F a l l ! n g [Squee/Closed/PG-13]

[ツ PEZZY]

' D e p r e s s e d again, dear? '

' . . . Take the w h i t e pill . . . '

' . . . It will n e v e r hurt . . . '

' . . . The i n s u l i n should kick in soon . . . '

Voices. He was hearing voices. They were the voices that wouldn't go away. The voices that kept everyone away. They shut him him from the world, and the world from him. But they were supposed to be gone now. The meds were supposed to make them gone. Medicine was supposed to make him get better. Supposed to make everything alright. But was the cutting alright? The pain, the memories, the days thrown away forever? They were all the same shades of grey to him, and he didn't care.

' . . . Feeling b e t t e r, dear? . . . '

He wore long-sleeved shirts now, not caring if the searing heat would melt his skin down to the bone. They hid what he did in the gardens; what he was doing now. It wasn't as though he could stop himself with just a thought; the slicing was starting to become compulsive. Repetitive. Needed. It was a pattern, almost. Nearly every three days he'd come here and sit on the same stone bench with the same knife as soon as everyone would have gone to the cafeteria for dinner. He timed each and every visit to the gardens so carefully that hardly anyone would notice his absence, even his friends; the few he did have.

And Othello? The dog was usually left upstairs in the dorm during evening hours, although every time he returned after days like this one he would whimper and stay away from his master. For good reason.

Mai rau a fost facut inainte...Mai rau a fost facut inainte...Mai rau a fost facut inainte... The same words were repeated over and over in his mind, like a false comfort to the sting in the blade. It came down, making a small puncture upon his left forearm, a tiny red bead of blood came forth smoothly...and then it fell to the ground upon a bed of white petals, staining them.

That was the last for today. He didn't want to continue, didn't want to move. The scalpel was buried beneath a small carpet of moss by a bronze sundial, where it always laid when it wasn't in use. God knows where he had found it. God knows how long he intended to use it.

Diesel didn't feel like eating now; it was just another result of the chain of reactions started by his disorder. He remained perched on the stone bench, almost as if he were dead already. His clouded blue eyes stared down at the floor, at the growing patch of red-covered grass. Falling into a chasm of silence far away from the rest of the world beside him, he stayed.

Unmoving. Unthinking. Unfeeling.

Someone needed to snap him out of it. Someone needed to make him care...

---

[/size][/font]Mai rau a fost facut inainte... // Worse has been done before...

SHEESH.

Now that I look at it, the whole thing's rather creepy/deranged/sad/dramatic. Oh well. Borderline personality disorder's nothing to laugh at, either. Just for the blood, the cutting, the depression symptoms and general suicidal behavior, it's PG-13. Yah. No teachers/staff please. Just a student.
Gracias ~ <3[/blockquote]

[¡SQUEEKERS!]

If you change your mind...

First: Ditch the annoyingly, overly protective boys.

Second: Ditch them the second time around.

Third: Steal away to the Gardens and hide for a few hours.

Take a chance on me.

First was always easier then the second. They seemed to know her direct line of path and always threw themselves in front of it. She'd weave to the left, they'd dash around corners, doors, stray students, and be waiting there for her. She's bob to the right, and god forbid if they shouldn't be standing right there to keep her out of harms way. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." That sentence seemed to be more of a motto then anything these days. Always repeating it. Always, always, always.

So, she was forced to find new spots to hide, now places to creep into, it wasn't all that comfortable up in her dorm, what with room mates poking around, and all she wanted was some peace and quiet. She was used to that, she liked that. Wake up in the morning, send her brother off to school, work her ass off at whatever diner or shop were willing to hire her, then get home before him, clean, make dinner, pretend everything is alright, then pass out somewhere between making your life better, and realizing you're going to be stuck in this hell hole forever.

Well, maybe not now, but still...

If you put me to the test.

Selby had found herself taking refuge in the gardens lately. They were expansive, the bushes were tall, and hid her quite nicely from any prying eyes. She especially preferred one spot a little deep into the shrubbery, and with a bottle of water and Pride & Prejudice in her hands, the young Aussie made a beeline for it. Sniffing and smiling at the flowers as she passed them, and stopping, just short of her bench, as she spotted another person already there.

Damn... With a soft sigh, she bit lightly at her lip and allowed herself to tread closer. "U-Uhm, hello?" She didn't want to scare the poor pers- guy, as she saw now, she didn't need them freaking out, falling down, attacking her in some sort of freakish rage that brought all of heaven and hell down upon her... As Biagio always said, even though she argued that hell would actually fall up at her. And for future reference, Selby learned to never argue with a drunk.

She was closer now, she hadn't actually stopped in her attempt to steal her spot back, but now, as she glanced down at him, she felt something... Odd within her. "E-Excuse me..." Closer, closer, closer still. Then, something red caught her eye, a few drops below his lap, staining, collecting, bringing back memories she'd rather forget.

"Oh my go- A-Are you alright?" Out of concern she made to take a step closer, but decided against it, who knew what was going on in this poor mans head. She didn't assume anything with him though. For all she knew, he'd cut himself running through the shrubs...

Honey, I'm still free...

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[ツ PEZZY]

. . . Demerol is a Merperdine. A p a i n k i l l e r . . .

. . . It has a b i t t e r taste, and consumed in p i l l s by the dozens . . .

An orange little bottle shone brightly in the sun, yet blurred in his eyes. He began tossing it from hand to hand like an impatient cat with a wad of tempting yarn, cloudy blue eyes following the bottle (or rather, its remaining contents). Three little round pills danced and spun within the bottle, all seeming to make the time follow the “clink” and “clack” of each catch in each hand the more it was tossed. Boredom caught up to him, impatience, pain and dependency infecting his decisions. The tossing stopped abruptly, as his right hand clutched the capsule and his left hand unwound the white cap. Spilling the contents into a cupped hand, and letting the cap and bottle fall among the blades of red-stained grass, he simply stared at the pills. A moment later he popped them like the candy he knew would make him feel better...feel something!

. . . Those with the borderline disorder experience
chronic feelings of emptiness . . .

As if he wanted it all to be like this. Ten long minutes passed between hiding the blade, and coming out of the haze of emptiness by a voice. Ten long minutes were enough to let a seamless trickle of blood wind about his arm like a liquid net, seeping onto the ground. Enough to let him finish the rest of the Demerol. Enough to make it start working.

. . . substance abuse is exhibited in patients with BPD . . .

He stared at the girl. Just stared. He knew he should have been angry, or sad, or at least taken by surprise that someone finally caught him here. No thoughts registered into his mind, at first. A moment of confusion replaced the emptiness, which was replaced by sadness, which begged for the coming of a speck of hope. He knew he needed someone to get rid of whatever sort of stupid disease took him over. He knew it and hated it. Although...he also couldn't help but imagine if things could get better...If, just once, things could just fall into place.

For that reason, he tried. The reason of reaching for something so wanted; needed.

So he tried. With no voice, with no help.

Thoughts.

I...I don't know if you can hear me, like some do. Diesel tried to think out loud in clear English, wondering if she was one of those kids. He hoped she was. There was no way to back out of his current situation, not without Othello, not without some kind of voice. Still sitting down, looking up at her, he continued. But if you can, I...I don't think I'm alright. He tried to not sound like he was pointing out the obvious, or like a freak goth kid with insomnia who writes poetry all day and night wearing eyeliner and ridiculously tight skinny jeans. He didn't want to scare her away, for fear that she might tell a teacher, who would inform the principal, who would inform his father. He was the last person Diesel wanted to see, or hear from. Just...help me up, please. He pleaded. He pleaded for support, and because he felt his legs go numb.

Unable to speak. Unable to move.

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[¡SQUEEKERS!]

That was a plea if Selby had ever heard one. And it tugged at the deteriorating heart strings deep within her, somewhere around where her soul used to occupy. She'd lost that to the black hole raging in her mind, and her locked up heart wasn't beating as fast as it used to. Cooling the blood, easing the nerves.

Up... Up... No up.

Blood.

That's right. She'd forgotten for a moment. His voice had filled her mind, and in some weird, awkward way it warmed her, just the tiniest bit. But no time to worry over that. Setting her ragged copy of Pride & Prejudice on the bench beside him, and kneeling down, Selby ripped off a strip of cloth from her worn plaid over shirt and quickly twisted the cap from her water off. "What were you thinking..." A silly thing to say at a time like this, but Selby had meant for it to be only for her ears, but somehow those words had found their way to her lips. It was too late to take them back now.

Making sure the strip of cloth was, for the most part, soaked, she quickly wrapped it around his forearm, and trying not to hurt him, she squeezed. Her eyes hadn't moved from his arm, the blood staining the grass just below her knees was begging for attention, but Selby refused, instead she glanced up at him.

His face, was pale, blood loss? Or perhaps he was always on the paler side, like her. Living in the Aussie sun did nothing for her complexion except introduce new freckles to the end of her nose, or her arms, tanning, was not in her blood. But never mind that, it was the least important thing at this moment, her eyes trailed up to his, a dark ashy blue, a perfect contrast to her daringly bright ones, it left her speechless for a moment, not that she was speaking, but her thoughts had definitely stopped for the moment. Blushing she raised his arm, so the cut was above his head, which she noticed was topped with bright red bangs.

It was almost enough to make her giggle, even in this tense of a moment. Instead she went to speak again. "U-Uhm, just keep your arm above your head, it'll slow the blood flow..." She didn't plan on letting his arm go, but she couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes again. They reminded her so much... Instead she finally let her gaze turn downwards, to the red stained grass that almost matched his ha-

"Wha-" Her free hand drifted to the ground, grabbing lightly at a small, orange, cap less bottle. Lifting it between a couple of fingers, Selby brought it up into the light, and read only half of a word before she tossed it to the side. Anger, annoyance, even a growl rose in her throat raised towards this boy. Someone she'd never laid eyes on before, or even spoke to, and yet he was throwing away something that was beyond sacred. "How many did you take?" She didn't need to know exactly what it was he took, she'd seen enough of it as a child to know what it would do. Selby had experienced far too many nights where she'd had to drag her unconscious father to a bath tub and soak him, sobbing and praying for help the entire time.

She raised her eyes back to his, this time hers were spit fires, her brow furrowed lightly as she waited for an answer. "How many?"

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[ツ PEZZY]

“Oh, thank God she can hear me,” were the only words in Diesel's mind. He still didn't (more like couldn't) move even though he watched the girl glide towards him, kneeling. The only real change that occurred to him was that his dark eyes widened to see better, being that they were dimmed as soon as the numbness had set in moments before. Should she have not responded to his thoughts, he would have gone from being so hollow to being angry, and ultimately scaring her off with tears and a knife or by playing the Mental-case Card. Neither option would have ended well if he wasn't heard.

His eyes followed her movements, waiting to see what she would do. She placed her book beside him, though he didn't bother to look at it; he was too dazed to care. She proceeded to tear off a piece of her shirt, wetting it using the water she'd brought with her. “What were you thinking...?” she said. Diesel looked away, frowning, obviously trying to avoid “telling” her the cause for what he did.

But he didn't look away from her for long. His eyes were still obscured, and curious despite the damage he dealt to himself. They eventually wandered up to her face, locking eye contact with her. He bit his lip in a mix of anxiety caused by the pills, pain, and the fact that she was out of his league. Way out. Alien. It was because she was pretty. Too pretty; in fact, Diesel began to lean towards utter shame and humiliation. He hated pity from others; he always knew they really meant: “Sorry that you're stupid.” But then a even deeper feeling crept its way inside him; why did he let another human being help him after the frightening mess he made? Of course, he knew he was dangerous; that was why he'd asked for her to get him up on his feet so he could go hide somewhere else and she could leave him alone. But she wouldn't let that happen to him, obviously.

She had taken him by surprise. Wincing as she took his arm and held it up high, he realized she'd done this before. Or at least something of the like. In general, he avoided physical contact with anyone; he often dodged Lux's noogie-attacks more and more often, and tried to keep away from nearly everyone in the halls. When she asked him to hold it there, he saw her blush, if only a little. “...Why?” was the most appropriate response, he told himself. But instead he replied, ...Okay. and frowned ever so slightly, wondering what good that would do. Gritting his teeth as she grasped the wound and bound it with the piece of torn shirt, he could only think, Ouch. He was never much for studying about the circulatory system (and much less care about what he did to himself). Blood wound its way round his arm at a pace that would make a snail look like an Olympic runner. He felt his forearm grow heavy within a matter of seconds; an effect of the blood's change in rate of circulation and further effects from the Demerol.

Of course. The pills. When the girl discovered the empty medicine bottle he'd taken from the nurse's office, he felt as though all of his blood had already splattered itself upon the ground, stolen from him. Dark eyes wide, tension building faster, his pale self waited for her reaction. It wasn't good. He wanted to cry out, “Don't tell anyone, please!” But he held that back, deciding that it would be better if she chose for him. If he was lucky, she would keep it a secret. If not, then he would probably have to face his father. It was about as pleasant as facing a murderer with a rifle.

“How many did you take?”
He blinked slowly, trying not to look directly at her.
The way she said it felt like a stab in the eye.

“How many?” She said again.
This time she faced him; icy, bright eyes dulling his own.
His face depicted pure frustration.
With his left hand in the air, he managed to hold three digits up clearly.
Three, he told her.

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[¡SQUEEKERS!]

A sigh of relief. Three.

[/color][/i]"
[/ul]
She'd dealt with worse. Much worse. At least she wouldn't have to make him sick, or worry about getting him to a tub of ice cold water and dunk his head in. She wasn't sure if she could carry him or not, he wasn't as big as some of the jock boys at the school, but still, there was only so much she could do without help. Thankfully, the most she'd have to she'd have to do is keep him awake. Which could be done by either slapping him lightly, or splashing him with what water she had left in her bottle. And from the feel of his heavy arm, she may have to do it sooner, rather then later.

[/color][/i]"
[/ul]
Selby's eyes softened as she continued to stare at him, his frustrated glare was slowly melting her anger away and replacing it with a new emotion, one she couldn't quite place. Pity? No, she didn't pity him, her supply had been drained long ago, and even if she was able to, pity wouldn't be something she could muster up for him. Not with the way he was staring at her. It was different then the way he used to stare at her. No, it was something else, something different. She flicked her eyes up to his arm, the blood had trickled down his arm a bit, but it seemed to have slowed, almost stopped.

"Anything else in your system?" Had he walked out here in a daze, then taken more pills once he was done? Or was it just the three? Ugh, boys. You never knew with them. She moved her stare back to his face, he was still pale, and without thinking Selby raised her free hand to his cheek and hesitantly placed it on his skin. It was odd, the way his skin seemed to make her finger tips tingle... Moving past that, Sel tried to focus on his temperature.

His cheeks were cold, though the breeze in the gardens could have been causing that.
His forehead and neck were on the warmer side. Was that a good sign or bad? It'd been so long.

[/color][/i]"
[/ul]
Slowly, carefully, she lowered his hand from the air, letting it rest numbly on his lap as she unwrapped her makeshift bandage. "Just focus on staying awake. Alright?" Sel tried to offer him a smile, but she focused on her task at hand instead. Taking the drying piece of cloth away from his arm, she used the cleaner parts to wipe away some of the blood staining his skin, quickly dropping it to the ground afterwards and completely removing her button up shirt, she'd thrown it on over her black shirt simply as a bit of extra precaution. Should she stay out later then she intended. "My name's Selby." She ripped it up the middle, then up the middle again with each strip, lying all four strips on the ground before her.

Her own legs were growing numb in her current position, so she took a moment to reposition herself a bit, never letting her eyes leave his arm. It would take awhile to heal, but at least it wasn't bleeding as heavily as before. "What's your name?" Keep him talking, keep him focused on something. Selby tied two of the strips of her shirt together, then, lifting his arm once more, she wrapped it around, covering his wound, and the stains along his arm. The third piece she wrapped around for reinforcement, and the fourth she tied in a knot just below his wound.

[/color][/i]"
[/ul]
Placing his arm back in his lap she glanced up at him, a soft smile on her lips. She knew what it was now, that odd feeling she had in the pits of her stomach. It was... Understanding, love. Not so much for him. He was a practical stranger, someone she'd happened upon in the middle of nowhere. But he was just like him, he needed her, and in some sort of sick, twisted way, Selby was glad he did. It meant more to her, then this boy may ever realize. And even if she never saw him again, he'd somehow melted whatever cage was wrapped so tightly around her heart. If only the tiniest bit.

And all she wanted to do was build a little happy box and toss him in there.

[/color]"
"Daddy loves you. You know that right. Daddy loves you."
"I love you too, daddy. J-Just stay awake."
"It's not that bad you know. It really isn't. It's like you're flying, just, weightless. Unbound. Free."
[/ul]

"Just focus on staying awake."

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[ツ PEZZY]

He held his gaze for however long it took for her anger to become an unclear, less intense emotion. He narrowed his ashy eyes. Her own eyes told it all; they had gone from a pair of icy tanks fully loaded with hate-grenades for war, and then to two silvery pools whose emotions were unreadable, as if she was still finding for herself what she really was trying to express. She sighed as he looked away slightly, frowning at the ground but then switching to keep an eye on what she was doing. Eventually her eyes made their way to his arm, now wrapped in several curving lines of half-dried blood. The flow had stopped; every time he'd come here before he had made sure that he wouldn't cut too deep. Deep enough for him to satisfy the impulse, and shallow enough for the blood to flow for a while, and then slow to a stop when treated (if ever so slightly). His legs were marginally better than before, but his arm still felt heavy, though Diesel knew it was only what happened normally with the loss of blood and his muscles weren't getting enough oxygen to sustain it or something like that.

“Anything else in your system?”
His eyes went wide, the dullness within them disappearing for a second as his face became serious with the coming of his reply.
...No.
Diesel faced her with his eyes returning to their dark color until she responded.
He hoped she believed him. It was true. However, if there had been more Demerol, or Vicodin pills, or even some Robitussin within reach inside the nurse's office when he snuck in there, odds were he would have taken them.

He was about to continue looking at the (apparently interesting) ground before him, but then she moved closer, staring at his face. Diesel leaned backwards a bit as she came close to his face, not sure why but he blamed it on his bad habit of avoiding any physical contact with others. Sure, he'd let her fix his arm. It was a one-time thing. In fact, all the while he'd wanted her to let go of his arm for two reasons:

He was ashamed, upset and unstable. He didn't want anyone near him for obvious reasons.
It wasn't only that; it was again his dislike for physical contact.

But Diesel didn't know that she wasn't done bandaging it or that she needed to take his temperature or what else, so it took him by complete surprise when he felt a warm hand reach up to his colder, paler face. Tensing up in what appeared to be like a nanosecond of contact, Diesel was confused. “Uh, what's she doing?” It took longer than usual to register what she really intended by feeling his forehead and neck: taking his temperature. His brows knitted as she prodded his neck, noticing that she was hesitant; after all, it was a notch above awkward for one stranger to poke you on your face and neck to check your temperature.

“Just focus on staying awake, alright?”
He nodded, feeling sorry that he had been unconsciously avoiding physical contact; her genuine help. She smiled a teeny bit at him only before taking the drying, makeshift cloth bandages off of his arm. He winced again, less now but all the same as she wiped the dry blood away gingerly.

“My name's Selby.”
Thank God! A name, finally! So, it was poor Selby who'd stumbled upon Diesel on one of his days, those days, and taken care of him almost exactly like her father all those years before. It was no wonder that she was able to handle the situation he deliberately put himself in rather professionally. He managed to look up at her curiously, although his only real response was half-smile, barely more than a thin line.

Selby turned about to shred her button-down shirt into four pieces; Diesel was feeling a bit less than sad that she was helping him at her (and her shirt's) expense. But he was feeling something after all. He stared at Selby as she also stared at his arm and readjusted herself so as not to let her own legs grow numb kneeling on the ground.

“What's your name?”
Diesel wanted to say it, but he believed that he could not trust her...at first. That was until another impulse commanded him to tell her. Diesel, he managed, lip-syncing to match his thoughts, wondering if she'd found out that he was a mute. But then a melee of self-directed thoughts bombarded him. Why did he tell her? Selby may have been a stranger out of the blue turned medical angel/saint-like-thing, but she was a medical angel/saint-like-thing he'd only known for fifteen minutes!

Why did he tell her? Why did he tell her? Why did he tell her...?

Within minutes, two strips of the shirt were tied together to cover the entire wound area and the blood. A third strip was added for reinforcement and the fourth to keep the wound from reopening and re-spilling blood. When she placed his left arm in his lap and smiled up at him sweetly and sincerely, he relaxed, and a thin smile of his own showing on his face despite the previous tension. No matter how small it was, it was the first smile in weeks for Diesel. It seemed like everything was going to continue smoothly, but...

...his eyes were still dark.

You going to tell on me?

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[¡SQUEEKERS!]

A soft breeze wove around the two. Picking at Selby's hair, playing with it's ends, and tickling the skin of her face to the young girl's annoyance. But Selby was quite content at the moment, and allowed her hair to scratch her skin, her eyes taking in Diesel's face and arm for a few more minutes. She had felt him tense when she touched him, though she wasn't offended by it. If a complete stranger had tried to touch her face, she would have reacted in the same manner. Potentially. Diesel... It was different, yet, it suited him. She liked it even, something she could imagine her mother coming up with.

"S-Sorry." There was a soft blush on her cheeks, a sheepish smile gracing her lips as she glanced down. She'd been staring at him, and the simple phrase of awwwwkwaaaard, rumbling around in her head. She finally lifted a pale hand to her cheek, pushing at as much of her hair as she could, moving it behind her ears. The breeze had died down again, but like every other day, it'd pick back up. Then back down. Silly weather.

After a moment of awkward silence, Selby glanced back up at him.

"It's nice to meet you, Diesel. Even under these... Odd circumstances." She laughed softly, not entirely sure what she found humorous about this situation, but she laughed nonetheless. Clearing her throat she turned her attention to the blood soaked grass, and the bright orange pill bottle beside her leg.

You going to tell on me?

She hadn't thought about that. Obviously this boy had a problem, and with a pill bottle in one hand, and a knife in the other, he was a danger to himself. But it was all mental, right? A frame of mind? A unbalance of good and bad pheromones in his brain. Right? Or maybe it was more, a deep-seated feeling, not everyone could be cured by talking to someone while sitting on a fake leather couch. Selby had experienced that first hand, it didn't do much beside tick her off. But, then again, she couldn't talk for her new friend.

Sighing, Selby stood up, grabbing the empty pill bottle in her left hand and walking away from the boy. Facing the maze of reeds, weeds, and flowered bushes, Selby raised up to her tippy toes, threw her arm as far back as possible, and chucked the offensive little bottle as far into the dense underbrush as she could. Once it was out of sight, she lowered back down to her heels, and clapped her hands together as though she'd just finished building a table.

Waiting a brief moment before turning around again, Selby took in the scent of fertilizer and what she figured were mint leaves, before her. Odd combination. Selby glanced over her shoulder, uncertain of what Diesel's reaction would be to her display. With an uncertain look in her eyes, she returned to the bench, only this time she sat beside him and glanced out over the shrubbery.

"I know, that I'm a complete stranger to you, I mean, we all are in some way. Most of us come from different countries and continents, just to collect in this little middle-of-nowhere town because of our... uniqueness. But..." She stopped for a moment to glance at him. "I hope that you can trust me. Even a little. And vice-versa. So, if I ask you, to never, come out here again with a bottle of pills..." Selby stopped for a moment, collecting her thoughts as she glanced down. "Without me. Or, someone, to help you... I mean." She wasn't sure how to state it, she couldn't demand it of him, the most she could hope for was for him to just stop, cold turkey, but that wasn't as easy as people made it out to be. "Gah! I don't even know how to say this..."

Selby crossed her arms over her chest, biting at her bottom lip in annoyance with herself. "I guess, what I'm trying to say is, don't do this again. O-Or if you do, bring someone out here with you. O-Or something. I'd hate to walk out here one day and see you lying on the ground or something." She mumbled the last part to herself, unsure of how he was going to react to her. And as she predicted, he didn't say a word. At first she assumed it was because the drugs had made him too numb to talk, now, she wasn't sure.

"Y-You don't talk much do you?"

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[ツ PEZZY]

Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again.

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That memory came back.
The one where his father found out about the knife.
That one...

“Sinteti o rusine!”
_SMACK.
“Vrei sa mori? Aici, eu va voi sa te ajuti!”
_{SMACK, HIT, SMACK.}
Blood covered his face.

Oh, if mother wasn't dead, if mother wasn't dead...
He had absolute hatred for his father, but clung on to some compassion for his late mother. Why? Because she was the only one who kept his father from causing more harm to their son. Because, even if he was an “accident” in their eyes, he was their son.

You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again.

“It's nice to meet you, Diesel. Even under these...Odd circumstances.”

A soft laugh came from Selby. Even if he'd wanted to laugh, he wouldn't have. He was too ashamed, and a tad nervous; possibly an aftereffect of the Demerol. Mind moving to other thoughts, he continued staring at the grass, musing over why she'd said “sorry,” for just staring at him. To tell the truth, he didn't mind one bit. As the wind picked up a bit it fluffed his hair; just barely considering it was quite short.

He noticed that Selby stared down at the empty capsule of pills before her. Obviously, she despised them. So did he. Diesel wasn't dependent on the pills; he could've just gone out cold turkey in a second, though numb temptations would arise every time he passed the nurse's office while passing through the halls. But wait. That's a lie. Actually, he wouldn't go cold turkey in a second. Taking a few little white pills every other day after the wrist-cutting with the scalpel and everything was too much of a routine to break out of in a day.

Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again.

Blinking, he ignored the thing, much to his surprise when he whipped around to see that Selby got up, stepped away from him, and hoisted her arm backwards poised for a pitch...

Wait, don't g-what the...?!

Feeling himself nearly lurch off his feet at the sight of the orange capsule being thrown into the vestibule of hedges, he realized that something was more than just “not alright” with him. Why was he so attached to an empty bottle of pills? It was just an object, right? Staring wide-eyed, mouth half-open in shock in the direction where Selby threw the bottle, he gulped; mouth dry.

Well, something wasn't right.

I'll find repose in new ways
Though I haven't slept in two days
'Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone.

Now, Diesel wanted to do two things. Push Selby away, and hug her at the same time. He was conflicted; one side of him wanted the pills back, to yell at her and make her go away. Another wanted to trust her, and thank her for saving him from himself. Both emotions were equally demanding, trying to force him to do both at the same time. Because it simply couldn't be done, he stayed put, he stayed looking at where the pill bottle was thrown away.

I've had just about enough
Of quote, “diamonds in the rough”
Because my backbone is paper thin
Get me out of this cavern
Or I'll cave in.

When she returned to sit next to him and give her speech, he felt himself grit his teeth, unseen by anyone. Some of him still wished to hug her, and find out if she really meant it when she said she would've hated to see him lying on the ground if she ever came back. But he also wanted to ask, “why'd you do that?” or even yell, “Don't you think I know that already?! I'm not stupid!” But he wouldn't do that. In fact, he would have said the same thing she did, and even question his sanity.

Letting go of the tension he build up around himself, he stopped gritting his teeth and sighed. Diesel rubbed his left wrist just above the where the bandages covered the wound in the same way a jailbird rubs his wrists when his cuffs are taken off. Reason stood in his mind as if to say that if he wanted to get better, he would have to listen to her. And, actually, he did want to get better.

“Y-You don't talk much, do you?”

He guessed he could trust her knowing...Hell, she'd walked in on him half-stoned and she basically said she wouldn't tell on him as long as he promised to get better. Well, technically, of course. So, slowly, ever so slowly and timidly, he turned to Selby with glassy eyes.

I can't...

I'll keep my helmet on just in case my head caves in
'Cause if my thoughts collapse or my framework snaps
It'll be a mess like you wouldn't believe.

Some time back, Diesel's father hired several personal diagnosticians and vocologists from multiple countries specializing in laryngeal diseases and abnormalities to determine the cause of his muteness. It took three days and two laryngoscopies until the doctors finally pinpointed the abnormality within Diesel's voice box that stopped him from speaking. The vocal cords worked fine when he breathed in and out, however, the vocal cords did not move appropriately to allow him to speak. Apparently the cords adjusted themselves to become thinner, unable to produce sounds or even speech heard by humans. A spot in the brain had caused the cords to react the same way in breathing as in speaking.

Pressing his good hand to his throat, he finished explaining. My voice box is...damaged. I can't talk.

Get me out of this cavern
Or I'll cave in.

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---

“Sinteti o rusine!” // You are a disgrace!
“Vrei sa mori? Aici, eu va voi sa te ajuti!” // You want to die? Here, I'll help you!
[/blockquote]

[¡SQUEEKERS!]

Selby was annoying herself. She wasn't usually this nervous around people, and really, nerves weren't her problem at the moment. What it was, she had no idea. Either way, she was stumbling over her words and unable to think clearly about what she wanted to say and how to say it. It was causing her to pout. Only slightly. But his soft voice brought her out of that annoyed mood, and back to the reality she was really involved with.

I can't. Those two words had stolen her breath. She couldn't fathom not being able to use her voice, something she'd relied on for so long. And this boy boy beside her didn't even have a choice in the matter. His voice box was damaged, he'd never been able to talk, and unless medical miracles happened in the future, he probably never would. She wasn't entirely sure what to think of that, but replied with a soft, "mm." As if she understood his pain. She didn't. Having the use of her vocal cords was a blessing from birth, so imagining life without them seemed... Impossible. But on the other hand, he had never had a voice to use, so he didn't know what he was missing.

No! What was she thinking? Horrible things to say.

Selby glanced up from the spot of grass her eyes had transfixed on, and squinted her eyes as she raised her face to the sky. Her feet barely reached the ground from her perch on the bench, and childishly, she swung them. "I-I'm not going to tell on you." It seemed like such a simple phrase now. Before she couldn't muster up the words and rambled on incoherently instead. But she couldn't tell on him, the proof she had of him doing something wrong was rolling around in the dirt somewhere in the gardens. All he had to cover up was the blood on his arm, which could easily be explained as a scraping from a branch, or... Something.

But that look in his eyes, the tears that she could see just begging to fall onto his cheeks. It tore at her, and Selby didn't know what to do. Without even thinking, she turned herself on the bench, one leg bent before her as she faced him. And without so much as a warning she wrapped her arms around him. A friendly hug, she wanted to make the problems just disappear, to make those tears in his eyes go away, she wanted him... Happy. Happy of any sort. "I'm sorry." Her apology came out in a whisper, she couldn't muster up much more then that as she held back her own tears. What was it about this boy that tore at her so much? The way he reminded her of her father, or the simple fact that she had walked in on him in a moment of weakness, of shame.

But she wasn't apologizing for that, she was happy that she was here, to help him, if only a little. And it wasn't pity that caused her to hug him, it just felt... Right, for lack of a better feeling. But her apology was for something more random then she could possibly imagine at a time like this. "I can tell you don't like to be touched, but... Just, humor me."

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[ツ PEZZY]

Hello hello
I'm at a place called Vertigo
It's everything I wish I didn't know.

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Gingerly, he set his hand on his lap, eyes going completely glassy. He tried hard not to blink, lest he catapult himself into a fit of tears in front of Selby. Why was it so hard for him to tell about his...impairment with a complete stranger? His dorm-mates were strangers that first day, too, but he'd spread the news around a small group of people with utmost casualty. Was it really that different telling Selby about it than it was telling Lux, or Jeremy or the teachers? Maybe it was. She'd asked him to trust her, and she promised she'd trust him.

Trust none of what you hear
And less of what you see
This is what will be, this is what will be.

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...Trust?

What a funny thing that is. Most of the time the word would be overused by people, in sarcasm or chained to empty promises. But her promises weren't empty. Things were getting clearer; his reason for tears was welded to something much deeper than revealing he couldn't speak for himself. Maybe...maybe it was because, finally, one person, a stranger out of the blue had caught him hurting himself, something a normal human being would never do. More gears clicked together in his head. It wasn't just that; Selby had become a saint to him within minutes of bandaging his forearm. She was the first person to offer him comfort in weeks; salvation. The first person to understand him more than his own mother.

I don't know if I can make it
I'm not easy on my knees
Here's my heart and you can break it
I need some release, release, release.

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Her reaction almost made him want to choke from either joy or pain. Or both. More cold breezes swept by, almost carrying Selby's subtle “mm,” of compassion away. Diesel was not a mute from birth, though. He wanted to tell her that. Tell her that it was okay, that she didn't have to do anything more for him. She'd already stolen him from the dark point in life where he needed the pills...from where he did use the scalpels, and knives...It made all the difference to him.

“I-I'm not going to tell on you.”

You're...not?
Diesel tried to keep a steady, tear-free gaze. It was pretty hard to do.

But then Selby moved closer.

Dumbstruck and emotionally unstable, he was unprepared for the hug she gave him. He didn't respond, he just stayed still.

I got shackles on my wrists
Soon I'll slip 'em and be gone.

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He stayed like that for what seemed like forever. It was comforting, being hugged by a stranger he could trust. He didn't want the feeling to go away. Not now. So he hugged Selby back, a silent thank-you. “I'm not gonna cry, not gonna-”

On the road the sun is sinkin' low
There's bodies hangin' in the trees
This is what will be, this is what will be.

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“-cry...?” Too late.

He began quivering, still hugging her loosely. It was the kind of quiet, crying, shaking sensation someone gets when they're at a funeral. Right when everyone watches the casket lower into the ground before it's covered by dirt forever. Diesel was finally crying for everything that made him this way. His father, his mother, Othello, his old home, the muteness, the anger, the hate-everything.

I don't want to be crippled and cracked
Shoulders, wrists, knees and back
Ground to dust and ash
Crawling on all fours.

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“I can tell you don't like to be touched, but...just humor me.”

He nodded, between uncontrollable shaking and uneven breathing.
Th-than-nk...yo-you...

Hello hello
I'm lost in
Vertigo.

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[¡SQUEEKERS!]

It was oddly comforting. This hug. However random, odd, and slightly awkward it may be.

You're taught as a child to never talk to strangers, yet you're sent to school, where you don't know your classmates, and you don't know your teacher, and forced to talk to them. Doesn't that go against the teachings beat into you as a toddler? Don't talk to strangers, don't take candy from strangers, don't get in cars with strangers. Yet, you go to school, you eat the food they provide, and a few go home on buses full of strange kids, with a strange adult driving.

Apparently our parents put a lot of trust in the school system.

But what they don't tell you as a child is that complete strangers will one day become your best friends. The kids you grow with, the ones you meet through out your life, your neighbors, your co-workers, hell, even the people you happen upon at the store every Wednesday night. And it was these strangers that Selby had relied on in her own childhood. Raising her brother alone, and caring for an unfit father, Selby had no one she knew to rely on, only the kindness that her neighbors showed her. The help they tried to provide her with.

And she wanted to return that favor to this boy. She knew, she didn't know how, but she knew, that Diesel had had a hard life like her. Better or worse she didn't know, nor did it matter at all in this moment, but unlike her, it seemed that he didn't have those complete strangers to help him. Maybe he was more out-going in school then she was, had more friends to hang around, to pretend he fit in. Or maybe, like her, he had been the shy, "weird" one wasting away in the back of the class, far more important things on his mind. Either way, Selby planned on sticking by Diesel's side, a stranger-friend, someone to talk to, to hang around, just someone.

- - * - -

To anyone on the outside, looking in, Diesel and Selby probably looked like lovers. Though the scene would look quite odd, one of them crying and the other trying their best not too, and their hug was a bit on the tense side.

When she heard him say thank you, and could feel him crying, Selby tried her hardest to not let her own tears fall. Sniffling, and holding them back, she slowly pulled away from him, still staying close and comforting. "H-Hey..." She blinked her eyes, looking up towards the sky to keep the small crystals contained, before looking back down at him, a small, warm smile on her face.

"No reason to cry, Diesel." Selby was speechless once again. Unsure of what to say to him, Pull yourself together man! sounded far to mean, or even rude. Yet, Everything is going to be alright! sounded far to optimistic and bubbly for her. Instead, she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind.

"So who's Othello?"

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[ツ PEZZY]

These eyes
Have seen no conviction
Just lies and more contradiction.

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“Thank you, thank you thank you thank you...” There went a mantra of some kind. The past twenty minutes had gone from numb to deteriorating to comforting and healing. It was fact, no, truth...it was factual truth that Selby finally broke his routine of self-harm; or at least for a long, long time.

He was leaning on Selby; physically and morally (if only for a minute). Eyes were clamped shut, trying to keep another flow of tears from breaking loose and streaming down his face. He didn't care if it was awkward, or touchy, or whatever. Not right now. It was the first kind of comfort since Othello, and he didn't want it to slip away too fast. He bit his lip painfully, clenching his teeth to block out more tears. With every passing second while still embracing Selby, his breathing became steadier and steadier, but not all back to normal. The trembling softened as well, though one arose from time to time. When he calmed down enough, he was able to hear her sniffling. He'd made her cry too. Out of realizing it, he began blinking away the moisture from his eyes. Diesel tried to recover by trying to wipe away at what tears were left on him, and when she pulled away, he did too.

At the moment of surrender
I folded to my knees
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me.

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“H-Hey...” As she looked to the sky, he looked to the ground, almost furiously rubbing the tears away. He didn't mean to cry in front of her. It...just happened like that. He looked up to see her facing him again, brushing at his left cheek once more; the residue tears relentless. “No reason to cry, Diesel.” He tried to keep a straight face, maybe even a hint of a warm smile, though the wet streaks that came down from his eyes to the sides of his face shimmered a little in the light.

“So who's Othello?”

This place is so empty
My thoughts are so tempting
I don’t know how it got so bad.

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She'd been able to hear his name? A relief. Being so close to her at such an emotional moment triggered his brain to think about comforting things to go along with what had happened; namely Othello. The dog was his pet, his friend; the only family he trusted with his personal reflections about, well... everything! Oh, how he loved that dog. He'd adopted Othello in Romania (after his mother passed away), and somehow managed to keep him a secret from his father until he was sent to the Academy. For three long years the dog was his only companion, being that Diesel's father refused to speak to him.

I could see in the reflection
A face staring back at me
At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me.

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Now, three years was enough for Diesel to bond with Othello; even now, with Selby, he could pour out all the memories he had with the dog, but it was a long, long story to tell in one sitting.

Oh...Othello? He's my dog. There was just a speck of excitement in his eyes; maybe there would be something else to talk about with Selby. He waited for her to reply, the faint smile growing. Re-runs of old, good memories in his head kept him happy. All of those memories were of him and Othello; they were after he became mute.

Sometimes it’s so crazy
That nothing can save me
But it’s the only thing that I have.

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But Diesel's thoughts were trailing, coming and going at what felt like “beyond the speed of light.” Impossible, of course, but still. He had no idea of how he could continue. Uh, how about “tell her what he looks like?” Of course, the obvious phrases he wanted to tell her eluded his track of thought, but only for a second in-between his thoughts. Uhm...he's a Border Collie mix...So, Othello's kinda big. He held good his hand up three feet or so off the ground. And black. And white.

If you believe it’s in my soul
I’d say all the words that I know
Just to see if it would show
That I’m trying to let you know
That I’m better off on my own.

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Finally caving into a grin, after so long, Diesel turned to Selby; waiting to see how she would respond.
He hoped she would want to see Othello...he did too.

So tell me what would you say
I'd say it's time
To move along.

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[¡SQUEEKERS!]

"Sleby, I'm so sorry."

A smile.
It's cute, it fits him.
He should do it more often.

Thankfully she'd asked a good question. Diesel's head was spinning with a variety of emotions, and names, and words in a language she couldn't even recognize, and in the midst of all that she'd heard Othello. She hadn't meant to listen in on him, but his mind seemed to spark with a positive energy when he thought about them, so, without even thinking, she'd said the name. And his eyes lit up in recognition. And a smile made it's way onto his face, and Selby couldn't help but smile back. A genuine smile, not the fake one she'd been using around the school.

"I'd love to meet him." Othello sounded adorable, and Selby was not one to pass up the oppurtunity to see, pet, hug, or glomp one... If they were big enough for that, of course. She had her own little pet, pretty exoctic for these parts, a baby koala bear she'd saved from a run-down zoo. Strangely enough, it was rather easy to get the little guy into the states, probably because she all but refused to leave Australia without him. If she couldn't have her brother, the least she could have was Kody.

"So... So... Sorry..."

"He sounds cute, I bet he's overly friendly. I have one too. Er, a pet, not a dog." She giggled softly to herself. "Mine's a Koala Bear, I brought him over from Australia. His name is Kody, maybe we could do a play-date thing with them." She smiled sweetly at Diesel, her fingers wrapped around the bench on either side of her legs, and her mind drifitng in a hundred different directions. Oddly enough she couldn't keep her eyes off his smile. Then another giggle came past her lips, a blush spread across her lips as she looked down. "That sounded silly, I'm not entirely sure how a dog and a koala could play together."

"Anything to add?"
"No..."
"It's your last chance."

I'm aware. She turned her face back up to his. Her smile still in place, and her thoughts going towards a much better place. Nothing full of flying hearts and daisy's, but better none-the-less. The memories that haunted her a few minutes before were gone, finally... After so many years. Not to say they'd stay gone, but for now, in this Garden, she was buzzing with positives.

Now all she'd need is for Caje and Biagio to find her out here.

With a boy no less.

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