Suffocating

Enfold; III

For the past three days, Claire had tried her best not to drift any longer.

She'd been tethering herself to the ground, not allowing her urges to be sated, despite how big they were.

It was what she wanted, after all.

It was hard, harder than possible, but she'd managed, somehow.

Every time she sensed something, she tried not to investigate it. Even when it was bad, urgent, she tried to keep her head low, and not say a word to anyone. Every time that anger returned, that need to break, to destroy, Claire didn't. It hurt like not eating or drinking or breathing enough, goodness, it hurt, but it passed. It took long, sometimes too long, but it passed.

And it was worth it.

Because there was this small twinge of feeling, one that grew every time she resisted any urge, which she'd been striving for years; feeling normal.

Claire, no longer lost, followed Roxanne, who still was.

"Leave me alone!"

Despite Roxanne's insistence, Claire couldn't leave Roxanne alone, because she didn't deserve to be alone. Nobody did, no matter how horrible they were.

Claire followed and tried to be discreet about it. She didn't know if Roxanne truly didn't notice her or if she was too angry to point it out.

Roxanne left, a purse slung over her shoulder and a phone on one hand she gripped so hard Claire wondered how it hadn't cracked yet.

Roxanne wandered, and stopped, looked around as though she saw someone, as though someone saw her, before continuing. She stopped, which prompted Claire to stop, a few feet behind. Roxanne broke into a sprint. Claire, panicking, followed, and tried to keep a sane head, because someone needed to and because she couldn't afford to let herself drift again.

Claire found herself one block away from a bar, the sun long gone, looking at Roxanne who tried, in vain, to get in.

"C'mon! I'm a fucking adult!"

Claire was the only one who knew Roxanne was yelling because not doing so would show that she was on the verge of tears. It hurt. Because she caused this. Because this had been bubbling up for long, too long, and Roxanne had been keeping it all in for her sake, hoping that maybe Claire would tell her when she was ready.

Claire feared that by the time she was ready, Roxanne would have lost all hope.

"Look, kid, you just can't go in here," the bouncer said, speaking in a rational manner; a manner in which Roxanne couldn't understand, because she was anything but.

Claire watched as Roxanne tried to talk the bouncer into letting her in, using her 'talking skills' she seemed to have forgotten how to use.

Roxanne spoke rapidly. Too rapidly. Confusingly so. She spoke gibberish, and it was clear that even if she didn't, the bouncer still wouldn't let her in.

It hurt, watching Roxanne break down like this, but Claire endured, because she'd caused this, all of this, and the least she could do was see the full extent of her damage.

Roxanne threw the bouncer an onslaught of verbal abuse. It was almost mesmerizing to watch her, known for sewing a bunch of random words and making them all click together, producing an art out of them, do what she did best, even if her skill was used in such a horrid way.

The worst part was that it was working. Roxanne succeeded in getting the bouncer riled up.

He pulled his big, muscled arm up, and Claire heard Roxanne's breath hitching, as though she was finally realizing what she was doing.