Harsh, choking sobs wrack my body, my weak state of mind opening the doors for so much more than just my own troubling thoughts, a grand party for all the terrors to come waltzing in with their hunched backs and taloned hands. They all come pouring in from Their lips, grin spread wide, a blanket over the sun, casting down a tremendous shadow that threatened to consume me with pointed teeth and a flickering pink tongue. I would not escape Their grasp, not when I am so faint-hearted, not when I am still a moldable figure to be crushed and folded over by their rough hands, shaped into something I do not want to be. A pity, I was beginning to like your more aggressive side, wouldn't you agree? It hums, throaty and peculiar, a familiar face snarky and taunting, They know well what they're doing and I easily submit to their will. 

What is the point of fighting, when the one person you'd been fighting for your entire life has looked down on you with such hate?

Why push on when you have no where else to go, nothing more to do, when you have wasted what short time you were granted on this earth? Why let yourself go on when your hope had already been torn from you years ago?

It seems to keep coming back, the idea that I am no longer needed here, that Sikeax has cast me from her gaze and I will forever wander like a dismayed spirit, drifting without purpose and fading with each pained breath I take. I crave her attention more than I do anyone else's, it was always about her. Her approval, her acceptance, it was never about me. I'd be damned if I said now that I did not care about her, it would be like saying I did not breathe, that I did not have a heart that beat beneath layers of tissue and bone. I cared for her more than I did myself, and letting her go was like being asked to sever my legs and leave them behind to live on their own accord, to abandon them and forget that they ever existed. Even the idea brings a bitter taste to my mouth, because I could not let Sikeax go, even if she wanted to remove me from her life completely. I would suffer in silence, the quiet kind where you seem to tolerate the stinging that takes over your entire body until finally you become numb, I would watch unfazed at a distance as she found others to replace me, others who weren't troubled in the head or so needy, who would not switch from sweet to foul in a matter of a few grotesque sobs. 

I wanted to believe what she said, that I wasn't stupid, that I was at least average, but no matter what I could not drop the feeling that she was lying. That's right, a lie. She just wants to get back under your skin, don't you see it? Look her in the eyes, tell me she doesn't look like she wants to get rid of you. I'm still gasping, my heart rate growing rapid as Sikeax's face distorts, shimmering like sweat on active hide, rippling like calm summer waters, pulling apart until she was just bits and pieces, pale threads of expression that sent my gut into a frenzy of knotting. With a click of Their tongue it all shits, pulling back together like a dying star in reverse, the explosion rewinding and her face knitting back together, woven with seething hatred and pity. What I hate most is someone pitying me, like I'm some half dead animal they've found on the side of the road, whose body is broken but sides still rising as death takes its time to take it. I was not something to pity, not something to look at like a starved child in a third world country, I wasn't shit to scrape off the bottom of your boot. 

That's it, be angry, get mad. Hate, hate, hA— Sia's words cut into the Skinwalkers, my eyes directed from golden ice to sweetened atlantic pools, bluer than the sky and more lively than the flowers in spring, than the world regaining colour at the first sign of birdsong. She wasn't mad anymore, the faux hatred I'd seen had melted away like ice in the sun, dripping down her chin and disappearing beneath the red sands. "I— I just don't like people worrying for me, n— no one should worry about something like me, I'm not worth it. I don't know how not to look at myself that way Sia, that's all I've ever done, it's all I know how to do." Is all I have to say, swallowing what feels like rocks as I try to tame the insufferable pain of speaking all of this aloud. I had never said these things out loud, never more than a constant hushed whisper in the back of my mind. I'd learn to accept that all those harsh insults were for me, that all my pent up hatred for myself built up into an endless flow of soured syllables. I cannot see myself in any sort of light, whether it be because of my physique or personality, I would never loom over anything, instead at awe at the piles of shit that would tower and look over me. I was less than the dirt beneath me, than the scum crawling across the earth who had murdered the innocent and taken the pure, I was side by side with them perhaps, as we were one in the same. 

I know I'd done it, the act of killing. I'd done it unknowingly at birth, breaking through the barrier that separated me from reality with fatal force. I came out fragile and abrupt, all too soon for my mother who was still adjusting to the ways of pregnancy, amateur at carrying a new life within her bloated body. I ended her life without hesitance, ruthless at the age of none, a killer before I even had a name. Whether or not I remember it how it actually happened, I don't recall. I remember being aware of the brightness around me, of the smell of safety and too much home, of sick and uncertain while the sea rolled its way towards my mother like eager hounds, swallowing her body as though it was its last meal. She had no time to teach me the ropes of childhood, of life, of anything but sorrow, shoving it down my throat like a frustrated bird feeding its wailing chick. I was force fed remorse before I had even developed a sense of space, developing feelings that made me hurt before I was even standing, swallowed by anguish in my premature state. It wasn't the ideal birth for an underdeveloped child, and my father seemed unable to handle the idea of single parenthood, because he too let himself get torn apart by bittersweet misery, of tragic love that began all too soon. 

I was doomed to repeat my parents mistakes, to let novice love consume my everything, to let myself get lost in lighter ebony locks, in a sea of kind and gentle, familiarity. I craved that, craved intimacy shared between only the closest, with an amber champagne that had be entranced at such an early age, with her perfected speech and pretty eyes, I was at a loss for words. She seemed elegant, sophisticated in ways I could only ever dream of being, she was strong and independent, parading around boasting that she would fight monsters and proclaiming we would go on wild adventures together. That's what always caught me in the end, the idea of together. I didn't know how to go about it, how to handle the situation at hand, because every second I spend with her was like heaven on earth, where my worries could melt away and leave way for something so much more grand. A young angel in the eyes of an ugly duckling like me, an ivory swan beside something foul and black.  

Look at the way she's looking at you Amara, she's disgusted by you. You're selfish and sickening, she doesn't want you anymore. She's tired Amara, just as you are, but she's tired of you, of putting up with your pity party parade, she wants you to leave, can't you tell she doesn't need something like you around her or her son? My eyes linger on Sia's look of disgust, and then to Their twisted smirk because They know They've won, they know They've broken me to the point of no return, that salvation was no longer an option in the way the venom seeped from Their lips and tainted my thoughts. I was just more baggage to Sia, an extra weight to lug around like a boulder strapped to her shoulders, useless and painstaking. 

I stare at her, dumbfounded and without a response. I didn't need logic to know what I'd done to myself, I didn't need to think about it, I knew that I'd formed a habit of gnawing anxiously at my skin until it bruised and broke and bled, until my lips were stained red and my skin was marred. I bore mysterious wounds that were impossible to inflict to myself, places where no tooth of mine could take hold (Stop fighting me, it will only make things worse), bruises and swelling like hooves of another. I almost wanted to laugh at Sia's words, laugh between my hushed bawling because how do you tell your life long friend that you have broken yourself in more ways than she can ever imagine? How do you tell her that you've begun chewing away at your own hide to settle your worries, to keep yourself calm during times of great stress? I flinch at the strangled sound I make when I open my mouth, the words I needed not coming out when I'd wanted, instead there's just the sound of an escaped sob, a quiet wail. "Sia, it's me who does that, me. I know when it's not my blood, when my wounds aren't self inflicted. I'm hurting people Sia. I just want to stop but I don't know how." I break the sentence away, letting it fade and carry far from either of us, hoping the subject could simply drop there and we could go back to being careless and happy. 

I meet her demands, trembling and snotty like the child she sees me as, reduced to a muddled mix of emotion and flesh, a pooling figure of moping and self-pity, of recklessness and absolute dread. I was nothing more than a frayed shell harbouring every possible negative emotion and more, a tragic story in the form of a living thing that walks, talks and sobs enough to fill an ocean. I raise my head, hesitant and shaky as I gaze into harsh frozen blue, endless and cold like the steppe, looking down at me and sending fear down my spine. It was no gentle gaze, it would bring me to my knees if I hadn't already been frozen in place with terror of what more would spill from her lips. 

It isn't as terrible as I'd played it out to be, but there was still no warmth to be found in the way her words slide from her lips. My skin still crawls with the feelings of rejection, watery eyes flickering down and up, from dusty sand to stern cerulean oceans, swallowing the knot that kept me from doing more than gasping silently. "I- I don't know what that first step is, I don't know how. I don't know anything," Is what I manage before my voice escapes me and I'm left to move my lips in subtle frustration. I wanted to tell her I needed help, that I couldn't do this on my own, and I almost said it if I had not decided that it would be best to keep shut. I'm sure her response would only bring worsening pain rather than anything beneficial to me.  

I've lost it now, my sense of rationality as I feel my emotions burst through my everything, tearing down every single wall I'd built up in hopes that I could keep running from issues I never wanted to face, not on my own, not with anyone, not ever. I'm choking on the pent up feeling of desperation, of unrequited affections and love that went unspoken. It all spilled out like some raging river to wipe away a valley, abrupt and rumbling, calm before a terrifying wave of panic and all too real feelings. Everything I had ever denied, everything that I'd ever tucked away under the bed, in the closet, behind the shelf, it all came cascading down all at once in a flurry of too much, too much for someone who was so little, so weak. It crashed into me, a storm violent and relentless as it buries me deep within its depths, sputtering and coughing and choking on my own tears as I'm thrown like a rag doll, sobbing beyond control as my head fills with frantic pleas. "Amara, no. Do not say a thing to Sikeax. Now is not the time, you must wait more." But it's all too late, the words are spilling out faster than I can register and my heart falls from my teeth and falls to Sia's hooves and all I can do is look down at it and cry fretfully. 

"Sia I want to be here for you, I- I always feel so bad seeing you and then leaving, and it hurts to walk away. You could be hurt or in trouble and I'm just standing by miles away without even realizing you're in danger and I won't ever know about it unless you tell me and I just— I can't stand being away from you. I've been wanting to get better, I really, really have so that I could find you and make you proud and be here to make you happy—  Sia I just want to be by your side and I've always wanted to... ever since we were kids, Sia." Pause for a half laugh, half sob. These things I'm saying are going faster than I can process, spitting my syllables like it's fire on my tongue, throat closing up by the time they all fall out. The comforting nickname falls from my lips like it's some new fascinating word I'd discovered and can't stop using, letting it end and begin so many sentences. I feel like I might get in trouble for using it, punished by her for saying it so much when we were on such strained terms. "Amara, what did you do? Why did you say those things?" I answer aloud, even though I knew I could tell Sameira mentally, it felt better to explain it to Sia too. "I'm just tired of keeping all of these feelings bottled up, I just—" I swallow hard, looking up into Sia's eyes and trying to keep my focus on them, almost losing myself to the chilling cobalt before I can even finish. "I- I want to have a home, a place to always come back to a—  and you, Sia."This is all I can offer as my emotions run wild, straining my already crumbling body while I whisper the last of my confession, eye lids sweeping over dulling amber. Exhaustion has crept into my joints, weaving through my muscles and pushing me ever closer to collapse, perhaps a long needed sleep. But maybe I would be unfortunate enough to wake up hours later somewhere else, swept away by whatever takes control when the world falls into a dark abyss.