Chapter Text
It had been a week.
A week since Clementine freaked out at Niki.
A week since she broke the mirror, hurt her hand, and shattered her phone.
A week since she asked Reddit what to do.
Clementine opened her old r/advice post to check the responses, finding three replies.
Dontaskmewhy: "well, the best advice I can give you is to apologize and explain. If it's safe and you feel ready, coming out and transitioning to feel more comfortable in your body might also be a good idea. Good luck!"
ohgodohfuck: "yeah, I agree with dontaskmewhy. Apologizing might be the best route to take, but don't feel entitled to forgiveness. Freaking out on her was a shitty thing to do, but aside from apologizing I don't think there's much you can do."
idontknowmetoo: "lmao l"
her phone dinged with a text from a school friend asking why she wasn't responding. She glanced down at her shattered phone screen and quickly shut it off. She still didn't have a new phone, and more importantly, her keyboard still had dried blood between the keys.
Clem started cleaning her keyboard, carefully popping off the keycaps and cleaning the blood from between the keys. She wiped the keyboard off with a damp cloth before putting her keycaps in, smiling as it reminded her of the lyric of a familiar song. Clem opened her Spotify and put on The Internet Ruined Me, humming along when she was suddenly hit with a wave of loneliness. She missed Will so, so, much, but there wasn't much she could do at the moment, and she doubted Will would forgive Clem even if she did explain. Maybe cleaning her keyboard could wait.
She grabbed her phone, impulsively deciding that Niki deserved some amount of explanation, even if she couldn't fully explain yet. Clem typed carefully, as to avoid cutting her hand anymore on the shattered phone screen. She cringed a bit when she saw her deadname pop up in discord, but continued nonetheless.
Tommyinnit (11:47 pm)
hey, sorry for freaking out on you a few days ago
you'll figure out why in due time
sorry this apology sucks
bye
Clem missed streaming, but she knew she needed the break. Streaming would only make her mental health worse, and no matter how much she missed her friends, there was no way in hell she could deal with being constantly deadnamed and misgendered by people she cared about so often. She could make a secret alt where she used her real name and pronouns, but she would have to use a voice changer and wouldn't be able to stream with her friends, which was, in her opinion, the best part. Anyways, she needed to deal with her own problems before she returned to streaming and social media; coming out would be nice too.
Clem glanced around her room, looking for something to do when her eyes settled on an old leather-bound notebook her grandfather gave her for Christmas a few years back. She took it off the shelf, gently brushing off the dust, and unwrapped the strap wrapping around it for the first time since she got it, vaguely remembering one of her friends mentioning that making things was good. Something about having a physical thing that she made herself and can perceive as an object being good for her mental health? Niki probably. That seemed like something Niki would say. That is, if she would still be willing to talk to Clem.
Clem left her room in search of a pen and wandered into the kitchen in hopes of finding one. She rifled through the random objects drawer, staying quiet in order to not alert her parents in the other room that she was downstairs before her eyes settled on a fountain pen she had seen her mother use once or twice before. It was a simple black pen with gold accents, and a few simple red flowers scattered along the pen body near the grip.
Clem returned to her room, grabbing the notebook as she sat on her bed, ignoring the mess around her. She opened the book to the first page, moving the ribbon marking the page out of the way. Clementine uncapped the pen, tested it quickly on her hand to make sure it had ink, and breathed deeply as she started writing; unsure of what she would write, but just putting words on the page. They quickly turn into a poem, with some words scratched out, written over, or illegible, but still something she was proud of.
I ache for a girl with long blonde hair.
For a girl with the confidence to wear a dress,
Flowy and light as she runs through the fields,
Gently held by the wind, without a care in the world,
Save for what flower to tuck
In the band on her hat.
A girl with a soft gaze,
Blue as the ribbons braided into her hair,
And I ache not only to know her, and love her,
But to be her as well.
Again she contemplated making a secret account; an Instagram or Twitter to share poetry if she continued. She could even post it on her main account and give it another few weeks and come out. Clem swiped to the camera screen of her phone and her finger hovered over the picture button for a few seconds before she turned off her phone and put it down. Her whole deal with this was that it was meant to be something for her, and only her, to have as a physical thing completely separate from the internet. She wasn't going to ruin it on her first attempt.
She placed the ribbon back between the pages and closed the journal, tucking the pen into the strip of leather carefully wrapped around the book, and put it on the table next to her bed as she went to turn off the lights. Clementine fell asleep in a room that appeared to be struck by an earthquake, but she was far more at peace than the room around her, bandaged and ink-stained hands resting on her sheets.