This one-shot takes place just after the solstice party in ACOFAS, and is my first ever ACOTAR fanfic, so please let me know what you think!
Trigger warnings- There are mentions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts in this story.
Drowning
Nesta slammed the door behind her hard enough to wake the lousy neighbours in the whole of the crumbling-god forsaken block as she stormed into the drab apartment, thoughts howling through her mind just as the snow-filled wind was howling through this utterly joyous, cheerful and choking city. This life was choking her. Her survival was killing her. And she could not breathe.
Leaning against the door for support, her thin frame slid to the floor as she focused on the cold seeping into her bones, the pangs of hunger running through her body and the pain of heartbreak rushing through her chest. Heartbreak over pushing those she loved away, protecting them from her, protecting them from this thing that was inside of her.
The thing that was spreading its icy tendrils of power through her blood as she fought for control over her emotions.
With a gasp, Nesta thrust herself from the floor, her frail body shooting forwards and hitting the wall opposite. A wall that was at least 5 feet away. Hissing and rubbing her shoulder, she staggered back, heading for the small room at the back where she slept.
Even her own body was working against her now.
Taking a deep breath, Nesta started to pull off her only respectable dress. She'd put it on to at least try and make an effort for Feyre, but the dress had hung limply off her frame. As she slowly undressed, her new fae senses almost had her gagging at her own scent.
Shame flooded her as she realised all the others would have been able to smell her misery at the party.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, forcing her mind to go blank. This trick sometimes worked. If not, there was always the bottle of alcohol stashed in the kitchen. That always drove the thoughts away for a little while.
She had to bathe. She had to try and clean herself up.
Stripping the remainder of her clothes, Nesta padded to the small washroom, standing in the doorway and eyeing the bathtub. It looked nothing like the Cauldron. There would be hot water. It was much bigger. She was choosing to go in. She was in control.
And yet her body did not believe her.
Reaching out a trembling, clammy hand, Nesta turned on the tap that would send hot water shooting out into the bathtub.
The sound of the water made her physically recoil into the corner of the room.
Breathe.
She had to breathe.
She was in control.
After a few moments had passed, she crept back over to the tub, slowly dipping her finger into the water.
"Fuck," Nesta swore as her fingers touched icy cold water.
Why did the universe hate her today?
Nesta usually bathed in boiling hot water, water so hot it burnt her skin. Burns that, had she still been mortal, would have taken weeks to heal. Instead, she just avoided people for a day or two, not hard when she didn't see anyone anyway, and the burns would clear up.
Sometimes she wished that they didn't, that they would manifest into vicious scars that would disfigure her skin, making people recoil as they would if they knew what was going on in her head. She wished the scars would show people just how much pain she was in.
But they never stayed.
Taking in yet another breath, Nesta realised she was going to have to get into the cold, shallow water. She was going to have to submerge herself enough to was her body, her hair. Why wasn't she strong enough to take a stupid bath?
Gathering herself, Nesta eased one foot into the water, grimacing as it lapped around her toes in a cold, smothering embrace.
"It's not the Cauldron," Nesta hissed, teeth bared and eyes clenched shut.
She repeated it over and over again, forcing her body to listen as she eased down into the water.
Flashes of that night came back to her.
Elain screaming as she was forced into the water.
The King's hateful laughter.
The looks on the Queen's faces as they saw the magic of the Cauldron.
Feyre's screams.
Cassian's broken body.
The scent of his blood.
The King's eyes.
Those hateful, grey eyes looked into her soul.
The eyes that looked into her soul now as her power awoke within her, roused by her churning thoughts.
Bursting from the water, Nesta clawed desperately at the edge of the tub as she dragged herself away from the water, her heart beating so hard it felt like it would come out of her mouth.
Scrambling into the corner furthest away from the bathtub, dragging herself by her fingers, Nesta took quick, shallow breaths as she fought against the churning emotions that were threatening to overcome her.
1 minute passed.
Then 2.
Then 5.
Then 10.
Half an hour later, Nesta was sat naked in a pool of water gathering on the floor, her skin raised and shivers racking her small frame. Was she cold? Or were they from terror?
Nesta didn't know anymore.
Taking what seemed like the hundredth deep breath, Nesta gathered her body, pulling herself off the floor and staggered to the kitchen. Knocking empty bottles over with her trembling hands, she grabbed the only solution she had to this problem. And took 4 large gulps.
Any second now, it would kick in. There would be a haze over everything.
Someday, she would need to learn to take a bath without the numbing effects of alcohol.
Today was not that day.
And she doubted tomorrow would be either.
Once the gentle lull settled over her thoughts, Nesta staggered back into the bathroom. Grabbing a washcloth, she dipped it into the water that no longer felt cold and began cleaning herself the best she could. No way was she getting back into the water.
Glancing in the small, dirty mirror she caught sight of her limp, dirty hair that would yet again not get washed. She had only managed to wash it twice since the... incident. Both times she had been so drunk it hadn't been safe to be near water, but the feeling of the water over her head...nope. Not going to happen unless she was so drunk she didn't know her name.
Staggering from the bathroom, she headed back into her room and pulled on a dirty dress. She needed to go out. Needed, not wanted.
The only place she could go, the only place that didn't have a fire, was a miserable tavern full of miserable people and miserable alcohol, but it was alcohol nonetheless. And she had no other option.
Just as Nesta had expected, the tavern was full of sweaty bodies, loud music and poor drinks. Sitting down at her usual stool that was positioned nearest the exit, Nesta nodded to the person behind the bar. She didn't need to order anymore, she was a frequent customer and they knew that if they kept plying her with alcohol, the tab would mysteriously get paid each week.
She wanted to say it was a good deal, but drinking one's self into a stupor was never a good deal.
Nesta felt a reassuring calm wash over her tense body as she took a sip, felt the cool liquid slide down her throat and the promise of oblivion and relief beckoned her. Not wasting any time, she downed the drink, pushing the cup back to the other side of the bar to be refilled.
Three pints in, and the world was looking improved. Not better, just quieter. Her head had gone silent, the silvery power had drifted to sleep, and Nesta was the closest to 'calm' that she had been for a long time. Granted, the alcohol she had consumed before she left the apartment had helped speed things along.
All of a sudden, a warm, cedar scent pushed its way into her nostrils. A scent that she knew well, yet always stayed mysterious. The signature shadows that pushed their way towards her, seeking her out, confirmed the owner of the scent.
"Call off the shadows or I will end you," Nesta growled, her voice sounding much more confident than she felt, knowing the male's sensitive hearing would pick up her low voice amongst the racket of the bar. Sure enough, the shadows retreated and Azriel stepped forwards into her view.
"Good to see you, Nesta," Azriel said politely as his eyes surveyed every detail of the tool, his shadows scratching against his skin.
"Lie," Nesta hissed, pulling further away from the male as he walked towards her, desperate to get away from the male who would be able to smell her fear, smell her sorrow and smell her need for a bath.
"I was sent here," Azriel said, stepping backwards and holding up his hands.
Nesta studied him, tried to figure out his scent to get a clue on why he was here, but of course, she still hadn't learnt to use her new fae abilities yet, and so failed miserably, just like she failed everything. Perhaps that was why she didn't bother trying anymore?
Perhaps that was a revelation that should be pondered another time, after much more alcohol.
"So?" she eventually spat after a few silent moments went by. Nesta hated to seem like she cared, but the sooner the male told her whatever news he was bringing, the sooner he would leave.
"Feyre wonders how you are," Azriel said after a while, his eyes roaming her mucky body, but not in a way that seemed creepy. He looked at her as if he was reading an important document, scrutinising it and learning all he could about the information in front of him.
It made her want to kill him.
"Well, she's clearly not that bothered or she would have come herself," she hissed.
The look Azriel gave her almost made her regret her words. Almost.
"The past 8 visits haven't shown you that she cares?" he questioned, voice cool and calm. "I offered to come on her behalf, she hasn't been feeling too well and I know that worrying about you doesn't help".
Something twinged deep inside of Nesta, something reminiscent of worry, and she felt the urge to inquire after her sister's wellbeing, almost wished that she could go visit her, make up a herbal remedy as she would have years ago.
"I thought fae didn't get ill," she said, pushing all emotion away, from her mind as well as her words.
The look on Azriel's face showed that he knew what she was doing.
"They don't often, but it happens," he said curtly as if he was annoyed. "I will report back that I found you well," and with those words, he turned and began walking away.
"You know," he said deeply, voice soft and sorrowfully as he looked back at the small form slumped in her chair, "I have been where you are now. I have been there, and I got out. Make sure you get out, Nesta Archeron".
He walked away, words hitting her like bullets as she used the chair for more support than she liked to admit, feelings once again flowing over the alcohol she had consumed and threatening to drown her once more.
"More," she commanded, looking the bartender in the eye and pointing to the bottle of colourless liquid that sat behind the counter. She whispered the last few words to herself.
"I need more".
More alcohol.
More haziness.
More chances.
More time.
More hope.
Nesta needed more to this life, and she knew it. She needed someone to help her, someone to pull her out of this place, someone to grasp her by the hand and promise that it would all be ok.
They said that asking for help was the hardest step, and Nesta had never asked, never accepted help from anyone in her life before.
Even when she lived in the tiny cabin, she had never asked for help. She'd never asked their father to feed them, never asked Feyre to hunt food for them, never asked Elain for company.
She didn't know how to ask for help, and so she would drown.
Grasping the bottle that had been placed in front of her, Nesta took off the lid and began swallowing, not bothering with a glass as she knew she wouldn't be finishing the rest of the bottle before she left.
Gradually, the numbness and silence came back, soothing her mind with blissful peace.
Placing the cab back on the bottle, she nodded to the bartender and slipped off her stool, bottle in hand.
Walking through the tavern to the door, she eyed up the other customers, most drinking with company, others looking almost as miserable as she did.
Once she was out onto the dark streets, she set off in a directionless walk aiming for nowhere. The steady pounding of her feet helped, the continuous rhythm beating through her as she thought of nothing. Nothing at all but the movement and the sound.
Couples passed her by, friends passed by her in groups, all glancing at her sorry form, and she found herself next to the river that ran through the heart of the city.
How endless it looked, how final.
She stared at the river in envy, its blackness of night matching her emotions inside.
How easy it would be to end everything.
The alcohol in her veins would make it painless.
She would be doing everyone a favour, Feyre would no longer have to look after her, to worry about her, to pay for her.
Elain would move on, her light heart fluttering from person to person.
She would have liked to say that it was thoughts of her family that stopped her from doing it, but it wasn't.
It was fear.
Once again, she was failing at something.
It was the fear of the water that stopped her.