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her skin is sticky. her vision is blurry. her hands are shaking. her hair is stuck to her face. it's hard to breathe.
it's hard to breathe.
she can't breathe.
she reaches up with trembling hands to tie her bangs up, only to realize that her hair ties are gone. they aren't on her wrist. she looks around the the room, her eyes darting around frantically as the tears in her eyes slowly leave. she spots them on the floor, not amazing, shes still shaking and finding it hard to breathe, getting up is not a good idea.
her face feels weird but doesn't know how describe it. perhaps its as if a light layer of mist turned into a cloud that will soon have its own emotional effect. through her hands are disoriented, she slowly reaches up and spreads her fingers across her face.
its damp in lines.
oh. right.
she grabs her wrist, her almond shaped nails digging in her skin.
she watches the liquid slowly roll down her forearm, the blood looks almost black at night.
she does the same on her other wrist, however this time she takes her nails and drags them down, slowly so she can watch the fluid seep into her nails, dirtying the pink paint covering the skin toned nail below.
her nails are blunt and rounded, requiring the wounds to need more pressure just to break the skin. she can feel the fat and the muscles inside her arm. they burn and scream and cry and then cry more. the tears are red.
crap. she knew it was a bad idea, but it just felt so good . relieving.
she feels the liquid wrap around her arms, encasing it like a glove. drying and sticking on to her like glue.
she scans her bed to see anything out of the ordinary. nothing.
tikki is still asleep, used to the brash movements marinette makes in her sleep.
she really doesn't want to wake her.
the young girl notices that she has stopped shaking, her vision no longer blurry. she's still sweating however. she climbs down the ladder, careful to not wake anyone. she's good at that. every creaky floor board, every random roll of thread on the ground, she knows where it is.
she tiptoes in the bathroom and turns on the shower. she hates showering in the dead of night but she really doesn't feel like making a huge mess in the bathroom and then forgetting to clean it up later.
she undresses herself, her eyes closed. she doesn't want to look at her body for any longer than she needs.
she steps into the shower, raising her forearms to be hit by the stream of water first. the water at her feet turns pink as she watches it go down the drain.
she tries not to get her hair wet, she hates it wet. her hair is probably the only clean part of her anyways.
she steps out, picking the brown towel instead of the normal white ones. she shouldn't stain the white ones, thats too much work to try and get out later.
she slips back in her pajamas, her arms loosely wrapped in bandages. she'll have to put some makeup on her arms tomorrow morning, even if you shouldn't do that with fresh tears. oh well, at least she'll look normal even if she likely wont feel the part.
she stares up at her bed, she's too tired to climb back up. she settles for the floor instead, despite there being a couch she could crash on.
there is no blanket near her. doesn't matter, at least she can just be cold. perhaps she'll get hypothermia and freeze to death. what a sad way for ladybug to die.
such a waste of a hero.
eventually she falls into a state of rest and waves of anxiety. it keeps her awake until four am. she needs to be awake by seven. oh well, who gives a damn anyway? she sure doesn't. she has enough concealer. she needs to get more, she's been going through it faster again. she keeps relapsing.
whatever, she'll get some tomorrow.
as long as she's the guardian, she has to stay alive.
paris will fail without her.