You used to be naïve. Before the coffin, before Ell, before you learned to hate the world and all of its inhabitants.
You used to think Mattie was hateful for wearing a piece of her heart around her neck, rather than in her chest where it belonged. You thought her to be ruthless.
That was until the coffin, until Ell broke your heart, until Mother made you realize what betrayal felt like, and how bitterness tasted. When you awoke from the ground, stumbling your way onto a battlefield where you could tear and maim whomever you pleased because they were already dying, you were ready to give in to Mattie's belief system. You were ready to give up. You were ready to lock your heart away, and swallow the key.
You thought after that it'd be over. No more worries of being dead by morning when you engorged yourself so fully of blood you could barely see straight. No more fear of mother holding your eternity over your head. No more heartache.
You never thought you'd need your heart again. The feeling of something missing faded with time, like all things do. If you wait long enough, the pain of anything will die out.
You never thought you'd want to risk it all over again, not after almost losing everything. You thought this way because you hadn't met iher/i yet.
Walking into that dorm room was the closest thing to fresh air that you had had in a long time. Looking into those brown eyes was the first real feeling you'd had for decades. Tasting those lips caused a sea to swell in your chest, and your toes to curl in sheer bliss.
Laura made you feel again.
Suddenly the chain around your neck felt heavy, the metal biting into the back of your neck as it anchored you 3,000 feet below the surface. In order to survive you had to let go, so you swapped the metal for the sword and propelled yourself above water. You let go, your heart was intact once more, and you felt the familiar feeling of hope creep into your fingertips and ghost over your temples. You were fearful once more, and you liked it that way.
Then the bucket of inevitable cold water cascaded down over your head, and you could feel the nagging sewing it's way into your eardrum and the back of your throat. Ice snuck into your veins, and the blood on your hands was no longer just your own. The chain was no longer around your neck, but the stamp of approval burned its way into your skin, feeling the letters engrave into your bones, MARTYR.
You could feel the piece of your heart that had begun to weave its way back into a whole starting to shred, your terror evident beneath the cloaked animosity you had worked so hard to build.
Maybe a martyr wasn't the worst thing to be, the joker in the deck of cards, one for you, and one for the other you, who slept beneath the floorboards.
Maybe your chance at something more just became a little less, but you would do it all again if it meant that even for just a little while, you felt whole again.