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The average adult female holds about 4.2 litres of blood volume. This is equal to 1.2 gallons, 10 pints, or 4,500 mL. Typically, an adult female can lose approximately 1.26 pints without experiencing adverse effects. When the human body has lost 40% of its blood volume, its organs begin to fail.
Blood is warm.
It's warm down her throat, and it's warm as it seeps into her clothing. Vaguely, she recalls that it's sticky as it dries.
It's not drying, she's slicked with it.
(it's warm)
It's gushing.
She collapses and Paper Star catches her, holds her. She lowers her to the ground and grins down at her. She giggles.
“Oh, Black Sheep ,” She cooes, “You don't look too good!”
Carmen gapes up at her, gasping for breath.
“...Paper Star…”
She blinks down at her. Her grin cracks around the edges, breaking into a horrible rictus of glee and joy. She claps her hands together and holds them to her face as she bats her eyelashes down at her.
“Oh? Can you still talk? Hmm.” She takes the bloody knife and spins it around her fingers, “Maybe I need to go deeper.”
Carmen swallows harshly and shakes her head. She attempts to crawl away, but finds that her body is unwilling to cooperate. All she really achieves is scrambling back a few meager feet and looking pathetic.
Paper Star laughs as she follows her. She grabs her and pushes her down, holding her in place. She kneels on top of her and clicks her tongue.
“Oh, don't be scared, little lamb! Just hold still and it will all be over soon.”
“No…” She mutters, struggling against her, “Paper Star, no. Let me go.”
She hates the way that her vision blurs and her traitorous body trembles. A whimper forces its way up her bleeding throat, and she understands for the first time what true terror feels like.
She grunts as the knife approaches and claws at Paper Star, attempting to free herself. The woman giggles and shushes her.
“Oh my,” She breathes, “Just look at you.” Her eyes roam freely over her body, and Carmen can do nothing but shut her eyes against the hot sting of humiliation.
Paper Star hums as she brushes hair from Carmen's face. She leans down close to her and whispers, “You're so beautiful when you're afraid.”
Of course Paper Star would try to humiliate her even as she dies
(oh god im gonna die)
and of course it's working. She's completely at her mercy. She's weak-- helpless to defend herself. She loses. She's lost.
Her breath catches once, then unable to help herself against the caustic burn of shame, terror and dread, Carmen sobs.
She sobs, and then the knife presses down on the wound and--
--she can't anymore.
She gurgles, choking as her vocal cords are severed.
Carmen gasps and inhales blood. She gags and coughs violently, further tearing the flayed skin of her throat.
( !!! i’m drowning !!!)
She gazes up at Paper Star, eyes wide.
Please, she's begging, though she knows it's useless. Please, I can't breathe, I don't--
--Paper Star snaps a photo of her. She looks at it, nods her approval, and then turns the phone around to show Carmen.
“What do you think?”
She puts her head back and cries angry tears.
“What was that? You're gonna have to speak up."
(oh fuck you)
“Oh, right. You can't.”
She chortles and climbs to her feet.
“Well, it's been fun, Black Sheep. Really, it has.”
Carmen blinks up at her. It feels slow. Everything feels slow, actually. And her hearing, it's going in and out and she can't--
--Where is Paper Star going? Where is she going?!
She can't-- She can't leave her like this.
She reaches out blindly and grabs weakly at Paper Star’s leg. Her fingers… feel…
…fuzzy.
Paper Star scoffs and kicks her hand away.
“What? You want me to stay with you?” She kneels down and grins. “How do you ask?”
Carmen gapes at her.
(excuse me??)
She opens and closes her mouth, trying to speak and babbling up blood. Her throat is so sore.
“I'm waiting, Black Sheep.”
More blood bubbles up and it trickles warmly down her chin.
(please i’m trying i’m trying please)
Paper Star sighs dramatically and stands, dusting her pants off.
“Oh, well,” She says, “If you don't want to use your manners...”
Carmen shakes her head frantically, desperate for her to stay. She hates her. She hates her so much and she'd drag her down with her if she could, but oh god, she doesn't want to be alone.
She attempts to grab at her again, but Paper Star easily dodges.
“Nuh, uh, uh! If you're going to be rude to me, I'm not going to stay with you. Have a nice life!”
She turns, skipping away and--
NO!
Not like this, oh god, please not like this.
She brings a shaking hand up to her ear and feels for her earrings. She thinks she remembers losing them… distantly… had she lost them? She doesn't… She can't quite recall.
She can't find them, they're gone, she can't--
But she needs him!
Where is he?!
She's scared…
…And she can't breathe.
The average human female holds a blood volume of 4.5 litres. That's 1.2 gallons, 10 pints, or 4500 mL. When the body loses 40% of its blood volume…
It…
It…
it…
“...andiego?”
Someone's shaking her.
“...miss…”
She forces her eyes open. There's a man? Crouching next to her. His hand is on her throat.
“...miss san…”
Does she know him?
she's…
“ Miss Sandiego! ”
she's…
“...stay wi… help is…”
she's...
~~~
Miss Sandiego is many things. She's a thief, a scoundrel, a perfectly good coat ruiner… She's cocky and arrogant, and according to ACME’s criminal profiles, incredibly intelligent. She is quite literally wanted in 97 countries, and she has an infuriating habit of trapping him places with his own handcuffs.
She is all of these things, and most recently, she is…
She is…
She is lying in the middle of one of the bloodiest god damn crime scenes he had ever seen.
“Putain de merde!"
He rushes over to her and drops to his knees by her side. His hands hover above her, ready to help-- but honestly, he's not even sure he can help.
There's a gaping, ugly gash in her throat, and it's pouring a steady fountain of blood. Her breathing is-- Well. It's not even breathing, it's gurgling. Her eyes are clouded over, and as he goes to check her pulse, he finds that it's fading.
He swallows harshly and rips his coat off. Should he wrap it around her throat..? Would that even do anything?
“Miss Sandiego,” He prompts.
She doesn't react.
He shakes her. “Miss Sandiego, I demand that you answer me.”
Nothing.
(non, non, non!)
He pulls his hands away, and runs them through his hair. His heart is in his throat, and the sight of all this blood is making him nauseous.
“Qu'est-ce que je fais? Qu'est-ce que je fais?”
He pulls out his cell-phone and rings the local authorities.
(who did this to you?!)
This is-- It's-- why? Why would someone do this to her? Is this the work of a rival? Is it VILE? He can't be sure! He--
--oh fuck him, he can't cope with this! He investigates theft, not murder!
…Murder?
No. No.
Attempted. Attempted murder at worst. She’s la femme rouge, she can't die like this. It isn't fitting! A thief such as herself should go out with a bang! In a fit of villainous glory! Not beaten and violated and left to bleed.
She doesn't deserve that-- no one does.
“Hang in there, Miss Sandiego. You will live on from this! I swear! You'll live to see the inside of a jail cell, I assure you.”
(liar!)
He presses his coat against the wound and holds it in place with his free hand.
He hears the phone line connect and immediately rushes into his spiel; he does not have a second to lose waiting on the operator.
“ J'ai besoin d'une-- Er, I need an ambulance!”
Miss Sandiego begins to stir under him as he's talking to the police. She makes wary eye contact with him and attempts to speak.
Blood spills out of her mouth.
He barks at the operator to hurry up and puts his phone down on the ground. He grabs her hand and squeezes. When there is no response, he shakes her.
“Miss Sandiego, I need you to stay awake--” He glances down at her chest. Its hardly moving. "--Fuck!"
He leans over her and holds her face in his hands
(since when did she look so young?!)
“Miss Sandiego!”
(christ! she can't be older than twenty!)
She drags open her eyes and stares up at him. He smiles awkwardly, trying to be comforting.
(who did this to her?!)
“Stay with me, Miss Sandiego. Help is coming.”
She does not heed him-- when has she ever? There's a wet, rasping sound as she attempts to draw in air, and then nothing.
Silence. The kind that's loud and intrusive. Deafening.
Her mouth falls open and the last bit of blood drips down her chin.
His pulse is racing in his ears as he reaches over and checks for hers. His fingers scramble against her wrist, pressing harder than strictly necessary.
“C'mon, c'mon, it's got to be here…”
It's not.
He checks it again
and again.
It isn't there.
She's--
She's dead.
Carmen Sandiego is dead.
Dead in a pool of her own blood.
Her body stares up at him, eyes vacant.
(Such an interesting color, and he'd never noticed. Did they always look like that? Or was it only now that she was dead...?)
He closes her mouth for her and then her eyes. He cannot steady his hand.
(Tears. She'd been crying)
He falls back on his haunches, exhausted. He reaches… for something.
No time passes, but he reasons that it must have… Time doesn't just stop.
What's the word Agent Argent once used? Dissociating?
Absently, he grabs his pen. He stares down at it, hesitating.
…He puts it away.
Obviously he'll have to report this, but just for right now, he needs a second.
“Damnit,” He mutters.
And then louder. “Damnit, damnit, damnit!”
His head feels stuffy with conflicting emotions and he feels as though he has nowhere to take it out but at the dead girl.
“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, “You’re Carmen Sandiego, you're not supposed to get murdered! You should have-- You should have grown old and died in prison, or, or… Something! Je ne sais pas!”
He looks down at her.
“And why are you so young! Vous êtes un enfant! Une bébé!”
He curls his hands into fists and her blood squelches between his fingers. He frowns at them.
(oh… i am.. COVERED with it…)
He gets up and starts pacing.
“Arrêtez d'être mort! Ce n'est pas drôle! La femme rouge? Non! La femme mort!”
He laughs hysterically.
“Fuck!”
He falls on his ass and buries his face in his hands. He hears sirens in the distance and curses them for not getting there sooner. He curses himself for taking so long to find her.
He lifts his head up and stares up at the skylight. The moon is full tonight and is casting the room in shades of silver while its reflection winks back at it in pools of blood.
This is so wrong…
“...Could I have prevented this?”
.
..
...
“...Most likely, no.”
He snaps his head down and stares at her.
She stares back.
“Holy shit!”
~~~
Carmen feels…
…Weird.
She figures this is due in part to the fact that she just died, but. You know.
No time to dwell on that.
She tries to move, but she can't.
Hm.
Maybe her body is still dead? Is she still dead?
...Had she died to begin with?
[“...andiego?”
Someone's shaking her.
“...miss…”
“Miss Sandiego!”]
Her heart lurches
(oh good my heart’s beating)
and she feels her nerves go haywire as the memories return to her.
(yes yes that had been real. that was very real.)
She forces herself to breathe as she cools her panic.
Fine. It's fine. She’s fine.
(everything i know… falling falling gone. am i gone? dark dark it's dark… is this real..?)
Had it been..?
(no… NO! i can't-- ??? i need to go back)
It doesn't matter. She's fine.
She breathes in again and tries to move her arm. It twitches.
Another deep breath.
It's okay, she's okay. She's getting out of this after all.
“...You're… Car… Supposed… Murdered!”
Her eyebrows furrow. Is that Devineaux? Murder? What is he talking about? Who got--
--Oh.
Right.
…Had she really been murdered?
Like. For real?
Hm. Best not to dwell on that.
“Vous êtes un enfant! Une bébé!”
… Her foreign language skills are kind of on the fritz right now, but she's pretty sure he's yelling at her for being a... baby?
She hears him get up and starts pacing.
“Arrêtez d'être mort! Ce n'est pas drôle!”
She squints up at the ceiling as she processes the French.
Stop being dead..? Dude. She's trying. And anyway, why is he--
--Wait.
Hang on a second…
…Is he mourning her..?
Oh, that is weird.
Ugh. Her throat is sore. She brings her fingers to the wound and--
--Oh! Her arm is moving!
Good, good. That's good. It would really suck if she beat death only to find herself arrested when she couldn't move.
She brings her hand up to her face and frowns. Are her fingers glowing right now?
Huh.
She moves them back to her throat and starts probing.
The gash is fleshy and gooey, slowly leaking blood. It stings to the touch and she wants to pull her hand away, but…
…She can feel it healing? Is she healing herself right now? With her fingers? Had she seriously healed a gaping hole in her neck?
Trippy.
What does this mean? Is she..? Normal people don't exactly just. Resurrect.
Is this magic..?
Okay. Maybe that's a given. Again, people don't typically come back miraculously healed after having their throat slashed.
Aw, man! Fuck her!
This is totally magic! And that is so not cool! Not after everything she'd gone through!
Here's the thing:
Magic is rare.
Incredibly rare!
To most people it's unheard of, a fairy tale. If VILE island happens to host the highest concentration of magic users in all of Europe, that's because they specifically scout them out.
It shouldn't have come as a shock that the random child they stole wasn't actually a rarity. That was a statistical inevitability. Understanding this, you might think the Faculty gave her a break, right? You know. Let the whole “no magic” thing slide?
Don't make her laugh. Of course they hadn’t. The Faculty is actually the worst, and, after all, there is no excuse for inadequacy.
…Ha.
Ha ha.
Ha ha ha!
Hilarious! This is hilarious! Her whole life! Not only had it been one big deception, but also a huge fucking joke!
Oh, this is good! This is too fucking good!
For years she was pushed, and pushed and pushed. Pushed to do better, pushed to be better. Pushed to make up for the mistake of her birth. And you know what? She is better! She didn't have any magic of her own, so she made up for it by being the best thief there ever was! She’s better than them!
All of them!
…Most of them.
“You're so beautiful when you're afraid”
She shakes her head. She never wants to think of that again, and so she won't.
(please don't kill me oh my god please i don't want to--)
Stop it.
She won't think of it. She won't.
(paper star and her stupid knife and her stupid magic hurting me and hurting me and hurting me and hurt--)
(!!! STOP IT !!!)
“...Could I have prevented this?”
She blinks, lips pursed as she thinks about it.
Mmm. No. Probably not. In fact, if she hadn't locked him in a janitor's closet, he'd probably be dead too.
She sits up and tells him as much.
He stares at her.
She stares back.
“Holy shit!”
Carmen winces, covering her ears. “Ouch.”
Devineaux is white as a sheet as he gapes at her, looking like he's seen a--
Mm. Too soon.
He points at her, arm shaking.
“Y-you!”
She rolls her eyes. “M-me.”
“You were-- You were just dead!”
She sniffs,
(shut up shut up shut up!)
“Yeah?” She says, “Well now I'm not.”
“That's not possible! ”
She groans, rubbing her temples. “Devineaux, I've just been through a lot , I would appreciate it if you stopped yelling!”
“You’re supposed to be dead!”
She feels her eye twitch, and she kind of thinks she wants to scream. If he didn't shut the fu--
--She smiles like a wise ass.
“If I was supposed to be dead, I'd be dead. But I'm not, so I'm not. Got it?”
“No!”
She shrugged. “Whatever. Do you have a phone?”
“I--”
“--Don't worry about it, I already got it.”
She holds his phone up.
“Hey!”
He lunges for her and she grins as she avoids him.
(Ah, pick pocketing. It always does the trick.)
“Devineaux? I'm going to need you to show some sympathy. I've just had my ego wounded by a color-clashing freak show. I need my emotional support hacker.”
She dials Player's number and waits, somewhat thrown the time it takes. Usually, he answers the first ring.
“Yes?” He answers.
She frowns. Why does he sound so terse? That’s-- that's strange. She's heard him exasperated, sure. But never so strained, and certainly never hostile .
She clears her throat. “Player, it's me.”
“...Red?”
“Hi, Player.”
“You're… You're okay..?”
She laughs. “Of course I am! I'm totally fine!”
Devineaux gasps. “You are not! ” He hisses, “You just--”
She smacks her hand over his mouth.
“I just lost my phone! You know how it goes.”
Player is silent on the other end of the line, and damn. How can his judgment possibly be that palpable? She can feel his disbelief through the phone!
“Red, I… I make a habit of scanning local police frequencies whenever you go offline. I--”
Her face falls and a chill goes down her spine. She does not let him finish.
“--Oh, that reminds me,” She says, “Local authorities are getting close. I should probably bail. Can you arrange for pick up?”
“O-of course I can, but Red--”
“--Hold that thought, Player. Devineaux is looking like he wants to arrest me. Track this phone, I'll call you back!”
“Carmen--!”
She hangs up on him and pockets the phone.
She turns to Chase. “Sorry, Devineaux, but I'm gonna have to borrow your phone. You understand, right?”
He sputters, “You are not alright, Miss Sandiego! Just look at yourself!”
“It's just a little bleeding!”
“It's enough to fill a swimming pool!”
“Don't be dramatic, Devineaux.”
“You're sitting in a puddle of it!”
She glances down. She gets up.
“Okay?” She says, “And now I'm not.”
He shakes his head, climbing to his feet after her. “I'm sorry, Miss Sandiego, but I cannot in good conscience let you leave.”
She scoffs. “What? You gonna arrest me?”
He holds his chin up, jaw set. “If I must, then yes. I will try.”
She raises an eyebrow. “‘Try,’ huh? Looks like someone's learning.”
She engages her grappling hook and aims it at the sky light.
She turns to him and salutes.
“Catch ya later, Devineaux.”
She zips up to the roof and pulls herself up. She's about to leave when she remembers something and pauses. She turns back around and calls down to him.
“No one will ever believe you!”
~~~
Shadowsan is worn and weary when he returns from his solo mission in Cairo, and as he returns home in the early hours of the morning, his thoughts are focused solely on resting.
He's a magic using, sword wielding, master of stealth, but even he has his limits. He doesn't have it in him to handle any more problems today, but as he shuts the warehouse door behind him, he remembers that life is a bitch and nothing is ever easy.
There is blood tracked on the floor as well as smeared on the wall, and Zack and Ivy are hard at work as they struggle to clean it up. Most noticeably, Carmen isn't there, and Shadowsan thinks he might have an aneurysm.
“What's going on here?”
Ivy turns and does not greet him. There are bags under her eyes and tangles in her hair. She's haggard and scowling, and for a moment, Shadowsan imagines the worst. His heart catches in his throat and he swallows harshly, casting a glance down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
“She's not dead, if that's what you're worrying about,” Says Ivy, “But there's something off about her.” She rings out the rag she's using to clean and shake her head. “I think she's hiding something.”
He frowns. “Is she hurt?”
She sighs and puts the rag down. “We don't know. She showed up to rendezvous drenched in blood and refused to elaborate. We're hoping she'll talk to you.”
He snorts. “What makes you think she'll do that?”
“You raised her, didn't you?”
“With tremendous difficulty.”
“She needs to talk to someone. Clearly she's-- I don't know. Just find out what happened? I think Player's about to lose his mind.”
Zack hums. “Do you think she killed someone?”
“Bro."
“What? Where else would all this blood come from? I support her!”
“Your brother raises a good point.”
“Really.”
He nods solemnly. “I will support her in all that she does.”
“She did not kill someone.”
“But how can you be sure?” Says Zack.
“I just am. I think something happened to her, not the other way around.”
Shadowsan grunts. “I guess I will have to find out.” He points to a smudge on the wall, “You missed a spot.”
Ivy groans as he walks away. He approaches Carmen's room and knocks on her door.
“Carmen? It's me. Can you open the door?”
There's silence on the other side, and he wonders for a moment if she had already fallen asleep.
He knocks again. “Carmen, are you up? We need to talk.”
A few moments pass, and then he hears shuffling. The lock clicks and she opens the door. She looks like she's just climbed out of hell.
“What do you want, Shadowsan?”
He pushes past her, inviting himself in.
“Well, hello to you too, child. I trust your mission went well?”
He clasps his hands behind his back and watches with keen interest as she goes rigid for all four milliseconds before forcing herself to relax.
“Could’ve gone better,” She says, “You win some, you lose some.”
He narrows his eyes at her.
“This is true,” He says, “But I must admit, strange coming from you. Is everything okay?”
“Everything's fine!” She chirps, “How did things on your end go?”
“I'd rather we stay on you, Carmen.”
She crosses her arms and raises her chin to him defiantly. “If that's the case, then we have nothing else to talk about.”
“I don't think that's true.”
“It is.”
“Your friends are in the living room cleaning blood off the walls and floors. Don't you think they deserve an explanation?”
“I don't--” She breaks eye contact and turns away from him. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“So something did happen.”
“It's nothing I can't handle. It's… not a big deal.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
“So when you met with Zack and Ivy completely drenched in blood that was nothing?”
She groans and throws her hands up. “I didn't say it was nothing, it's just--”
“--What is that?”
Carmen freezes and looks at her hands. They're glowing. Slowly, cautiously, she brings them to her throat. Tendrils of golden light are seeping out from under her choker, and they grow in intensity as she brings her hands close.
A few moments pass and the glowing dies down. She covers her eyes with her hands and collapses on to her bed.
“Oh, this is so messed up.”
He sits down next to her.
“Tell me what happened,” He prompts.
She groans and sits up. “Do I have to?”
“You don't have to do anything you don't want to,” He says, “But I think it'd be best if you did. Your friends are worried for you, Carmen. I'm worried for you.”
He takes hold of her hands.
“Now. Do you have anything you'd like to share?”
She closes her eyes and breathes in deep. He squeezes her hands as they start trembling.
“I--” She bites down on her lip and breathes erratically.
“I um. I have powers after all. Um… healing powers.”
She still hasn't opened her eyes, and her posture is still rigidly tense. He watches her skeptically, not quite convinced that she isn't still hiding something.
Her story doesn't quite add up. If she has healing powers like she claims, why hadn't they shown themselves any of the other countless times in the past? She'd been a walking hazard as a child, always coming home with new scrapes and bruises. And while not as common these days, she is no stranger to injury. They should've manifested already, so where is the lie? What isn't she telling him?
She pulls her hands away and goes to rub at her throat. Watching this, it occurs to him that she's still wearing her choker. She's showered and dressed for bed, but she still has her choker on…
That is…
What about all the blood? Where exactly did it all come from..?
…And since when does she rub at her throat when she's nervous?
A bleak picture is starting to take form in his mind’s eye and he feels sinking dread in his stomach.
“Carmen,” He says, voice low, “What aren't you telling me?”
She glares at him, and she's-- she's still holding her throat. He doubts she even realizes it.
“What are you talking about?” She snaps, “I'm not lying , if that's what you're saying. It's not-- I'm fine. I… I told you what you need to know, so just leave it be, okay? Please.”
He says nothing. He lifts his hand up, and gingerly, he goes to remove her han--
--She shrieks.
“No! No!”
She throws herself off the bed and pushes herself into a corner.
“Carmen!”
“Stay away from me! ”
She grabs her throat with both hands and curls into herself.
“Don't,” She mutters, “Don’t touch me. I can't. I can't.”
He approaches her slowly. “Carmen, it's okay. You're safe. ”
“No!” She screams, “Stay away from me! I--!”
She breaks off, hands falling away as some of the tension leaks out of her shoulders. She blinks rapidly as she remembers where she is.
“I--”
“Are you back with me? Can I come closer?”
She nods mutely and looks away, refusing eye contact.
He crouches down in front of her. “Can I see it?”
She nods once but doesn't move.
“Do you want me to..?”
She shakes her head and goes to undo her choker. It falls away and she lifts her head.
“...I might have gotten a little nicked.” She admits.
He stares at her, unimpressed. There's an angry red line slashed across her throat, and dried blood sticks around the edges.
“Nicked?” He dead pans.
“I-injured,” She corrects, “It's… Not a big deal.”
“I see.” He says, “And you reacted like that because..?”
She looks away.
“Carmen.” He says, “Tell me, please. What really happened?”
She swallows harshly.
“I messed up,” She whispers, “Real bad.”
She wipes tears from her eyes.
“I… I think I died? I, um. I fucked up. I let Paper Star get the jump on me, and…” She mimes cutting her throat. “...She killed me.”
She hugs her knees.
Words fail as a flash flood of anger, fear, and despair surges through his brain, drowning him.
He curls his hands in and out of fists as he tries desperately to think of something, anything, he can say to her.
He can't. He's bombarded with images of Carmen lying in a pool of her own blood as she chokes and dies. How long had she lain there suffering? Did it hurt?
“I lied.” She admits. “I don't have healing powers. At least, not traditionally. But I guess I can-- I guess I can bring myself back. From… You know.”
He rubs at his temples, eyes screwed tight. “Oh, Carmen…”
“I'm sorry,” She says, voice hitching.
“What? No. No. Do not apologize, Carmen. It wasn't your fault.”
She sniffles, eyes watering.
“It was, though. If I had been better--”
“--Please, Carmen. Don't do this…”
“I need to do better. I will do better. I don't-- I won't ever let someone hurt me like that again.
“I-- That’s-- That's fine , but… You're being too hard on yourself. You've just been through a horrible trauma and--”
She shakes her head.
“--What do you mean no?”
“That's not-- I let it happen. That's not trauma.”
He stares at her, mouth agape.
“Carmen, what the fuck are you talking about?!”
“It's not trauma if you bring it on yourself.”
“What?!”
What? Did he hear that right? What? Where did she even--? Damnit.
Everyday he realizes more and more just how fucked he and the other Faculty left this girl. That was a terrible way to think, but it wasn't like she pulled it out of nowhere. The Faculty was not known for its compassion. He was not known for his kindness.
He should fix this.
“Carmen, listen to me, okay? I need you to listen to me. It is never your fault if someone chooses to--”
“--I don't want to talk about it anymore.”
“ Child --”
“--I’m not a child.”
“Carmen--”
“ You said I don't have to do anything I don't want to.”
“I--”
He did say that.
“I'm tired.” She says, “I want to go to bed.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and decides that he wants to scream.
(She's holding her throat again.)
“...Okay.” He says. He gets up and then offers her his hand. She takes it.
He watches her as she climbs into bed, not quite ready to leave her.
“Can I get you anything..?”
“No.” She flips over and turns the light off. “Good night, Shadowsan.”
Reluctantly, he leaves her room.
“I love you, Carmen.”
She says nothing.