white knight syndrome
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xvi
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First, swim. Then, save others from drowning.
— Ijeoma Umebinyuo
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She forgot why she was even here, she supposed she got lost in the sadness before the universe yanked her back to reality and she realised — Oh yeah.
And the reason seemed so ... she wouldn't say stupid. But it was unreadable for her to feel this way, right? Why should she be feeling so lost when she's got good things in her life? A family that loves her, supportive friends, a roof over her head, financial stability, but she's here, isn't she?
And she feels like she's been sitting for ages; perhaps forever and a year. Her thoughts are all over the place. What is she even doing? Why is she doing nothing with herself except mourning?
What even brought her here? To this wide forest of green. Where she's just sitting under the shade, overlooking Summer.
She needs to get a grip on things, but she doesn't know what else to do with her time or her resources. She just — walked.
She's lost and she just let her feet take her wherever it fancied.
Her fingers curled on her lap. She's tired from aimlessly wandering and she's probably delirious from dehydration and the heat — and yet, Elsa knows this is the last place she wants to be. It's too happy. Kids are happily laughing at their game of pretend, circles of friends are having a picnic and playing music out loud, a guy is playing fetch with his dog.
She feels more alone than ever; occupying this lone bench. She doesn't know, she wants to be alone but she doesn't want her loneliness to be obvious. And currently, she's sticking out like a sore thumb.
This isn't the sort of crowd she's looking for. She wants to be around people that block out the noises in her head while she blends in like foliage on the branches of a grand tree.
She's sick at looking at this familiar green; it reminds her too much of him and the first time she realised the shit show he was willing to drag her into.
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Elsa's lost count of the number of days that's passed since the incident. She's lost count of the missed calls from her friends, and the instances she's woken up earlier just to avoid Anna and the questions she doesn't have answers to.
Guilt eats at her. The voices in her head nag at her to stop this nonsense — so loud and booming and violent to the point of shouting; it makes her tremble, her legs sore, and her lungs feel over-used, exhumed and ache-y.
She knows, okay? Elsa really should keep her promise. Talk it out. Tell her side of the story, seek comfort and detangle a mess she never wanted. But (and there are so many 'but's), she finds that she can't speak. She can't confide with Anna. Not now. Not yet. She still isn't ready.
(However, if this is the case, then when will she be ready? When when when? Doesn't waiting just cause more pain? More distance? Just rip off the band-aid already!)
How can she be ready when she doesn't even have all the answers yet? When the terror still makes no sense to her? She wants to be clear and concise when she explains herself to Anna. She wants no gaps, no plot holes, no uncertainty. She wants to be right. She wants to show no weakness in her story. Because, if there is any sign that she is in the wrong, then a part of her will think that it is her fault — her fault for being so blind; her fault for being too trusting; her fault for not seeing the red flags, for not listening, for taking risks that didn't need to be taken.
It's stupid, the logical part of her knows this. It's just her anxiety telling her all these things. Or maybe another negative emotion. She isn't sure. She just knows it's silly because if she keeps waiting for the right time then she'll be waiting for forever.
But, all Elsa wants to do is distance herself (because old habits really do die hard). After everything that's happened, the last thing Elsa should be doing is stewing alone with her thoughts. She knows she can't be alone with her thoughts. Or alone in general. She knows the better option is to talk, but it's like she said, she isn't ready for a confession yet. She wants to keep her secrets to herself for just a little longer.
So, the next best thing seemed like a better option. True, it's not the best option. But the next best thing is called 'the next best thing' for a reason. She wishes she could be like those people after a grievance; stay in bed all day, turn the other cheek and cover their heads with a blanket. But, she can't. It's too silent. It's just too damn quiet and she's trapped in her head, with no one else but her demons.
So Elsa rolls out of bed and decides she needs to get out of the house.
And she does just that. She leaves the house before the sky is awake, slips on her Mickey Mouse slippers (she remembers because she was staring at her feet, an old habit that she hasn't exactly shaken off) and surrounds herself with nameless strangers — for once, she wants to be among bodies instead of just existing as a single being.
She decides she must go somewhere busy and lets her feet take her wherever; she stumbles around and convinces herself she's found a place she feels she belongs.
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'The next best thing' serves its purpose as a distraction.
She doesn't know when she started liking going out, but she finds solace in her walks and ends up in town.
Everything's different now. She tries to convince herself. I'm a little changed, I'm a little better. Even if she secretly wonders if she's still the same scared girl deep down.
She detours and window shops and actually shops until she finds her emotions catching up to her. Until she can't backtrack anymore and, comes to dead ends and hits walls. She can't run from this.
.
.
.
Elsa browses through the row of Summer dresses on clearance and silently wonders when did she turn shopping into her coping mechanism before she stops herself from thinking too deeply of it.
Everything should be normal because everything feels normal — pop music is barely booming through the speakers and every inch of the store is filled with pretty clothes and people. But then —
"Elsa, is that you?"
And Elsa feels herself freezing in place and can't look away.
"Hey, it's good to see you." The person smiles.
Elsa feels herself inhale deeply, it's sharp and small twinge zaps her ribcage. "… Meg." Elsa answers back.
No.
No no no. Seeing Meg reminds her of him. And he is the last thing she wants to think about.
Elsa wishes she could pull herself out of the situation. Maybe just drag her attention elsewhere and pretend none of this is happening to her. The last time she spoke to Meg, it wasn't all that pretty. It wasn't unpleasant, not entirely, but the phone call had ended pretty abruptly and left a bad taste in Elsa's mouth. She never had a chance to call back.
"Did you find Joe?" Meg asks, sudden like the awful, awful feeling of anxiety that attacks Elsa's skin daily.
Elsa's tried so desperately to not involve herself with the idea of him. She's blocked him out, suppressed him. She's put that one on pause. Stop stop stop —!
"Um," Elsa utters and tries not to fall apart. "Sort of?"
"That's great, isn't it?" Meg asks.
Great? Elsa thinks as the memories come flooding back; the yelling, the unfolded secrets, the blame. For once, self-pity does not take over. Not a hint of 'why did I fall for that?' or 'I'm so stupid for believing' crosses her mind. An expected hit of rage strikes her. This might be the next stage in her process. He had wronged her.
"I mean, it's good that you got to talk to him. I've tried calling him. He won't answer. See!" Meg shoves her phone in Elsa's face, not noticing the way Elsa's blood boiled.
Blue eyes strain to focus before blinking at a too-close screen. Elsa's gaze combs through the recent call list – reading between the lines and seeing the desperation; the back to back calls, the number of times Meg tried to get a hold of Hans and reach out, all the times he never answered, the double digits and the contact name — Joe The Hoe.
It's too much for Elsa to swallow. She lets out a shaky, "Yeah." just to say something. She's trembling from anger.
"You don't sound too happy about it." Came Meg's response, lips plucking into a frown. Meg's mouth moves, probably asking a question or inquiring something from Elsa, but her voice falls deaf to Elsa's ears.
Everything falls deaf to her ears.
A warm hand finds itself onto her arm. "Elsa?"
Elsa opens her eyes, realising she's squeezed them shut. She feels sick to her stomach.
"Elsa, are you alright?"
No.
"Sorry, sorry —" The words slip from her.
"Hey —"
"He ..." Elsa says finally, regaining her bearings. "He said a few things to me. About me." And it hurt like hell.
"Oh," A sigh escapes through Meg; like she knows, like she understands. "He acted out on you? Geez, that guy. Don't take anything he says literally. He's a dick, nothing he says has value. He's just bitter,"
Elsa doesn't respond but feels her nails dig into her palm. The silence is apparent and thick tension in the air is noted by Meg; her tan hand falls from Elsa's arm and Elsa didn't realise it until then; how touch-starved she's been since isolating herself.
"I'm sorry for bringing him up." Meg apologises. "Look, let's just — Let's forget I said anything, okay? I don't want to stress you out. I'll leave you alone now. Just … enjoy the rest of your day, alright?"
Elsa yanks her gaze away from the floor, she opens her mouth to protest but doesn't get anything out.
Meg simply offers a smile. "You have my number, you can call me if you ever want to talk about what happened."
Again, Elsa can't bring herself to move. And so Meg leaves.
She leaves.
Leaves just as Hans did, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
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This isn't a healthy coping mechanism.
All the signs displayed and red-flags waved shows this isn't the least bit healthy.
But it doesn't stop Elsa from ending up where she is now: so, she's here, in this tiny little changing room where yellow lights illuminate against her pale skin and her reflection is the only company she has; staring at her with those sad, sad blue eyes and that horrible twisted frown.
Every version of herself stares at her as she finds herself on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms circling around her body that felt oh-so small. She hasn't been in this hunched position since she shut her door to Anna and the outside world.
Trapped. She thinks.
She's gone and done it. She's locked herself in a cramped room where she can't breathe and barely — just barely — has any space to move around without bumping her elbows on thin walls, shaking them almost uncontrollably.
This feels so familiar yet so different; still unwelcome and still dreadful. Only, this time, she did not know if anyone on the other side is willing to knock.
What is she doing, having a mental break down in the women's changing room like this; clutching onto clothes and resisting the urge to ruin them with her tears? She doesn't even know if she wants them, she's not the type to go shopping as a therapeutic treatment. That was his thing, was it not? Retail therapy? Not hers.
This is bad. The sentence repeats itself in her head. It is said in a panicked voice. This is very, very bad. Extremely bad! It shouts at her.
A part of her wants to exit the place, the stall in the changing room, but another part of her doesn't.
I don't want to go home. Elsa thinks to herself despite the exhaustion. The reasonings repeats to her like a song stuck on repeat; going home would mean seeing Anna, and seeing Anna would mean having to explain everything that's happened and Elsa doesn't know if she can do that.
She's falling back into her old habits: of locking herself away from the world. Not that her current habits are any better; over-thinking, over-analysing, being too quiet to speak up and settling for unpleasantness. These were all bad habits too. But, despite the spiralling, Elsa thought she was getting better.
And now you've ruined it. A vicious hiss rings in her head. You've made it worse. You just had to lock the door! Not that she ever liked the idea of a closed door, especially after promising to Anna that she would not ever do it again — but, it's true, she's locked herself in. She did this.
There's no one to blame but herself, even if she knows she shouldn't be blaming herself. But she is and — she's having yet another panic attack without anyone to calm her down.
Elsa wants to reach out to someone. She really does. She knows she can; dig into the pockets of her dress, pull out her phone and call someone. Anyone. She could call Mulan or Tiana or Lottie. She really could.
But, she's not going to. She doesn't want to. What she wants is …
Do I really want to do nothing? What does it matter if I do or don't do anything? She thinks to herself, and it doesn't settle well with her. The question sounds dangerous, and it gets on her nerves a little. Why is that?
But then she also thinks — Isn't she used to keeping everything to herself? Isn't she used to bottling her feelings up? Letting her anxiety building like a ticking time bomb?
She frowns, that didn't sound right either. And a voice at the back of her head tells her that — isolating herself isn't okay. It's not okay. It's not the least bit okay because it shouldn't be welcomed like an old friend.
Elsa doesn't know when she even had all these conflicting thoughts, she used to be fine with gathering her burdens and keeping them close to her chest. What happened?
She stops, breathing slowly.
Was it him? Did he happen? Hadn't he said that 'fixing things is one of his pass-times'?
No. No. All he does is deceitful things, he told her he started this all as some sort of project. He didn't help her, he made her worse. Why is she even considering this? Why is she thinking of him?
Why? Why? Is it because she's having an episode and because he's someone familiar? He is, after all, the one person who's seen her in such a state, who has experience with her character. He's snapped her out of her attacks many times, he's done it wrong each time, shaking her roughly isn't the God damn way, but that was how he had done it.
But doesn't that say something about him too? He does as he likes, even if it's wrong, because it produces results. Maybe not results he wants but results, nonetheless.
No, she's not thinking of him because he did something right. It's because he's the last straw that made her realise all these grievances.
And she won't lie, he's sort of 'influenced' her with his selfishness. Elsa wants to apply this to herself; to grow out of her shell, to reach out. For what feels like the first time, Elsa wants something in return.
All this — these thoughts flooding to her because she's letting herself ride through her panic attack. Before this, she had always resisted them. And then she had always relied on him, she had thought it was better for him to break her out of her chain of fear than to rid with it. But now …
Elsa's aware that she's jumping from one point to another. She hasn't exactly decided on where to stand yet, but she knows she's tired of beating herself up for not choosing a side. She's tired of being hard on herself. Has she always been this way? Not anymore. She's not going to allow herself to sacrifice so much for someone undeserving.
She's made up her mind, he's the last person Elsa wants to reach out to, but he's also the first person she wants to settle business with.
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Notes: Omg, I just realised I posted Chapter 16 on AO3 but completely forgot to post it on fanfic net! Lmaooo! Let's just pretend I updated three years ago and not on 25 August 2023.
— 19 February 2020