Disclaimer: Teen Titans isn't mine

I think the rating of this story needs to go up to 'M' for subject matter. I'll try to keep it clean of any explicit material, but since some of the thematic material is kind of not suitable for younger people, I'll do this for next chapter.


Time passes on flowing wings of wind. Leaves of autumn drift aimlessly through jaded sunlight and dusky twilight. Faded hues cast a soft blank amidst these metal spires and silvery planes. Long days transition into long nights, the slow march of life passing onward in never ending stupor. Life springs forth, a shimmering cascade of violet color and verdant life; it blooms rapidly, briefly, then sets on the eve of winter. Demure blossoms flower, then wilt, dying slowly in the quiet evening of fall. The night grows longer.

Darkness flits between phases of life, a muted shroud cast in passionless silence. The deep, bottomless worlds of dreams grudgingly give way to transient wakefulness in the gaudy light of day. The arc of the sun across the sky marks the struggle for consciousness, to ward off the eternal darkness of dreams and nightmares. The weeks and months pass. It is the same day after day. Boredom and lethargy pervade everything. I find no enjoyment in anything. The day passes into evening, and at the setting sun, darkness returns. Where the golden ardor of day lengthens into dark, cold nights, drifting leaves fallen in floating color shift to the barest flakes of snow, a pristine white meandering down from the sky. Sleep calls.

He comes to me in my dream. He's always there, watching me. I can feel his grip around my throat. I can feel the weight of his blows against me. The heavy weight of black nightmares seizes my body and refuses to let go. Each moment passes like an eternity in Hell. In the nagging depths of my subconscious, he is always waiting.

The aching chill of winter sets in. Snowflakes float through pale skies in aimless clusters. Drifting like clouds, empty and purposeless, lost souls wait as the cold throes of nightmarish illusion come to claim them again. The night is long. I'm alone. Sleep embraces me in its deathly repose. At the dusk of consciousness, crimson eyes bleed through the fabric of reality. Blood dyes white snow into sickly vermilion. He's there, waiting for me. In the depths of this hellish limbo, there's nothing else but him... and me. He comes closer. Dispassionate lethargy gives way to tepid tension. He's coming. The air stirs with restless anxiety. Fear...

Sanguine slits open in the darkness. The malevolent eyes of demons draw closer. Blackness grows thicker and heavier with soul-crushing hatred. It's suffocating. I can't... breathe. Two eyes fuse into one. The mask of the devil greets me from the pit of hell. Metal hands grab my arms. The searing hot burning of branding iron scorches my skin. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. I'm used to it. It doesn't really hurt.

...

Someone's calling my name?

...

Light and dark paint a mosaic patchwork in quiescent dreams. Darkness fades to silent repose with warm breaths amidst cold winter. Enraged lashes fade to hesitant, gentle caresses, touch of compassionate heat in frigid snowfall. Screaming, ranting voices quiet into soft whispers. The stench of stale beer mellows to the fragrance of white roses.

...

Rachel.

...

That's my name.

...

He's gone. I'm alone.

...

Light pierces the veil of perpetual darkness. Daylight breaks night's visage. Consciousness ends the blackness of nightmarish sleep.


"Rachel? You okay?"

Violet eyes opened into little slits. She felt a touch at her shoulder, followed by a quick gasp and hushed whispering.

"Yo Vic. Go on ahead. No, dude, I'm not in the mood to argue. She won't like it if she sees too many people 'round. Dude, go."

The freezing, dark haired girl curled up instinctively, her body trying to conserve heat. A warm jacket found its way over her shoulders and a pair of hands helped her to her feet.

"We're getting you home right now."

Her breath came out as an airy puff in the veil of wintry snowfall. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Your face is fuckin' blue already."

"Don't curse around me, please."

"Sorry."

Rachel squinted. Yep. It was him. Of course, it had to be.

Not that it was a bad thing, not really, but... he just didn't get it. Yes, even if there wasn't a lot of snow, it was damned cold out and falling asleep in that for hours like she had was bound to get her killed. Yes, it would have made some people somewhat sad to see a young girl like her die like that on the side of the street. What he doesn't get is that I don't care. Me dying won't make anyone particularly sad anymore. People will just lament it as a tragedy, then move on with their lives. I don't particularly care if I live or die. Why is he trying so hard to help me? I don't want it.

Rachel pursed her lips, not realizing that he was actually holding her hand; she was numb all over.

Father - Trigon used to leave me outside like this all the time. It's like that time... when he kept me out there with that man... no. No. Just... Garfield doesn't get it. I'm used to this.

He...

Faintly, she recalled that he had been talking to someone else. And, faintly, she realized that he was still talking to her, but his voice sounded distant somehow, as if he were speaking to her from behind a glass wall. She had trouble focusing her vision when she turned toward him.

"Garfield..." her voice came out softer than she would have liked. "Go hang out with your friends. I'm fine."

The green eyed boy groaned. She obviously wasn't paying attention to whatever he was saying. He wasn't going to get through to her with words, but luckily, she was also far too weak in her current state to even attempt to protest his help. Her clothes felt like they had been doused in icy water, freezing to the bone, and the skin of her hands was alarmingly cold. It felt almost like he was making contact with a block of ice, not another person. For once, she wasn't complaining him touching her either; in actuality, he was supporting much of her body weight with his shoulders, and to him, it was a little scary how light and thin she was.

As they approached her house, he glanced at the garden. There were still a few flowers here and there, but most of the remaining plant life was ivy and evergreen shrubs. At the edges, the little cold stems of hibernating plants hovered over wilted petals, hidden under the protective cover of still-green leaves. Closer to the center, however, there were still a few violet flowers blooming on the ground, their little petals darkly hued in little clusters [1]. It was a little weird that so many were still growing in the heart of winter, but then again, it was also strange that the ever-present carnation was still there as well. The vibrant, deep red gleamed in fiery contrast to the dark mauve of the surrounding flowers and the palest snow dusting over the garden. His eyes remained fixed to it for several minutes, the brilliant color somehow totally at odds with everything else, a single point of attention amidst the shadowy violet and walls of green.

Her soft coughing reminded him to move on. As he passed by, he threw a glance toward the corner of her garden that she never let him near. Curiosity bubbled up for a moment, but it would have been a gross breach of trust to disregard her words while she was practically unconscious in his arms. Tearing his gaze away, he set her down at the doorstep.

"Rachel. We gotta get you inside. You have the key?"

She tried to speak, but no sound came out. Her cold fingers fumbled at her side for a moment and she pulled out a little key. He slipped it out of her hand, put it in the lock, and after a bit of work, the door opened. Warm air enveloped both of them.

Garfield helped her to the couch and watched as she collapsed on it almost immediately. Rachel closed her eyes and rested her head against a soft cushion. He touched her hand briefly again, then felt a tiny way up her forearm. He had felt ice that was warmer than her.

Why would she even do such a thing? What kind of idiot would just stay outside in the cold winter for hours wearing nothing but a light jacket? Did she have a death wish? Or...

Studying the dark shadows under her eyes and the gaunt slope of her cheek, he realized it then. It wasn't for sure, but... maybe she had been trying to commit suicide? No. No way. She's...

The blonde haired boy's hands trembled. It's not like I ignored her. I tried to be good friends with her. She helps me study. We get food. We... the more he thought about it, the worse it got. I should have tried harder. She looks so sad. I should've made more of an effort to help. Even if I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable by getting too close... I knew... I totally knew something bad happened to her. But I didn't do anything.

She needs help.

"Don't look at me like that," Rachel murmured. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. You don't need to look at me like I have depression or anything."

Even with only the slight glimmer of her eyes through her lashes, he knew what she was trying to tell him. Don't pity me. It's not worth it.

"You wanted to die," the accusation spilled out before he could stop it. "I... we've known each other for a bit, right? We're decent friends. Why didn't you want me to help? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're wrong," Rachel intoned breathlessly. Her words held no force at all. "I was just tired. I... it's not like I was trying to kill myself."

Her mind wasn't working properly. Her excuses were only half-hearted, and even he could tell that she didn't really believe what she was saying. Curled up like that, her face pale and colorless, she looked cold and miserable. There was no way she had thought it was a good place to sleep. She knew exactly what she had been doing. Yet, in that state, there was no way arguing with her would be a good idea either. Her exhausted appearance told him that she had very little energy left.

"I'll make you something," Garfield spoke suddenly. "Just wait a few minutes."

It'd be good to make her something to eat, but I should probably give her a warm drink first. Maybe some tea. What'd she give me that one time? Lavender? That'll do.

There was a little kettle in her kitchen; he filled it with some water and while waiting for it to boil, looked in her fridge. Huh. She doesn't have a lot of stuff. Maybe she doesn't like cookin'. Well, this'll have to do.

A few minutes later, the blonde haired boy returned with a mug of tea, a jam sandwich, and some eggs. He put them on the table near the couch. Rachel opened an eye, shaking her head.

"Not hungry."

Her stomach disagreed rather noisily. Garfield groaned. "Here. Open your mouth."

He blew on the tea a bit and lifted it to her lips. She drank thirstily, despite her protesting words, streaks of warmth flooding through her body. It took several minutes, but eventually, the frigid chill pervading her body receded slowly as she regained sensation.

"Wait up. Let me get you more. Please eat something."

Garfield added a spoonful of honey to the second cup, and when he walked back over, he found her sitting up and nibbling a little at the sandwich, a tiny bit of color returned to her face. She murmured a quiet 'thank you' as he handed her the mug and promptly began warming her hands with the hot liquid. He sat on the chair across from her, looking out the window where the snowfall continued in an everlasting cascade. The haunting paleness of drifting white floated aimlessly here and there, blown about by the wind. Like falling souls, meandering around, they descended from the sky in a silent, unending march.

The sound of a plate moving brought him out of the vision and he looked down. She had eaten only half of the sandwich and a few bites of egg, but had already pushed the food away.

"Dude."

Rachel sipped at the tea. "I'm done."

"You have to eat more than that."

"Just thinking about food makes me feel sick," she muttered.

"Rachel. I know your appetite isn't good. Obviously. But people need food to function. You can't survive on tea alone."

She opened her mouth to protest, but reminded herself that saying such a thing rashly would do her no good. Sighing, she ate a little more to humor him, and then the sensation really did begin to make her feel sick, and she pushed it away again.

"I can't." At the look on his face, she sighed. "You know I don't eat a lot."

"... Fine. But you need to warm up somehow."

"I'm okay now." She brushed her fingers against his hand. Though she was still a little cold, it wasn't the deathly chill he had felt from her before. She offered him a little smile. "You didn't need to do that for me, but... thank you, Garfield."

"Rachel, you were gonna die if you stayed out there too long."

Her eyes told him that she didn't care. She realized it and looked away. "Why do you even care about me?"

"You'd rather I not give a sh- a crap about you?"

The dark haired girl sighed. "It's not that I don't like it. I'm really grateful to have someone like you look out for me. But just... why?"

"Because it's obvious something bad happened to you. I don't know what, and I don't wanna force you to tell me if you really don't want to, but I can't stand seeing you like this. I know we might've gotten off to a rocky start, but believe me when I say that someone like you doesn't deserve to be depressed like this."

"I'm not depressed," she intoned helplessly. "I'm not sad. I'm not unhappy." She whispered it like a chant, over and over under her breath.

"Rae. You've helped me with my problems a ton already. You've done a lot for me already. You've given me money, helped me in classes, and we both know you're the one leaving flowers for my mom and dad. You're really a nice person."

"Nobody's ever called me that."

"Nobody ever cared to get to know you."

She chewed her lip and remained silent at that.

"Look. I care about you. I want to help. I told you how much it hurts me to see people who're depressed, especially if somethin' bad happened to them. Or even... forget about that for one moment and think about all the things you've done for me. I've got to at least pay that back somehow. You gotta let me do something for you."

"You... already have."

"Saving you from freezin' to death under a mountain of snow doesn't count. That's a common courtesy from any decent human being."

She didn't respond. Her eyes were transfixed on something else; he followed her gaze and realized that she was staring at her own painting behind him, the one with the one-eyed man wearing an orange and black mask. At that moment, something about that fiery image was deeply unsettling.

"Ra... chel?"

Violet eyes squeezed shut. Something fought and fought to break out of her, but she refused to let it out. Hands trembling, she fought it down, only the slightest tightness at the corners of her eyes giving away the strain of keeping her face smooth.

Rachel opened her eyes a sliver. It would not go away.

Above her, between Garfield's face and her own body, a shroud of misty, grey darkness separated them.


Trance

Her mother's face appeared. A hand reached toward the dark haired girl. She instinctively responded, reaching forward as well, their fingers drawing closer and closer together. Time stopped. The background faded away, and she met the gaze of her mother's soft, violet eyes.

"Rachel. I've missed you."

Their fingertips met. At the point of contact, the woman's hand disintegrated into floating ash. Rachel's eyes went wide.

"Arella. Mother-"

Weak. Soft. That's all you are, daughter. You don't have what it takes to survive in this world. Miserable thing.

Malicious whispers rang through the air. Rachel held her hands over her ears. It did nothing to stop the insidious words.

Come now, Rachel. What use is there in trying to shut me out? I am the only person who can help you. I am the only person you have left.

"No. No, I have- I have friends. I have... I have people who care about me. Arella-"

Arella? Silly girl, not even your own mother cares about you.

"Yes she does!"

Tell me, dear daughter. If your mother truly cared about you, then why, in all these years, has she not come down here once to try to save you?

Rachel pursed her lips. How many years had it been? Nine.

Nine years in the hell beneath their house, and not once had Arella come down to check on her at the end of every night. It was only a slow crawl up the stairs, cold numbness, then warm arms around her body, soft words of encouragement, but that was it. Nothing else. Nothing to stop her from being dragged down into the pit of darkness come nightfall.

"Because you would have just hurt her too. You're evil! I hate you. I hate you!"

If you hate me so much, daughter, then come kill me. Do to me what I did to you. Look at me. If you truly hate me, then kill me.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "No."

The word escaped her lips in a breathless whisper. Laughter echoed in her head.

So soft. So weak. Such a fragile thing.

Her eyes flew open again as she felt something cold and metal being placed into her hand. Violet eyes shifted to the side as she saw the image of a gun in her hand. She stared back straight in front of her, where the grey shroud had turned into something pitch black, where the cloud of ash that had been her mother was instead the dark, malevolent shape of a man with crimson eyes.

A hard grip wrenched her wrist upward and forced her to point the gun at him.

Dearest Rachel, no matter how hard you try to escape it, you will always be daddy's little girl. Now, if you truly hate me that much, all the power is in your hands. Do it.

Rachel's finger tightened on the trigger. "I... I can't."

No? Perhaps a little encouragement is necessary. Your anger is a powerful thing, daughter. Use it well.

The vermilion eyes fused together. Beneath the plane of a split mask, a single eye stared back at her. The voice echoing in her head was smoother, almost drawling as it spoke to her.

Don't hesitate. Get it over with, girl.

Her hands trembled. She squeezed the trigger a little tighter. Her muscles burned with tension.

You know you want to.

"I... shouldn't."

Silly Rachel. So naive. This isn't about what you should or should not do. Girl, this is what about you can and cannot do. If you want to do it, and you can, then why do you still hesitate? Take the vengeance that is rightfully yours. Take the lives of those that you hate.

"It's not right."

Who cares?

She gritted her teeth. The air grew cold, as if she had been doused in freezing water. Momentarily frozen like a block of ice, she felt a little spark inside her. It was just a little, fiery heartbeat pulsating with quiet anger, snapping at her to pull the trigger and end her misery.

The bullet pierced the mask cleanly. As it did so, orange and black faded away revealing the horrified face of her mother dissipating in a longing flow of darkened ash.

Yes. Good, good! You're learning. There's still hope for you. Perhaps one day, you'll follow in the footsteps of your old man.

Arella disappeared into the monochromatic veil of tinted obsidian. Everything felt numb. The strength left everything but her arms. Violet eyes deepened gradually to opaque darkness. She raised the gun again and pointed it at the sanguine eyes above her. They narrowed.

You wouldn't dare.

She took a breath. He was right, really. She wouldn't. So, she pointed it at herself and-


Conscious

"Rachel... Rae, you're scaring me."

She blinked several times as her eyes brightened slowly into their usual violet color. Soft breaths fell from her frozen lips.

"You were talking to yourself."

"I... was?"

"Yes. You were talking about your mother. Well, it sounded like you were talking to her."

Misty eyes stared at his face. She felt cold, distant. She was responding to him, but somehow it felt like she wasn't there. The Rachel he normally talked to was gone, faded to somewhere deep inside her beneath the layers of black ice shimmering in her eyes. Garfield reached forward.

"Hey."

"Don't touch me."

Her words lacked force, but they also lacked grief. Her voice was cold and brittle, like crystalline flowers of ice. He remained in place, hand stretched just barely away from her face, waiting for her to respond.

The dark haired girl shifted slowly and grabbed the cup of tea on the table. It was cold. A frown touched her lips.

"Here. Wait one moment."

Garfield returned with a cup of fragrant, steaming liquid and handed it to her. She held it. Warmth spread through her fingers, and suddenly she seemed more aware again, streaks of light returning to the jaded mauve of her glassy eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"For what?"

She didn't bother explaining it. No. She couldn't? Rachel touched her lips, then met his gaze. Earnest affection bloomed in verdant color. Everything about him radiated warmth, from the deep color of his eyes to the flushed blood in his cheeks and the heat radiating from his outstretched hand. She looked away. I'm sorry, Garfield. I can't give you what you want. It would be better if you didn't care so much...

"I need to be alone."

He stared at her incredulously. "You're in denial."

"No, I'm not."

Their eyes met for what seemed like an eternity. The dark circles under her eyes were more apparent than ever, liquid amethyst cast in black shadow, sparkling demurely in amaranthine darkness. Her face was still - too still. The black veil of her hair and the streaks of her brows belied the pale mask of her face. In the frozen winter, time stopped as well.

...

Abruptly, Rachel gasped.

"I need to be alone," she repeated.

"I want to help."

"Then please go."

"You need someone here."

"Garfield. I think I can determine for myself when I need someone here and when I do not."

"I'm beginning to doubt that."

She pursed her lips. "We've been over this before."

He sighed. "But this time it's obvious."

"I need to be alone," it seemed to be the only thing Rachel could say.

Garfield sat back. He sighed. They had gotten into a fight about it before. Yes, she definitely had been displeased that he had just assumed what she wanted back then. But this time truly felt different. It truly felt like... like she needed someone. And yet...

Maybe reading people wasn't his thing. I'm not a mind reader, unlike her. Maybe if I stay, it'll get even worse. Maybe she really wants me to go. I mean... god, girls are complicated. I don't mean it's a bad thing, but it makes her really hard to help. I just... I guess I just gotta be patient with her.

"Alright. Just... remember to text me if you need anything. You promise you'll be okay alone?"

"I'll be fine."

"I'm only two blocks away. So don't hesitate to call if you need to. Okay?"

Rachel looked up and nodded. Her gaze never left him as he got up and walked toward the door. Her eyes shimmered a bit as the door closed, and she fought down a bead of disappointment. Still, she didn't move, not until daylight faded into the glowing hues of sunset and night began to fall.


Time passes on flowing wings of wind. Flakes of winter drift softly in boundless, ivory radiance. The world is cast in monochrome hues, where the sky gleams an iridescent white, our world is cast in drab grey, and the passage of time slowly fades all into utter blackness. Floating snowflakes march on, falling souls meandering aimlessly, alone and cold, deathly patterns of white ice. Black petals fall from the sky briefly, shattered under the stagnant descent of frozen tears. The black flower blooms briefly, amidst the perennial violets, then brightens to white in the ceaseless breath of winter. Daylight ends. The night grows longer.


[1] Geraniums are associated with gentility, melancholy, and friendship. Perennial Geraniums, as the name implies, live for more than two years, so you could also think of them as 'marking the passage of time', if that floats your boat.