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It’s been a week since you and your
family
friends left Dormont. Two weeks since you ruined everything, hurt your favorite people, almost ended the world, and somehow ended up getting everything you wished for. You pushed to leave for Bambouche sooner, anxious to get Bonnie back to their sister (to get out of that blinding town where everything was so familiar, where everyone
knew what you’d done
), but your family insisted. Your inability to walk further than the bathroom by yourself made it hard to argue.
You’re finally back on the road again, camping in the woods and skirting around towns and cities like you had before all this began. (You can barely remember it, now.) It’s not unsafe to visit population centers, not like it was before, but you’ve been avoiding them all the same. Your allies family friends seem to have collectively decided to stay away except for necessary restocking.
Mira, Isa, and Bonnie are in the nearest town right now, buying food and supplies with what money your group has left. The savior discount helps a lot to stretch your budget, as much as Mira hates accepting it. Most of what you’d saved up before went to tonics and food, and there wasn’t much opportunity for anyone to earn money while chasing down the orbs, fighting sadnesses, and trying to stay away from the curse.
You almost never join them on their outings, and today Odile volunteered to keep you company. She’s currently sitting in the shade, reading a book she picked up in the last city. Every so often, her eyes flick up to look at you before returning to the pages. There’s always at least one person with you. Keeping an eye on you. You’d be offended, but… you like having them around. And after everything you did, having a chaperone seems like the least you should put up with.
“Are you just going to sit there staring at me, Siffrin?” Odile’s voice jolts you out of your head.
“Sorry, I just– sorry,” you mumble. (You’re creeping her out she hates you she hates you –)
“...I’m not upset with you.”
Your hands have found their way to your arms, scratching through the cloth. It doesn’t help.
Odile looks at you with an expression you don’t know how to interpret. “...May I ask you a question, Siffrin?”
Your heart rate ticks up slightly without your permission. “Sure.” It’s the least you can do. You promised them honesty, after all.
“The wounds on your arms– where did they come from?” She’s making the face she always makes when she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “We didn’t see any sadnesses in the house that would create that particular pattern, although you had cleared out many of them before we got there. Was it the king, perhaps?”
Your heart rate is getting faster. You try to breathe. ( You promised them honesty ). “I– they– they weren’t from a sadness,” you stutter out.
“What made them, then? The king?” You can’t tell if Odile is ignoring your pathetic reaction out of decorum or if she just hasn’t noticed.
“A piece of glass,” you finally manage. “A tonic bottle broke, and–” You cut yourself off. No need to explain in detail how blindingly pathetic you are.
Odile sits with the information for a moment, then looks at you with something resembling pity. “...Were they self-inflicted?”
Your scratching has sped up now. It’s still not helping.
“Siffrin. Were they self-inflicted?”
(You promised them honesty you promised them– )
“Yes,” you finally whisper. You’re not trying to be quiet but it’s the only noise you can manage to make.
“Okay,” Odile says. You’re suddenly very grateful you’re having this conversation with her and not the others.
(They would be so upset, and you don’t think they’d understand if you explained that you just wanted to see the stars, wanted to be connected to the one thing you could remember, and it was the only way you could breathe on that final loop, the only way you could stop thinking for just a moment, and really it doesn’t matter because it’s just you, better you than anyone else, and if it scars maybe you’ll even have something to remember by, because in the loops it was always gone, smooth skin on your hand like nothing ever happened, and–)
“–ffrin? Siffrin!” Odile is waving her hand in front of your face. Her face is pinched with concern.
“Sorry! I’m sorry. What did you…?” (You can’t zone out anymore, you can’t miss things because you can’t go back ).
“It’s alright, Siffrin. I’m not upset with you. I just asked if you still have the glass.”
“No, I– I threw it away. After I– after everything.” (You kind of wish you hadn’t, sometimes.)
Odile looks at you carefully. “Do you still feel the need to hurt yourself, now? After… ‘everything?’”
You can’t meet her eyes. “...No?”
“Siffrin.” Her voice is level, but you can hear some emotion breaking through all the same. “I need you to be honest with me. Do you still feel the urge to do this to yourself?”
(What if she takes away your knife your knife your knife you promised to be honest with them– )
“Sometimes,” you admit.
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath in, and out. They’ve all picked up on it by now, it seems. “Can you come to me if you feel like you might hurt yourself, so I can help you find a different coping mechanism?”
It’s the least you can do. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask for.” Odile smiles at you, just a little. It should feel condescending but instead it just feels warm.
“You’re not going to–?” Your hands fiddle with your dagger.
She looks almost conflicted, but she shakes her head. “You are an adult, Siffrin. Besides the fact I don’t doubt you would find another way, I have no desire to restrict your autonomy without a serious need. Yes, I would prefer you didn’t hurt yourself. Yes, any amount of hurt unnecessarily inflicted onto you is too much. But you have just been through an experience that took away much of your control, even as it gave you control over time itself. I would rather you feel comfortable asking me for help when you need it than break that trust now by taking away something that makes you feel safe.”
You’ve stopped scratching. You didn’t even notice. You want to thank Odile for understanding, for helping, for putting up with your pathetic nonsense again and again and again, but you can’t speak around the lump in your throat. Instead, you nod and look back down at your sleeves. The stars you know are underneath.
You think that maybe, for now, it’s enough.