11. Terrified with the lights out
Sarah stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The room is silent, as if the entire world is dead around her. She doesn't know how long she's been standing here, but she doesn't care. It isn't often that she looks at herself, her appearance usually being the last of her worries, but right now she notices she looks as if she hasn't slept in weeks.
It wouldn't be entirely false, but she looks… different. Different than she remembers herself looking. Older, and dirtier, which could be expected. But she looks broken too. She feels broken, and yet it's like she can't feel anything at all.
Sighing heavily, she grabs a handful of her hair and raises the scissors in her hand.
The hair falls pathetically to the floor, Sarah watching with a blank expression as some of it lands on her shoulder. She doesn't bother to brush it off.
She grabs another clump of hair in her palm, cutting it away with very little care in her touch. She'd grabbed so much at once that the scissors can't cut through it all at once, but she jams the tool into her hair with rising aggression anyway. She doesn't even bother making sure that it's straight, or that it all looks the same. She just cuts and cuts, finding herself hating it more every time.
When Sarah is finished, her hair lengthens just below her ears. Her bangs remain the same, but the rest of it appears messy and uneven. Chopped hair has sprinkled her sweater, a few strands having fallen on her face as well. They begin to itch her skin, so she roughly rubs them away.
As she continues to stare at her reflection, she feels like she could just burst out crying right then and there.
Her wrists still hurt. The cuts felt worse yesterday, but they still leave a stinging sensation all throughout both her forearms as if they were new. A part of her wants to open them up again just so she can watch them bleed. All she would have to do is take the scissors in her hand and run the blade across her arms, over and over again until it doesn't hurt anymore.
She doesn't, though.
Instead, Sarah moves back out into the bedroom and carelessly leaves the scattered pile of dark hair on the bathroom floor behind her.
She grabs her backpack on the bed, opening the zipper and tucking away the scissors. When she glances inside, she notices her bag seems to be a lot emptier, and lighter too. It doesn't take long for her to realize that her pistol is what's missing, and she automatically scans around the room for where it could be.
She looks under the sheets and pillows, thinking it had gotten buried in the bed somehow. Still, she finds nothing. Sarah always keeps her gun in her backpack. Clementine always told her to keep it in the same spot. That way, when she needed it, she'd always know exactly where it was. And if they ever needed to leave in a hurry, all her things would always be kept in the same bag. And that's when Sarah realizes she wasn't the one who'd moved her gun.
Irritated, she heads out into the hall and jogs down the stairs, immediately spotting Clementine in the living room. She's sitting on her knees on the floor in front of the coffee table, her elbows propped on the surface as she digs her nose in an open book. Her backpack is splayed open on the table as well, even more books resting in a pile next to her.
Sarah knows she's been practicing reading lately - much to the older girl's encouragement, and has probably been down here all day in the exact same position without moving. Sarah wouldn't know.
"Where's my gun?" The older girl asks outright, coming to a halt in front of the coffee table.
Clementine doesn't answer. She doesn't even move, and only continues to look down at her book as if the other girl isn't there.
They haven't talked in a day. Not since Clementine walked in on Sarah yesterday, kneeling as a bloody mess on the bathroom floor, with scattered pills and a soaked blade surrounding her, screaming at the younger girl to get out.
Her arms begin to hurt again.
"Clem," she sighs, fully aware she's being ignored. Sarah's been thinking she might be mad at her because of what happened, but she can't imagine why. Now, she feels like that may be an understatement. She moves closer to her, slightly bending forward. "Hellooo? Are you even listening to me?"
Clementine flips to the next page.
Sarah rolls her eyes, groaning. Then an idea suddenly comes to mind and she lunges forward to snatch the book out from under her.
"Hey!" Clementine shouts. She finally looks up at Sarah, appearing confused and offended.
"Where's my gun?" Sarah asks again with a level tone.
"Give me my book, I was reading that!" Clementine rises to her feet and claws at the object, but Sarah only yanks it away from her.
"Not until you tell me where it is," promises Sarah with her brows raised.
"I don't know where your stupid gun is, just give it back!" demands the young girl while continuously reaching for the book, but Sarah is so much taller than her that she's able to hold it above her head easily.
"No! You've been ignoring me all day and I know for a fact I had it in my bag and now it's gone," Sarah states, annoyed at the fact that Clementine is continuously denying her. "I know you took it. Why would you do that?" She feels like she may already know the answer, but for some reason, she wants to hear Clementine admit to it.
Crossing her arms and giving up on the book completely, Clementine plops down onto the sofa and angrily turns her head away, her brows hanging low.
Sarah finds herself amazed at the fact that she's choosing to pout rather than talk. "I can take care of myself, you know. I don't need you looking after me, or telling me what and what not to do. So, if you think you're doing me a favour—"
"That's not what I'm doing," Clementine jeers while still avoiding eye contact, appearing like a little kid who's getting scolded by her parents.
"Then what is it? Do you not trust me anymore to have a gun or something? Is that what this is about?"
"Yeah, fine. I took your gun," nags Clementine. "I took it and hid it from you because I don't trust you with it, is that what you wanna hear?"
Pursing her lips, Sarah crosses her arms and leans into one hip as she peers down at the other girl, hurt by her mocking tone. There's a moment of silence where they only stare back at the other.
Clementine smirks. "You know what?" Rising from the couch, she grabs her backpack off the coffee table and aggressively digs her hand inside, pulling Sarah's pistol out of it. She holds it up so that the other girl can see it. "Here's your damn gun. Are you happy now?"
"I can't believe this," says Sarah quietly, before shaking her head in disappointment. "You know, I never thought you would do this to me too."
"Do what?" she asks, although her voice sounds far from concerned.
Sarah scoffs, astounded that she doesn't already know. "My whole life, everyone always made me think that I—I wasn't strong enough on my own. And I thought you were the one person that didn't see me as… as someone who needed to be protected or something," Sarah explains, and both of them are fully aware that this is about more than just the gun. "I thought you believed in me, but you're just like everyone else." She steps closer to Clementine, her voice accusing. "You don't think I can handle a gun. You don't think I can do this on my own."
"No!" Clementine defends, fumbling for words. "I just—I know that you… that you have—"
"What, problems?" interrupts Sarah. She knew she'd be too afraid to actually say it.
Fuming, Clementine presses her brows together in response, only glaring back at her.
"You really think I don't already know that about myself?" presses Sarah further, offended.
"I'm just saying, it's not easy for me to handle either, okay?"
"I trust you more than anybody," Sarah interjects almost all too quickly, her voice desperate. "Why can't you just trust me too?"
"I'm trying to help you!" Clementine yells, her volume rising with every word. "What do you want me to do? Just let you carry a gun around and let you go off and lock yourself in the bathroom doing who knows what when I'm not around?" The incident from the day before remains clear in her memories. "I don't know what else to do!"
"What are you so afraid of, Clementine?" Sarah bites back with impatience. "That I'm gonna kill myself or something?!"
Clementine chucks the gun across the room. It slams against the far wall and lands on a low cabinet, various objects loudly tumbling to the floor.
The room goes completely silent.
Clementine only glares at her. Her fists curl up at her sides until her knuckles turn pale, and her eyes are almost threatening. "You…" her breath quickens, and for the first time that day, her stern expression finally begins to shatter. "You don't get to say that to me!" Clementine shouts so loud that her words echo throughout the house. The cracking of her voice is absolutely heartbreaking.
Suddenly at a loss for words, all Sarah can do is just stand there, wide-eyed and in shock. She didn't think such a voice could come from such a small person.
"Don't you get it? There is nobody else! Luke… and—and Kenny and Nick and Rebecca, they're not coming back!" snaps Clementine.
Sarah lets out a small gasp, crushed at hearing her say such a thing. Ever since they all got separated, Clementine has done nothing but assure her that there was still a chance of finding them. She would never let Sarah lose hope. And now, she can't bear to hear her say the opposite.
"You don't know what I've been through, okay? You don't know what it's like… to lose everyone you've ever known because of the things that you did," Clementine bellows. "Everyone I have ever loved is dead! They're gone and it's because of me!"
Sarah is convinced she can feel her own heart breaking in that moment. For only the few months that they've known each other, Clementine hardly ever opened up to her about anything. This whole time, she had no idea such a thing could be true. To be at fault for someone's death, especially someone you love… Sarah can't imagine what that must be like.
It isn't until now that she realizes, everything Clementine is saying is true - they're never coming back. There really is no hope for them.
"And now… now it's just me and you and if anything happens to you…" Clementine's breath hitches, tears pooling in her eyes and threatening to fall. "It will be my fault," she sniffles, her face contorting. "Because that means that I wouldn't have done enough to stop it. Because I'm supposed to help you now, and if you did something and I didn't know about it, it would be too late. And then… then I would be alone again." She raises her hands to her face as she starts to sob, the thought alone terrifying her.
For a while, all that can be heard is the sound of Clementine crying. Yet still, Sarah can't find anything in her to move. Instead, she feels ashamed of herself, loathes herself for not realizing any of this sooner. Sarah had no idea how much she had actually scared her.
"You lose people and you can't get them back," Clementine sputters through her sobs, her words hardly understandable. "And sometimes when—when they lose the people they love… they change. And they want to hurt themselves. And... and now it's happening to you too. And… I don't know what else to do."
With the one thing she can think of doing, Sarah finally approaches the tormented girl and gently pulls her into an embrace. "Hey," she comforts in a soft voice.
Clementine easily melts into her arms, sniffling against Sarah's chest. "I can't… I can't lose you too," she weeps.
"I know…" mumbles Sarah. She rests her chin on top of the girl's head. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Her palm soothingly rubs up and down Clementine's back. "I promise."
