@pseudoneiric asked : [ indigo ] for a bittersweet memory.
nothing bad had happened, really, and that was
the worst of it. it had been a pretty okay day, from
the outside: nothing of note had happened, but…
but it had been a bad day.
that was to put it lightly, of course: but was that not
in their nature, to downplay their own suffering so as
to not bother those around them? to acknowledge the
feelings was to make them real, and that would simply
not do. it was easier to shove it aside, to ignore it, if it
was not verbalized, not explained —
don’t fit in
won’t fit in
not like them
something wrong with me
— and that was something that kris had learned at a
young age.
and now, twelve years old, it was something that
he was acutely aware of. if it was not acknowledged,
if t was not fed, this awful seed that sits inside their
chest, eventually it fades. it does not leave, but it
fades, a ghost on the edges of the graveyard of
their mind.
something wrong with me
i don’t fit my skin
my chest hurts
i am going to burn
i am burning
i will burn
fingers press against their scalp, nails a sharp ache
against their skin, as shaky breaths are drawn. kris
sits pressed against the wall, knees pulled up to
their chest, sharp elbows pressing against their
legs. emotions too big for their scrawny form,
they are overwhelmed, swallowed whole,
horrible awful
too big for my bones
no one wants me!
adrift in a sea they do not understand.
as such, they do not hear when the bed-
room door opens.
a familiar voice pulls kris from their horrible reverie: a
lifeline, a preserver thrown to the drowning man! some-
thing to focus on, something other than the
bad bad bad bad bad bad i am bad
awful voice that resounds inside their head. kris looks
up, blinking away tears ( hot against the cold of his cheeks )
and asriel stands in the doorway, book-bag in hand. “ what’s
wrong? ” his brother asks, and kris does not have a reply.
words are ashen threads stuck in their throat, heavy and use-
less: they simply shake their head.
closing the door, asriel comes to sit beside them on the floor
of their shared room, school bag discarded on the floor. kris
instinctively leans into him, the mere presence of their older
brother a grounding force amidst the war waged against their
own mind. here, they feel safer, secure in the knowledge that
they aren’t alone. he doesn’t hate me, kris tells themself, and
that’s something.
“ wanna talk about it? ” asriel asks, and kris shakes their head.
words still do not come, caught between ache in their chest
and the pit of anxiety in their stomach.
“ …want me to sit with you? ” asriel looks at kris as he asks this,
and kris simply nods, burying their face in their hands.
it takes a few minutes and some deep breaths ( asriel helps with
this, counting the breaths out loud ), but kris finally manages a
few words. “ …can we go get hot chocolate? ” their voice is small,
almost lost in the quiet, but asriel hears them.
“ ‘course, ” he says, and kris offers a shaky smile. “ let’s get your jacket,
and we’ll go, okay? ”
