My reflection stared back at me. Distraught and disappointed.
My weak eyes. My weak face, weak body.
Finished.
The opening of the medicine cabinet scared the hell out of me. It wasn't the first thing that did. It'll probably be the last. Maybe second to last.
Anti-depressants. Appropriate. Always expected it to be a Grimm, but nope. Prozac.
I have difficulty with those child proof bottles. I remember my oldest sister telling me:
"Just push down and twist, Jaune."
Just. Huh. That easy. I guess.
The click of the bottle. Thunder.
The emptying of pills. Chaotic.
I didn't count how many, but I was pretty certain it was too much…no. Just enough.
One pill down.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven
Eight.
Fourteen.
I got impatient.
Twenty six.
The empty bottle rang hollowly against the wall.
…I heard footsteps.
Hadn't bothered to close the door.
I stared inside the medicine cabinet.
Don't close it.
Don't close it.
Don't close.
Don't close.
"J-Jaune?"
DON'T.
I always was weak.
I closed the cabinet.
Behind me, in the mirror, wherever, frightened.
Pyrrha's terrified face, emerald eyes glowing with bright fear through an ever dissolving blanket of slumber. Her crimson hair like a billowing autumnal shroud. Her petite, soft, pale hand over her mouth, her other unsteadily reaching out, as if to grasp nonexistent hope.
Detail.
Reaching out.
Reaching out for what? Me?
But I'm gone.
I see myself in her eyes.
I'm here.
I'm here?
Her eyes cast down, then grow wider still.
The bottle.
Oh...oh, God.
My fingers nearly strangle my uvula with my force and swiftness.
Not today.