Chapter 2 – Until it can't hurt anymore.

It was Mikhail who finally pulled me out of the darkness I had fallen into, days later.

I had laid in bed, unmoving and unresponsive, for two entire days and its subsequent nights until he came to see me in the early morning of the third day.

That morning, Eddie was the one who had been assigned to stay with me. During the few moments of clarity I had, in which I was able to break through the haze that had trapped me, I had been able to understand that my friends had worked out a schedule between them with the purpose of not ever leaving me by myself. The fear in their voices, both when they spoke with each other and when they tried to obtain any kind of response from me, was obvious. And it only added to my guilt, for I wanted to soothe their worry and assure them I would be all right, but my body betrayed me every time, ignoring my attempts to free myself from the paralysis that overcame me. So, their worry only increased. It seemed that the only thing I knew how to do was hurt those I loved.

It would have been better for all of them if I had never existed. They would have made other friends. Lissa would have saved Andre, or one of her parents, during the accident. She would have some of her family with her. Dimitri would have never fallen in the caves if I hadn't insisted on rescuing those who had been taken during the attack.

"Rose?" Mikhail's voice came from my right side, near me. He must have been kneeling by the bed.

He received no answer.

"I'll take over from here, you can go." In a quiet whisper, he turned to Eddie. "Your shift will start soon."

Without opening my eyes, I could sense Eddie's hesitation. Our friendship had been seriously damaged since Las Vegas, but he had been a good friend in the last two days. Too good for what I deserved.

"I'll get her to eat something, and I'll be with her all throughout the day. We both have shifts in the Archives."

They spoke some more, in quiet voices, but my focus had dissipated. The familiar pain was pulling me back, into the abyss of my mind. Soon, I wouldn't be able to pay attention to anything that happened around me.

It had become some sort of twisted routine. For a couple of hours, I would slowly begin to free myself from the darkness. I could move my fingers lightly. I could blink and sometimes open my eyes. But then, I would become numb to reality once again.

Mikhail shook my shoulder lightly. He was back next to me, kneeling on the floor.

"Rose." He squeezed his grip, not enough to hurt me but not as softly as the others had touched me when trying to get a reaction out of me. "I know it's hard. Believe me, I know. But you need to go back to work. I've been covering for you, but I can't keep doing it."

If I missed more shifts, I would lose my job. There was no way Croft would let me keep my status as a Guardian if I couldn't manage something as simple as filing endless documents eight hours a day. I was trained for so much more and couldn't even do this.

"Otherwise, Croft is going to sanction you."

If I lost my job, I would have nothing. Being a Guardian – albeit one forever banished to the Archives – was the only thing I had left. I couldn't lose that too.

I wouldn't survive it.

Slowly, with difficulty, I opened my eyes.

My bedroom was swamped in darkness, but I could still see the silhouette of the small kitchenette near the door, and the dining table with its two chairs. One of them had been pulled back, enough for someone to sit on it and put their feet up on the table. I guessed that was where Eddie had slept.

I blinked once. Then twice. Sluggishly, my eyes moved to the right. Mikhail's blue gaze was fixed on me. He seemed to be holding his breath, the anxiety and worry evident in his frown, in the lines on his forehead.

I narrowed my eyes, annoyed at myself. The fog that swamped my head would not go away.

"I don't think I can do it, Mikhail." I hated the weakness in my voice, now a thread of what it used to be, frail and raspy after not using it for days.

His lips tilted up. Not a smile, but something resembling one. Although not positive, I supposed my answer was better than none. He leaned closer, keeping his gaze fixed on mine as if trying to lend me the strength that I lacked.

"Yes, you can." His voice was firm, determined. I wanted to believe him, but how could I?

A tear fell from my eye, followed by another, and soon, I was crying silently. Even my tears were defeated. My body wasn't wrecked with sobs, in fact, it barely moved. My hands didn't raise to cover my face. I only looked at him, letting the tears fall quietly, noiselessly. The exhaustion and pain had all reached the point where it was so deep-seated inside me that I wanted to give up. To fade away.

Mikhail let me cry for a couple of minutes, before patting my arm more firmly.

"You can. Step by step, you can. And you will be all right."

I looked at him before averting my eyes to the ceiling. The sliver of light that crept through the curtains didn't let me see it clearly, but I had memorized every crack and crevice on it, every spot of dust or water damage, able to locate them nevertheless.

I should at least try and go to work. If I didn't even try to pull myself out of this, wouldn't I be even more pathetic?

Mikhail would be by my side all day – he had said so himself to Eddie – which would make everything easier to deal with. He and I had had an understanding about each other, since the first day we met, that I never quite had with anyone else. Perks of your lover becoming Strigoi, I guess.

I knew he wouldn't get angry later and try to chew me off for forcing Dimitri to talk to me. He was the only person in my life that understood that pain. I was almost sure he was on my side on this.

I let out a sigh and nodded slowly.

"Okay."

I got up, slowly, letting him help me sit up. My limbs felt heavy, my head hard to lift – I wanted so badly to let it fall back against the pillows – but I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat down. Looking down at Mikhail, I tried to smile, but I knew I failed. He rubbed a hand across my back and helped me stand up, directing me to the bathroom door as he walked to the small kitchenette.

I walked in, turning on the light and closing the door behind me before I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

I almost went back to bed in that instant.

I was pale, somehow, as if I had been ill. I looked gaunter. My curls fell limp down my back, messily tangled and lacking their usual brightness. My mouth was downturned, and my shoulders were hunched forward. There were bags under my eyes – red and swollen, with the remainders of the mascara I had worn that day drawing a smudged pattern underneath them – of deep purple color, that made them seem even sadder.

I looked defeated. Fragile.

Weak.

I couldn't stand the sight of myself.

Hastily, I turned my back on my reflection before punching the light switch to turn it off, leaving the bathroom illuminated only by the emergency light over the doorframe. Enough not to fall or crash against anything, and enough not to see the person I had become.

It took me a long time to shower. Or I thought so, at least, because I had no conscience of time at that moment. But I stood under the stream until the burning water turned lukewarm, and then until it became freezing cold, before stepping out and getting dressed in my uniform. I had no energy to even attempt to brush or dry my hair, so I pulled it up into a messy bun. I knew it would look like a bird had made its nest in it in a couple of hours, but I couldn't manage to care about it.

I already felt exhausted.

How could doing so little take such an amount of effort? Had I really become so feeble in only two days?

I could go back to bed, I thought. Just drop down in it like I had done before and refuse to leave it, letting myself fade away. That way I wouldn't have to face the world that awaited me outside of this room.

"Rose, are you ready?" Mikhail's voice, accompanied by a knock on the door, broke through the noise in my head. There was another knock, this time more insistent, before my body obeyed my mind's order to stand up from the edge of the bathtub and open the door.

"Yes. We can go." I walked past him toward the bed to grab Dimitri's stake. Storing it inside its box, I put it away in the drawer of the bedside table before taking my officially issued stakes. "I'm ready."

"Not so fast, kiddo. You need to eat." He gestured towards the table, where he had set a cup of coffee and a plate with toast. I grimaced. The smell of a freshly cooked breakfast, something that would normally excite me, did nothing to me now.

"I'm not hungry, I'll eat later." I moved to exit the room, but he stepped in front of me, effectively blocking me from leaving.

"You haven't eaten in two days. You are going to eat this."

I glared at him. My appetite was nowhere to be found. In fact, the idea of eating made my stomach churn. But he seemed to understand because he softly pushed me to the table, sitting down beside me and pushing the plate towards me.

It took me approximately another half hour to finish two slices of toast and a cup of coffee, but he waited patiently, making sure I ate and trying to distract me with stories and gossip from his years of living at Court.

They didn't quite make me forget the darkness, which was still hovering around the edges of my mind, but they were enough to divert my attention from it.

"Wait, are you telling me that they got into a fight in front of Croft?"

"Yes!"

"And he didn't stop them? The Head Guardian didn't stop a fight between two Guardians, in the middle of Headquarters, about which sport is better? Rugby or American football?"

We were now walking through Court, heading to the Guardian building. There weren't that many people around since it was too early for Moroi to be awake, and most Guardians had already begun their shifts – we were running embarrassingly late – but I was decidedly avoiding making eye contact with the few Dhampirs we had crossed paths with. Surely the gossip mill had run its normal course, and by now everyone must know about the scene I caused in the church, but I didn't want to see either the pity or the mockery in their expressions.

"Not at all" He was laughing heartily.

"I can't believe you." The Hans Croft I knew had a stick so far up his ass, he would be incapable of tolerating something so unprofessional. Nevertheless, the image was kind of funny.

"I'm dead serious! I think Croft was secretly cheering for Guardian Bernard." At my raised eyebrows, he insisted. "Really. There was a moment where Jacobs got a good punch in, and I swear Croft's mouth twisted."

"Twisted?"

"Yes. A little bit."

"Oh yes. A little bit. Did he get the pom poms out next? Did he change into a cheerleader uniform?" I was laughing now too.

"Thankfully for my eyes and mental health, he didn't." Mikhail mock-shuddered at the imaginary image of the stern Guardian in a cheerleader costume, which only made me laugh harder. Our conversation since we left my room had been so silly, but now I knew that the next time Croft reprimanded me I would imagine him shaking pom poms. That ridiculous image was already making me feel better, for sure. It would also make it harder not to laugh at him, I knew that from experience – when I had met Kirova at four years old, I had thought she resembled the dumb hyena in The Lion King movie Janine had let me watch the day before, and I hadn't been able to act respectfully towards her ever since.

I was still smiling when we reached the front yard of the building, but our laughter quickly faded away.

"Are you ready?" There wasn't any trace left of the lightness and humor he had tried to insert in his voice for my sake. Instead, the worry was showing through.

"As I'll ever be." I muttered. Downing my Guardian mask, locking all emotion away from my expression, I walked up the stairs and opened the front door.

Only to come face to face with Head Guardian Hans Croft himself.

Goddamn it. There was someone up there who hated me, for sure.

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story, I love hearing your opinions. I also apologize for the delay. I hope I'm able to publish Chapter 8 of "This world is made of secrets" in the next few days, but I can't promise anything. I won't abandon these stories, and I'll publish when as soon as I can but I can't promise a specific update schedule.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What are your theories for what's coming? Feedback is also greatly appreciated.