You're in luck! I had time and decided not to leave you all hanging.
Thanks for the reviews! It's definitively another reason why I'm posting so soon after last chapter.
I hope you'll enjoy this one!
(and I got a question for you at the end of the chapter, please let me know what your opinion is)
I hear someone shout, "Petrificus Totalus!" with a hint of panic in their voice. My movement is halted abruptly, the blade barely grazing my skin, and now I can't move, not even turn my head. A warm trickle of blood runs down my throat, but it's not enough. Not enough. They've stopped me from dying. Before I can even process the situation, I feel arms pulling me away from the fire, and then Ewald's face appears in my line of sight. His face is more expressive than I've ever seen it before—twisted with fear and worry. It's as if he's aware of this, though, and he seems to force himself to regain control. His expression quickly hardens into a frightening neutrality.
I hear noises behind me, and I recognise the voices of Arthur and Alphonse. What are they doing here? And more importantly, how did they find me?
"Calm down. Questions can wait. Arthur, I need you to heal Vivian's wound. Alphonse, gather her things and put out the fire, please."
Ewald's voice is cold as he gives his instructions. Alphonse obeys immediately, and I watch him collect my belongings. A flicker of anger rises in me as I see him dismantling the scene of what was supposed to be my death. It fades just as quickly, as Arthur's face comes into view. He's pale, both panicked and angry, and I briefly wonder what he's feeling. I give up trying to figure it out. It's not important. How did they find me? Mentally, I struggle against Ewald's spell. I hate this forced stillness. Arthur's shaky voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
"It would be best to move the blade away from the wound, or I won't be able to heal it properly."
Excellent idea. I already know I can't do anything right now, but if I get the chance to escape and end my life, I'll take it without hesitation. And even if I can't, this spell reminds me of the powerlessness I felt during the attack by that paedophile, that same familiar feeling of paralysis. I hate it.
"Alright. Vivian, I'm going to lift the spell. I swear, if you try anything—either to harm yourself or to run away—I will cast it on you again immediately, and you'll have to explain yourself to Madam Pomfrey."
The relief I felt at the thought of being released vanishes the moment Ewald finishes his sentence. Madam Pomfrey. A wave of silent anger washes over me. How dare he? This is my life, not his. He has no right to involve the nurse in this—it concerns only me. Regardless, I hadn't planned on moving for now. All I need to do is play along, act obedient until their guard drops. And, if possible, I need to figure out how they managed to find me.
After a few seconds of silence, Ewald places his hand on my wrist, to stop me from finishing the job, I suppose, then finally releases his spell. Without resisting, I let the Slytherin take my dagger (I have plenty of other ways to kill myself after all, a human body is so fragile). I say nothing while Arthur closes the wound on my neck. Alphonse comes closer to us, holding my belongings, and hands them to me, looking a bit shocked.
"Why did you do that?"
That's so much like him, impatient. He doesn't understand. And how could he? He knows nothing. I reach out to take back my things, but Ewald rummages through my bag to pull out my wands before letting me take the rest. A fresh wave of anger surges through me, and I shoot him a dark look. That limits my options. Despite myself, I hear myself ask:
"How did you know?"
"The memories, Vivian. I could apologise, but I'm not sorry. We'll talk, but somewhere else," Ewald replies, with a harshness that silences Al'.
Is he… mad at me? I respond, because I have to try, though I don't actually believe it'll work:
"I want you to leave me alone. You can't force me to stay with you. And I want you to give me back my wands, Ewald."
"That's out of the question. And you don't have to stay with us, in fact I'm giving you a choice. Either you explain yourself to us tonight, or I'll petrify you again and hand you over to Madam Pomfrey, who will surely inform the headmistress and your parents. Honestly, it would probably be wiser to leave you in the hands of a good Mind-healer."
He's mad at me, definitely. But if he remembers even a fraction of my memories, he should understand why I had to die. He's only known me for a few months! Why does he even care?
"You have no right!" I spit out, with all the anger I feel. The Slytherin looks at me coldly, but his face shows a hint of his own anger. He simply responds in a dry tone:
"I've exposed your options."
The other two remain silent, and I'm grateful for it. I really don't need Arthur chiming in, or impatient questions from Alphonse. I know I've lost for now, and I decide to return to my initial plan, which I had somewhat lost sight of in the storm of my anger. A flicker of hope surfaces as my brain, despite myself, analyses Ewald's words: "Honestly, it would probably be wiser to leave you in the hands of a Mind-healer..." It sounds as though that's not really his intention, as if he thinks it's the right thing to do but knows he won't follow through with it. I shove the hope deep down. Hope is the worst emotion. And besides, it's not relevant right now. It's just good to know, because it means there's no immediate urgency. Not yet. I push my emotions and thoughts behind my mental walls, half Occlumency, half trauma, and reply in a voice as empty as I feel:
"Fine, I'll go with you."
They came by broom, and Ewald firmly insists I ride with him. He directs me to sit in front, his arm wrapping around me. I wriggle a bit and ask:
"Is that really necessary?"
"I can't risk you accidentally falling during the trip, right? I could probably catch you in time, but I'd rather be certain. If the contact makes you uncomfortable, I can always use a sticking charm. Your choice."
I just sigh and force myself to relax a little in the Slytherin's grip.
"Where are we going?" Alphonse asks.
"To Vivian's secret hideout, to start with. Just follow me."
Without exchanging more words, we take off. I barely notice the journey, preoccupied with piecing together theories on how they found me and panicking about what's going to happen next. What do they want from me? How can I stop them from telling the adults?
oOo
When we arrive at the hatch, I haven't said a word. Ewald instructs Alphonse and Arthur to go up first and retrieve any dangerous objects they can find. I don't react, though I'm not thrilled. Either way, I have enough supplies in my dormitory trunk, which they won't be able to search. I'm still wondering how they found me—probably with a spell? At the same time, I begin thinking about what I might say to them. I don't even know what they'll want to know. Maybe why I did it? There's a letter that explains that, after all.
The boys finish searching my room quickly, and soon Alphonse is at the edge of the hatch, calling out to Ewald:
"We're done. You should come up; she left a note... and Arthur is reading it."
Alphonse looks both worried and exhausted. I climb up first, Ewald unwilling to risk me escaping or even stepping out of his sight. I find Arthur sitting on the floor near my hammock, looking a bit pale. He's holding the letter in his hand, but he's not reading it. Alphonse stands nearby, and the moment he sees me, his gaze never leaves mine. I notice the small pile of metal he hands to Ewald when he joins us. He must have cast detection spells to find everything... Feeling uneasy, I choose to sit near the hatch, wrapping my arms around my knees and trying to maintain the most neutral expression possible. I try to pretend that I don't even exist.
Ewald considers the scene in front of him for a moment, then asks Arthur, his voice still holding a trace of gentleness:
"Can I have a look?"
His friend responds with a shaky voice, clearly on the verge of tears:
"Take it... And if you can, read it to me. I can't get through it."
Alphonse remains silent but squirms in his seat, likely because he too wants to know what I've written. Ewald turns to me and asks:
"Do you mind if I read it out loud?"
I shrug. It doesn't matter what they do, as long as the letter doesn't get to the adults. After all, they wouldn't necessarily be able to stop me from killing myself unless they resort to drastic measures. Unless, I think suddenly, there's a potion that could prevent me from hurting myself, and the thought chills me. The mere idea of having my will restrained like that disgusts me.
But what bothers me most (if such a potion doesn't exist) is the thought of them learning things. Because my life is my own business. My friends are different. They're part of my life. And even though it happened in spite of myself, Ewald, Arthur, and Alphonse are still part of that life. For all the good it does them…
oOo
Ewald's feelings are shielded behind his Occlumency barrier, like mine, even though I feel the aftershocks of our little Legilimency session. He reads my letter in a neutral and steady voice, not allowing his thoughts to show. In contrast, Arthur's feelings are clearly visible on his face.
"I'm sorry if my death saddens you. Be assured that you are not to blame. In no way. I wanted to die long before we met. You can know the truth now."
Ewald's voice remains dangerously neutral. Alphonse's fists clench, while Arthur appears tense. He wants to know this truth. After all, isn't that what he has been hounding me for since I arrived at Hogwarts? My suffering, who I am.
"The truth is that this physical shell is not the one in which my existence began."
Alphonse must be starting to make the connection with what I told him on top of the construction building, if he remembers. I can't quite read his expression.
"Anyway, I was originally born in France, under the name Aurore. I was sixteen when I got raped. I didn't care much for my life at that time, but it got even worse after. All the people I cared about betrayed or let me down during that time."
It is at this moment that I stop looking at them and withdraw into myself. I lock my emotions up tightly to prevent the images of the past from reaching my consciousness. I clutch my knees tighter against myself and dig my nails into the palms of my hands to concentrate. I keep my head down. I fix my gaze on the ground, without really seeing it. What need did they have to find me?
"I know this must seem strange to you, but it's a real relief for me. I've waited for this for so many years... That's why I didn't want you to get attached to me."
I tell myself that I should at least look at Arthur's reactions to get an idea of what he thinks about all this.
"But know that neither you, nor Ewald, nor anyone else I know in this life is to blame in any way for my death. My decision has been made for over eleven years."
It is at this moment that I force myself to raise my head because I want to see the Hufflepuff understand, understand that he is not responsible, but also my reasons. He has his head down, and I can't manage to meet his gaze. His fists are clenched, the knuckles white under the pressure. I see silent sobs shaking his body. He is crying. Alphonse has put his arm around his shoulders, as if to support him. The Gryffindor is looking at me. He seems really furious, but he remains respectfully silent so that Ewald can read the letter to the end. However, I can see the tension in his whole body, and I suspect it will burst forth as soon as the Slytherin finishes his task. The latter is not very visible to me. He is next to me, standing on the trapdoor. I suppose to ensure that I don't escape.
Before long, Ewald reads the passages directly addressed to him and then to Alphonse, and suddenly his voice stops after reading my signature. The silence lasts a few seconds, interrupted by Arthur's sobs as he tries to stop crying. Ewald sits heavily on the trapdoor. I observe him surreptitiously. His face is closed, but I feel that he is struggling with himself. I have a strange impression while looking at him, but I don't have time to dwell on it because a sudden noise makes me look up. Alphonse has pushed himself off the wall he is leaning against, and he is heading straight for me. I flinch, but he stops before touching me.
"Damn it, Vivian, why didn't you say anything?"
"I'm sorry," I reply, because I don't know what else to say. I think his retort is driven by anger, but it is the pure sadness it contains that touches me despite myself. It would have been so much simpler, so much better for them too, if I had just stayed on my own. If we hadn't gotten attached.
"I was there! Arthur was there! Ewald too! And you didn't say anything to anyone! Don't try to say it was because you weren't of this world or some crap like that! If you really didn't care, you wouldn't have left a goodbye letter like that! So why, Viv', huh?"
"I left a letter out of pity," I reply coldly. "I didn't want any connection, but I owed them, you all, actually, something, in a way. Just because I didn't want a bond doesn't mean there wasn't one after all. I've always been alone, and I learned not to trust anyone. And I didn't want to get attached to you. That's a mistake I made, a weakness. The result speaks for itself."
I don't see the slap coming from Alphonse. It doesn't hurt much, but he still went for it seriously. I instinctively rub my cheek while Arthur rushes towards me with a muffled exclamation.
"If you wanted me to be hurt, you could have just let me finish the job, you know?" I remark cynically.
Alphonse's hand rises again, but Arthur holds it back, shouting:
"Stop!"
"He's right," Ewald intervenes with a heavy sigh. "It would be deserved, but that's enough for now."
Alphonse clenches his fist but lets it drop by his side, tense. Arthur turns to me, his eyes red from crying (which has finally stopped), and asks me in a whisper:
"Are you okay?"
I shrug.
"Obviously, it would be much better if you had let me finish, but if I say that, Alphonse will hit me again. So, I'll just say it could be worse."
No one finds my remark amusing. Pity, because I do. I still have to be careful to keep them in a good mood, I suppose, if I want to avoid them involving the adults. Despite this, a part of me wonders what difference it would make. I know how to pretend after all, and it'd only take a moment of inattention for me to end it all. Except that the thought of a potion, or even a spell that would prevent me from hurting myself resurfaces in me. I force myself to breathe normally to mask the panic that this thought brings on. I don't even know if it exists. It's not relevant at the moment. It will be fine. It will be fine. It will be fine. I put on an ironic smile on my face to act as if nothing is wrong.
Alphonse really looks like he wants to hit me again (and a part of me understands him), while Ewald doesn't seem to react much. Before the Gryffindor makes an unfortunate move (for my face, at least), Arthur sighs, stepping back (has he noticed that his closeness makes me tense?) and sighs again.
"I think you owe us some explanations, don't you?"
"Isn't my note enough?"
Alphonse steps back slightly as well and sits in my hammock.
"Of course it's not. I don't know exactly what the others know about you, but as for me, I'd really like to know who you truly are, Viv'."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea. And it's a long story."
"I doubt any of us will be able to sleep peacefully," Ewald interjects. "I also want to know your story. I think it's necessary to figure out what we're going to do next."
"I want to know too," Arthur adds. "Please. You can't run away again, not tonight."
I glance at them briefly, then lower my head. In truth, they already know a lot. Far too much. They're too involved. What difference will it make if I tell them everything? If I talk about my past? Not much. And, in a way, I do feel like I "owe" them something, even if it's an absurd feeling. Will they learn that I'm a piece of trash? That I'm weak? That I'm despicable? Ewald already has a good idea of all that. And if, by some chance, my story pushes them away, detaches them a little from me, it's a win. Even better if they understand why I have to die. Because if they understand that, I'll have won. Nevertheless, I still try to negotiate, breaking the silence full of expectation that had settled while I was thinking.
"I'm willing to tell you my story, but in exchange, I want you to promise not to tell anyone, and not to involve anyone else in what happened tonight."
"The first condition is fair. But for the second, I can't promise anything," Ewald replies calmly. "It depends on what you tell us, and I need time to think about it. Nothing will happen immediately anyway."
The others express their agreement with the Serpentard's words, and I grimace inwardly. I don't have any guarantees, but at the same time, it's better than many of the scenarios I've imagined. I won't get anything better for now. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before I begin to speak.
"As I said in the letter, my name was originally Aurore Berger. I was born in Aix-en-Provence, that's in the south of France. My family was Muggle. My father managed a supermarket, and my mother worked in daycare. I had an older brother, Jérémie. He was two years older than me. I've had a pretty normal childhood... I loved playing marbles, climbing trees…
When I was five, we moved to the suburbs of Lyon because my father got an opportunity to change jobs and work at a company owned by one of his cousins. I didn't handle the move very well; for a long time, I was nostalgic for Provence and the friends I had there. But after a few years, I had even lost contact with my best friend from Aix. I made new friends, some more respectable than others... My best friend at the time once told me that it didn't make any difference to him whether I lived or died.
But I'm getting off track. In sixth grade, I met a girl named Mélanie Evrare. We were in the same class and clicked right away. We were pretty different, though. She was more introverted than I was, much more sensitive to what others thought of her, and a lot calmer too. She was passionate about archaeology. What brought us together was that we were both seen as nerds because we loved reading and did well in school. She had a strong sense of justice.
We spent a lot of time together, even though I also spent time at the school's sports association, where I did rock climbing and other outdoor sports. But climbing was really my favourite. I made other friends too, like the guy I mentioned earlier, Yohan. In seventh grade, Mélanie and I weren't in the same class any more because I joined the sports speciality class while she stayed in our bilingual English-German class. Even so, we remained very close. Over time, she started making new friends, and I'm not really sure when she began to struggle, but the fact is, she developed anorexia."
I pause for a moment, noticing the solemn attention they give me. Their faces reflect various emotions—Arthur looks deeply concerned, Alphonse still seems tense, and Ewald, while keeping his composure, is focused on every word I say.
I take a breath, lost in the past. Despite all the years that have passed, I still wonder if I could have helped her better back then. Undoubtedly, I could have. I don't even know how we drifted that way. All I know is that I had an unhealthy fascination with suicide, with understanding why people choose to keep living, and maybe that kept me from helping her the way I should have. But I'm not going to tell the guys that.
Despite myself, I extend the pause, recalling how I treated her when I first found out what was happening. I'd let her purge, even helped her in a way, standing guard to make sure no one would catch her. At the same time, I tried to get her to take care of herself, to motivate her to eat, to tell her not to care about what others thought… But I was also curious, maybe even fascinated. For a long time, I didn't know the extent of what she was doing to herself, but eventually, I found out.
I keep my head down, avoiding their eyes, feeling the weight of my own mistakes. The silence stretches, and I can sense their growing unease, but they don't interrupt me. They're waiting for more.
"Are you okay, Vivian?" I lift my head. My prolonged silence has worried Arthur. I smile—a fake smile, though I make it look genuine—and continue my story.
"I'm fine, it's just that some memories are coming back... Anyway. That summer before we started ninth grade, she didn't talk to me at all, no matter how many times I tried to call her. When I went to her house, no one was ever there… I finally saw her again when school started, and she just told me she'd spent the summer at camp, then with her family and some other friends. She said I was a bit too clingy and that she had other people to hang out with. She didn't say it meanly, but it still hurt me.
Even so, she still spent time with me, but only at school. She eventually admitted that her parents didn't want us to hang out any more because they thought I was a bad influence on her. It was around that time that I tried making myself throw up too, just to see what it was like. I didn't understand the satisfaction she got from it.
The following summer, we didn't see each other at all. Then, a few weeks into the school year, during our tenth grade, she disappeared, and I never saw her again. I tried calling her over and over, tried going to her house, but they would hang up on me, or act like no one was home, even though I could see the lights on. Finally, one day, the door opened, but it wasn't Mélanie. It was her mum, and she was furious. She told me not to come near her daughter again, that I was a bad influence, practically blaming me for her illness, and that she never wanted to see me again. Then she slammed the door in my face.
I cried that day, but when I got home, I pretended like nothing had happened. I eventually told my parents a bit about it, because they had to know why I didn't talk about my best friend any more. I later found out through my brother, who sometimes hung out with Mélanie's older sister, that she'd been placed in a treatment centre."
I pause, feeling the weight of those memories pressing down on me again. The room is silent, and I can sense the tension.
I take a moment to catch my breath and use the pause to discreetly observe the boys. I can't see Ewald clearly without turning my head, but I notice Arthur looks a bit shaken while Alphonse wears a concentrated expression. However, I can't miss that his fists are clenched. He takes advantage of the silence in my story to mutter, "What a friend..."
I don't respond to the comment. I focus on what I still have to say.
"After that, I missed her for a long time. I imagined all kinds of reasons to explain her behaviour. I convinced myself that it was her parents who were stopping her from talking to me, not what she really wanted. But of course, I quickly realized that wasn't true. If she'd really wanted to, she could've sent me a text, or passed a message through mutual friends... The summer before high school, my brother came to visit me in my room one evening."
I mentally brace myself, welcoming the sharp headache building in my skull after using too much mind magic today. There's a strange mixture of weariness and satisfaction as I detach my awareness from my emotions and push forward with the story. Meanwhile, my nails dig discreetly but deeply into my arm.
"I missed Mélanie a lot that night, and even though it was unusual for my brother to come to my room, I was happy he came to keep me company. I thought he'd comfort me."
But I know what comes next, and the memory weighs heavily in my mind, ready to be spoken aloud for the first time in years.
"He raped me that night."
"WHAT?!"
Alphonse, of course. I wish he had kept quiet, so I could continue and get this part over with as quickly as possible, pretending it never happened. I push aside these thoughts and repeat calmly.
"He raped me."
"How could he do something like that?! It's completely immoral!"
This time it's Arthur, clearly outraged.
I let out a weak laugh at the absurdity of his statement.
"I'd tell you to ask him, but he's dead."
"What do you mean?!"
"He died in a car accident, six months after what he did to me. We never really talked about it, we acted as if nothing had happened, so I never knew why he did it."
I speak quickly, trying to prevent another interruption.
"I didn't know what to say, what to think. I felt so guilty for not defending myself, for not reacting. I told myself it was my fault too, and that's more or less what he implied when we spoke about it vaguely. He never gave me an explanation, never apologized. And then he died. I was in shock, but at the same time, disgustingly relieved to know he couldn't do it again because he no longer existed. My father blamed me for not being sad enough at the funeral, and I tried to tell my parents what had happened, but they didn't want to listen. They said I was ungrateful, that I shouldn't tarnish his memory. They told me that no matter what had happened between us, he was dead now, and therefore it no longer mattered.
After that, I didn't try again to talk to anyone any more. I didn't trust anyone, and that event just confirmed that it was better this way. My parents divorced six months later, and I stayed with my father since my school was near his place. I saw my mother on the weekends, after she moved to Lyon."
I can tell the others want to react to what I'm telling them, but I'm just eager to get this over with, so I continue.
"I made a few friends in high school, people like me—outsiders. I haven't mentioned it before, but I was bullied throughout my schooling. Nothing too serious, almost never physical, but I was far from popular. These friends had similar experiences. Anyway, in sophomore year, I met Maeva. She was pretty much the only nice person in my class. Even though, by that point, I was completely disconnected and didn't care about much any more, I noticed her. She was a paradox—loud and shy at the same time, very private about her personal life.
Then, when my parents really started fighting, I met Élias and Florian, two guys from the role-playing club I went to with Maeva. They were both pretty geeky, each in their own way. I had some deep conversations with Élias, especially when I told him about my parents. He knew what divorce was like. Before the school year ended, we started hanging out together more and more often—eating together in the courtyard, and we began having role-playing game sessions, usually at Élias's or Florian's place.
I think everyone could see that I was struggling. Back then, I didn't bother hiding my cuts. In fact, I wasn't the only one in the group who did it. But we never really talked about it. I had built this big, loud-mouthed, jokester persona so that no one would question me too much. I lied as much as necessary to cover my tracks. I pretended."
I take a breath, feeling the weight of the next part of the story pressing on me. It's time to introduce the person who changed everything.
"A few months before the end of the school year, Élias started hanging out a lot with this guy from his class, and eventually, he introduced us. His name was Quentin. He was kind, very considerate of others, and a bit shy. He was the one who made the first move towards me, and we started texting regularly. Things escalated pretty quickly. We had deep, meaningful conversations. He was really concerned about me—he wanted to understand what I was going through, like why I was cutting myself, for instance. We saw each other a lot during the holidays, always in a group, but whenever we were together, he was always looking out for me. He could often tell when I wasn't doing well, and he'd quietly try to help me out. He supported me.
He gave my feelings back to me. I don't know how else to put it…"
I pause again, letting out a slow breath as I search for the right words. I need to convey what Quentin meant to me, what I owe him, and how, in a way, he also led to my downfall.
"After the rape, I no longer felt anything, except for the pain, and even that was dulled. But after talking to him... I found myself laughing sincerely, feeling joy... I felt alive rather than just surviving, even though it took time. Little by little, I fell in love with him. I realised it the day he told me he had just found a girlfriend. I confessed my feelings to him because I wanted to be honest with him, even if it was pointless. He said he suspected it. After that, I felt a bit worse; no matter how much I tried not to think of him that way, I couldn't erase what I felt. He continued to talk to me because I needed him so much. Also, I had become his best friend during the months we had talked. Honestly, I think I would have felt even worse if we had stopped talking... And then, on Saturday, November tenth, I went to a role-playing evening where a guy from the club, Lucas, had invited me. Honestly, it wasn't something I usually did; I didn't know the guy very well, but still... I wanted to change my mind, forget about Quentin, and I thought it would just be about role-playing.
The boys are still silent, glued to my lips, even though Arthur lets out a slight yawn before instantly blushing. I barely notice him, lost in the past.
"The evening was taking place at a guy's house who lived about fifteen minutes away from mine on foot. When I arrived, I immediately realised it wouldn't be what I thought. There was loud music and about ten people I had already seen at school, mostly from the role-playing club, and there was as much alcohol as there was food on the tables. I thought about going home because alcohol was not my thing at all, nor were parties, but I told myself I could at least make an effort and try to socialise. They were playing metal, which meant we had that in common at least. The guy who had invited me was already there, so I went to chat with him. Since it was quite noisy, he suggested we go into a room next door to talk. We settled on a sofa, and at first everything was normal, except after a while, he started to place his hand on my thigh. At first, I didn't react; I thought it was an accident, then he slid it further towards my crotch. I wriggled a bit, that was all I managed to do, and he said, 'Just tell me if I'm bothering you, okay?' except I was no longer able to react. It was like when my brother raped me; I was frozen. He touched me a bit, but people entered the room and came over to talk to him. They didn't pay attention to what he was doing, as if everything was normal, but his distraction allowed me to move. I left without stopping, without thinking; I barely remember the way back, just the moment I stepped outside and realised that I hadn't changed. That I was still unable to defend myself."
I hear the bitterness in my voice. I discreetly slide my hand along my side to dig my nails into my palm without being seen. I remember everything; I still feel it all as I tell the story.
"It all made sense to me. I understood that I could never escape the past. That night, my memories came flooding back. I cut myself without any concern for discretion, and I took some sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet so I could sleep. I didn't take too many because I didn't want to die by accident. I sent a text to Quentin, but he didn't reply because he was already asleep. While waiting for the sleeping pills to take effect, I started thinking about how to kill myself. I had thought about it very often before; I had done plenty of dangerous things for pleasure and because I didn't care whether I lived or died, but this time it was more than just classic ideation. I started to think of a plan. Because it was pointless to live only to relive the same things."
I feel Ewald's hand uncurl my fingers, still buried in my palm, and gently slip against my hand to hold it delicately. I let him do it, so the others don't notice the movement, and also because I'm a bit surprised. However, I continue my story. There isn't much left to say, and I'm eager to finish.
"I saw Quentin on Monday, with the others, and when he saw the state of my arms, he took me aside to talk. I had tried to hide the cuts, but he understood that I had made new ones by my behaviour, and he managed to see. I explained a little about what had happened, and he tried to comfort me, but it didn't make sense to me. He couldn't understand.
He talked about pressing charges while saying it was good that Lucas hadn't gone further, that he was proud of me for managing to leave. But he didn't understand that I wouldn't have been able to stop him from raping me if he had wanted to. I told him that I couldn't escape the past, and he offered me empty words, insisting that everything passes, that it would get better.
Except it doesn't get better when you're trapped in your head. I told him I wanted to die; he told me not to do it, as usual. I think that day, Élias and Maeva also asked me questions about how I was doing. Especially Élias; he was worried. I felt guilty that they were worried. I deflected Maeva's questions and avoided Élias until the end of the day.
That evening, as I couldn't sleep, I continued to think about my suicide. I wanted to jump into the void because I had always dreamed of flying. But I knew from my more or less legal climbing experiences that I would be unable to let myself fall voluntarily into the void. So, I decided to drink e-cigarette liquid to poison myself, hoping that when the pain became too strong, I would be able to jump. I had learned by chance that the nicotine dose in e-liquid could be deadly. That was my plan. I didn't know when and where I would carry it out, but at least I had something. It allowed me to put on a facade more easily the next day; even Quentin thought I was doing better. Apparently, it's common for suicidal people to appear better when they have a plan. But inside, I was dead. Again, I struggled to feel anything, and I couldn't forget.
On Wednesday morning, I ran into Lucas in a corridor, laughing with a group of his friends. I think that's what made me decide to put my plan into action. I took advantage of the lunch break, before the school's sports association, to buy the e-liquid. Fortunately, some people at school dealt it, because since I wasn't eighteen, I could have had problems buying it in a store. It felt good to have the bottle, and then I realised that nothing was stopping me from dying that very day.
So, instead of going climbing, I went home. My father was at work, and I took the opportunity to burn some documents and think about what I would leave behind. I wrote a will, then a farewell letter for Quentin. I tidied up my room a bit to make sure I had nothing to get rid of. While I was doing this, my mother offered to pick me up after climbing so we could eat together. I thought it was a chance to see her one last time, so I joined her, throwing my razor blades into a nearby bin on the way. I didn't want my parents to learn anything that would hurt them in addition to my death. I left the will and the letter for Quentin on my desk and told my father that I was eating at my mother's and that we probably wouldn't see each other in the evening.
I had dinner with my mother, but I barely remember it. I was thinking about the bottle that was resting in my pocket. On the way there, I had spotted a tall building whose doors were open every time I passed by to see my mother. I decided that I would check there first to see if I could get onto the roof. Plus, it was next to a hospital, which meant that comings and goings wouldn't raise anyone's suspicions. I just needed to make sure I didn't mess it up, because it would have been silly for someone to find me; it would have been too easy to save me.
When I left my mother, I went straight to the building. It was getting a bit late. The door downstairs was open, as I had expected, and I managed to reach the top floor by climbing up the stairs. I didn't run into anyone; it was easy. When I got to the top, the ladder that led to the hatch and thus to the roof was attached to the wall with a padlock, but I managed to use a flowerpot and the railing at the top of the stairs to reach the hatch. Fortunately for me, it wasn't locked, and I managed to climb onto the roof, even though it was quite a struggle. At that moment, I was really glad I was into climbing."
I can distinctly see Arthur and Alphonse tense up as I describe my last day. They dread the end of my story, but not as much as I longed for it back then. Not as much as I dream of dying at this moment.
"Once at the top, I laid out my belongings neatly; I had kept my ID so that my body could be easily identified. I took the time to admire the sunset and wondered if I really wanted to die. Because, well, as long as we are alive, we can always die. But normally when you're dead, it's for good. I must be cursed. Anyway. For me, the answer was clear. That was all I was waiting for. Yet, I called Quentin. To give him a chance, maybe for him to stop me... He answered, but his attention was mainly on his girlfriend, who was sleeping at his place and whom he had to go back to. I could tell I was bothering him. So, I said goodbye to him and hung up while swallowing the poison. And then, just as I had hoped, the pain was enough to give me the push to jump. And that's how I died."
oOo
The silence changed me
All the words unspoken
All the hurt and the pain
There's so much they don't see
And I keep on pretending
But I am haunted by the past
I can't escape anything
Only the pain can last
-Poem excerpt from Vivian-Éris' blue notebook-
Soo, she finally had to tell everything. I'm really looking forward for your feedback!
Please be aware that I've got a rational explanation for everything in this fic (I need one to feel good), so there's an actual reason she survived.
Here's my question: I wrote some bonus chapters for this fic, including one that tells Ewald's viewpoint from the moment he leaves Vivian to the beginning of this chapter. Should I put it as next chapter, or create another work for that? (knowing I wrote some other bonuses, that are pretty nice as well (but only this one and another are really important for the story)).
See you!