have to be willing to take us grocery shopping it's only right

rosie: and then we can have a nice pot luck for the cops and everyone else

rosie: maybe it'll boost morale around here

ella: yeah i mean i know star wars is a necessity but food is probably just as necessary, right?

ella: i was thinking a potluck for the rest of the students

ella: i'm actually planning a little party with donatella navarro

ella: i know that sounds weird but i think its a good idea

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d. navarro

if there was ever someone that deserved recognition for their acts of goodness around campus, that person was ella. even now, as the world seemed to be falling apart, the girl was trying to positively affect everyone else, boost morale. and while donatella could recognize the effort ella must’ve made not to appear as down as she probably was, she couldn’t really pretend she was happy at the moment - she was too drained, too freaked out for that. 

but ella is trying to do something right now. you owe it to her to help. 

so donnie swallowed her hesitation and smiled in the other girls’s direction. ❝ i’m happy you came to me, we can do this. ❞ she hoped her tone was encouraging, that her clear change in attitude would cheer her up again. ❝ and you never know, people get really creative in restrictive situations, but you’re right. people probably don’t want to think too hard right now. ❞ she didn’t want to think too hard right now. her mind was so consumed by melanie’s disappearance and all the circumstances surrounding it, that she wasn’t sure she’d even have any brain cells to spare. 

❝ i’m not sure if we have the necessary materials for the gingerbread house or the cooking competition, though.❞ the brunette rejected, kindly. she also didn’t think a lot of people would be interested on those activities, not while there were so many posters announcing melanie’s death all around campus. ❝ and they already told me that i couldn’t go to that grocery store even if i wanted to buy tampons. whatever we want to do, we have to use the supplies we already have around. alcohol is a good starting point. ❞ donnie almost laughed as she saw ella rubbing her hands together, the gesture reminded her of easier times. of a time in which a girl wasn’t missing. ❝ how about a little treasure hunt ? we can put a surviving covington kit together and think of some easy clues and… i don’t know, try to make people think about something other than these fucking posters that showed up out of nowhere. ❞ she suggested, hesitantly. it was an ambitious idea, but she knew ella would never judge her for it.

ella shot donnie a less queasy smile. she sounded... genuine, like she actually wanted this party to happen. “yeah, but we should... probably distract them, in that case. nothing too easily frustrating or difficult.” just hard enough to keep your brain occupied. thats the only way ella had survived high school, was by keeping busy at all times, with clubs and sports and academics. “maybe some christmas movies? i dunno.” 

donnie’s suggestion of a scavenger hunt, though, that sounded really good. “i really like that. we could ask the janitors to open up some of the buildings for us, hide them in there. all around the theater and the library,” ella grinned at the prospect, pulling her phone out to write all this down. “thats a great idea, donna!” this really could work out to be a great party. “okay, lets see... we won’t be outside for too long, but we should still probably have like... hot chocolate and stuff for people afterwards. oh, and prizes! i don’t know what kind of prizes we could get, but... we could find something i’m sure.” 

she looked back up at donna, smile faltering as she realized she was getting really, really excited in front of a woman she didn’t really know all that well; somehow, ella had become embarrassed about expressing emotion. she squeezes her lips together, staring back down at her phone. “and, uh, what, what would be in the surviving covington kit? alcohol, i’m presuming, but... would it be all alcohol?” 

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text 📲 🌹mary

rosie: i'm starting to think it may be illegal to keep us here any longer

rosie: im running out of things to bake and i saw this lemon lavender cupcake recipe

rosie: but we dont have enough lemons or any lavender so this is a disaster

ella: yeah like... they should let us off campus to buy groceries or like we might starve

ella: i mean technically yes we have the dining hall but like... still this is cruel and unusual

ella: i've been thinking of having like a potluck or something to bring everyone together but i need to go grocery shopping first

ella: if we go to the cops and cry i'm sure they'll let us

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d. navarro

everything had felt a little weird after the posters, if the mood around covington was dire before, now it was even worse. she had left her apartment for a while on the day before, but being surrounded by melanie’s face only succeeded in freaking her out even more, so she had been holed up inside her room ever since. she had been alone with the pets most of the time, she had no idea where eden spent her free time at and had learned a long time ago not to ask. she didn’t mean to, but she had jumped at every little sound stiletto or louis made for a while, which wasn’t that weird, considering the posters that had showed up all over the unversity. it had been a few hours since she had learned to just ignore it, so when she heard a knock, she didn’t even realize that it was on her door until the pets started crowding around the entrance, clearly animated.

❝ hey… eden is not around right now. ❞ she greeted confused, holding the door half closed to keep the pets inside the apartment. donatella felt the telltale sign of excitement when ella explained the real reason she was there. finally something else to think about. ❝ oh, yeah. sorry. please come in ❞ quickly bending down to hold both the dog and the cat into her hands, she threw the door open with her left foot, opening passage for the ella to get in. ❝ ypu can leave your stationary at the table over there. ❞ the brunette pointed with her head, closing the door after ella. gently dropping the pets back on the ground, she made her way to one of the chairs around the now covered table. ❝ so… what do you have in mind ? ❞

ella tapped her fingers against the box, trying not to let her disappointment show on her face. this was, admittedly, a stupid plan, but it didn’t seem to be soliciting much of a response. now it was just... a stupid stationary box. “thank you.” ella slipped inside, putting the stationary box down on the table so she could untie her shoes and take them off. she looked up momentarily at the question, but looked back down at her shoes before replying, “well... a few things. i... i don’t think a secret santa would be a good idea, since we can’t leave campus, but...” 

she shrugged, taking her shoes fully off before standing up. “i dunno, i was thinking... maybe a gingerbread house, if we can find the supplies. or a cookie decorating competition, or we could cook stuff together! there’s a grocery store just off campus.” it occured to ella that she sounded like a camp counselor instead of a college student, and she paused, self-conscious. “but i mean... i guess all we need is alcohol and we’ll have a good time, right? but i just...” she pushed her hands together in a distinctive motion, “i wanted to bring everyone together. we need each other right now, i think.” ella dropped her hands, shrugging, “i guess that’s why my brain went to, like, arts and crafts.” 

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cordy: hi i have a question and feel free to say no !!

cordy: but i figured since we’re all stuck here anyway might as well ask around

cordy: but ! i was wondering if you had any interest in browsing some costumes and set pieces so the ghost of violet carter doesn’t get me if i go in the morgue alone

cordy: NOT a real morgue the costume morgue .. to clarify

ella: yeah for sure !! 

ella: um, you want to go to a morgue to get costumes? 

ella: oh! sorry i’ve never heard that phrase before. yeah, that should be fine. i’d love to go 

ella: but i think if the ghost of violet carter ever saw you, she’d thank you !! you’re, like, everything violet carter would have wanted in the theater department. i think.  

imessage to: 📧lla

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m. braxton

                      HE STILL DOESN’T KNOW HOW he got here. had his short-term memory not been absolutely shot, he would have thought to look at his phone, but now, it’s buried deep in his pocket somewhere, and to put the cherry on top of everything wrong, his hands are STILL numb. before he knows it, he’s falling backward, his chest hitching as he braces for impact, unaware that the soft pillows of ella’s couch are there to cushion his fall. he feels himself sinking in, the texture of the couch feeling so fucking soft … 

and then he hears the word hospital. “ no ! ” he almost yells instinctively, no—he can’t go to the hospital. there, they’d inevitably call his parents, and they might go as far as DISOWN him if they’d found out what mélange of drugs he’d been on that night ( sure, he might be overreacting; it’d be an understatement to say that maverick was on edge ). “ i mean … no … i … i don’t need to go to the hospital, i’m … f-fine … ” he insists, eyes glued to his fingers, but the softness of the voice in front of him wakes him up, if only for an instant. ella. he’d just YELLED at her, something he’d never thought he would have the capacity to do. “ i’m sorry. i didn’t m-mean … to shout. i’m sorry … i’m sorry … ” his voice trails off, the urgency fading with its volume.

he can feel the high wearing off, euphoric sensations retreating quickly like low tides—replaced quickly with dull pangs, and tense the feeling of his emotions concentrating in his chest, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. just not … yet. 

maverick finds his bearings, his fingers clutching the cloth of the sofa as his eyes look up at hers, hoping, PRAYING that they don’t look back at him in fear. there was a reason maverick never talked to her about his tendencies to rely on drugs every once in a while, mostly because he was ASHAMED. that was the part of him that he wasn’t proud of—and ella represented the person he strived to be: good. kind. pure. not tempted to fall back on synthetic and fabricated highs just to block out emotions that could be tossed aside for another time. and yet, here he was, sitting—no, lying—on her couch, barely coherent, barely functioning. i didn’t want you to see me like this, he wants to say, but his lips don’t move. they can’t. he can’t even feel them.

and he’s distracted again—her eyes are so, incredibly blue, it’s a mystery to him. like the ocean—but not a deep one. like a shallow reef, untouched and unsullied by mud and dirt and … and he was staring, now. fucking great, maverick. 

one long inhale, and one equally long exhale later, he feels stable enough to bury his head in his hands. now his chest is not the center of his gravity, but the front of his forehead. “ fuck, fuck, fuck, ” he mumbles, trying not to let himself fall off the couch, especially not with ella sitting right fucking there. “ i need … ” what he craves is another bump, another HIGH just so that he can delay the inevitable crash that is being onset right now, but he knows, with ella here, he wouldn’t dare reach for the small baggie tucked deep inside his jacket pocket. maybe it’s why, instinctively, he texted her, of all people, who he wouldn’t want to disappoint—even if disappointment was his signature message. “ … water, ” he concludes, in a whisper. oh, if his parents could fucking see him now. 

ella jumped a little when mickey yells, not expecting that reaction from someone laying supine and boneless on her couch. her eyes went to rosemary’s door, praying her roommate doesn’t come out, before they returned to mickey, half alive and fidgeting. drugs, she realized all of a sudden, and knew she wasn’t savvy enough to even begin to decipher what kind. as soon as he started apologizing, her heart broke all over again. 

she lowered herself to mickeys level, putting a careful hand on his shoulder. “no, hey, it’s okay. we’re- we won’t go to a hospital. just-.” she looks back at her roommate’s bedroom. “just be a little quieter, okay? i don’t want to wake anybody up.” she could barely stand to look at mickey right now, something so... wrong, and threadbare about him. like he was one more shock away from unraveling. 

ella leans over mickey’s head, brushing her hair behind her ear before pressing the back of her hand to mickeys forehead, taking in his clammy skin, his massive pupils. that were staring directly into her own. her heart flips in her chest, suddenly fully aware of herself, and of him. it was quickly too much, and she had to look away. 

“water,” she repeated, which was... back in her room. she bit the bottom of her lip, deciding, “come on, i’m gonna take you to my room, okay?” just in case rosemary came out to investigate, it was best to take care of him there. while she was tall, ella didn’t have a whole lot of muscle, so she wouldn’t be able to carry mickey on her own. still, she hooked her arm under his shoulders, hauling him upwards. “can you stand, mickey?” 

with mickey’s arm across her shoulders, ella helped him towards her room, step by careful step, assuring he didn’t trip over himself. when she finally got to her bed, she lowered him down as gently as she could, assuring he was lying on his side with his head on her pillow. he looked... younger, like this, and before ella knew what she was doing, she was running a gentle hand over his messy hair. 

as soon as she realized, though, she pulled away, reaching for her covington crows water bottle on her bedside table. it was just having someone on her bed, that was all. she’d never had anyone in her bed like this, so... so it was just playing tricks with her head. she opened the bottle up, putting the spout to his lips with a smile. “here.” 

when he was finished, she pressed her lips together, looking away as she asked, “what... what did you take, mickey? i know you took something, and i... i need to know so i know what to look out for.” or, at least, so she could google what to look out for, any danger signs. “and how to take care of you.” 

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r. chastain

rumor was someone who usually kept himself in good condition, even when his few clothes were thrifted with holes in them he tried to look his best. he wanted to always be presentable, like the caricature of some old classic romance novel. ideally he would be in something more like a jane austen classic, but his life was starting to align with the more gothic romance, feeling like the tragic hero rather than the happy lead. he felt like maxim dewinter, hiding the secrets of their relationship to play the role he was given, slowly decaying and falling apart inside as he did so.

now he looked like a mess, going out in his pajamas, his hair barely brushed, bags under his eyes representative of the lack of sleep he’s been getting these past few days. his mind has been going a mile a minute, rapidly writing all his thoughts late at night as he drank his coffee with rum. nothing made sense, and all he wanted was for things to make sense. the news kept getting worse but none of it made sense. all he wanted to do was stay inside, wallow until everything was done then try to heal, but he had to come out eventually. doing so he should’ve expected to have to talk to someone, usually he was never opposed to that, but now all he wanted was some quiet. “hi…hey…” he looked down at his hands, ashamed to be out like this. “no, i’m not…but i’m here. how are you?”

every time ella had spoken to him, rumor had always been... happy, cheerful, in a way that never failed to piss ella off. it was hard not to feel pissed off whenever she saw him, upset and despairing and... and jealous. envy coiling like a serpent in the pit of her stomach; yes, that was the typical reaction to seeing the boyfriend of the love of your life. measuring herself up to him in every which way she could think of. once upon a time she’d daydreamed, maliciously, about seeing this man as a shell of himself, just like this, but... but now that she had it, she wanted it gone. how cruel was she, to put such things out into the universe? melanie was... was fucking gone. she might be gone for good. the least she could do was check on him. 

she nodded at his response, unable to look at him for too long. “basically the same.” ella never knew what to do during these kinds of situations, when someone needed comfort. especially someone who she’d held such antipathy towards for so long. “do you... um, i’m...” she indicated with her thumb, “i was gonna... go for a walk. try to distract myself. do you wanna... do you wanna join me?” it would hurt her to spend time with rumor, with the constant comparisons, but... ella’s own mental health and comfort had never really mattered all that much to her. not when rumor hadn’t done anything wrong, when he hadn’t done anything to earn her ire or the hell he lived in now. 

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flightsrsk‌:

𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣 ft. @unsccnangcl​ !

                       HE CAN’T FEEL HIS FINGERS. he’d rationalized it before by just reminding himself that it was batshit freezing outside … but a moment later, he’d forget that rationality, finding the glittering, pearly-white snow looking oh so soft … only to curse at himself when his fingers would freeze again, this time covered in melted snow. his eyes had been so focused on his fingers, he hadn’t noticed that what was supposed to be a ten minute walk to clear his head had turned into an hour. his conception of time was completely destroyed once the sun had set—never mind the mix of poisons that coursed through his body.

the SOBER version maverick braxton that existed a few hours ago had almost been successful in keeping himself from forming far-too-familiar lines of white powder. almost. but news of melanie’s death was so foreign to him. he’d never truly experienced loss before … it was terrifying. and at the time, he didn’t want to deal with the emotions that would come crashing into his chest once he had processed the news.

instead, he’s feeling tears freeze on his cheeks, his head throbbing PAINFULLY—but not his fingers, no—he still can’t feel those. he can see his feet dragging through the snow, but he can’t feel his feet lifting at all. hitched, quick breaths cuts the silence of the night, his breath fogging up his already impaired vision. his brain is spinning—he can barely feel his feet on the ground, let alone keep his balance. he needs help. now.

eyes dart around, trying to lock onto ANY goddamned landmark he can find to figure out where he is. it’s vaguely familiar … he searches his numb, dull mind if he can remember …  he doesn’t know why, but his fingers, still numb, reach for his phone to text her. ella. perhaps his synapses had made this connection without him realizing, but in a moment, he’s already sent a pleading text to her, hoping she’s awake to respond to him.

MAVERICK, 1:48AM: ella MAVERICK, 1:48AM: i need help MAVERICK, 1:49AM: can i come over

it isn’t at ALL the sort of text he’d send her ( or anyone, frankly ); in fact, they barely text at all. their interactions are ninety-nine percent in person, away from screens and other distractions. 

it’s a miracle she responds, even semi-immediately, even more of a miracle that he can drag himself to the apartment buildings. the synapses again … must have pieced together memories to form a map up to her doorstep. he knocks—or at least he thinks he does, before leaning against the doorframe. “ ella … it’s me, ” he manages to sigh. “ i’m … sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry … ” 

this wasn’t a foreign state for ella to be in, staring at the wall in the wee hours of the morning, thinking about melanie. she wasn’t sure what hurt the most with her; imagining how melanie would never look at her again, or imagining them falling deeply in love only to then pull the rug out from under herself. melanie had always been her favorite tool to hurt herself with, the ultimate failure in your own head, representing everything ella could never have. 

she wasn’t brave, or strong, or willing to be vulnerable and open with other people. she didn’t like to talk, or go to parties. she could never be worthy of the sunshine melanie had about her. she’d always be in some form of darkness. and those were the thoughts that would typically draw her into an empty, uneasy slumber. but now? now her mind was alight; was melanie being hurt? who put up those posters? was she... was she even alive, as the posters suggested? the thought that anyone like melanie, as powerful, as beautiful and untouchable could be dead... it seemed impossible. then again, she was a human like all the others, and ella did have a bad habit of venerating her. 

essentially, she was extremely and painfully awake when her phone vibrated unexpectedly. she pulled it out from under her pillow, eyes widening at the messages. help? what... what could mickey possibly need help with at nearly two am? nothing good, but... but she couldn’t turn him away. ella pushed herself to sitting, flicking on her lamp. 

ELLA, 1:50AM: of course mickey 

ELLA, 1:51AM: i’ll be at the front door in a few

she shuffled herself out of bed, the cold air nipping at her bare legs. she should probably put pants on before she went to the door, she decided, reaching for her pajama bottoms she’d discarded on the floor. surprisingly, despite the bizarre circumstance, she was comforted knowing that mickey was on his way. he was... well, he always made her feel a little bit better. a little more in her own skin. 

it wasn’t until she got out to the main room that she realized she’d worn matching pajamas to bed. with golden snitches and broomsticks all over them, but it was a little too late to get changed; there was a knock at the door. besides, she figured mickey wouldn’t mind, even if it was embarrassing. 

as she reached for the door, though, she heard his voice. his apologies. and her stomach dropped, her hand freezing on the doorknob. she thought of melanie all of a sudden, of foul play, of trashy murder shows, of men showing up on her front porch dripping in blood, but... but this was mickey, and he would never hurt her. 

so, she opened the door carefully, leaning in close to see her friend slouched against the frame. “mickey,” she breathed, and realized something was wrong, very wrong. “oh my god, mickey, what... what happened? are you alright? oh my- come here, come in.” she put her hand on his shoulder, trying to coax him into the room and shutting the door behind him. she corralled him onto the couch, whispering, “are you okay? do you... fuck, mickey, do you need to go to the hospital?” 

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location: donatella & eden’s apartment 

date: eight seventeen pm, december twenty-first 

with: donatella ( @plcttwist )

ella knew this was a supremely weird idea, one that... that might not be received super well. still, she clung to the little patterned box in her hand, shuffling along the street towards eden and donna’s apartment. hopefully, this would provide a distraction for both her and donna, make her feel a little useful, like she wasn’t drowning with no way to right herself. when she got to the front door, she knocked primly, and tried for a smile when donna answered. 

“hey,” she said, looking down at the box, trying to keep her poker face on. “this is... this is kinda out of the blue, but i just... i dunno, with everything going on, i just. that party thing i was talking about, we should do it. just to... to make everyone else feel better, i guess? or at least to bring everyone together.” she brought the box up with both hands. “i just found my old stationary kit, and i thought about it again, and it would be cool to, like, i dunno, do like... handwritten invitations to people? i think that would be a nice touch.” she gave a little shrug. “sorry, i... that was a lot. can i come in?” 

[unsccnangcl]

location: dining hall

date: two oh seven, december twentieth

with: michal ( @ofreligion )

at around two, ella supposed she should grab something to eat. preferably, outside of her own apartment. she felt too stagnant in there. but now that she was standing in the dining hall, staring at all the food, she couldn’t find it in herself to eat. she just bought herself a sweet tea and a small order of fries, keeping her head down as she made her way out of the area. she knew they’d taste like ashes in her mouth. 

as she settled into a table in the abandoned hall, though, she noticed michal. after a moment’s hesitation, she picked her paltry meal up and headed towards her, shooting her a small smile. “hey,” she said, voice coming out quieter than she meant. she cleared her throat. “hey, uh, is it... is it okay if i join you? i don’t wanna eat alone.” 

[unsccnangcl]

location: somewhere in the art building 

date: three thirty-six pm, december twentieth 

with: coda ( @glcwsticck )

she’d spent most of the day... wandering. she couldn’t stay still for too long, restless in her own skin. and, in her restlessness, she found herself in the art building. campus was closed, but she was somehow still able to sneak inside. she’d never been a particularly good artist, but she loved art. it filled her mind like nothing else did. she was naturally analytical, and a good art piece would just give her question after question with no answers, until her only option was to feel. 

she’d been staring at this piece for a while; letting herself get lost in it. it was one of coda’s that the department hung from the walls. she’d recognize his style anywhere. he always used the brightest colors he could find, in the most gorgeous and original palettes. like van gogh on lsd. and they always, always made her feel alone, but they also made her feel real. and then, as if she’d willed him there, ella turned her head and there coda was. she gave a small, shaking smile, and indicated the painting with the tilt of her head. “is this a new one? its incredible.” 

[unsccnangcl]

location: ella and rosie’s apartment 

date: seven thirty two pm, december twentieth

with: rosemary ( @heartofgolds )

at a time like this, what a good friend would do was distract and support. or, at least that’s what ella believed, according to the unachievable standard she held herself to. part of her knew it was unrealistic to think she could take care of rosemary right now, because she was... she was hurting, too. but did ella have a right to be sad? even though she was obsessed with melanie, she didn’t... she didn’t know her. rosemary was melanie’s best friend; it was different. 

so, ella made dinner that night. the nicest meal she knew how to make: what she called her “vampire repellant spaghetti”, which was essentially butter and spaghetti with parmesan, breadcrumbs, parsely, and a metric tonne of garlic. she added some vegetables; grieving people need vitamins, right? it was her go-to comfort food. she shot rosemary a quick text when it was done, dinners ready!, and by the time her roommate emerged, the table was set in front of the couch, with ella’s laptop set up. “hey. i, uh, i didn’t know if you wanted to talk or not, so i... i have to all the boys ready on netflix. or whatever you want.” 

[unsccnangcl]

location: humanities building atrium 

date: four nineteen pm, december twentieth

with: shiloh ( @ofshilch )

when everything was going to shit, there was always one thing that made ella feel better: writing. whenever she felt like all she wanted to do was scream and cuss, all she needed to do was write, was bleed onto the sheet, and she always felt better. to see all of her thoughts staring back at her on the page, out of the unmanageable jumble that was her brain, made her feel more... in control. but sometimes... sometimes everything happening in her brain was too much. sometimes ella looked at the blank page and all she could think to fill it with was fuck fuck fuck fucK FUCK FUCK - . sometimes it was impossible to make her misery poetic. 

alone in the atrium, she shut her laptop, feeling her fingers start to shake. how could she put all of this... uncertainty, this fear into words? ella leaned her head against the back of the couch, looking up for the first time in an hour, to see shiloh also in the room. she sat herself up properly, sliding her laptop onto the couch next to her. “hey, uh... i haven’t, i haven’t seen you since finals started. how are you? i mean...” ella shuts her eyes, trying to sort out her brain enough to speak. “bad question, but... just, yeah. i hope you’re... you’re okay.” when written words were hard, spoken words were nearly impossible. 

[unsccnangcl]

One Sings, the Other Doesn’t (1977)

[unsccnangcl]

location: outside the on-campus apartments

date: one oh-seven, december twentieth

with: open

everything felt real, now. worse. those obituaries posted all over the campus had been the rudest possible awakening, and that bad feeling ella had had from the very beginning was only confirmed. perhaps it wasn’t official, but that thought filled her up to her throat. melanie was dead, melanie was dead, melanie was-. it was a paralyzing thought, and ella had barely been able to leave her bed since she left her apartment to get breakfast from the dining hall. now, she felt spurred into action. doing nothing only made her feel worthless, useless; she’d feel better if she did something. the question was: what? 

she wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck, trying to think of what she could do. maybe she could... talk to people, but that was a terrifying concept in and of itself. it was never something ella had been particularly good at. she zipped her coat up as she left the building, cold air nipping at her collarbone. almost as soon as she looked up, she caught sight of another person, one of the other twenty-three. she shot them an uneasy, forced smile, and thought, well, here goes nothing. “hey,” she said as soon as she was close enough to be heard, cheeks quickly going pink and ignoring the signs that surrounded them. “hey, um... are you... are you doing okay?” 

[unsccnangcl]

p. underhill

   peyton let her hair slowly, willing herself to have patience. it was so much easier to glare and snap at everyone, to make them leave her alone, but ella was too… fragile. and helpful. even pey couldn’t help but put on a softer tone, for the other girl’s benefit. “well, it was better than what i could’ve done, so…” pey wouldn’t let herself say thank you again. “uh, yeah, i think everyone did.” she shrugged, about to turn to leave, when a thought struck her. why did ella want to know? she turned, head tilted as she looked back to ella. 

 “don’t worry — i didn’t say anything or whatever,” peyton added, then stopped in horror at her own words. her own concerns and worries over everything happening, and how her supposed involvement would look, she’d started to assume everyone was hiding something. she hadn’t meant to sound so… involved, nor did she mean to make it sound as if she and ella were in it together. “i mean, like, i don’t know anything either.” 

ella grimaced; everyone probably did, but... she tended to be out of the loop. even when there was only twenty-two people on campus. “oh, alright, i was just... wondering.” just to have something to talk about. this whole awful situation had seemed to throw ella’s life, and the lives of everyone on campus, into the twilight zone. everyone was acting a little weird in this new reality.

still, she frowned at what peyton said; didn’t say anything about what? why would... why would ella be worrying? she narrowed her eyes a little bit, taking peyton in. “what... what would you say?” what would peyton know about ella, anyways. her stomach dropped; did she know about the poetry? oh god, did she know about the poetry? “okay, um,” ella kept her eyes on the floor, “okay, cool, you don’t... know anything. are you sure? like, you didn’t... see anything at the party? like... i didn’t see anything with melanie but...” ella shakes her head. “nevermind, that’s- none of my business.”