She was a rose in the hands of those who had no intention of keeping her.
— Rupi Kaur
She turned around and glanced into the wall length mirror, something she hadn't done in a very long time. She started at her feet, averting her eyes from her own face. Her feet were bony and thin, like the rest of her body. She lets her gaze rise up and she took in her whole body, wincing at the emaciated figure that stared back at her.
What had she let herself become? She felt like a hollow shell of her once plump and vibrant self.
What happened to me? She whispered softly, wrapping her now thinner arms around her stomach.
There comes a time when you can't fight anymore because it hurts too much. There comes a time when you'd give up anything, everything to make that pain go away even if it's just for a split second.
It's the pain that's too much to cope with, too hard to deal with and so misunderstood. She tries so hard but just can't escape it no matter how hard she tries, because it follows her around like a black shadow that's on the inside, eating her.
Pain isn't just a dream. It's an actual nightmare.
She was alone.
She cried slowly, with tears dripping down her cheeks and the soft hum of her own voice echoing throughout the room.
She knew that she existed and breathed.
It was as simple and beautiful as the strumming of a guitar. Yet, she knew she meant nothing to anyone.
She was alone, sinking deeper and deeper within her own music.
The rest of the world could be seen, drifting farther and farther away as teardrops made up her ocean.
They fell into her parted lips and stuck to her eyelashes.
She could even taste them, rolling down her parched throat.
She was alone.
She had lost herself.
The feeling is strange; too familiar yet too strange. She never knew how to define it. She wanted to smile, laugh along with everyone but something in her grabs her heart tight, crushes it to pieces. The brightness inside of her is gulped by something dark. No, she would be wrong to say it is dark — it is empty, nothing else.
Her only companion is the bottles of Ambien tucked away in the medicine cabinet.
They had been her friends for the past four weeks. They had been her only dependable friends, there morning, noon and night. They were there for her when no one was else, when no one else cared.
Just one more time, she heard her voice, that sounded even foreign to her own ears, whisper.
One last time, she promised.
With shaky hands she reached for the half empty bottle of Ambien.
She fumbled with the little white pill, her mind already clamouring for the pain relief to come. It isn't that her suffering was acute, more that it never leaves unless she sleeps. Those pills are little trap doors into moments of bliss, a few hours of tranquility.
"Does Jane look a bit thin to you?" Zapata asked, keeping her eyes locked on her plate. It had been roughly two months since Jane returned. They still weren't on the friendliest of terms but she had to be the bigger person, she had to swallow her anger for the sake of the country they vowed to protect.
She wasn't just thin, she was scary thin. Her clothes were layered and loose to hide the bones that jutted out. But it was so clear just looking at her cheekbones and the skinniness of her hands, that her coworker and former friend had been starving herself.
Zapata allowed her eyes to glance over at Jane, who had been hunched over at her work station, tapping away randomly on her phone.
Zapata pushed her plate away, appetite suddenly gone. She wondered how far her friend was from needing hospitalization and how far she was from organ failure.
"She does," Patterson agreed nodding slightly.
Sighing, Kurt pushes his eyes up to meet Zapata's sad expression.
"Jane's a big girl she can handle herself," he told her gruffly.
"We can't keep punishing her," Zapata said loudly. She glanced around quickly to make sure no one had heard her before she continued in a quieter tone, "she tried her best."
"Obviously not her best since Shepherd got away and she erased the only evidence we had against Sandstorm."
Roman wasn't like Jane was when she first crawled out of that bag. He was more closed off. He didn't talk to just anyone. Except somehow Tasha had broken through his shell. He'd talk and smile with her like they were old friends.
"He's her brother. She just wanted to save him," Tasha defended hotly, throwing daggers at Nas.
"I think you're letting your little friendship with Roman cloud your judgment. He's a crim—"
"Enough!"
Everyone including Jane turned to look at Kurt. His outburst was so abrupt.
Without any explanation he rose to his feet and walked over to where Jane sat. Her expression remained nonchalant but her insides were screaming at her to get up and move out of his way but she couldn't seem to get her legs to move.
She sat rooted in place until he hovered over her, blocking her everyone's view.
"My office. Now." The way the vein in his neck bulged told her that he was not messing around and she should try to obey his every command.
Sighing, she picked up her phone, tucking it into her back pocket and forced herself to take a stand.
She walked quickly, trailing behind him. She almost had to jog to keep up with him.
"Nice going, Nas," Tasha said in clear annoyance. Reade shook his head and returned back to his meal but he was on high alert in case Jane or Kurt needed him.
Kurt pushed his way into his office and went straight to his mini refrigerator.
"Whiskey?" He asked Jane, pouring a glass for himself. She declined.
"How's Roman?" He asked, pointing to the empty chair with his thumb.
"Roman's okay."
A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye, his mouth formed a rigid grimace. With arms folded tightly across his broad chest he tapped his foot furiously and all the while stared at her intensely.
Sweat glistened on her furrowed brow as she slowly made her way over to the chair.
"Is he settling in okay?"
Jane nodded before realizing he was waiting for a verbal response.
"He's fine."
Kurt watched her carefully. Sadness filled those green eyes and being this close to her made him see how right Zapata was. She was visibly thinner and her skin took on a sickly pale colour. He unfolds his hands and lets them drop, leaning across the table getting closer to her.
"Are you okay?"
She curled her long fingers into her palm and looked towards the exit, nervously picking at the invisible lint on her pants.
"I'm fine," It was barely a whisper. If he wasn't that close to her he would've missed it.
"I should probably go check on Roman."
He wanted to comment on her appearance. He wanted to ask if she was eating alright. He wanted to know about her sleeping habits. He wanted to know all of this but at the same time he wanted to believe nothing was wrong. He wanted to believe that she was just keeping her distance because the guilt was eating her alive but if Tasha noticed something about Jane they should all be worried since Tasha hardly paid the tattooed woman any mind.
He gave her a sharp nod and she bolted out of the chair so quickly, almost falling trying to get away from him or away from the enclosed space. To some it would seem like the same thing.
Jane found herself running down the halls, not caring who saw her or looked at her like she was crazy. She had only thing in mind. She needed to get to her locker right now.