Hello you there! Chapter 14... Again, I am not sure whether this might actually work.
TRIGGER WARNING: Attempt of suicide (rather the threat of soing it) no blood or anything (not because of the suicide) I hope that won't bother you, if it doesn, stop reading and send me a PM, I'll send you an altered version of the chapter
So now: Enjoy!
The air of London is cold and damp, as always, but it's not raining. I am once again walking through London, avoiding Father's house and Baker Street, enjoying the freedom. I am alone, as always when I go; Mycroft is at his office who knows where and Sherlock is in his room, searching with the help of my phone and his laptop for the other threads, and more importantly, why Joseph Daunt escaped Mycroft. He isn't alone, though. One of the staff is always with him, in every room apart from the bathroom. Mycroft doesn't trust him not to take cocaine again, or another drug, and the man watching Sherlock doesn't want to lose his job. He only leaves when Mycroft or me are with the detective.
But for now, I try to ignore Sherlock and how he looked like when I showed him the sentence written on my skin, and keep walking.
When I walk through London, I always try to take different routes. Sometimes through full streets, sometimes along empty alleys, sometimes through parks. It's always different, and it keeps London interesting. It also gives me the chance today to do something I'll never forget.
The girl is twenty, maybe twenty-one. Her gold-brown hair is flapping slightly in the wind, the little draft. It is strange. These paths are almost always deserted, but she is sitting here with all the time in the world, back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest.
Her eyes are closed as I come closer, not knowing what to do. What is she doing here? Why is she sitting there like that, like a homeless person, when, judging by her clothes and haircut, she clearly isn't?
And that's when I see the knife. The blade rests against her forearm, close to her wrist, not nicking the skin, but nearly.
"Hey," I whisper, quietly, hoping not to surprise her. She only opens her eyes and looks at me, her eyes unemotional, looking like doll's eyes. They are empty, hopelessly empty, and it scares me. That is the face of somebody who has nothing to lose.
"What's your name?" My voice is too loud in my ears, even though I am only breathing the words, but she slowly turns her head towards me.
"Why?" Her voice is just as empty as her eyes, but I try to not be intimidated.
"Because I'd like to know," For a moment I think I can see something in her eyes – is it sadness, surprise? – but the walls slam down again before I recognize it.
"Melissandre Baudelaire," This time I hear the accent, only barely audible, but there.
"I'm Kiara Moriarty – Melissandre, why do you want to kill yourself?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Why should you?"
"I don't know what's there to live for. My mother is dead and my father doesn't really care, my sisters and my brother are always away and I don't have friends – nobody likes me," I can hear from her tone that she is having problems with people her age – in uni, at a shop?
"You know the thing about suicide – it's something you can't reverse. I am thinking about suicide as well – not that I want to die now, but in a year or so – so I know what you mean. But that is because of where I come from, and I am not sure whether I will be brave enough. I think you might be brave enough, but have you thought about it? You can still be anything you want."
"And you? You are my age, you have time as well!"
"I have no education, no family, no real future. And as I said, I am certainly not going to kill myself now. In a year, when my friends are gone, which they will be. What are you doing in the moment, anyway? Education-wise?"
"I am in uni – politics and management. But they hate me, even the teachers."
"Melissandre, I can change that. Let me try. But please, give me the knife."
Melissandre looks down at the knife, as if only now remembering it, and looks up at me again. The walls, which had slowly dissolved, are threatening to come up again.
"Please, let me try. If it doesn't help, I..."
"Won't stop me? Do you think I'm going to believe that?" Her voice, so bitter, so lost, is unnerving.
"No, but I will try to help you as far as I can. Yes, me, a stranger, but believe me, I do know your situation."
Twenty minutes later we are walking through the streets, the knife hidden in my pocket. It's safer this way, if a police officer finds it Mycroft can bail me within seconds. I'm not sure whether he'd do it for Melissandre.
"So... Who exactly at Uni is so horrible to you?"I try to be sensible, but she just looks at me through the hair which is flapping slightly in the wind.
"Everybody. Well, no, the teachers are mostly just really annoying, but the other students are so horrible. I have been thinking about just stopping, dropping out, but I want to study this so much."
The way she says this is heartbreaking, this dream which changed into a nightmare.
The University Melissandre goes to is huge, private, and certainly very expensive.
"You live here? On the campus?"
"Yeah – don't have a room mate though, the father of the girl threatened to get a lawyer if she didn't get away from me – so I have my own room..."
We walk through the hallways quickly, Melissandre needs to pull me with her sometimes as I just want to stay and look at the beauty of this old building.
When we come closer to our destination, her room probably, Melissandre starts frowning.
"They are in there. They broke in again, how could they!"
And really, there they are. Two boys and three girls, all at least twenty, are in her room, sitting on the bed, looking through her stuff, leaving a complete mess. They look comfortable, confident, they know that Melissandre has already given up.
"Excuse me? What exactly are you doing here?" My voice is clipped and ice-cold, I know that my age won't impress them, so maybe I'll have to try other tricks.
"None of your business, Tiny." The girl on the bed says, flipping her long blonde hair around. I narrow my eyes when I hear the nickname, I mean I am not tall, but also not that small.
"I think so. Leave, now, this is Mel's room." Well, I tried to warn them. Anything now will be their own fault.
One of the boys, the taller one, stands up and slowly walks towards me. I have to look up to look into his eyes, something I am not very happy about, but anyway – he'll lose even quicker if he underestimates me.
"Tiny, that fits. Get back to your high-school and leave the grown-ups alone, will you?"
I sigh. He asked for it, still, I will get into trouble. Oh well, at least it will be fun.
"Mel, hold this?" I pull the knife out of my pocket. "I don't want to hurt myself."
Both Melissandre's and the boy's eyes widen, but Melissandre does as I told her. Carefully I stretch slightly, letting my neck pop and then look back to the boy.
My movements are fast and precise. A swift kick to the ribs pushes the air out of his lungs, then I grab his lapels and throw him behind me by rolling backwards. He lands outside of the room, and when he gets up, I am already standing again.
"Well done, you left. Now, how about the others?" I turn around to face them, anticipating the punch of the first boy.
He hasn't got any training in fighting whatsoever, no real training besides some brawls in pubs. His punch is fairly non-effective, and within seconds he is at the floor again. The other four students look at me, the fear is obvious on their faces.
"Leave. Now!" It doesn't take more, and the do their best not to come too close to me when they walk out of the door. The other boy pulls the first one up, and together they leave.
"Violence is no solution." Melissandre sounds like she is trying to be stern, but she only sounds happy and slightly scared at the same time.
"But it is an alternative. Sometimes. Don't worry, this won't be the end of it, but I have some connections."
My phone starts ringing just then and when I look at the screen it's Mycroft.
"One of whom is just calling me right now."
Okay, what do you think?