[[Hayley Kelly continued from Who Died and Made You King of Anything?]]
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck all of this. Dear God or Buddha or whoever, uh, my bad for all the shit I've pulled in the last week and a half...more like the last four years, really, but who the fuck's counting, right, anyway, I'm sorry and all that, now if you could just make everything stop hurting so fucking much I'll call us square and go live in a convent or something. Wait Buddhists don't have convents. I'll become a monk, then. Are there female monks? There aren't, are there. No, wait, I feel like I read about them this one time, or maybe that was in a novel, shit, I don't know, it would be extra cool if I was the first female monk anyway. I hope there aren't female monks. How do you get to be a monk, anyway? Oh man, killing six...oh, shit, seven, seven now, seven people, that probably disqualifies you. But a killer monk would be extra awesome oh man yeah, this has to happen now, I'd be like- like a kunoichi, only a monk-
These are the kind of thoughts that run through Hayley Kelly's mind when she's trying really fucking hard not to think of something important.
"Something important" here means pain. It was funny, she'd been in pain before- even just the day before, when the beating that resulted in her current condition actually occurred- and it hurt, yes, oh wow pain hurts good job Hayley, but at least it dulled with time. At least, after a little while, it became a manageable type of thing, a thing she could sort of stuff in the back of her mind and ignore. Her nose, for example- that pain was still there and if she focused on her nose then FUCK, ow, yes, it was there and it fucking hurt, but if she focused on other things, that pain receded to nothing. Her arm, that too- you'd think a gunshot would hurt more, it was a goddamn gunshot after all, but...maybe it wasn't becoming more manageable, maybe it was just this fuckin'- what was it, even? Her ribs? Her ribs hadn't hurt this much yesterday and she'd sworn they were broken, so there must've been something more to it.
She was trying not to think about that. She was trying hard not to think about much of anything.
Inhale. Exhale. Pathetic inhale, useless exhale. Her left hand held her cigarette, mostly burning itself out. Her right hand, her weak hand, held Ema's, and she could only trust the other girl to keep her on track, keep her from falling or wandering off into the still-fuzzy distance. There was a destination, there was the sawmill, and she could see it, sort of. It was the only thing to see, really, in any direction, even if to her it was a bunch of blurry impressions of things, nothing in particular but a promise of a new home. A bed, maybe. Hayley could hardly think of beds. But they sounded nice. Warm and nice. She was so tired, after all.
So tired. Breathing was an effort. Breathing in smoke, even more so, but she kept on keeping on, and when a good ways down the road she'd burned the thing down to the filter, she didn't hesitate to pull the next and last one out of her pocket. Lit it with a shaky hand. As long as she kept breathing smoke, everything would be fine, and that was an impossibly stupid and contradictory thought process, but it was something to hold on to, and she was running low on those.
She took the hand of the other one.
"Ema."
Oh no no no. What am I doing.
They both kept walking, though a big part of her wanted to stop, and look her girlfriend in the eye, and do this thing that she was about to do stupid stupid stupid properly. She did turn her head, try to look at her, and their closeness let her see her a bit more clearly, at least clearly enough to see the blue-green of her eyes. That was comforting, somehow, that was something else to hold on to, maybe something to help her go through with this because honestly, when was the time if not now? But her brain still yelled at her to shut the hell up, now, because bluh bluh you'll get hurt like I could be hurt much worse than this, bluh bluh it's never a good idea, bluh bluh stop. Bluh bluh.
"I...er..."
One foot in front of the other. Still walking and talking, just really, really awkwardly.
"Um. Like. I wanted t-to say...like, I figure, I k-kind of- I mean, you get it by n-now, I'm s-s-sure, but..."
sha-la-la-la-la-la, don't stop now, don't try to hide it now, you wanna...tell the girl you...love her...why is this song stuck in my head
"U-uh..."
She took another pathetic little pull of her cigarette. Fuck.
Commitment issues didn't even cover it. Sure Hayley had those, everyone knew that, anyone who'd ever hooked up with her and hoped for something more, anyone who'd ever had her cheat on them (a ridiculous quantity of people, to be sure) (oh hi Ema), but it was more than that. It was a pathological fear of the words I love you because...because nothing, they were just words, but no they weren't, they were a sign of something she was afraid of. Vulnerability. Honesty. Yes, commitment, but the kind that wasn't grudging, the kind that wasn't a promise given over the phone so the other person couldn't see what a fucking lie it all was.
But this was as vulnerable as she'd ever been, and honestly, okay, she didn't know much about love- you want a bloody treatise on lust, you go to Hayley Kelly, but love, what even was that thing- but if she'd ever felt it for anyone, if she was even capable of feeling it for anyone...it was for Ema. Ema, who'd been here all along. Ema, who...who she'd not ever properly gotten over. She liked Kyle well enough, even thought she'd loved him for a bit, but that wasn't this. Nothing was like this.
Spit it out, girly.
Inhale...
"I...I mean, w-we've been through...s-so much shit, and I...f-fuck, you know, I'm b...b-bad at saying these...these things, b-but...Ema."
Exhale.
"I...I lo
Destroya
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Destroya
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[Who Died and Made You King of Anything? --> Ema Ryan]
The walk was one hell of an effort. On Hayley's part, there was the obvious, she was horribly injured, she was in a lot of pain, and from the rate her pace seemed to gradually get ever slower, it was getting worse as time went by. But they didn't have much of a choice, they needed to find shelter, as a night out in the open certainly wasn't going to help recovery, not to mention an attack from just about any side being an omnipresent possibility. Pick an indoor room carefully and you've only got a few avenues of approach to worry about.
And, for Ema's part, the walk was mentally taxing. There was no room for the boredom she'd anticipated feeling, despite the sheer temporal length of the journey compared to the geographical distance being covered, but only because in place of it there was a feeling far worse. The mounting dread that every faltering step, every pained cough, every tiny little sign of something being wrong, could be Hayley's last. Ema tried not to think of it that way, she tried her hardest, but she just couldn't quite convince herself any more that Hayley was going to be okay, that she was as well as she was trying to appear. The trek out of the swamp and all the physical challenges it posed was a hardship enough in itself, but it didn't take long for this logging road walk to overthrow its position as the most difficult journey so far. She could only bear to see Hayley in such an appalling state, just about, because she knew that helping her keep going was the best hope Hayley had, sacrificing blissful ignorance for the potential of saving a life.
Hayley's hand parted company with Ema's. Her cigarette had run down. Assuming she was on her last packet, Ema judged the next one to be her last. That didn't seem like a particularly good omen at all. With the final stick lit, their hands came together again.
"Ema."
Unexpected. Hayley had been having trouble speaking lately, it seemed to be painful to do much more than just breathe, this must be important. Important enough that it managed to truly and fully banish any other thoughts from Ema's mind, and make her pay attention 100%. The two kept walking for a short while, Hayley's eyes fixed on Ema, Ema's constantly darting from contact to the direction they were going. She had no intention of letting this all be for nothing because she wasn't looking where she was going and managed to fall over awkwardly.
"I...er..."
But then that voice was back again, and Ema's gaze was drawn back to those tantalising brown irises, appearing gold every so often when the sunlight met them through a break in the shadow of Hayley's fringe. She had something to say alright, and evidently it wasn't just physically difficult to get out.
"Um. Like. I wanted t-to say...like, I figure, I k-kind of- I mean, you get it by n-now, I'm s-s-sure, but... U-uh..."
Not just physically difficult. The pain was pretty evident. More damage had been done to the poor girl's chest than either of them realised, though Ema was starting to suspect the truth of the matter, in a vague, roundabout way. The pause gave Ema time to wonder what exactly it could be that she probably 'got' by now. One thing sprung to mind, the most obvious to her, but it didn't quite stand up to rational thought; Hayley wasn't Ema, they didn't think the same way, one girl's obvious could easily be the other's idiotic. Still, that awkward four letter word wouldn't stop trying to be significant.
Deep breath.
"I...I mean, w-we've been through...s-so much shit, and I...f-fuck, you know, I'm b...b-bad at saying these...these things, b-but...Ema."
There it was, time to stop torturing herself with guessing and just listen to what Hayley actually wanted to tell her.
"I..."
Yes...
"I lo..."
Ye...NO
Ema couldn't be sure what she'd heard. She thought there was an L in there, a "luh" kind of sound, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't have the time or the interest to be sure, there was something more important to focus on. Hayley had stumbled over something, a rock, a branch, her own feet, it didn't matter. Combined with a cough at the least opportune time, the momentum had sent her sprawling onto her face, hitting the ground hard, directly where she was suffering the most damage. To her credit, Hayley seemed to be starting to get up at first, but something, Ema couldn't say what, stopped her halfway. She dropped like a stone, limp for a moment, then entirely tense, coughing more violently than before.
Ema dropped to her knees, rolling Hayley up onto her side, the recovery position, same as before, best alignment for the body to be in when this sort of thing's happening, apparently. That only served to reveal the more gruesome reality of the injury; the ground by Hayley's mouth was stained red with blood, and that same colour was starting to show beneath the hand clutching her abused torso. And there was nothing she could do about it, nothing she knew could even have a hope of working. Ema didn't even know what was wrong, only that there was pain, and blood, so much blood.
This couldn't be happening. Tears began to form in the corners of Ema's eyes, because no, this couldn't be happening, it couldn't be true. Hayley was her constant, the one last piece of normality she could cling onto, and tell herself that everything else was temporary, that everything would be okay, so long as the two of them kept fighting.
For the first time in days, days that felt like forever, Ema felt hopeless.
She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know where to begin.
[Any and all GMing was, of course, approved.]
The walk was one hell of an effort. On Hayley's part, there was the obvious, she was horribly injured, she was in a lot of pain, and from the rate her pace seemed to gradually get ever slower, it was getting worse as time went by. But they didn't have much of a choice, they needed to find shelter, as a night out in the open certainly wasn't going to help recovery, not to mention an attack from just about any side being an omnipresent possibility. Pick an indoor room carefully and you've only got a few avenues of approach to worry about.
And, for Ema's part, the walk was mentally taxing. There was no room for the boredom she'd anticipated feeling, despite the sheer temporal length of the journey compared to the geographical distance being covered, but only because in place of it there was a feeling far worse. The mounting dread that every faltering step, every pained cough, every tiny little sign of something being wrong, could be Hayley's last. Ema tried not to think of it that way, she tried her hardest, but she just couldn't quite convince herself any more that Hayley was going to be okay, that she was as well as she was trying to appear. The trek out of the swamp and all the physical challenges it posed was a hardship enough in itself, but it didn't take long for this logging road walk to overthrow its position as the most difficult journey so far. She could only bear to see Hayley in such an appalling state, just about, because she knew that helping her keep going was the best hope Hayley had, sacrificing blissful ignorance for the potential of saving a life.
Hayley's hand parted company with Ema's. Her cigarette had run down. Assuming she was on her last packet, Ema judged the next one to be her last. That didn't seem like a particularly good omen at all. With the final stick lit, their hands came together again.
"Ema."
Unexpected. Hayley had been having trouble speaking lately, it seemed to be painful to do much more than just breathe, this must be important. Important enough that it managed to truly and fully banish any other thoughts from Ema's mind, and make her pay attention 100%. The two kept walking for a short while, Hayley's eyes fixed on Ema, Ema's constantly darting from contact to the direction they were going. She had no intention of letting this all be for nothing because she wasn't looking where she was going and managed to fall over awkwardly.
"I...er..."
But then that voice was back again, and Ema's gaze was drawn back to those tantalising brown irises, appearing gold every so often when the sunlight met them through a break in the shadow of Hayley's fringe. She had something to say alright, and evidently it wasn't just physically difficult to get out.
"Um. Like. I wanted t-to say...like, I figure, I k-kind of- I mean, you get it by n-now, I'm s-s-sure, but... U-uh..."
Not just physically difficult. The pain was pretty evident. More damage had been done to the poor girl's chest than either of them realised, though Ema was starting to suspect the truth of the matter, in a vague, roundabout way. The pause gave Ema time to wonder what exactly it could be that she probably 'got' by now. One thing sprung to mind, the most obvious to her, but it didn't quite stand up to rational thought; Hayley wasn't Ema, they didn't think the same way, one girl's obvious could easily be the other's idiotic. Still, that awkward four letter word wouldn't stop trying to be significant.
Deep breath.
"I...I mean, w-we've been through...s-so much shit, and I...f-fuck, you know, I'm b...b-bad at saying these...these things, b-but...Ema."
There it was, time to stop torturing herself with guessing and just listen to what Hayley actually wanted to tell her.
"I..."
Yes...
"I lo..."
Ye...NO
Ema couldn't be sure what she'd heard. She thought there was an L in there, a "luh" kind of sound, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't have the time or the interest to be sure, there was something more important to focus on. Hayley had stumbled over something, a rock, a branch, her own feet, it didn't matter. Combined with a cough at the least opportune time, the momentum had sent her sprawling onto her face, hitting the ground hard, directly where she was suffering the most damage. To her credit, Hayley seemed to be starting to get up at first, but something, Ema couldn't say what, stopped her halfway. She dropped like a stone, limp for a moment, then entirely tense, coughing more violently than before.
Ema dropped to her knees, rolling Hayley up onto her side, the recovery position, same as before, best alignment for the body to be in when this sort of thing's happening, apparently. That only served to reveal the more gruesome reality of the injury; the ground by Hayley's mouth was stained red with blood, and that same colour was starting to show beneath the hand clutching her abused torso. And there was nothing she could do about it, nothing she knew could even have a hope of working. Ema didn't even know what was wrong, only that there was pain, and blood, so much blood.
This couldn't be happening. Tears began to form in the corners of Ema's eyes, because no, this couldn't be happening, it couldn't be true. Hayley was her constant, the one last piece of normality she could cling onto, and tell herself that everything else was temporary, that everything would be okay, so long as the two of them kept fighting.
For the first time in days, days that felt like forever, Ema felt hopeless.
She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know where to begin.
[Any and all GMing was, of course, approved.]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
It was like there was some second threshold she'd crossed. She'd already known that first threshold, the one between pain that goes numb and can be stored away in the outer reaches of your mind (along with your regrets and your morals and all the other silly things discarded a long fucking time ago) and pain that won't fucking quit, no matter how hard you try or how many other things are on your mind. Like that pain in her chest, the one that kept on keeping on what with all the stupid thoughts about monks and forgiveness and love, especially love, that she was having. But this second threshold was a new one. And as she stumbled over...something, a rock, a branch, her own two feet, who cared- something changed. She heard, or imagined, did it even matter which, tearing, ripping, something in her chest...something-
By the time she hit the floor, the threshold was crossed, and it wasn't the pain that was shoved into the corner of her brain to hopefully rot.
It was her. She was in a corner and there was some other girl, some strange, wounded girl in some strange foreign place, some dirt road somewhere, and she was choking, and her last cigarette fell out of her hand as she spat blood out on the ground and it dripped out onto her hand and everything, everything was moving so fast for her. But not for Hayley, no, Hayley was somewhere else, Hayley was watching, so far removed from this pain that it wasn't even hers.
And it's weird, because you'd think, like, you'd be grateful. Like, cool, I am fucking choking to death on my own blood (because that's what it looks like to me, probably I broke a lung or- punctured, there's the word, punctured a lung or something) and I don't actually have to feel any of it because it isn't happening to me, it's happening to this gross bloody chick on the ground here. It's like...I feel it, but I don't, you know? I know there's pain, and I know it's me feeling it, but it's like I'm in a dream. Shit hurts you but it's more like a vague awareness that pain exists than the feeling itself. I've gotten shot in dreams, it feels like you have some weird cramp. That's what this feels like. I'm sore, but a kind of sore where I know there's so much more to it.
You'd think I'd be grateful.
I did ask for everything to stop hurting so much, so maybe I should be thanking God or Buddha or whoever.
But, okay, my brain, it's trying to take me out of here, it's all, look Hayley, look at all this pretty shit we have for you, like rainbows and candy and ponies and shit. Watch the fucking ponies, Hayley, don't pay attention to what's happening to you. And I want to, I want to look away, but then it'll all be over. I let myself shut down for one second, and it's all over. I know this because this other girl, the one who couldn't breathe, knows this. We both know there's no time left to be distracted. Doesn't mean there's time to fight, either. I'm not in control of this girl, I'm just kind of stuck. Back here. Watching.
I could be watching ponies and rainbows and waiting to fall asleep, but fuck that. Got few enough moments left to take in the sky.
The color of Ema's eyes.
Shit like that.
Yeah I'm fucking lame. Shut up.
By the time she hit the floor, the threshold was crossed, and it wasn't the pain that was shoved into the corner of her brain to hopefully rot.
It was her. She was in a corner and there was some other girl, some strange, wounded girl in some strange foreign place, some dirt road somewhere, and she was choking, and her last cigarette fell out of her hand as she spat blood out on the ground and it dripped out onto her hand and everything, everything was moving so fast for her. But not for Hayley, no, Hayley was somewhere else, Hayley was watching, so far removed from this pain that it wasn't even hers.
And it's weird, because you'd think, like, you'd be grateful. Like, cool, I am fucking choking to death on my own blood (because that's what it looks like to me, probably I broke a lung or- punctured, there's the word, punctured a lung or something) and I don't actually have to feel any of it because it isn't happening to me, it's happening to this gross bloody chick on the ground here. It's like...I feel it, but I don't, you know? I know there's pain, and I know it's me feeling it, but it's like I'm in a dream. Shit hurts you but it's more like a vague awareness that pain exists than the feeling itself. I've gotten shot in dreams, it feels like you have some weird cramp. That's what this feels like. I'm sore, but a kind of sore where I know there's so much more to it.
You'd think I'd be grateful.
I did ask for everything to stop hurting so much, so maybe I should be thanking God or Buddha or whoever.
But, okay, my brain, it's trying to take me out of here, it's all, look Hayley, look at all this pretty shit we have for you, like rainbows and candy and ponies and shit. Watch the fucking ponies, Hayley, don't pay attention to what's happening to you. And I want to, I want to look away, but then it'll all be over. I let myself shut down for one second, and it's all over. I know this because this other girl, the one who couldn't breathe, knows this. We both know there's no time left to be distracted. Doesn't mean there's time to fight, either. I'm not in control of this girl, I'm just kind of stuck. Back here. Watching.
I could be watching ponies and rainbows and waiting to fall asleep, but fuck that. Got few enough moments left to take in the sky.
The color of Ema's eyes.
Shit like that.
Yeah I'm fucking lame. Shut up.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Things went from bad to worse in very short order. Where trying to get back up had brought on coughing blood and what looked like bleeding from her chest, Hayley now didn't even seem to be able to move at all. Even what looked like attempting to curl up into a ball only resulted in yet more of that awful coughing, that violent sound that killed Ema inside to hear. That violent sound that meant she can't breathe, she's going to die horribly and painfully and it's all my fault for not going with her and being there to help and now there's nothing I can do because I'm useless.
Ema rubbed her face with the sleeve of her coat, once again aware of the dried blood still covering it, it felt coarse, scratchy, but it didn't matter, a little discomfort didn't mean a thing to her there and then. More painful things to focus on, really. What it did do was clear the tears from her eyes, let her see her Hayley again. She was looking into Ema's eyes, and in spite of everything, that made the girl smile. If nothing else, her presence was apparently comforting. In response, Ema leaned closer, gently brushing the mess of hair out of Hayley's eyes, not realising until a few seconds later that she'd started simply stroking her forehead when there was no hair left to move. It was a low, rasping kind of sound that alerted her to the fugue she'd entered, in fact, and looking back down, Hayley was speaking.
Well, trying to, at least. The mouth was moving, but no breath obliged to form the desired words. Just about enough air was passing through to make a weak gasping noise, only loud enough for Ema to hear because she was so close by. She leaned closer, trying to listen, but it was still unintelligible. Instead, she turned her head to look, hoping to read the shape of her girlfriend's lips to see what she was trying to communicate. Ema was no expert on lip reading, but it didn't take long to make an educated guess when skill failed her, from the circumstances, it should've been obvious all along.
"Help."
Just the one word, help, over and over. Even without truly being voiced, it sounded desperate. Desperate for Ema to do something, anything, to fix this, to stop the pain.
But there was nothing. She wasn't even a first aider, let alone a qualified enough surgeon to even diagnose what exactly was wrong with Hayley. No, helping was impossible, so far beyond the scope of Ema's knowledge that the absurd gulf between that and her practical skills was completely immaterial. Even if there was something she could do, she hadn't the slightest idea what that something was.
Her vision was clouding with tears again. Ema brushed them away, but they refused to stop coming. So she put her hand to better use, gripping it around Hayley's. It was all she knew how to do, just be there, just be at the poor girl's side, stay with her until it was all over. And then what? Where do I go from here? What's left to live for, without her?
Ema leaned in close again, kissing Hayley on the forehead. She didn't dare try to turn her head and aim for the lips, for fear of causing even more pain than there already was. You can't die, Hayley... you're all I have left to fight for...
But in spite of all that Ema wished, the blood kept leaving Hayley's body, slowly but surely. Those awful sounds of coughing and spluttering continued to enter her ears, and Hayley continued to die, slowly, painfully. What did I even have, before we met up? Thinking back, just a few kilometres back down the road, only nine days ago, Ema had been seriously considering falling from that bridge and letting herself drown. Even now, she couldn't be sure what had stopped her.
You can't die, you can't, I can't let you, I need you, I... "I... I love you too."
Ema rubbed her face with the sleeve of her coat, once again aware of the dried blood still covering it, it felt coarse, scratchy, but it didn't matter, a little discomfort didn't mean a thing to her there and then. More painful things to focus on, really. What it did do was clear the tears from her eyes, let her see her Hayley again. She was looking into Ema's eyes, and in spite of everything, that made the girl smile. If nothing else, her presence was apparently comforting. In response, Ema leaned closer, gently brushing the mess of hair out of Hayley's eyes, not realising until a few seconds later that she'd started simply stroking her forehead when there was no hair left to move. It was a low, rasping kind of sound that alerted her to the fugue she'd entered, in fact, and looking back down, Hayley was speaking.
Well, trying to, at least. The mouth was moving, but no breath obliged to form the desired words. Just about enough air was passing through to make a weak gasping noise, only loud enough for Ema to hear because she was so close by. She leaned closer, trying to listen, but it was still unintelligible. Instead, she turned her head to look, hoping to read the shape of her girlfriend's lips to see what she was trying to communicate. Ema was no expert on lip reading, but it didn't take long to make an educated guess when skill failed her, from the circumstances, it should've been obvious all along.
"Help."
Just the one word, help, over and over. Even without truly being voiced, it sounded desperate. Desperate for Ema to do something, anything, to fix this, to stop the pain.
But there was nothing. She wasn't even a first aider, let alone a qualified enough surgeon to even diagnose what exactly was wrong with Hayley. No, helping was impossible, so far beyond the scope of Ema's knowledge that the absurd gulf between that and her practical skills was completely immaterial. Even if there was something she could do, she hadn't the slightest idea what that something was.
Her vision was clouding with tears again. Ema brushed them away, but they refused to stop coming. So she put her hand to better use, gripping it around Hayley's. It was all she knew how to do, just be there, just be at the poor girl's side, stay with her until it was all over. And then what? Where do I go from here? What's left to live for, without her?
Ema leaned in close again, kissing Hayley on the forehead. She didn't dare try to turn her head and aim for the lips, for fear of causing even more pain than there already was. You can't die, Hayley... you're all I have left to fight for...
But in spite of all that Ema wished, the blood kept leaving Hayley's body, slowly but surely. Those awful sounds of coughing and spluttering continued to enter her ears, and Hayley continued to die, slowly, painfully. What did I even have, before we met up? Thinking back, just a few kilometres back down the road, only nine days ago, Ema had been seriously considering falling from that bridge and letting herself drown. Even now, she couldn't be sure what had stopped her.
You can't die, you can't, I can't let you, I need you, I... "I... I love you too."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Hold on.
Hold the fuck on, girly.
Hold on, you useless fucking piece of shit.
Funny how yelling at yourself never really accomplishes much. Especially when you know you're not listening. I can't blame me, her, this girl, the one who's dying, for not listening, for anything really, though it would be so much easier if I could. So much easier if I could just scream and carry on and blame this that and the fucking other, the Bitchmobile and that girl in the woods who could've stopped her and Ema for not being there and me, especially me, for being the dumbass who wandered off in the woods alone to begin with.
What the hell was I even looking for?
Hold on, I keep saying, and I'm not holding on. I'm not. I'm slipping. I grab onto things, little things, like Ema's face, Ema's lips, Ema's eyes, and I wish it were nighttime so I could see one last time the way the moonlight looks on her skin. Pale as a ghost. Beautiful. But if it were night I might not be able to see her eyes properly and that would be its own kind of tragedy.
My mouth is moving and I swear I have nothing to do with it, I swear, and I hate myself, because I'm losing anything I had that ever resembled dignity. I'm glad I can't breathe, because at least I can't scream, because I feel how badly I want to. But honestly, honestly, I don't want to die, but I don't want to be a fucking baby about it either. What could she do? What could I ask of her now? Ema, my Ema, she isn't a fucking field surgeon. Like field surgery got you anywhere here anyway. Look what happened to Alex. And I'm getting so tired, and my eyes feel droopy like it's four in the morning and I'm trying to get a paper done and I need to be up in three hours anyway, except I can't let my eyes close because the moment they do it's game over.
My vision is clearing- no, not clearing, just focusing. Focusing on Ema, and everything else seems to fade away. This girl's the only thing that exists and that's kind of okay because I didn't need anything else, anyway, really. And I smile.
And I ask for help, and I hate it, because I can't stop, because stopping is like giving up. If I ask for help at least I did something.
It's hard to hold onto dignity when you know this is your last chance to do anything.
Fuck, no, don't want to think about it. Last drink, last smoke, last fuck, pissed all of that away without even thinking about it- goddammit. I want my cigarette. Where'd it go? I need a smoke. I can barely breathe but I need a fucking smoke. The last cigarette in your pack gets you a wish. Where's my wish? I want my wish. I want nicotine and I want to breathe.
"I... I love you too."
No.
No, no.
Stop crying, girly.
Stop.
Fucking STOP.
Hold the fuck on, girly.
Hold on, you useless fucking piece of shit.
Funny how yelling at yourself never really accomplishes much. Especially when you know you're not listening. I can't blame me, her, this girl, the one who's dying, for not listening, for anything really, though it would be so much easier if I could. So much easier if I could just scream and carry on and blame this that and the fucking other, the Bitchmobile and that girl in the woods who could've stopped her and Ema for not being there and me, especially me, for being the dumbass who wandered off in the woods alone to begin with.
What the hell was I even looking for?
Hold on, I keep saying, and I'm not holding on. I'm not. I'm slipping. I grab onto things, little things, like Ema's face, Ema's lips, Ema's eyes, and I wish it were nighttime so I could see one last time the way the moonlight looks on her skin. Pale as a ghost. Beautiful. But if it were night I might not be able to see her eyes properly and that would be its own kind of tragedy.
My mouth is moving and I swear I have nothing to do with it, I swear, and I hate myself, because I'm losing anything I had that ever resembled dignity. I'm glad I can't breathe, because at least I can't scream, because I feel how badly I want to. But honestly, honestly, I don't want to die, but I don't want to be a fucking baby about it either. What could she do? What could I ask of her now? Ema, my Ema, she isn't a fucking field surgeon. Like field surgery got you anywhere here anyway. Look what happened to Alex. And I'm getting so tired, and my eyes feel droopy like it's four in the morning and I'm trying to get a paper done and I need to be up in three hours anyway, except I can't let my eyes close because the moment they do it's game over.
My vision is clearing- no, not clearing, just focusing. Focusing on Ema, and everything else seems to fade away. This girl's the only thing that exists and that's kind of okay because I didn't need anything else, anyway, really. And I smile.
And I ask for help, and I hate it, because I can't stop, because stopping is like giving up. If I ask for help at least I did something.
It's hard to hold onto dignity when you know this is your last chance to do anything.
Fuck, no, don't want to think about it. Last drink, last smoke, last fuck, pissed all of that away without even thinking about it- goddammit. I want my cigarette. Where'd it go? I need a smoke. I can barely breathe but I need a fucking smoke. The last cigarette in your pack gets you a wish. Where's my wish? I want my wish. I want nicotine and I want to breathe.
"I... I love you too."
No.
No, no.
Stop crying, girly.
Stop.
Fucking STOP.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Somewhere out there in the real world, Hayley was crying as well. It took a while for Ema to become aware of this fact because, after what she'd just said, she couldn't quite look at the other girl. Because she was certain that the "too" had been entirely warranted, that the feeling was mutual, and that that realisation made what came next so, so much harder. But hard as it was, Ema had to be strong. It was all she had left to offer to Hayley, to her first, and probably last and only love. She had to have the strength to stay by her side until it was over. Her own personal problems, like what was worth continuing to fight for? They could wait. Hayley needed her, if only to be there so that her last sight was a friendly one. A loving one.
Blood was starting to encircle the pair now, it was thin, and the pool was shallow, but it had nonetheless already reached Ema's knees. She didn't move. She couldn't. Somewhere in her mind, a tiny rational voice was telling her that she'd only get stuck awkwardly to the ground later, and it'd probably ruin the actually rather nice jeans she was wearing. But fuck that voice, Ema didn't need to hear sensible things right now. She was going to stay right where she was.
She didn't know what else there was left to do.
Ema was supposed to be helping, but there was nothing. What did she have? A first aid kit for minor injuries, and barely even the knowledge to use that. She had nothing that could fix whatever the hell was wrong with Hayley by now. No, scratch that, just keep the first three words. She had nothing.
No, she had to have something. Because this wasn't right. This couldn't possibly be right. The two of them were the good guys, weren't they? The young couple with the power of true love, who fight until the end and somehow survive together, that was supposed to be them. They were both meant to overcome their flaws and learn a whole mess of Aesops and live happily ever after. That's how the story of the plucky young heroines was supposed to end. Not with Hayley bleeding to death on the floor, Ema standing by absolutely helpless to stop it. The lies she'd built up over the course of the game, the fantasy ending she'd constructed for herself to legitimise all that she'd done and tried not to think about, the whole charade of normality, it was falling down around her and she was completely powerless.
Powerless wasn't a good feeling. But in hindsight, maybe it was a familiar feeling. She'd been powerless in the past, powerless to prevent herself from losing Hayley the first time, powerless to get her back. Maybe she should've seen this coming. Hayley had always rendered her powerless. And in that strangely comfortable feeling of utter impotence, Ema found resignation. It wasn't quite the determination or the hope she really needed, but it was a start. She was resigned to the fact that Hayley was functionally dead already, that she was alone again, that this was just the first of many ways she was going to have to confront the reality she'd ignored for so long.
Resignation became, in turn, realisation. That there was nothing she could do to save Hayley from death - she knew that for a fact - but that there was something she could do to help her. Ema reached into her right pocket. The revolver she'd taken from Janet. Poetic justice, that it should be used again in such a way, really. Ema opened the cylinder, five bullets, one in position at the top, the others waiting behind it. She clicked it shut. The calm in her voice was forced, that was clear enough, but it was only shaken by the sorrow it hid. There wasn't any fear any more, she didn't have to fear the known. She knew what was happening, what little she could still do about it. The tears were, by now, rolling freely down her pale cheeks. Knowing all of this didn't make it any easier. Being resigned to her fate didn't help Ema accept its consequences.
"Are you... are you in pain, Hayley?"
A stupid question, an obvious question. But it wasn't the literal answer that mattered. Ema knew that, she was certain Hayley would know too. It was a euphemism, a nice way of asking something Ema couldn't possibly stomach actually saying aloud. And it only needed a simple answer. A nod or a shake of the head. That was all it needed.
Ema's hand was shaking.
She forced it steady.
She pulled back the hammer.
And she placed the barrel to Hayley's temple.
Blood was starting to encircle the pair now, it was thin, and the pool was shallow, but it had nonetheless already reached Ema's knees. She didn't move. She couldn't. Somewhere in her mind, a tiny rational voice was telling her that she'd only get stuck awkwardly to the ground later, and it'd probably ruin the actually rather nice jeans she was wearing. But fuck that voice, Ema didn't need to hear sensible things right now. She was going to stay right where she was.
She didn't know what else there was left to do.
Ema was supposed to be helping, but there was nothing. What did she have? A first aid kit for minor injuries, and barely even the knowledge to use that. She had nothing that could fix whatever the hell was wrong with Hayley by now. No, scratch that, just keep the first three words. She had nothing.
No, she had to have something. Because this wasn't right. This couldn't possibly be right. The two of them were the good guys, weren't they? The young couple with the power of true love, who fight until the end and somehow survive together, that was supposed to be them. They were both meant to overcome their flaws and learn a whole mess of Aesops and live happily ever after. That's how the story of the plucky young heroines was supposed to end. Not with Hayley bleeding to death on the floor, Ema standing by absolutely helpless to stop it. The lies she'd built up over the course of the game, the fantasy ending she'd constructed for herself to legitimise all that she'd done and tried not to think about, the whole charade of normality, it was falling down around her and she was completely powerless.
Powerless wasn't a good feeling. But in hindsight, maybe it was a familiar feeling. She'd been powerless in the past, powerless to prevent herself from losing Hayley the first time, powerless to get her back. Maybe she should've seen this coming. Hayley had always rendered her powerless. And in that strangely comfortable feeling of utter impotence, Ema found resignation. It wasn't quite the determination or the hope she really needed, but it was a start. She was resigned to the fact that Hayley was functionally dead already, that she was alone again, that this was just the first of many ways she was going to have to confront the reality she'd ignored for so long.
Resignation became, in turn, realisation. That there was nothing she could do to save Hayley from death - she knew that for a fact - but that there was something she could do to help her. Ema reached into her right pocket. The revolver she'd taken from Janet. Poetic justice, that it should be used again in such a way, really. Ema opened the cylinder, five bullets, one in position at the top, the others waiting behind it. She clicked it shut. The calm in her voice was forced, that was clear enough, but it was only shaken by the sorrow it hid. There wasn't any fear any more, she didn't have to fear the known. She knew what was happening, what little she could still do about it. The tears were, by now, rolling freely down her pale cheeks. Knowing all of this didn't make it any easier. Being resigned to her fate didn't help Ema accept its consequences.
"Are you... are you in pain, Hayley?"
A stupid question, an obvious question. But it wasn't the literal answer that mattered. Ema knew that, she was certain Hayley would know too. It was a euphemism, a nice way of asking something Ema couldn't possibly stomach actually saying aloud. And it only needed a simple answer. A nod or a shake of the head. That was all it needed.
Ema's hand was shaking.
She forced it steady.
She pulled back the hammer.
And she placed the barrel to Hayley's temple.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Okay.
I don't care what you've been through in your life. I don't care what terrifying day job you have or all the extreme stunts and shit you've done or how fucking macho you think you are. I don't care how strong you are and I don't care where you've been and I don't care if you punch sharks in the face for a fucking living. I don't care if you've looked down the barrel of a gun. I don't care if you want to die, even, though I guess, looking back, that mattered for me, once. I guess this is my second time here, doing this, and the first time I hardly noticed because I was too far gone. Nevermind, then. If you're suicidal you can skip this class since you don't give a shit what happens to you anyway.
But for the rest of you.
That feeling? The feeling of cold metal, touching your temple?
Nothing. NOTHING is fucking scarier than that.
Especially right now, because right now it isn't even a hostage-scenario type thing, this wasn't like oh, someone might come and rescue me so this is terrifying and all that but I might be okay. It wasn't a robbery, I couldn't tell the person holding the gun to my head to take my money and run. Because the person holding the gun to my head was Ema, my Ema, she was holding a gun, to my head, and nothing really made much sense, because why would she do that, she loves me, she said so herself. She must want me to live. I'd want her to live. I would.
I really would, that's the weird part.
I'm still trying to figure that out, why she'd do this, aren't I dying anyway? What's the point? Does she just want another kill on her list, but that wasn't Ema, that was me, that was the kind of thing I'd think about because I'm a fucking freak like that- why is she doing this? That's the scary part, I don't know why she's doing it, and I don't know how to stop her, and I couldn't if I tried, and I'm just...helpless. Useless. My arms are hardly obeying me anymore. My entire body seems as lethargic as I feel.
Then her words get through to me.
"Are you... are you in pain, Hayley?"
First I want to scream, because jesus fuck what does it look like, honestly, no, okay, Ema, suffocating doesn't hurt. Not at all. Whatever you want to hear. I'd tell her whatever she wanted to hear if I could make words, which I can't. Well, in a matter of speaking I guess it doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt me, it hurts this other girl who's writhing in the dirt, but I guess that's not what she's asking, and then- and then-
It takes so long, and I feel so stupid, only for a moment, because I don't have much more time than that, anyway.
I get it.
But I don't know what to say.
I can't say yes to this. To the metal pressed against my skull, because I'm more afraid of it than I've ever been of anything in my life, and I keep thinking about how it'd feel having a chunk of lead rip through my brain and that is never, ever something you want to dwell on. Not even if you want to die. Especially not then. You'll lose your nerve because that shit, it'd break anyone down. But it's worse yet when your other choice is to die slowly and in fucking agony. Agony that's creeping back up on you, because apparently I'm not lucky enough to get to stay here forever. Apparently I'm going to have be this other girl again, the bloody one, and then I'm thinking about how dirty she is and how I hope they wash my body before the funeral and then I remember I don't get to have one of those and then I'm thinking about that acute lead poisoning thing again.
And everything's hurting again. My lungs are on fire. My head feels like it's splitting. How did I hide from this? And I want to scream, but I can't.
And I remember everyone else, I remember my mom and my dad and my brother and I remember Johnny, I can practically hear him scream, a thousand miles away, wherever he is, wherever I am, and I'm sorry, and they're watching this, and that's too awful to think about, but nothing isn't, anymore. There is nothing to think about that isn't awful because everything is kind of awful.
And I look up into those eyes, Ema's eyes, and I see pity, and I hate her, except I don't hate her, I hate myself. I hate myself forever. I'm doing this to her.
And if I stop thinking about it, I know what I have to do. Because I know I can't deal with this much longer.
And no matter how afraid I am, it can't be worse than this.
Dammit.
Goddammit.
I feel my head move.
I don't want to go.
I don't care what you've been through in your life. I don't care what terrifying day job you have or all the extreme stunts and shit you've done or how fucking macho you think you are. I don't care how strong you are and I don't care where you've been and I don't care if you punch sharks in the face for a fucking living. I don't care if you've looked down the barrel of a gun. I don't care if you want to die, even, though I guess, looking back, that mattered for me, once. I guess this is my second time here, doing this, and the first time I hardly noticed because I was too far gone. Nevermind, then. If you're suicidal you can skip this class since you don't give a shit what happens to you anyway.
But for the rest of you.
That feeling? The feeling of cold metal, touching your temple?
Nothing. NOTHING is fucking scarier than that.
Especially right now, because right now it isn't even a hostage-scenario type thing, this wasn't like oh, someone might come and rescue me so this is terrifying and all that but I might be okay. It wasn't a robbery, I couldn't tell the person holding the gun to my head to take my money and run. Because the person holding the gun to my head was Ema, my Ema, she was holding a gun, to my head, and nothing really made much sense, because why would she do that, she loves me, she said so herself. She must want me to live. I'd want her to live. I would.
I really would, that's the weird part.
I'm still trying to figure that out, why she'd do this, aren't I dying anyway? What's the point? Does she just want another kill on her list, but that wasn't Ema, that was me, that was the kind of thing I'd think about because I'm a fucking freak like that- why is she doing this? That's the scary part, I don't know why she's doing it, and I don't know how to stop her, and I couldn't if I tried, and I'm just...helpless. Useless. My arms are hardly obeying me anymore. My entire body seems as lethargic as I feel.
Then her words get through to me.
"Are you... are you in pain, Hayley?"
First I want to scream, because jesus fuck what does it look like, honestly, no, okay, Ema, suffocating doesn't hurt. Not at all. Whatever you want to hear. I'd tell her whatever she wanted to hear if I could make words, which I can't. Well, in a matter of speaking I guess it doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt me, it hurts this other girl who's writhing in the dirt, but I guess that's not what she's asking, and then- and then-
It takes so long, and I feel so stupid, only for a moment, because I don't have much more time than that, anyway.
I get it.
But I don't know what to say.
I can't say yes to this. To the metal pressed against my skull, because I'm more afraid of it than I've ever been of anything in my life, and I keep thinking about how it'd feel having a chunk of lead rip through my brain and that is never, ever something you want to dwell on. Not even if you want to die. Especially not then. You'll lose your nerve because that shit, it'd break anyone down. But it's worse yet when your other choice is to die slowly and in fucking agony. Agony that's creeping back up on you, because apparently I'm not lucky enough to get to stay here forever. Apparently I'm going to have be this other girl again, the bloody one, and then I'm thinking about how dirty she is and how I hope they wash my body before the funeral and then I remember I don't get to have one of those and then I'm thinking about that acute lead poisoning thing again.
And everything's hurting again. My lungs are on fire. My head feels like it's splitting. How did I hide from this? And I want to scream, but I can't.
And I remember everyone else, I remember my mom and my dad and my brother and I remember Johnny, I can practically hear him scream, a thousand miles away, wherever he is, wherever I am, and I'm sorry, and they're watching this, and that's too awful to think about, but nothing isn't, anymore. There is nothing to think about that isn't awful because everything is kind of awful.
And I look up into those eyes, Ema's eyes, and I see pity, and I hate her, except I don't hate her, I hate myself. I hate myself forever. I'm doing this to her.
And if I stop thinking about it, I know what I have to do. Because I know I can't deal with this much longer.
And no matter how afraid I am, it can't be worse than this.
Dammit.
Goddammit.
I feel my head move.
I don't want to go.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
And everything was real again.
And Hayley was screaming. Not in a way that anyone could hear, though it echoed in her own ears as though it was audible, but her mouth was open and this wretched, wet noise was coming from her throat, along with the blood. So much blood. She'd killed seven people, there had been plenty of fucking blood, but that was nothing, this was blood, this was her lifeblood, and it was choking her. Her breathing came in short gasps when it came at all. In between the silent screams that came immediately at the shock of being reunited with all this fucking pain.
So much for dignity.
But she'd given her answer. She'd given her answer and, why? What had she done? She wanted to know, was this giving up? Did it count as giving up when there was nothing to give up? Maybe a few more minutes of pain. But those minutes would at least be minutes to live, to take in whatever was left to take, which wasn't much, she supposed, since the air itself seemed to want to have nothing to do with her and her vision had pretty much failed her a long time ago. The sky, the dirt, the sawmill in the distance- she couldn't see a bit of it. So what was she giving up, really? There's fighting, and then there's being fucking stubborn. There's being strong and there's being obtuse.
The only thing she could see was Ema.
And maybe that was why she was hesitant, maybe that's what she could maybe spend the last few minutes of her life holding onto. Her girlfriend's white-white skin and her vibrant hair and the freckles she swore she could count and those eyes, the ones her own refused to let go of. It might be worth it. Might be worth the screaming and the blood. Might be worth agony, if she could hold on to this feeling, this stupid feeling, this thing called love. She'd taken it for granted. She'd let it slip. It was never priority, being in love, because it wasn't going to save her life, and on Survival of the Fittest the only shit you need to think about is the shit that'll let you live, but it was too late for that, it was too late for anything, and now, fuck, she wanted to feel this forever.
But she'd given her answer.
And she didn't know who she was trying to help. It was a selfish act to escape her suffering, and force Ema to be responsible for her death. It was a selfless act to allow Ema not have to watch her suffer, and to give up the last moments she could've had, hanging on to those pale green eyes. Someone was losing, here. Hayley didn't know who.
But her head had moved. The tiniest fraction up. The tiniest fraction down. Yes, it said. Kill me. Kill me. Please. And she heard a sound, and she realized the choking sound she heard wasn't her, this time. It was Ema. Ema, who was crying. Hayley wanted to brush the tears away, but she was so bloody she'd only mar Ema further. Besides, she couldn't move her arms anymore.
There was so much pain in Ema's eyes. Hayley managed the tiniest smile. Something for Ema to hold onto, maybe.
She closed her eyes.
Inhale...
RANK 33RD [HAYLEY KELLY] - DEAD
And Hayley was screaming. Not in a way that anyone could hear, though it echoed in her own ears as though it was audible, but her mouth was open and this wretched, wet noise was coming from her throat, along with the blood. So much blood. She'd killed seven people, there had been plenty of fucking blood, but that was nothing, this was blood, this was her lifeblood, and it was choking her. Her breathing came in short gasps when it came at all. In between the silent screams that came immediately at the shock of being reunited with all this fucking pain.
So much for dignity.
But she'd given her answer. She'd given her answer and, why? What had she done? She wanted to know, was this giving up? Did it count as giving up when there was nothing to give up? Maybe a few more minutes of pain. But those minutes would at least be minutes to live, to take in whatever was left to take, which wasn't much, she supposed, since the air itself seemed to want to have nothing to do with her and her vision had pretty much failed her a long time ago. The sky, the dirt, the sawmill in the distance- she couldn't see a bit of it. So what was she giving up, really? There's fighting, and then there's being fucking stubborn. There's being strong and there's being obtuse.
The only thing she could see was Ema.
And maybe that was why she was hesitant, maybe that's what she could maybe spend the last few minutes of her life holding onto. Her girlfriend's white-white skin and her vibrant hair and the freckles she swore she could count and those eyes, the ones her own refused to let go of. It might be worth it. Might be worth the screaming and the blood. Might be worth agony, if she could hold on to this feeling, this stupid feeling, this thing called love. She'd taken it for granted. She'd let it slip. It was never priority, being in love, because it wasn't going to save her life, and on Survival of the Fittest the only shit you need to think about is the shit that'll let you live, but it was too late for that, it was too late for anything, and now, fuck, she wanted to feel this forever.
But she'd given her answer.
And she didn't know who she was trying to help. It was a selfish act to escape her suffering, and force Ema to be responsible for her death. It was a selfless act to allow Ema not have to watch her suffer, and to give up the last moments she could've had, hanging on to those pale green eyes. Someone was losing, here. Hayley didn't know who.
But her head had moved. The tiniest fraction up. The tiniest fraction down. Yes, it said. Kill me. Kill me. Please. And she heard a sound, and she realized the choking sound she heard wasn't her, this time. It was Ema. Ema, who was crying. Hayley wanted to brush the tears away, but she was so bloody she'd only mar Ema further. Besides, she couldn't move her arms anymore.
There was so much pain in Ema's eyes. Hayley managed the tiniest smile. Something for Ema to hold onto, maybe.
She closed her eyes.
Inhale...
RANK 33RD [HAYLEY KELLY] - DEAD
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
This wasn't supposed to be so hard. Ema was supposed to be an ice cube, for Hayley's sake, for her own sake, and just get this over with so neither had to suffer any longer. She was supposed to put that whole "disconnected" thing to good use and just pull the trigger and accept what it meant. She wasn't supposed to stay perfectly still, staring into Hayley's beautiful eyes, dreading the prospect of being responsible for removing that indomitable light of life from them, regretting ever making the offer to put her out of her suffering.
Whose sake was this for? She had to remind herself. Ema hated to see Hayley writhing on the ground in pain - or rather, not even capable of writhing any more, just convulsing and whimpering without the breath to scream. It was a loathsome sight, everything Ema had never wanted to see, brought together in one dying lover. She was suffering just by watching it happen, sure, but the literal, physical pain Hayley was in was worse. The fact that she relented even now told Ema she wasn't the one who was supposed to benefit from this.
This was for Hayley. For mercy.
Mercy. A mercy Ema could shoulder the consequences of later, because whilst she'd sooner watch Hayley slowly die, just to have a few more seconds with her, than give her the dignity of a quicker end. It was for her, she deserved better than bleeding to death with no mouth with which to speak, and Ema was the only one on hand to make it stop. It was the least she could do.
It was all she could do.
But that realisation didn't make it easier to go through with. Deep breaths, Ema, deep breaths. Just a curl of the finger and it's over. With her free hand, she cleared the tears from her eyes once again, and instantly regretted being able to see Hayley more clearly. She was smiling, sort of. It was small, but it helped, it confirmed that this really was the right choice, that this really was mercy. How could Ema say no to that beautiful, suffering face? Hayley closed her eyes. Ema couldn't stand to look any longer. She turned her head, closed her own eyes for good measure.
Inhale.
Exhale.
It wasn't enough. One more try. She could do it. She had to do it. Hayley needed her.
"I'm so sorry."
Inhale...
A gunshot rang through the still air. Ema couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't look back to her hand, or what she'd done with it. She couldn't even exhale, not even with the recoil of the revolver running through her wiry arm. She bit her lip, fought the urging of her diaphragm, kept that last breath just where it was in her lungs.
It was a breath she'd taken while Hayley was still alive.
...Exhale.
It couldn't last forever. Ema's lungs demanded clean air, less carbon dioxide and more oxygen. She breathed deep, and climbed to her feet, pulling her knees free of the drying blood that clung to both them and the ground. She put her new revolver into her pocket without even looking at it. She couldn't. It was a loathsome instrument, the weapon that had, technically, been responsible for Hayley's death. Ema wanted to throw it away, destroy it, empty it into the sky and maybe save one bullet for herself. The thing was evil.
But she didn't do any of those things. Because she already had an answer to all those questions she'd asked herself before. Because she did have something else to live for; herself. She had everything she'd had before meeting up with Hayley again, everything she'd had when she'd gone on living as normal after they first broke up all those months ago. Ema Ryan had her own life, for all it was worth, and she intended to carry on living it. She had her mother and her father, too, probably watching even now. Ema wondered idly what they'd thought of her relationship with Hayley, she'd never actually told them they were anything more than friends, though she'd always thought they'd have guessed the truth of the matter. If not, it was pretty obvious by now how deep their mutual feelings ran, or, for Hayley's part, had run. It was a strange thing for Ema to realise, she hadn't thought of her parents at all on the island, as far as she could remember. What did they think of her now, murderer of two, mercy killer of one, survivor among maybe forty remaining seniors? Proud? Revolted? Both? Probably both.
Ema didn't have time to dwell on all this, though. She'd failed to care what her parents thought of her plenty in the past, she could do it one more time for old times' sake. First of all, gruesome as it may be, she needed to make sure nobody else benefited from Hayley's death. Distasteful as it may be, she would've wanted Ema to take what supplies she had left, at least more than she would've wanted anyone else to. So Ema took the food, water and ammunition from Hayley's daypack first, transferring them to her own. She took what remained of her first aid kit, too, and the map, remembering that she'd left her own behind in the forest. She left the gun Vera, what kind of name for a gun is Vera? for last, because that involved actually touching the body that used to be Hayley. Though, thinking about it as no longer being her made it a bit easier, enough that Ema could do it and come away only feeling slightly disgusting.
So now I'm a killer with four guns and a sword. And I should probably do something with the body, can't just leave her out here to decompose, right?
So, again, Ema knelt down close to Hayley's body. She lifted her up with both arms, briefly surprised by how much heavier she was compared to when she was alive and at least trying to move of her own accord. Seeing as there was no safe coastline to go back to, not that she could recall, Ema about-faced and set off back towards the river they'd come from. Given the circumstances, it was the best burial she could offer.
[Ema Ryan --> Ever Since We Met...]
Whose sake was this for? She had to remind herself. Ema hated to see Hayley writhing on the ground in pain - or rather, not even capable of writhing any more, just convulsing and whimpering without the breath to scream. It was a loathsome sight, everything Ema had never wanted to see, brought together in one dying lover. She was suffering just by watching it happen, sure, but the literal, physical pain Hayley was in was worse. The fact that she relented even now told Ema she wasn't the one who was supposed to benefit from this.
This was for Hayley. For mercy.
Mercy. A mercy Ema could shoulder the consequences of later, because whilst she'd sooner watch Hayley slowly die, just to have a few more seconds with her, than give her the dignity of a quicker end. It was for her, she deserved better than bleeding to death with no mouth with which to speak, and Ema was the only one on hand to make it stop. It was the least she could do.
It was all she could do.
But that realisation didn't make it easier to go through with. Deep breaths, Ema, deep breaths. Just a curl of the finger and it's over. With her free hand, she cleared the tears from her eyes once again, and instantly regretted being able to see Hayley more clearly. She was smiling, sort of. It was small, but it helped, it confirmed that this really was the right choice, that this really was mercy. How could Ema say no to that beautiful, suffering face? Hayley closed her eyes. Ema couldn't stand to look any longer. She turned her head, closed her own eyes for good measure.
Inhale.
Exhale.
It wasn't enough. One more try. She could do it. She had to do it. Hayley needed her.
"I'm so sorry."
Inhale...
A gunshot rang through the still air. Ema couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't look back to her hand, or what she'd done with it. She couldn't even exhale, not even with the recoil of the revolver running through her wiry arm. She bit her lip, fought the urging of her diaphragm, kept that last breath just where it was in her lungs.
It was a breath she'd taken while Hayley was still alive.
...Exhale.
It couldn't last forever. Ema's lungs demanded clean air, less carbon dioxide and more oxygen. She breathed deep, and climbed to her feet, pulling her knees free of the drying blood that clung to both them and the ground. She put her new revolver into her pocket without even looking at it. She couldn't. It was a loathsome instrument, the weapon that had, technically, been responsible for Hayley's death. Ema wanted to throw it away, destroy it, empty it into the sky and maybe save one bullet for herself. The thing was evil.
But she didn't do any of those things. Because she already had an answer to all those questions she'd asked herself before. Because she did have something else to live for; herself. She had everything she'd had before meeting up with Hayley again, everything she'd had when she'd gone on living as normal after they first broke up all those months ago. Ema Ryan had her own life, for all it was worth, and she intended to carry on living it. She had her mother and her father, too, probably watching even now. Ema wondered idly what they'd thought of her relationship with Hayley, she'd never actually told them they were anything more than friends, though she'd always thought they'd have guessed the truth of the matter. If not, it was pretty obvious by now how deep their mutual feelings ran, or, for Hayley's part, had run. It was a strange thing for Ema to realise, she hadn't thought of her parents at all on the island, as far as she could remember. What did they think of her now, murderer of two, mercy killer of one, survivor among maybe forty remaining seniors? Proud? Revolted? Both? Probably both.
Ema didn't have time to dwell on all this, though. She'd failed to care what her parents thought of her plenty in the past, she could do it one more time for old times' sake. First of all, gruesome as it may be, she needed to make sure nobody else benefited from Hayley's death. Distasteful as it may be, she would've wanted Ema to take what supplies she had left, at least more than she would've wanted anyone else to. So Ema took the food, water and ammunition from Hayley's daypack first, transferring them to her own. She took what remained of her first aid kit, too, and the map, remembering that she'd left her own behind in the forest. She left the gun Vera, what kind of name for a gun is Vera? for last, because that involved actually touching the body that used to be Hayley. Though, thinking about it as no longer being her made it a bit easier, enough that Ema could do it and come away only feeling slightly disgusting.
So now I'm a killer with four guns and a sword. And I should probably do something with the body, can't just leave her out here to decompose, right?
So, again, Ema knelt down close to Hayley's body. She lifted her up with both arms, briefly surprised by how much heavier she was compared to when she was alive and at least trying to move of her own accord. Seeing as there was no safe coastline to go back to, not that she could recall, Ema about-faced and set off back towards the river they'd come from. Given the circumstances, it was the best burial she could offer.
[Ema Ryan --> Ever Since We Met...]
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