8 | go off the rails

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'Isn't it strange that we talk least about the things we think about most?'

- Charles Lindbergh

BETWEEN ALL-NIGHTERS WITH Minhyuk and sometimes Pep if she was around, all of Ri's free time was sucked away

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BETWEEN ALL-NIGHTERS WITH Minhyuk and sometimes Pep if she was around, all of Ri's free time was sucked away. Her brain had felt like she'd put it through a blender and set it to top speed. Migraines quickly became a thing. So did meltdowns. Which were always fun.


Luckily, smallest of mercies, the latter usually hit after Ri was in the privacy of her own room. It made things a little easier to deal with. At least she didn't have to think about worrying the others with her uncontrollable sobbing and erratic movements. An irrational part of her wished she could. Wished that someone knew how to help her when everything felt like too much and nothing at the same time. When her head felt fit to bursting.


But Ri knew that, in the end, she'd feel worse for it if she had to depend on someone. It was good like this. Pepper helped as much as she could and really, that was all Ri needed. She hadn't told anyone else about it, anyway. Not out of shyness, just that it'd never come up so Ri's never brought any attention to it herself.


Meltdowns or not, it didn't stop Ri from pushing and pushing and pushing. Days bled over to weeks. Her mind was filled with the exam and the internship and the next thing she had to learn from the guidelines. It almost felt like an obsession. She measured her self worth on how much she'd learnt everyday. It was unhealthy, she knew that. But the exams loomed closer and Ri grew more desperate with every passing moment.


She hid it well. Sometimes she borrowed Pep's makeup to cover the bags under her eyes. A cup of coffee pretty much glued itself to her hand. She'd go up to the dorms with Pep and lay awake, counting the seconds until her friend's breathing evened out.


Then Ri would creep out. To Club Monday, mostly. The grumpy janitor or the TAs wouldn't bother her there. She worked through the guidelines faster that way. Every bullet point checked off felt like a balm to soothe the anxiety coiling in her gut.


Sometimes, Monday would issue an intervention- "Miss Ri, you've been awake for over fifty hours. Please get some rest." - which mostly went unheard until the internet suddenly stopped working and the temperature climbed a few degrees.


"Are you making it warmer to get me to fall asleep? Because it's not working," Ri would be halfway to dreamland by then, slumped over the floor desk. Her laptop surrounded by numerous thick volumes. A yawn would quickly follow and she'd let her eyes close, tell herself it was just for a second. Then she'd wake up five hours later to Pep's exasperated face and the smell of coffee.

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