Chapter Text
There are days where she doesn't come back when the sun sets.
There are nights where Amelia is still on her office, sunset long gone. Sometimes, she'd get more complicated cases, which requires more work. And she has never been one to half ass anything on her short life - she always gives it her all! Sometimes, the cases are not even that complicated, they're just incredibly interesting. So she drowns herself in it, not noticing the hours go by.
It costs her some sunsets.
When the detective gets home, it's dark and cold. The thoughts don't leave. They like the cold.
Amelia hangs her coat behind the door. She throws her tie into the floor, and discards her shoes somewhere. She collapses into the couch.
She wants, needs, to be unconscious as fast as possible, so her brain shuts the hell up.
If it's not sunset, the thoughts invite themselves in. There is no warmth to scare them away. Amelia also does not seek it. She doesn't really remember to do it, as the thoughts blind and deafen her. Make her feel like maybe she doesn't even deserve it at all.
"That's it, then", it rings inside her mind.
"You will die", it keeps going.
"Maybe you're already dead", it doesn't stop.
"That's why it's so dark here", it convinces.
Amelia tries to open her eyes. She can't tell if they're open or not. It's agonizing.
"What time is it, anyway? It can't be that late", it poisons.
She grabs her pocketwatch. It's dark. She feels as if time is frozen and going way too fast at the same time. She tries, but can't listen to the usual tick-tock the clock makes, can't see it's hands.
"Maybe everyone left", it pokes.
"I mean, you're only human", it punches.
"What can one human offer to four mythological beings?", it stabs.
"Nothing. Their sole existance is way more than a human could possibly comprehend", it answers itself. It's absolute.
"You're worth nothing. You're only human", it concludes. It hurts.
It probably has many more things to say.
But there's only so much Amelia can take.
She is sweating, and trembling. Everything feels out of place. Her heart is beating so fast it does not even feel like her own. She is clutching her own head, her nails digging hard into her scalp. She feels the need to itch. Everywhere.
With her other hand, she grabs one icy blue syringe off it's holster on her leg. She knows exactly what to do.
Eventually, she falls asleep.
The day that follows those are always a mess. When the clock ticks 9 am, she is still asleep.
When Amelia wakes up, she vaguely acknowledges that she is on their bed. Someone moved her there.
Another someone guides her to the bathroom, encouraging a shower. They give her a towel and fresh clothes.
She only gets out of the water when she hears someone knocking on the door. She thinks she fell asleep by accident. Either way, she didn't notice the time passing.
Somehow she is on the kitchen. Someone gives her a glass of water and medicine. Only then she notices that her head is pounding hard against her skull.
Ashamed, she doesn't dare look up to know who is taking care of her. Of her mess.
Amelia can feel eyes on her. She can hear her girlfriends talking to her, and asking questions. She can't process what they are. She doesn't have the energy to answer either.
She usually spends those days quiet.
She knows they get her wrong.
How can they not? She never really explains. She can't talk sometimes. She can't talk about this.
She knows that, when she eventually looks up, she will find disappointed eyes. She knows they don't like it when her own eyes are more pink than blue.
They learned how to deal with the aftermaths of the concoction, but they don't know what it is used for. They can only guess. They probably think it is used for fun. And when they buntly ask, their questions are answered with silence.
Amelia notices when the sunset arrives later that day. She feels the urge to go outside just to get in again, for the sake of the routine. And for the sake of her own peace of mind. Even though she's already at home, she doesn't really feel that warm. It feels wrong, somehow.
She restrains herself on her couch seat. She thinks her girlfriends will find it extremely weird. They won't understand, and she can't explain.
She plays with her hands. Clenches her jaw. It's itchy all over again.
Someone stops her hands from reaching her own skin. She knows it's Calli because of the painted black nails. She had gotten up from the couch without even noticing.
She doesn't fight as Calli holds her wrists in place.
Going outside to get inside again won't make her girlfriends welcome her the way they usually do. Even if it did, they're all mad at her anyway.
She fights. It's itchy.
Amelia feels someone hugging her from behind. She can tell it's Ina because of the gloves. It's a familiar sunset feeling. It's welcoming.
She slowly stops fighting. Calli releases her hold. Her hands fidgets with the priestess' gloves around her waist. They sit like that on the floor.
Yet again, she doesn't dare look up to meet her girlfriends' eyes.
Post-concoction day is a wasted day. There are some better than others, though.
Before going to sleep, Amelia apologizes to them. She feels like crying.
In response, they tell her four different ways of essentially "you don't have to apologize". They're in a relationship, so they once again remind her that all they ask of her is communication.
Amelia does cry, after all. She's bad at communicating. It's all so frustrating. She promises herself she is gonna try harder next time.
She does try. It's never enough, it feels like.