The noise jostles you awake immediately. It grows steadily louder until it's just a deafening ring, making your hands vibrate around your ears as they try to block it out. You glance around feverishly for your matesprit, and you find him on the floor. You suppose he fell out of bed and you crawl to the edge to get a better look at him. He looks disheveled and confused as his indigo eyes turn slowly to meet yours.
You ask what's wrong, but no sound comes to your aching ears. For a moment you're not even sure that you've asked, but you see his mouth move to respond.
Again, there's no noise.
Your hands have fallen into your lap now, away from the ears that you're straining in an attempt to pick up a sound.
Still nothing.
You watch his mouth move again, and your lips fall open in realization, a dumbfounded expression on your face. You see his eyebrows knot together in worry, his lips continuing to silently move. You watch his eyes widen in horror and dread settles in your chest. He stands, his hands on your shoulders as he shakes you. His mouth is moving faster, but still no voice. You can tell from the way his tongue is straining that he's yelling now. Screaming into your face and still shaking you as he tries to get some kind of reaction. Your eyes move up to catch his, and you see lavender tears falling down his face. His makeup is running with them, and they fall to the floor in a dark gray mess.
There are some rolling down your face too, but you're not sure when they started. His eyes are pained and he drops to his knees in front of the bed to pull you against his shoulder. He's sobbing against you now, and you wrap your arms around him to do the same. You still feel his lips moving against your neck, the same soft movement over and over.
He's apologizing, you realize.
He's screaming how sorry he is, his body shaking against you as his hands grip your skull through your hair. You close your eyes, causing more tears to fall out.
"It's okay." you whisper, hoping that it was loud enough for him to hear.
You did it to her.
You remind yourself of this as you listen to the panicked voices of your friends. They're rushing around you, trying to pry you off the floor. There's blood everywhere, thick and purple. It runs down your chin, some of it continuing down your throat and some of it dropping off to join the stain on your shirt. The colour has blended into the black, but you notice the purple jumps out at you from the white of the bones.
It's all over your hands too. Each fingertip is stained with the royal colour. In one, you hold a small spool of black thread, the other has a bloody needle.
You did it to her, and this was your repentance.
The voices around you grow louder as your vision hazes in and out. You see various colourful blobs turn into hands as they get closer, touching your face, your throat, feeling for a pulse and a sign that you're alive.
You are.
You don't deserve to be.
You hear a familiar yell. It's loud and piercing, and it cuts through your ears and weighs heavy in your stomach. She runs in and stops in the doorway, her long black hair curled behind her. You strain, trying to force your eyes to focus and not black out. The dull thumping in your ears grows louder and your head spins, but you finally manage to focus on her terrified face. She falls to her knees and crawls toward you, pushing everyone else away.
Tears are streaming down her face and you hear her scream why repeatedly. She's chanting it now, like some sort of mantra. You open your palm and let the spool roll out, raising your hand to cup her face. She looks at you, and you see your mangled reflection in those beautiful green eyes.
You smile, the threads pulling around your sore lips as they spread, causing you to wince a little.
She lowers her head to your chest, sobbing as her small hands cling to your shoulders. Your own hand comes up to weave into her hair, and you twirl a strand lovingly around your finger.
You've said how sorry you were to her so many times, knowing that she couldn't hear you.
You had to show her, so she would understand.