Event #5: "Blood in the Water" [TAG: Vanessa & Thalia]

[Peyton Cross]

Peyton sat in the corner, her back facing the room. Her left hand covered her mouth, drowning the sobs, while the right twiddled with the silver key. The key that belonged to Jamie. It had probably been minutes since she had arrived there, and what felt like hours since she had woken up.

Vanessa was in the room beside here, but she made no attempt to wake her. She just wanted to stay as far away from that girl as much as possible. People from the event probably hated her, blamed her. But she couldn’t blame them for thinking so…since she hated herself. She could have done something. Given Jamie another macaroon, force her macaroon to someone else. Why’d she have to leave it up to fate? That was the worst decision she could have ever made. Why didn’t she think it through for once? Why kind of a fool was she?

The words repeated in her head.

Your fault

Your fault!

Your FAULT!

YOUR FAULT!!!

[Thalia Turner]

[Though Thalia awoke in the other room (Thread – ‘Another Day in Hell’), this will be set after that, when she leaves.]



Thalia’s own words rung out in her head with a certain severity that aggravated the already formidable headache drilling into her; as though her subconscious was scolding her for her impudence. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be a hero. Being a hero gets you killed, or worse. And yet here she was, parading around the school (with a limp in her step), trying to find Phillip; trying to find Sig. Trying to find anyone that held some notion in her heart.

    She didn’t understand; how could they have disappeared again; how could all of this have happened? It seemed incredulous to even ponder over, yet Thalia had seen some awful things and her grasp on reality was slipping further and further from her, no matter her desperation to cling on to the truth.

    The previous dream with the white stag was playing over in her brain. What could he possibly represent? How could a hallucination of her own brain’s creation have provided some strength to the dying fire within her? Could it just have been a survival instinct; her body’s way of providing a glimmer of hope in such a dark and dreadful time… Either way, as she slid a hand over her heart, a sense of passion rose to meet her. She had to remain strong; remain true to herself.

    That rise in hope froze suddenly upon entering the Student Council Room. Thalia heard her before she saw her; the unmistakable and heart-wrenching sound of a person in emotional agony; the sound of pure and unfounded pain. It was Peyton. Though in her attempts to mask her sobs, the reality of her emotions radiated from her with an intensity that almost blinded Thalia. What could possibly have happened?

    Tenderly, so not to scare her, Miss Turner entered the room, her mouth a grave, thin line of concern. Thalia wasn’t overly fond of comforting the grieving; often she herself preferred to be left to deal with such an overabundance of negative emotions. However, a feeling of dread dragged Thalia closer to her fellow classmate, a sense that she should do the more honourable thing and be there for her in a certain time of need. A hollowness pounded into her chest; queasy and fearful.

    “Peyton…” Thalia said quietly. Though her vocal cords had reduced in swelling, there was still a croakiness to the girl’s voice that couldn’t quite alleviate itself. She inhaled sharply, easing her thundering heart, before taking the plunge.

    Thalia reached out tenderly, brushing her fingers across Peyton’s back, before she found her confidence and allowed her hand to rest on her shoulder. It wasn’t a weight, or an intentionally frightening gesture; it was a silent proclamation of her presence, both emotionally and physically.

    “Peyton,” she repeated, her voice having found its footing. “Look at me… Please… It’s okay; I promise, you’re safe now… You’re okay.”

    Seeing her like this, it reminded Thalia of her experience with Amanda; with Arielle and… and Elizabeth. The deep sense of emotional destruction. Annihilation of one’s humanity; left barely conceivable as a functionable entity. She couldn’t allow the girl to descend into chaos; she couldn’t allow herself to be a bystander to Peyton’s obliteration.

    “Whatever it was, whatever you’ve seen: Don’t let it define you. It isn’t you; it’s some sick fucked up mess out of your control. Peyton…” Thalia winced, her grip on her classmate’s shoulder firming. “You’re strong, I know you are.”

[Peyton Cross]

Peyton’s fist squeezed around the key, the metal growing warmer in her hand. She managed to finally swallow her sobs and calm down, taking slow deep breaths. She admitted she hasn’t been this emotionally messed up since the previous year, when she told Emery everything. She had never imagined she’d have to go through something like this. The raven haired had tried not to touch her left wrist and ankle, still hurting from the rope burns a bit.

“Peyton…” a quiet voice said.

Peyton didn’t turn around at first. She thought maybe it was in her head again, some nightmare awaiting her the moment she faced the owner of the voice. Perhaps it was the sewn corpse, or a dead Jamie…or Emery. A distorted version of her friend, feeding her lies. The raven haired felt a cold shiver down her spine the moment something touched her shoulder. She almost wanted to flip the person and pin them to the ground, preventing them from possibly hurting her. But she didn’t care anymore. She probably deserved to get hurt. It was her who should’ve died in that room…not Jamie.

“Peyton,” the voice said, “Look at me…Please…it’s okay; I promise you’re safe now…you’re ok.”

The raven haired was deathly afraid to see what or who it would be. She slowly turned her head, the dim lighting to reveal not a horrific sight, but Thalia Turner. One of the infamous five. Peyton was a little surprised. She hadn’t seen her at all that afternoon, not since she left the auditorium. It was even more shocking to see the redhead start comforting her. Not only weren’t they friends, but they barely ever spoke to each other. Peyton didn’t even think Thalia knew her name. Maybe she was hallucinating.

“Whatever it was,” she continued, “Whatever you’ve seen: Don’t let it define you. It isn’t you, it’s some sick fucked up mess out of your control. Peyton….you’re strong. I know you are.”

Peyton let out a scoff, and smirked a little bit. “You must not know me that well then. The strong cold type is a facade I made so I didn’t make any friends…so no one would get hurt. What a load of bullshit that strategy turned out to be.”

The raven haired took notice in Thalia’s stance. One foot was slightly lifting off the ground, as if not trying to strain it. Peyton knew that stance by heart, because it’s one she’s been doing the entire time she’s been here.

“Was it a sewing needle?” she joked, gesturing to Thalia’s foot.

[Thalia Turner]

“You must not know me that well then. The strong cold type is a facade I made so I didn’t make any friends…so no one would get hurt. What a load of bullshit that strategy turned out to be,” the girl scoffed, her self-deprecation leaving a bad taste in Thalia’s mouth. Her eyes hardened, her attempt at being genuinely concerned feeling as though it was being rebounded back in her face. Being nice was tiring, it seemed. She ran her fingers through her knotty hair in thought, the sharp tugs of pain bringing some reality into this shithole. She was just so fucking tired; the walls closing in on her as fatigue was slowly becoming a reality, the edges of her vision blurring out.

Thalia reached out and grasped the wall, steadying herself, her face tight and pale and so very weary. She palmed her forehead, hoping she wasn’t getting sick. The human body was not great at handling stress, and excessively she knew it was only a matter of time that she would spontaneously combust. Get a grip, Turner… Pull yourself together.

“Yeah,” she groaned a response, before leaning against the wall and allowing her eyes to flutter shut. She pressed her hands against her achy stomach and sighed. “It is a lot of bullshit. But you know what? Get over it. We’re not the people who we once were, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and start making a change. I know it, moping around; grieving; feeling miserable, I did it and it’s all counterintuitive. There are no strangers anymore; do anything you can to survive…” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Get angry. Anger lights your soul on fire,” she glowered at the floor, realising the pulse of rage and defiance had been something that kept her alive, kept her going.

Thalia crossed her bad foot over her good one, propping it up on her shoe and taking off the tension. She hadn’t looked at it since it happened and prayed nothing serious was germinating in the wound. Knowing her luck, though…

“Was it a sewing needle?”

Momentarily confused, Thalia’s eyes peeled open, and she stared blankly at Peyton for a moment, her eyebrows quirked in confusion. But then seeing the girl’s eyes trailed on her sore foot, she smiled humourlessly, her dwindling energy making even that an effort.

“Piece of glass,” she murmured, flexing her toes within her shoe and then spreading them out again. Met with a rush of pain, she hissed through her teeth and growled in frustration. “Fuck. I’m sick and tired of this! These fucking mind games!” She slammed her foot against the wall, unflinching as pain tore up her leg and a wave of queasiness overwhelmed her.

“I just want to go fucking home; is that too much to fucking ask?! FUCK.”