secrets I've held in my heart,
are harder to hide than I thought
- I don't think I could ever hate you
- Well, maybe you should try it, y'know, get some variation. Would be good for you
- Okay, I'll keep that in mind
(conrad fisher x fem oc)
(curren...
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———— TW: This chapter mentions attempted suicide and death. If you don't feel comfortable, don't read. Short summery will be provided at the end of the chapter. ————
AVERY JAMES HAD NEVER BEEN SEEN DRYING HER TEARS.
That does not mean that the young girl never shed tears— that she had (many, many times). Actually, if one had met the girl, they would most likely place her on the more emotional side of the spectrum. Yet, you should never be fooled, just because someone has an easy access to their tears, does not make every single one hurt any less — or being shed in vain (for that matter).
No, there was always someone else who dried them for her.
It was always a mother's thumbs that carefully danced across her daughter's cheeks, cleaning them from any signs of sadness. Her mother always placed fallen pieces of hair behind Avery's ears and between the sounds of a humming tune, she told her daughter to chin up before she had no tears left to cry (save them for a time you really need them, she said).
Avery had cried for 2 hours straight ( the clock on the wall pointed at 3:14 AM) and she still felt like she had enough tears to last a lifetime. Although, the tears had at this point gone from falling in a rapid pace to once in a while being seen glistening on her reddened cheeks.
She wanted to go home, but she couldn't.
For her home lied unconscious on an operating table with 6 broken ribs, deep glass splinters and a traumatic brain injury.
Avery's body sat on the corner of the uncomfortable sofa in the waiting room. Her naked knees were pressed against her chest, her arms hugging them in a closed off manner. The girl's head was leaned back against the wall — her brown locks resting down her back. The dress she wore, had started to feel suffocating. So, stressfully, she kept pulling at the neckline. Telling herself that the action helped her to ease her shallow breathing pattern.
She wanted to close her eyes, but they nevertheless continued to flicker all around the room.
Five people sat helplessly waiting in the room, which is a relatively small number of people (for a Friday night, that is). Three men and two women (Avery being included). One of the men sat, or lied, passed out in a rather big torn out chair. His blond hair was ruffled and his lips were slightly open, soft snores echoing in the room and the tiniest droplet of drool in the corner of his mouth . Avery felt envious of the man, he looked so peaceful, so unbothered. She wanted that too, sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she couldn't bring herself to close them.
