RECOVER
chapter 2

by Pseudonym P


Elsa found herself a regular at Burgess Brew a month later. With the West Library still being in repair (seriously, what kind of pipe blew up to cause that kind of damage?) and Old William still giving her nervous chills even by the mere thought of the place, she couldn't find anywhere else to go.

Burgess Brew proved to be a nice, comfortable place to do school work in for hours on end, with it's soothing scent of coffee and the low hum of customers' conversations kept at a polite volume. And the place was never crowded—granted, some days made her want to run and hide due to the sheer volume of people, but it never burst at the seams. Not like Old William.

Halfway through her paper, she yawned and stretched, lightly bringing a hand to scratch at her neck. Her eyes drifted to the window.

They flashed with interest as she spotted a familiar platinum-haired boy with jovial blue eyes.

The clock on her laptop blinked. 5:43.

She placed her chin the palm of her hand and observed him.

Elsa found herself a routine in the past month that she had been frequenting this particular coffee shop, and that was enter, order, settle, work, stare, get back to work. Coming in at around four, she had ample time to work on work her professors assigned before the Passerby came to, well, pass by.

It was a name she bestowed upon him after the fifth consecutive day she saw him at the same pedestrian at around the same time from the same place where she sat. Elsa recognized him as the boy who pulled away the little girl—who she assumed was his sister, since they passed by here together often enough—the first time she had been here.

It wasn't hard to recognize him—his ghostly hair made sure of that.

She supposed she was being creepy with watching him and all, but to be completely honest, she just happened to be looking outside the first few times and found him there all those times. The glances that followed were merely… curiosity.

He never looked at her, of course. He was trapped in a sea of bustling people, sometimes alone, or with his sister, or a little boy (his brother, maybe?), or a rowdy group of guys—which she assumed was his circle of friends. Elsa's lips curled at the edges whenever she witnessed any of their silly antics. It must be fun.

Like she did almost everyday, she stared at his retreating back as he dissolved into the crowd.

Elsa glanced back at her laptop screen, the abrupt end of the sentence glaring up expectantly at her. She yawned again and saved her work and tucked away her laptop. The paper wasn't due for another two days anyway.

Elsa packed up and exited the café ("Thanks and come again!" she heard from the counter). She was almost at the bus stop when her phone vibrated.

From: Idina

Please pick up Pop Tarts. Smores. Thanks

Elsa grinned at the message and made a mental note to pick up Pop Tarts for her roommate, but saw two missed notifications.

1 Missed Call From: Anna

From: Anna

Elsa I need to talk to u. Call me ASAP ty

Elsa stood near the building instead of the middle of the street as she took deep breaths to calm herself. Not in public, not in public.

The blonde steeled herself as she entered the nearest convenience store and deli, trying to calm herself down as she bought her roommate's Pop Tarts. The cashier seemed to be focused on everything else but her as she prattled on her phone, and Elsa was grateful.

To: Idina

Got them.

The ping! came a few seconds after Elsa pressed SEND.

From: Anna

Elsa, pls pls PLS call me. ASAP.

Elsa took a seat at the deli area and immediately dialed for her sister. It went through after half a ring.

"Elsa!" Anna's voice sounded muffled.

"Anna," Elsa answered worriedly, "Anna, are you okay?"

"You were right," Anna cried from the other end. "Hans is a jerk! He's a jerk and a liar and a butt face! He only partnered up with me because he wanted an A."

Elsa wanted to correct her and say that No, I never said Hans was a jerk or any of those things, but cold relief washed over Elsa like a tidal wave, so immense that she should have felt guilty for it. Especially because Anna was obviously bawling her eyes out on the other end. "Oh, Anna, it's okay—"

"I hate him!" Anna cried, wails crackling through the earpiece. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"

"It happens, sweetie," Elsa tried to coo, but all she heard in response were mangled cries of despair. It sounded similar to a dying cat.

"I don't want to go to school anymore!"

Elsa sighed. "You know that's not going to happen, Anna."

"I don't care! I hate him!" Anna cried again, and all Elsa felt was stacking guilt atop her immense relief. She let her sister cry on the other end of the phone, while she murmured words of comfort.

Minutes later, Anna had calmed down and has said goodbye. Elsa had hung up and stared at the black screen. She probably should feel bad for Anna, but her sister was too naïve for her own good.

Her phone ping!-ed, a message flashing on the screen.

From: Idina

Mission accomplished. Return to base

Elsa sighed and tried not to feel bad. Mission accomplished, indeed.


Elsa looked up from the book she was reading when the door opened. "Hey, Elsa, are you—oh, shoot, right. You go home for the weekend." Idina shook out her damp hair as she closed the door. "Careful, it's raining pretty hard out there."

"Thanks." Elsa went back to her novel.

"When are you leaving?"

"Probably when the rain stops." She bit out of the Pop Tart in her hand.

Idina eyed it. "Is that the last one?"

"Nope, there's two more in the box."

Idina gave an exaggerated sigh of relief and shed her coat. "Oh, good. Those'll be gone by tomorrow." She flopped on to the bed, still fully dressed.

"Rough day?" Elsa supplied, and Idina simply groaned.

"Exhausting." Idina dragged the middle syllable longer than necessary. Silence hung in the air. "Are you going back to that café place soon?"

Elsa shrugged, eyes still trained on the book. The rhythmic tapping of raindrops on their dorm room window started to slow to a light drizzle and Elsa closed her book, deciding to leave before the rain got worse. She tucked it away into her bag and picked up her keys. "See you Monday," she told Idina, who replied with nothing but a thumbs up.

Elsa picked up her coat and thumbed at her phone.

To: Anna

On my way home! Expect me in an hour.

The train ride home was quiet, which Elsa appreciated. She arrived home not an hour later, and was poised to ring the doorbell when the door swung open.

"Elsa!" Anna almost screamed, blue eyes bright and smile beaming. She all but tackled her sister. "I'm so glad you're home!"

"I was home last Sunday, too," Elsa joked, but nevertheless hugging back. "Where are aunt Jen and uncle Chris?"

"Business trip, remember? They'll be gone for the whole weekend." Elsa nodded—the occurrence wasn't new to either of them especially because, ever since they took in kids, they had to work twice as hard to keep up the ability to put food on the table.

The blonde headed up to her room, neatly placing her bag on the desk. Anna trailed behind her.

"How are you, Anna?" asked Elsa, carefully. The redhead shrugged.

"I'm okay. Kristoff offered to beat Hans up for me." Elsa gave a droll grin at that. Of all the things that could be said about her younger sister, the first thing on the top of that list is completely dense.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Anna waved it off. "I told him he was being silly."

Elsa liked Kristoff. She really did. Her sister's best friend always left a positive impression whenever she came across him, ever since he and Anna were both twelve and he helped her up when she slipped from running in the mud and offered her his share of dessert when she ended up crying. Even more so when he wasn't playing in the mud in the first place, and that he was giving up his most favorite dessert in the world.

And now, both at seventeen, Kristoff kept looking out for her. His affection, Elsa noticed, didn't waver in the slightest.

Anna was talking now, but Elsa cut her off. "How's Kristoff?"

The redhead shrugged. "He's fine. I was really mad about the Hans thing. More than I was, actually."

"That's because he likes you," Elsa murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Anna threw up an eyebrow and Elsa shrugged. "You're over this Hans guy pretty quickly."

Anna scowled. "Well, he was a jerk. And jerks don't deserve to be cried over."

Elsa grinned at her sister. "Wise words."

"Right?" Anna replied enthusiastically, "Kristoff said that."

"Really," the blonde said, not really wanting a reply. She yawned. "Hey, I'm feeling pretty tired. I'll go nap for a bit."

"Oh." Anna's face fell, but she nodded in understanding. "Um, okay. I'll call you for dinner."

"Thank you." Elsa smiled at her sister, "Tell me more about what happened then." Anna smiled back and closed the door as she showed herself out.

Elsa's room was simple—her walls were a comforting light blue, her bed wrapped in pristine white sheets. White furniture sat at the corners, hardly touched ever since she moved out to live in the dormitories at UB. She took off her shoes and nestled into her bed, staring out the window.

She remembered the whole moving to UB. She wished she didn't.

She had stayed in this very position on her bed three years ago, trying to block out Anna's sobbing from all the way down the hall. "She's leaving me!" Anna had cried to her aunt and uncle, voice shrill and panicked. "Mom and Dad left and now she's leaving me!"

The trip to the campus really only took an hour, as it was in the next city over, but given everything that happened, Elsa felt like it light years away. Not three weeks after her parents' funeral, Elsa was moving out.

She welcomed the distraction, really. As she packed away her things, she dwelled on the fact that it was a fresh start. That she could think about other things. That she could move on.

Elsa didn't realize that while she was moving on, she was also leaving someone behind.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift to sleep, Anna's sobs from that day the soundtrack of her slumber.


When Elsa went downstairs, Kristoff was watching television in the living room.

"Hey, Elsa," he greeted from the couch. Marshmallow, their big, light-furred Labrador, was nestled comfortably at his feet. Elsa smiled.

"Hello, Kristoff," she responded politely. "How've you been?"

"Good. And you? How's college?"

Elsa shrugged. "I'm surviving." She looked around the living room. "Where's Anna?"

"She went to the bathroom."

Elsa situated herself in a nearby armchair and stared at the blonde boy. "I heard about what happened with Hans."

His expression darkened. "He's a jerk. He shouldn't have played Anna like that. She deserves so much better."

"She does, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," Kristoff nodded, this time looking at Elsa. "She's sweet and nice and pretty and kind and funny and passionate and amazing. Hans was an asshole for treating her that way."

"What did you do about it?" He sighed.

"Nothing. She didn't want me to do anything." He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, she's too nice."

"She is, isn't she?" Kristoff nodded in agreement. "She deserves someone better."

"Definitely," Kristoff answered without missing a beat.

"She deserves someone like you."

"She deserves someone like—Wait." Kristoff turned red, brown eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. "W-What?" He looked away. "N-No. No! No way. That's… that's totally ridiculous." He said the last part with a bit of despair to his tone.

Elsa smiled at him, even though he couldn't see it. "My sister may be dense, but I'm definitely not. I know you like her."

"Kristoff likes who now?" Kristoff yelped when Anna popped out of nowhere, making Elsa giggle.

"No one!" Kristoff practically screamed, bolting up and grabbing Anna by the arm, looking anywhere but Elsa's and Anna's faces. Marshmallow barked at the sudden movement and stalked away. "Hey, Anna, let's go to your room!"

"Um, okay—" Elsa giggled as her sister was all but dragged up the stairs. Marshmallow approached Elsa and laid his head on her lap. She stroked it affectionately.

"I know you like him, boy," she said to the dog, "Let's hope Anna keeps him."

Marshmallow just wagged his tail and opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out at her.


Elsa prided herself in having a steady sense of grace under pressure, but this was honestly just ridiculous.

Walking out of her political science class, she bumped into her roommate.

"Hey." Idina grimaced at the stack of papers in Elsa's arms. "Is that homework?" she asked Elsa, not bothering to hide her disgust. "The school year just started like, three weeks ago."

Elsa sighed and attempted to adjust the strap of her bag on her shoulder. It didn't work. "Unfortunately, yes. It's also readings for the finals."

The dark-haired girl eyed the room schedule near the doorway. "Ew—Weselton? No wonder you're in deep shit." Idina reached over and fixed Elsa's bag strap. "Literally and figuratively."

"Thanks," Elsa said to Idina, trying not to think about the workload she had to at least start tackling that evening.

"Am I waiting up for you?"

Elsa shook her head. "I'd rather you not—who knows how long this will take." Idina nodded in understanding and left Elsa with a polite good-bye.

"By the way," Idina mentioned before she was completely out of earshot, "The West Library is open again. A third of the books are soaked through, though, so you have a better shot at getting digital copies. Thought you might want to give it a shot."

Elsa thanked her and headed for the West Library, trying her best to ignore the sympathetic looks students shot her as she lugged around five pounds worth of reviews of the Constitution.

Four hours later, Elsa yawned and set aside the fifth handout, rubbing her eye to rid herself of her sleepiness. A smooth track in another language played through her headphones—the lack of understandable words usually helped her study, but right now it was just making her sleepy. She hit PAUSE on her MP3 player and glanced at her watch.

It was much too early to be calling it a day, but Elsa was honestly too tired to even care. She glanced around the well-lit library. She occupied a couch and table by herself, and while she would normally think that whoever did was rude, the library was barely occupied that there was so much room for anyone.

A handful of students littered the library's study hall, headphones plugged in and pens scribbling notes or fingers rapidly pressing keyboards. Elsa normally reveled in the silence, ready to conquer any amount of schoolwork that any of her instructors rolled her way, but she decided that she was away from the library far too long.

Elsa longed for the comforting smell of coffee, soft yellow lights and the light buzz of conversation instead of blaring white lights, hard desks and deafening silence.

She checked her watch again and watched the seconds tick by. It was a little half past eight, and going into town could happen—Burgess Brew closed at midnight, after all. She could get some work done, maybe even be more productive…?

Her eyes drifted over to the daunting stack of papers, and sighed. She grabbed her MP3 player and chose a track that was a little more upbeat, and then picked up her next handout. She rotated her wrists, highlighter poised in her fingers.

Homework, one. Elsa, zero.


Idina was fast asleep when Elsa returned from the West Library Study Hall. This was the fifth night in a row.

The more sociable of the two left a considerate post-it on the lamp of her night stand—Saved a Pop Tart for you just in case you were hungry, it read, accompanied by a smiley face—and the shiny silver foil of the treat glinted in the light.

Elsa picked it up and unwrapped it. Elsa was actually pretty hungry, she realized belatedly after her third bite, but the desire to get at least a B in political science does things to you.

She sat on the edge of her bed and chewed thoughtfully. Her eyes landed on her nightstand drawer, and before she realized she was doing it, she opened it and pulled out a small, familiar cream envelope. It was taped shut on the flap, barring anyone from opening it, and Elsa knew exactly why.

It had been advised, time and time again, that the best way for a PTSD patient to recover is to implement something called exposure therapy, where the patient is gradually exposed to the source of their trauma. If a person was traumatized by fire, they start by looking at it, then using it, and gradually go up all the way to lighting it. If you traumatized by an event that happened in let's say a bank, you'd work your way up into going inside a bank without breaking into sweat and crying your eyes out.

Elsa found out that no one really had any treatment for trauma that people caused you.

Sliding her thumb over the shiny tape covering practically half of the envelope, eyes seeing a blank piece of paper, but her mind was fully aware of every line, every curve—as if she wasn't seeing the envelope, but the photo itself.

The image was tattooed into Elsa's mind. She couldn't escape from it, not really.

Elsa remembered the words of her therapist. "Maybe you have something of your parents," he had said, smiling at her gently. "Something you can look at to remind yourself of them, of how they loved you. A photo, perhaps."

The second she laid her eyes on the photo later that night, she'd been a sobbing mess, hyperventilating all over the place. She couldn't do it. Not at the time, anyway.

And she grew to realize that maybe she never could.

She stuffed the photo in an envelope and taped it shut, hoping for the life of her that she could forget the significance of that envelope but she never brought herself to throw it away. Elsa brought it with her to university, instead.

Elsa felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. She put the envelope back in her drawer and tossed the half-eaten Pop Tart in the trash. She suddenly wasn't hungry.


to be continued