ten

learn to swim while drowning


It is far past midnight and snow falls from the sky in heavy, icy sheets that cling to Ella's hair, her face, her neck. She isn't wearing a coat, hasn't even given a second thought to the chill seeping through her sweater and her boots. She focuses only on walking, keeping Raven tucked close to her chest as the wind blows, whipping snow into her eyes.

The snow stings, but Ella is already crying.

She's been crying for a while.

"The next left," comes Raven's subdued voice and Ella complies with the directive. She's not really in the state of mind to be getting herself where she needs to go right now - and if she's being honest, she hasn't be in the state of mind for some time now. Almost a month. Probably more than that.

How long? How long has she done this - pushed people away before they could leave her, or let her opinions of people drop so drastically at the drop of a hat? She's always been angry, but she's also always had things to be angry about. Just - it isn't normal, is it, that her anger is so long lasting? That the guilt and confusion and question of her identity all swirl so completely - overpoweringly, even - inside her? That she's self-destructive and impulsive and self-isolating?

Ella isn't normal, is she? And not even for the obvious magic-related reasons.

"It's just up ahead," says her familiar.

Ella nods, pushing past the numbness crawling up her legs. She can see the distinctive blue paint through the snowstorm and something in her cracks - a fissure that results in weakened knees and her magic surging outward. Ella tugs on that familiar calm blue lifeline as she stumbles up to the porch, leaning heavily against the front door.

Raven wiggles from Ella's cold-fingered grasp, swooping down to the hardwood just as the door opens and Ella collapses forward - right into Carlisle's warm, safe arms.

"Ella? Ella, love, what's wrong?" he murmurs, guiding her inside. He doesn't flinch when her shivering arms clasp around his neck, holding her face to the crook of his neck - he smells of green tea and old books and safety.

She sobs brokenly, a unschooled release of pent-up emotions that she's been bottling up and ignoring for weeks, months, years. Every insecurity, every fear, every scar on her heart is let out into Carlisle's ugly sweater and all he does is hum at her soothingly, running his hand over the back of her head over and over again.

"'m so sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I-" Ella breaks off, air tight in her lungs. She's crying so hard that it's difficult to speak, let alone breathe.

"Calm down. Breathe in, one, two, three, four. That's it, deep breathes, love," he coaches gently. "Now, breathe out, count to eight. In. Out. There it is. That's a good girl, Ella."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Carlisle hushes her softly. He does not let her go until her rib-wracking sobs have calmed to a more manageable hiccups. He pulls back only far enough to wipe his thumbs beneath her eyes, frowning at her with deep concern. "You've nothing to be sorry about, Ella."

She shakes her head, still crying. It's like she's leaking, or something. She can't seem to stop now that she's started. "But I do," she tells him. "I have so much to be sorry for. I'm - I'm not…"

"What is it? You can tell me, Ella. You can always tell me."

Ella bites her lip, the words on the tip of her tongue. And it's so hard to say it, but she does, stuttering through that nagging thought that's been growing ever since Alice read her a gentler version of the Riot Act.

"Carlisle? I'm…There's something w-wrong with me. In my head. I'm not right. I'm not - my mind isn't normal and I'm not right and I don't think I've ever been right." She stares at him with watery eyes, a wrenching in her chest when realization dawns on his face. "I'm not okay. I'm not."

"Oh, Ella." He hugs her close again. Always so goddamn supportive and understanding and normal.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispers brokenly. "Why am I like this? I don't want to be like this - I don't want - there's something wrong with me, Dad."

"We'll get you sorted, my darling girl. I promise."

And Ella believes him.

(This is the first step - she's been drowning for so long but now it's time to swim.)


A/N: *wilts* Part 4 is officially done, except for the interlude. Or interludes? Still deciding which perspectives are relevant to the next arc. But the good news is that we're through the messy coping habits, so we've found our way through the darkness.

As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.

~cupcakeriot