Robert
The smell of petrichor assaults the senses.
Then again, everything is assaulting the senses.
A deafening silence of the night with only the light buzz of the streetlights above her to overwhelm her already throbbing head. The screams of pain and regret emanating from her wrist. At least the sprinkling of rain felt cool. Helped with the burning that felt across her body.
Anja is sitting at the corner of an intersection. Told to stay put by her... What do you even call this anymore? Co-dependency?
*She would hate it if you thought of yourself like that.*
Crush. She guesses.

She doesn't want to be here.


'Making sure of something.' Of all the nights to be cryptic. It would be funny if it wasn't frustrating right now.
She turns her head side to side every now and then, looking for the same silhouette that would make her heart skip when it showed up right in her room.
Anja just wants to splint this wrist and go lay back down. She doesn't care if she doesn't get sleep. She just wants to lay down.

The feeling of the sidewalk would be nice. Laying there with the rain drops slowly, one by one, hit her.
Something about that seemed comforting right now.

Like it was spoken to her, Amelie's words echoed in her head again.
She snaps out of her stupor, shakes her head lightly, and stands up, holding her wrist close by. 
Continuing to stare out to the darkness. Looking for the same silhouette as always.
Funny, that.
"Where are you..." A light muttering to herself. "Please just be safe."
Myra
One step, two steps, three steps, five- she can't feel a thing. Every step she takes is marked by an evil looking red that she refuses to stare at for a second time. She'd left, She knew Anja had left. She knows those steps. It'd a habit to know how one talks, she swears it is. She breathes and it hurts, her ribs shutter and she coughs. 

Not that the air helps, it's humid, it's awful. It's about to rain and all she is hoping that the rain leaves no evidence behind of where she has been. There's air in her mouth, swimming between her teeth as she can feel the thin fibers of her face trying to grasp at eachother. She feels like a poorly made plush, holding together by her own bare bones. 

She feels the broken fibers of her legs and arms pushing together at odd angles. (Just like not quite right puzzle pieces.) Holes in her body large enough to fit curious fingers, large enough to stick the papers she's written her woes into, large enough to coat them her her agony and wash the words away with her own blood. 

The trees around her give way. Funny how she thought she was moving at a rather sluggish pace, she didn't know she could move so fast when she felt like the puppeteers strings that were just about cut. The air isn't crisp as she would expect, it smells like gasoline and cigarette dreams. There's a hole in her nose, her cheek is falling and tapping against her throat and she can feel the air against the top of her mouth like the sea of sorrow in her brain. 

She stares at the location on her phone and at which it tells her she has arrived, she meanders into the spot where she's supposed to be which a groan. Sounding like wet twigs being bend and twisted every step she takes, she leans more onto her cane she surprisingly still remembered to take. She didn't want to lean against trees when her clothes were torn, but her jacket was fine.

There was blood turning her reflection back at her in a mockery and her jacket was fine. 

She heaves a breath, her head hung low. She feels drool try to exit from the gash in her face and broken fingers shaking to try and wipe it away. She succeeds with a hiss clenched through sharp, jagged, and stained teeth. She looks like a growling feral thing, snapping at the mere look of herself. She dosent want to be any longer, but push a mortal into the mold of an angry thing of your best nightmares and they just may become it. She became her own reflection.

She sees a pair of shoes beside her, her throat stings, she can't say a thing.
Robert
5 minutes. 7 minutes. 8. 9.
She is checking her phone every few seconds now. It's been too long since she last messaged.
Should she bother messaging again? Or is this another part of her "Test?"

10. 11. 12.
She's gone back to sitting down.
The shadows are getting to Anja now. She thinks every little shift is Amelie's judgement waiting to walk out and disapprove of her now. It would be fitting. Now, when she's so haggard and so unpleasant to be around now. This would be the best time for her to finally push her away. She wouldn't blame her. She never could.
Not when she'd be in the right to.

Her mind floods with hate again, and she starts picking at the scrapes on the knuckles of her fists. Peeling away the now broken layers of skin, trying to mold her hands into what they were before her damn meltdown.
Pathetic girl.
She picks the flayed pieces away, wondering what she could've done better.
Always the inquisitive one.
Inquisitive.
That's what she would call her. Not nosy. Not annoying. Stubborn, but never in a way that seemed upset. She never understood. Why was she not upset with her stubbornness? Why did she adore her? What did she even mean by adore?
It didn't matter.
She was on her way to tell her it was all over. Everything she ruined has come to face her now.
Fitting.

 17. 18. 19.
A shuffling makes its presence around her.
She stands up, trying to locate its origin.
That familiar silhouette. Shambling now.
She must've walked forever.

Her head is held low, but Anja's stays high, watching her come closer.
Eyes contract. Fear settles in.
But not for what she was expecting.
She was haggard. She was dying. Again.
But still she stood.
Anja finally feels her breath catch to gasp.


Her mind is racing, watching her shuffle to her like this.
She shouldn't be moving. God.
*Is that her cheek?*
Fear begins to kick in. Adrenaline makes her talk.
"*What happened,* Amelie? What am I supposed to see from this?" Her native tongue fades from her. It still peeks its head out is soft swears and prayers to no one.
"I need to call... Ambulance."
First. Ambulance.
She grabs at her phone, shakily dialing 112.

What was this supposed to mean? What was this supposed to prove?
Fuck. No time for this line of thinking. She needs to focus.

She shuffles in her pockets to find *It.*
Between the heavy breathing of panic and exhaustion. A click rings through the air. A glint of stainless-steel shines in the streetlight above them.
She takes off her overshirt.
Her intentions are clear. She's going to get do what ever she can to patch up this woman before she does call.
Myra
Every word was like a melting petal to an uncaring gardener, unforseen. Uncared for. She stares at Anja, her eye red and freshly raw looking from tears she forgot she shed at all. She was breathing the air was coming out though the open gash in the side of her face than where it was actually supposed to leave.

It sounded like a gasping whistle, the tearing of Anja's shirt making her wince. Without warning to herself, without signal she'd reached over and begun to take the ripped shirt from Anja. Her fingers were sinewy and broken, some beginning to repiece themselves together into something workable. Each digit curling into Anja's own fingers, bloodstained and slick but Anja's fingers were shaking and loose. They could not hold onto the fabric so tightly. 

It's funny how cold Anja's hands felt at that moment when she's usually so warm. She pushed the shirt away and then looked at herself, she grabbed her shirt which was slashed and littered with holes and tore it open. Ripping the fabric in two and facing Anja again. Amelie's chest was bare, except for the few bandages that exist to cover older wounds. There was a deep cut below her left breast and holes from bullets aplenty. Her torso was soaked in red, her jacket covering what was necessary. 

She took Anja's hands into her own and started wrapping what she could with the fabric she had, it wasn't the best with it's state but it was better than nothing. She looked at the blood and the angry red that blistered her hands and only felt guilty for what she had done. Every motion was shaking but careful. Her face was tattered but there was the threat of the garbled noise in the back of her throat trying to voice how horrid she felt. 

There was no bones there was only how cold she felt.

After trying her best to fix Anja's hand she had interwoven their fingers and stood there with her at the intersection. The necklace of hers just dangling above a thin cut, it was stained. 

She narrowed her eye as there was a persky light that seemed to want to burn into her eye so she just, looked at the ground again. She spat something onto the floor and crushed it beneath her heel and said nothing.
Robert
The ripping of fabric breaks through the girls' exhausted minds.
She almost has it fashioned into *Something* She just needs to-
Her hands are still shaking.
They just won't stop.

Anja flinches as she sees Amelie's hands rise towards hers.
A shudder comes from her as that same freezing grasp meets her burning skin. The feeling of the bones setting back into something resembling hands felt sickening. This was normal for her? How does she keep going?
There was no resistance. Like her hands gave up on the idea of helping her before her own mind could.
"Why?" Was all that was weakly vocalized. Her voice was disappearing from her stint in the forest.
Like it would be here even if she didn't make a fool of herself, screaming out like that.

She gives up on trying to press for answers. She did not have to voice to ask them, and Amelie did not want to answer them.
Her gaze meets her shoes.
Once again. A woman who needs more help than her is the one taking care of her.
She feels useless. 
Like she was supposed to be something anyways.

Another rip of fabric makes her look back up.
A wave of confusion.
What is she trying to prove? *Is there anything?* What was she missing?
Tattered fabric meets her still bloody knuckles, tears start to run down her cheeks.

The second time their hands meet, her heart skips.
She doesn't want this right now. She needs to focus on getting her somewhere safe.
She wants to hold her. Comfort her in some way that felt the same whenever Amelie did for her.
She doesn't care about consequences anymore tonight.
Anja's knees can't hold her up anymore, and she starts to drop to them.
She shakes her head, trying to convey that Amelie did not need to apologize to her. She didn't need to feel guilty. This wasn't her fault. 
It wasn't hers.

Why can't she prove that she did not need to apologize to her? Why was this her fate?
She didn't want Amelie to hate herself because of her. She couldn't stomach it.
Gripping tight to the hands that are locked with hers, Anja silently sobs.
Myra
Silence wrung the air dry of everything in an instant, the moisture, the noise. Her arms jerked downward and the sickening slick pop of a joint sliding and squelching jolted her ears. She didn't even know they'd dislocated them, broke them. She had just needed to move and leave. 

She'd heard Anja weep before, in that purgatory prison. Just seconds away from being swept into that hell unending she'd watched tears fall from Anja. Colors flooded in too quickly in that moment, within a second her memories were reflected into a fun house mirror. It was a hollowing experience even if the most she felt was... Guilt. 

She'd brought this filth, she'd brought this pain alone. Yet... Amelie found herself lowering to Anja's level and even if she could not take her hands away from the hold the girl before her had upon them, she found her now forced back fingers inching to her face. 

Her bloody fingertips brushing away tears from her face and smearing her blood on her in the process. The tears formed rivers on the red of her fingers, slowly moving down to drop to the ground from her wrists. She continued to try and wipe it away but Amelie got tired and her hands and Anja's had settled somewhere in the air, still. 

In the sleeves of her jacket you can see her arms which were once bend at odd and awful angles slowly smooth into something more human, less monstrous. 

She tried pursing her lips and found they were marred and almost shredded, but they were also raw and the feeling of lines of wires of red and white and *Blood*. She's supposed to be used to it, still hurts. 
Amelie points a red finger at Anja's head, tapping it and then points to her throat and makes a talking motion with her pointer and thumb before shaking her head. Trying to say that she cannot speak currently. 

She couldn't leave Anja here, so she had a split second decision.

She hoisted Anja up by their hands and started fragging Anja along, across the empty road and onto a sidewalk. It was beginning to sprinkle slightly and her leg was making a noise unlike how it would normally, she still had her cane. She still had it. 

She made a motion with her head that they were going to head towards a direction. She wandered enough to know every direction which the hospital would be. She just hoped Anja wouldn't get sick while they got there.
Robert
Anja feels the sickening pop of Amelie's shoulder travel down her arm. Did- did she just do that?  All this trust from her, and she dislocates the woman's shoulder. She shouldn't be respected. Shouldn't be adored.
A silent "I'm sorry." Is mouthed out to the other woman, and the tears continue to flow.
 
Amelie kneels to Anja's miserable level. She wishes she didn't perceive her. That she was never seen of anymore. She lightly turns her head further down, as if she was trying to focus on the ground.
She sees that other hand raise towards her face. Instinctively, she tenses, her own body steeling herself for a strike.
But... Why?
Why did she expect such a thing from her?
She flinches when the opposite happens, the cold of her hands still gets to her own nerves.
And yet, she still lets Amelie treat her, despite her own mind telling her she deserves the opposite.
 
Her head still hangs low. She truly doesn't deserve this comfort.
 
The tapping atop her head finally makes her look up. Eyes lightly tinged red from their tears, finally meet the other's exhausted gaze in a blurry state. They then follow the gestures closely. She nods, making the lift easier by complying.
 
She eases her hands as she is dragged along, letting go with one of them to wipe the remainder of her tears.
Her face is flushed with embarrassment, disappointment in herself for being in this state. She can barely follow with her head held up. It feels like its weighted down by her own failure.
But even her own mind can't help but look up at the woman leading her to where only she would know.
She blindly follows along, doubting herself each step of the way as she's dragged underneath the light drops of rain.
Myra
Amelie tugs Anja towards her, just enough where the latter is next to the former. The shirt in her hand gets put into her mouth. Amelie's *Now* Free hand is on her own chest, she can feel the coagulated slick of her own blood. It feels like slime to her, she supposes that's just normal now. Her hand slides over open flesh and bullet holes and a noise garbles from her throat like boiling water. 

In a second she's pulling her jacket together, staining it's leather with more red like it's paint. She stops and presses against a wall to steady herself without her cane for a moment. Then she realizes she cannot do anything about it and lets it go quickly and pulls the shirt from her mouth with something akin to frustration and defeat. She walks a little quicker now that she feels exposed, her fingers just now finding her cheek that had been hanging limp from her face and pushes it upward back into the place where it's mostly supposed to be. When she feels strings of muscle come to take hold and she can not just imagine the presence of flesh, her hand falls and it swings for a moment before it goes still. 

She pushes off the wall and she's back to walking quickly, the rhythmic taps of her cane almost in tune with the rain's slight pattering against the concrete.

She feels like her ears are bleeding, there's an insistent ringing that comes in and out like the tide and it's so annoying. Everything still feels so damn cold. Then she realizes again that Anja is with her, she is not alone and so she finds herself looking at her and her tear stained face. 

Amelie's hand flies up and she makes motions with her hand, trying to communicate through ASL if Anja knew. 
"*Please, stay with me.*"

Anja probably didn't hear and Amelie felt her lips purse. She looked at the sidewalk in front of her and continued to walk as the rain got a slight bit heavier on her shoulders.
Robert
If the sharp tug from the girl did not jolt Anja back into the present, her sudden shifting of weight towards the wall made her fully realize the situation that she had left herself to ignore the present, and wallow in her pit of misery.
She left Amelie to try and care of both women.
She tries to say something but ends up coughing. Her own voice has been exhausted by her previous usage.
She follows, matching Amelie's now brisk pace.

Anja has come back from her own self-hatred, aware of the situation, and begins to think. 
Her gaze is no longer fixed on the ground below her, but the now mending flesh and the face of the woman guiding her.
She's taking them somewhere, but she can't say where. Not because of trust, but for a physical reason. Obviously. It's not back to the facility, that was two turns in a different direction. This is where she needed to trust her.

The rain starts to fall harder.
She shouldn't've ripped her shirt.
It's fine. Just keep following Amelie.
Trust her.
She wipes the rest of the falling tears.

They stop, suddenly.
Anja is now *Presently aware* Of Amelie's situation. She very quickly looks back up to her face.

She's... Signing.
With the speed of her movements, she's fluent. But unfortunately, it's just not the language Anja has learned.
She tries to understand the mimed actions in the signs Amelie uses.
*"Please, with me."* Is all she can piece together. Perhaps that's all she needed to understand.
Anja holds them both in place before they both start moving again.

Anja can feel her own throat closing in on herself. Trying to stop her from talking anymore. From further using what has been spent.
A deep breath, her eyes shut as she inhales.
She opens them again, fixed on the face of the woman guiding her again.
"Always, Amelie." It's hoarse, a whisper, meant for only them.
Anja only hopes she can hear her underneath the buzzing of the streetlight above them.
Letting go of her hand for just a moment, she reaches out to her open jacket. She fastens the two ends together and zips the jacket up for her.
She finds her hand again to interlink them again. Anja nods.

After her.
Myra
Liability. Amelie thinks, she is something... Foreign to the mind. Herself, her actions, her mind, invasive to all that she is. What is she? Why does she hate it so? She looks down to Anja zipping up her jacket and she wants to sob and wail like she's in her eldest sisters arms again. 

But, she was the one who held her sister. She's fine. 
It is just a rather stressful situation, there's nothing bespoken of guilt over something so small. 
She's covered in blood and feeling like she's just awful. 

She has looked at her own reflection and pulled skin from muscle with *Ease*. Would it be any different from her face if she pulled the skin from her torso through the newly made bullet holes. She can feel them slowly try to sew themselves shut, no, she cannot. It's not like those moments of raw silence as the reverberation of haggard breathing breaks like the tide against the mirror that reflects her. Skin from bone, bone from flesh. She felt her fingers move under veins.

'Al *Amelie*'
She covers her mouth and coughs, the sudden air released through the still healing holes in her face making her gag a little. She wheezes a breath as she doubles over just a bit, facing away from Anja. She finds herself looking at Anja with a disjointed feeling of fear. She quickly stood up and nodded at Anja. She felt like shit, trying to fix a situation that was already beyond her but she'll try anyway. Amelie felt the right corner of her mouth twitch upwards for a fraction of a second and she squeezed Anja's hand slightly, just to let the woman in question know that she's still here. 



They're getting somewhat closer in the small amount of time, she can see the vague corners of the hospital.

She wants to hold Anja's hand tighter for her own sanity, it's cold. She can do so. But, she is afraid, and she will always be so. She's afraid to hurt anybody, even the ones she knows can protect themselves. 

She speeds up in her walk, the sooner she gets to the hospital then the faster she can leave. She thinks she needs to leave, Anja has never needed this.
Robert
Anja needed this.

The ice-cold skin against her wrist aided with some of the ache, even as it was pulled by the woman going way too fast for her own limits.
The coughing fit was... Worrying. It doesn't help that she keeps worrying. It feels like her worrying had only caused Amelie more stress than safety.
Was the idea of zipping her jacket the right idea? Why did she just... Reach back for her hand? This really wasn't the time for doing things without thinking. What is she going to do if she asks about her outreach again? This was going to spiral into a worse scenario.
A squeeze against her hand makes her look down at their connection, breaking her thoughts.
Their interlocked fingers felt right.
She exhales, realizing her breath was held.

She'll find time to pace and regret this later.
Just enjoy the moment, Leta.


Wincing slightly at the tug on the recently settled wrist, she speeds up again, trying to match her pace.
She hasn't had to run this long for a while. The aching in her legs reminded her of hiking, climbing for hours just to find a nice place to sit and think. She should do that again.
A familiar color of brick meets her eyes. A sigh of relief. 
They're heading towards the hospital. Another release of the unending weight of worry. They can get treatment for Amelie's wounds.
Matching Amelie's dash seems easier right now.
She looks at her in the bright lights, watching her face, trying to read her again.

She only wondered what the start of this sudden meeting was for.
Myra
There was a shriek in the forest she still could not believe that her one ear still worked that well. She had gotten up instantly, despite feeling like the fires of hell opened it's gates behind her in welcome. She still had to leave, even if she wanted those fires to curl around her. She didn't know her options too well and didn't have enough time to study the afterlife so vigorously. She knows what it looks like, she was afraid that another that didn't need to meet it so was just about half a step there. 

She took the nearest person she trusted because she couldn't trust her step and mind made of fetid voices. It was Anja, the one who stopped for her and when she saw where she was and those bloody knuckles; it was Anja who had been hurt. Her thin woven fingers slid like a lost hiker over the tattered cloth on Anja's knuckles, she feels the divots in skin like displaced dirt on the floor of a clean house. 

She wondered why Anja had did so but she wasn't the person to question the actions of others, lest she be questioned herself. 
She loathed being looked at as if her actions needed a deep meaning to be counted as something good. She did everything good without reason, she did. 

Her fingers let go, there's no pressure. Just Anja holding on at this point. 

They're at the hospital doors, she stops before they open at her presence and looks to Anja. She makes a motion with a tilt of her head for Anja to go inside.
Robert
A fear holds heavy on her heart. A fear that wishes to snap out, hurt something instead of continuing to gnaw at the ribcage around it. A fear that wants to ruin everything just for the answer that never would be told.

And that would be a fate worse than death for Anja.

She hates her constant need to lie to her. She knew it was never *Truly* A need. Amelie was never in danger knowing anything about Anja. Almost like wishing for her own isolation, she put this fate on herself.
Even if she was the one to question others, even if Anja *Could* Speak to her, tell her why she brought herself into that forest, screamed until her voice gave, willingly tracked mud into the house. Her throat would just give out on her. Close in on itself before she could say anything to her. For to tell Amelie her intentions would lead to more questions. And to those more questions would be the one she dreaded confronting the most. The one that weighed across her mind night and day.

They've stopped again.
She looks down, to the one-sided hold.
She looks up to the jutting head.

She knows what this means. There is no need to translate. No need to parse anything. She frowns, shaking her head no.
She's not going in there alone. There's no point for her to go in there on her own, anyways.
Myra
The thought of dying behind her own hand-picked burgundy curtains... It shadows her mind often. To haunt the souls that looked at her insignificant. To rot in the place where she found the souls that loved her *More than life*. Yet she was left behind, scratching fine slashes in her signatures that mirror the eternal scowl on her face. A thin angry slit that cut through the cold poise that showed her obsolete heart. 

There was a tempest in her gaze that caused even the most attuned people to the storms shun her in fear. There was a telltale sign of frost snaking up the shell of Amelie's ear as Anja held firm. 

She thinks differently, Amelie chides herself. 
*Anja is softer than first glances procure.*

Once every month or less she wishes she didn't have to entertain the friendships she had gotten here. She doesn't speak to her roommate, even when she promised to herself when June left that she would this time. She doesn't like them, she knows the look in their eye. 

*Do they think about leaving her corpse behind as often as she does?*

Amelie makes a noise in her throat that sounds like a growl for a moment before taking Anja through the doors of the hospital. Sanitized air meets the raw hole in her face and she cringes. She ignores the woman at the front desk to immediately go to the emergency rooms. 

A doctor notices her immediately recognizing that worn leather jacket, she can hear them sigh. 
Amelie looks at the doctor with a raised brow before looking at Anja with interest to her thoughts.
Robert
Unfortunate for Amelie, Anja was one to peek behind the curtains. She would've never been satisfied with the illusion of a backdrop, of the curtain call being the ending. The stubborn girl would rather lose all the imagination in the world before giving up her need for answers.
She continues to stare at Amelie, even with the anger behind her natural scowl. She doesn't let her leave her eyes now.
If she wants to leave. She's not going to be leaving her here. Anja will stay here with her. Or will leave this hospital alone.
This night has been nothing but exhausting, trying to understand what happened, what was going to happen. 
She just wanted to untense her shoulders.

The buzz of the hospital is enough to keep her up, despite the weight of her eyelids demands. She continues to follow Amelie, a more natural, casual frown crossing her face.
Perhaps not as much as her guide, but Anja hated hospitals.
The harsh lighting. The quiet yet loud ambience. The waiting.
Neither woman have a reason to be here. Was it spite that made them enter?

She didn't want to talk about the fever that was going to appear on her eventual checkup.

Almost like second nature for the other girl, they march their way to the emergency rooms. Hearing the loud sigh makes her shoot a look at the doctor, if looks could be weapons, she would've made a message in this hallway. 
She grimaces in response to Amelie's quizzical look. The idea of someone being 'tired' of treating someone made a pit in her stomach.
They treated her like she was just a hypochondriac. *Ridiculous.*
Myra
Amelie looked away from Anja and scoffed at the doctor, she quickly moved past them and into an empty operation room. She found a table to equipment and took a scalpel and some surgical tweezers. 

She quickly exited the room and bolted to an empty post-operation room. She closed the door and slid down against it. She let's go of Anja's hand, taking her hand from the hold and unwraps the haphazard shirt wraps. (Not that they were of any use, they were bloody anyway.) She puts the scalpel and tweezer in her lap as she fumbles in her pockets for the bandages she always has. 

She takes them out, slowly wraps Anja's hand in them. She wraps her wrist as well as she heard Anja's hissing of pain when she sped up quite the few times. She takes the other hand and repeats the process as carefully as she can with her thin and shaking hands. 

She examines her hands for a moment, making sure they're good enough with a swipe of her thumb over the knuckles lightly. She seems them alright then moves to the bathroom, she takes the surgical instruments with her. She sits down on the toilet and opens her jacket, the cold sterilized air making her shiver. She takes the scalpel and tweezers, she makes an incision on her torso. The blood from the cut sliding down her stomach as she forces the tweezers into the cut. She hisses and bites her bottom lip as she moves the tweezers around and deeper until the touch a foreign object. She takes a moment to breathe and the instrument clasps around it and pulls it out quickly. 

She coughs and wheezes for a moment, a bullet casing shining in red greets her. She almost wants to vomit, not that anything would come up. There's red painting her torso now, moreso than there was. It slips onto the floor like a water fall, the white now a eye-catching crimson. 

She bends forward, her head on her knees.

The bullet clacks to the floor. There's white at the edges of her vision as she listens to the light of the bathroom make a subtle noise. 

There should be an easier way to do this herself, she muses. It makes her sick that she even has to do this at all. Why couldn't she go back to the childish guilt of entering her friends home with a black eye in hopes to get into her bed to lay there comfortably. She misses those calm moments, she wasted them indefinitely.
Robert
Anja makes a sharp inhale as they push into the operation room. If there was no confirmation about her hand, there was now. She swears in a non-existent voice.
There went that arguing point.

Further and further of operation rooms, they make a stop.
She crouches down to the level of the other woman, letting her remove old coverings, wrap, and bind her damages.
A sharp exhale is let out, not on purpose. Just, she is surprised of the worthiness for her treatment still.
She looks up to Amelie, watching her focus on her hands. She would rather watch her before looking at her work. She would just put herself into another cycle of hate.

Almost with a blink, Amelie has up and left to the bathroom, surgical tools in hand. She makes a noise to protest, but it falls on wooden doors.
It wasn't something Anja should see.
She just hoped she came back out soon. If there was anything Anja hated about hospitals, it was being alone in one.

The ambient hum in the hospital makes her fidget. She looks to the bathroom door more than she likes. She lightly picks at the bandaging. Trying to think of something to do to wait.
How long is too long? Hospitals don't often have windows in their bathroom, right? She wouldn't do such a thing.
Coughing comes from behind the door.
She sighs.

It has been too long, and she's getting ready to tear at the edges of the bandages.
She stands up, looking to the bathroom door.
She knocks. Not sure what type of answer she'd be expecting.
Myra
Bullets fit for a tyrant scatter beneath her. She certainly feels like a tyrant, is she a fool? Is she a menace to life itself. Those are what she has been thinking about over and over like a broken tape. 
It is not like she has been helped with such a matter. The things she has pulled out of her chest only cements it so. 

She can feel the strings of her neck forming together, how it thrums in her ears like a heartbeat. Her skirt is now soaked in blood that she'll never be able to get out. She takes to and pulls it off, she reaches around the bathroom for something to wear and finds a hospital gown. She's worn them too much for her liking but beggars cannot be choosers, especially when it isn't their fault. 

She puts it on after taking off her jacket and immediately shivers, she quickly puts her jacket back on. She feels ashamed without it. That isn't quite normal is it. She feels like something in the eyes of a god, something scorned something hated. But, she has no right to that feeling. 

That hatred festers, she can now see her legs. How bone protrudes out of them even after some years of that event happening. She hates it, she hates how she sees herself and how she is seen. But she cannot change that. She won't. 

A knock comes to break her out of her stupor. 
Anja. 
She steps over the pool of metal and red and opens the door. She puts a hand to Anja's shoulder to push her back gently and steps through to close the door after. She raises her hand to sign, she has her cane in the other. 
'*Unless you want to see bullets, blood, and bone. I advise not going in there.*'

She threw away the shirt into a bin that was conveniently in that bathroom. She moves past Anja and to the door to the halls. 
'*Also...*'
A pause. 
'*If you do not wish to answer to that doctor, I suggest we leave.*'
Robert
Anja holds her breath as the door opens.
...This was not something she should look deeply into. A curtain to be left closed, for both the girls sake. Curiosity was not to take over the mind. This was something Amelie wished to be left to only her own burden, and Anja would not intrude into these depths.
She gives her the space to maneuver to the door without pushing past.
She nods grimly, not sure what Amelie was signing, but the look in her face told her enough. It was time to go.

They both step out to the hall, Anja heeled right behind Amelie. The hospital was still unfamiliar to her. A maze of beige walls and white tiles. She wished she never became familiar with it.

The girl looks off to the side, lost in thought. She wish she understood why she was even considered worthy of this... Attention.
Amelie has intent on having limited time to, well, deal with others.
So why her?
What was Anja worth?
Ever since the moment Amelie mentioned that despite her social pleasantries, she still felt socially isolated, Anja has had a fear bite into her heart.
A fear that she is only the same.
Perhaps she isn't? Perhaps this might be a part of this grand test?

She has to stop focusing on herself.
If only she could ask her something. Anything about her. Something to show that she wasn't wanting to leave her to deal with her night on her own. Something to show she didn't have to do so. She exhales a raspy breath. Her voice still feels lost. Perhaps not even physically right now.
Neither of them can speak in a shared language right now. Both stuck voiceless by their nights events.
She shakes her head.
Exhaustion is starting to close its grasp around her, and yet she keeps walking
All she can do is keep walking.
*Atleast out of this damn hospital.*
Myra
They set off, Amelie taking her cold hand and settling it back into Anja's own.

The halls pass them by, their sleek white making her nauseous as she passes it by. She feels more safe when covered in blood than in the halls of a hospital, that's demented. She dosent feel human, despite Pernilla saying she is. She has never felt human from the second she was born. 

She feels her lips purse, she always consistently felt like an omen of ill.

She passed the doctor, she can feel the glare in the back of her head. She feels bad for that doctor, how she has may brought harm onto them. Hurt them. She feels a cough climb the walls of her throat. She wheezes as it tears from her throat, she covers it with her hand. She knows she didn't do a good job of getting anything out, she's still just a teenager. She can feel the blood coating her hand. 
She can't feel the air, she feels frictonless from reality for a moment. Her hold on Anja's hand turns bruising for a moment. 

She almost hits a wall, she stops from doing so with her arm and continues on. She dosent know why she wishes to go so fast, she hates the hospital.

All she gets is a headache that feels like it's trying to split her head into some kind of bone-made flower. The feeling of her eye being torn slowly from her body, she remembers screaming and still trying to scream even when her throat no longer spoke. Tearing at anybody who got close. The head the feeling of muscle twisting and ripping from being strained too far. 

She keeps her head to the floor, lest she vomit at the sight of the hospital lights. Not that there would be anything to heave. 

She feels the cold air and she dosent even breathe. She keeps her mouth shut because she feels like if she opens it she's going to lose all structure she has right now. She hates hospitals, she hates the feeling of being operated on. She hates feeling like being stuck between the clouds and the depths of the ocean. It's sickening. 

She dosent make sure Anja is with her, she knows her hands are shaking just a bit. She needs to reign herself in she needs to be better. She needs to take her medication and lay awake in bed and beg for death when it takes her to make it painless. 

She also really needs to say sorry, to Anja mainly. Perhaps others. She shudders and finally breathes. She tries to keep herself steady but her vision feels like warbled lines, shattered by glass that maybe was from a glass or a window. 

Did she break something. She broke a lot of things. She feels like she's being rubberbanded between the hospital and her old home. Her vision is flashing into angles that shouldn't be possible; images that slide together seamlessly by don't and clash together in bulbous noises of nails on glass and voices twisted with anger. 

She needs to leave this place, she needs to leave. She feels her step falter and she's leaning against something. Her vision lurching like tree limbs in a windy storm. 

This happens too much for Amelie's comfort. It's getting annoying.

She closes her eyes and waits for a moment, begging that whatever she is leaning against just stay still for another moment. Just until she can piece herself back together for a moment.
Robert
Interrupting Anja's unasked questions that haunted her mind, Amelie's hand meets hers once again. She hopes these interruptions happen again, at a more favorable time.

Interlocked fingers meet again in a hurried state. Both of these girls need out of this hospital before it becomes the end of them.

She looks towards Amelie, seeing her sight match a familiar doctor.
She scowls, hate piling further from the look they give her. As they rush past, Anja's free hand tenses.
The doctor begins to sweat, vision blurring. The lights feel like they became brighter and brighter. Perhaps they've not been keeping track of their intake of water this shift? They sit press their hand against the wall, trying to hold themself up.
Someone should check the thermostat in here. It feels like their burning up.

Perhaps one feels bad for this doctor, but there is no remorse in this course of action. No matter the worse of their patients, they don't deserve to find such an open hatred towards their patients. She continues to focus on making this doctors shift more miserable than it already was.
Until of course, Amelie's grasp becomes too strong for focus. Anja winces, looking over and dropping concentration on her vengeful path. Did she realize what she was doing?

A catching from the wall informs her.
Their hands release from eachother as she reaches for Amelie's face, something to get her attention off of the hospital. A bone quickly juts towards her hand, protesting her action. A hiss comes from Anja as a burning sensation comes from the fresh gap in the bandaging of her hand. Just a graze, thankfully. She slows, pressing against the line of crimson on the side of her hand.

She still hasn't come to terms with their nature. How does a power have such a hateful personality to its host? How does this go day to day? She looks back up and gasps as Amelie starts to tilt away from the wall. 

To hell with it, the bones could throw as many fits as they please. Anja catches back up with her and wraps her arms around Amelie. They both stop as the woman shakily leans into her hold.
Anja tries saying something. Her voice is still lost. She wasn't even sure if Amelie would be able to hear her either way.

Their warpath out of the hospital can wait for a moment.
Myra
Amelie knows and thinks about every moment, how she wants her name dashed across the dirt the corpses of those whom did her wrongfully, lay so peacefully. She wishes them to writhe eternally. In turn, she went to churches and places of holy ground for an once of hope. She had received nothing. Some sort of sin her mother said, that she was a sin an omen. 

She thinks about the moments of her mother- Vanessa's hands wrapped around her throat, determined to end her daughters life there. 
*Why was it so easy for her to just do so?* 
What had she done to warrant it. She felt as though her entire body was dissolving once more. She loathe to think that after all this time she was worth nothing at all.

She felt arms wrap around her, she melted like wax against a flame in a second. She felt arms around her. 
Before her eyes could open her arms swung up and grabbed what she thinks is shoulder and tries to rip this person from her. She felt her eye snap open and her vision coming into focus like a dying lightbulb. 

"*A-Ah*?"
She tried to speak but it came out garbled and split from her throat. It felt like there was tar that breathed and melted together in her lungs and mouth. Bones that ripped from the left side of her face in a twisted red form of chaotic branches.
She stopped trying to rip Anja from herself and put her arms on Anja's chest and gently pushed her off. Taking Anja's arms and pushing them away, she stepped back.

She felt the frown etch across her face. She shouldn't have done that. By the gods, Amelie would rather scatter her brain onto concrete than hurt Anja again. They're out of the hospital. They'll have to wait for a bus or they'll just have to walk back to the cradle themselves. 

She avoided looking at Anja's face all together. She felt guilty, as she always seems to when taking touch away from Anja. It wasn't her fault. She just didn't want to see Anja hurt.
Robert
She had her. Anja wouldn't let Amelie go down. *Not this time.* She was cold. But like meeting an open flame she melted into her arms.
If only this wasn't a horrible time. If only she could actually reflect on this moment.
She had no time to.

She held her breath, bracing for some type of retaliation from Amelie's power. But there was no sharp, burning pain, not this time. 
She exhales as Amelie steadies herself on the ground they stood on. Perhaps she was doing better?
As Anja looks up, a hand feels around, starting at her face. She blinks, trying to understand whats going on. Amelie then finds what was Anja's shoulder pushes her away from her.

Anja is stunned, to say the least. She backs away to give her the space she is needing. What did she do wrong? Was this too much? She tries to wipe the hurt look off of her face as Amelie comes back to the situation at hand.
Maybe she should've been less hovering over this. The full hold was too much.
A gentle hand pushes Anja fully off from Amelie. She nods in understanding.
She shouldn't be this hurt by this, why was she so upset? God. She wanted to just lay down.
Following her outside she quickly readjusts to the chill of the wind, a light shiver was all that responded to the cold.

It was probably too late for the buses. She steps towards the main street, where she is familiar. Looking towards Amelie. She does that too often, really.
Always looking at her, trying to see what she was looking at. Hoping that she was looking at her, possibly.
She felt foolish all over again. Looking away she raspily exhales again.
She just wanted to see Amelie again. To let her know she could confide trust into Anja. 
Now she stands at the sidewalk wondering how the night turned into this.
Myra
Amelie stood, facing away from Anja. She felt suffocated in the walls over her mind. She could not think correctly, if at all. 

*Why*, would Anja do such a thing? To risk danger, let alone death for something so simple. Amelie is frightened at the mere image of crimson sliding down bone that isn't her own. Watching and still with shock over a body impaled. She couldn't do it again. She hated remembering the blurry image of Vanessa's face, twisted with scorn venomous enough to reduce gods to but a shriveling mess. 

If she had done the same now? 
Bones writhed and carved caverns into her muscle at the mere prospect. 
She would tear herself apart, as she has done so many times before. 
Yet she felt guilty, a confused and whirlpool-like sorrow that threatened to watch away at her walls just enough for them to fall so easily. 

Why had she pushed Anja away like she was nothing? She didn't deserve death, but she didn't deserve to be torn away so uselessly. 
She wanted to turn to Anja and speak her woes, yet she has listening to them so many times before. Does she know? Will she listen? 

Amelie looks back to Anja once more after minutes pass them like a winters breeze on a warm day. She points to the direction of where the cradle is. 

She begins to walk by herself. Not fast, not like how it was. Amelie wanted Anja to catch up.
Robert
Anja presses on the thin line of blood on the side of her hand.
It wasn't a thought-out decision. It was impulsive. She knew that she would've been fine, but... She couldn't watch Amelie fall. Not when she was there to do something. Seeing her fall only reminded her of the day she stepped out of the stairwell. Staring at a pile of raging bones punishing two for the crimes of others.
Her body shivers at the thought of what could've happened. Her hands shakily end their communication with another. 
 
Amelie wouldn't be at fault for it. Anja knew how dangerous her decision was. How fatal it could've been. She just wishes that in those few seconds, time had stopped. Just so they felt longer. She looks back up to Amelie, her heart justifying both of their actions. 
Of course, she pushed her away so quickly, for she was just worried about both of their safety. It was easy to find the reason in her actions, when you look for it.
 
Foolish warmth crosses her face as she looks up to her. She nods to her friend. 
She wishes she could say her mind. To tell her that it was okay. To tell her to fight against that guilt about her. 
Another day.
 
She follows, by her side. Her shaking hands settle with each step towards the cradle.
Myra
Amelies hand, empty: it reached out beside her. The back of it looking moreso like a spiders web with how there was bones beneath skin. 

She felt her fingers tease Anja's hand open. Boney, cold fingertips opening clenched fists. One bloodstained hand into a clean one. Amelie let her pinkie finger curl around Anja's tightly as they get closer back to that cement cradled hellhole. 

She finds herself not wanting to let go.