SONA 🫧

Your laptop crashed mid-blogging.

It was embarrassing enough that you couldn't get out of the jam yourself and had to call help, but for the IT guy to actually be a woman, a hot one at that, made it all ten times worse.

Well, she was hot based on her voice. God.

"Gonna take over now," she noted, voice crackling through the speaker of your phone. "Y'just sit back, 't shouldn't take too long."

"Yeah, okay..." you swallow, cheeks heating as you watch the cursor — hers now — pause over the text on your screen.

Horny, unshielded thoughts sitting still and staring back at her.

Your unfinished post of the night.

Your blog would have to wait.

"Interestin'," is the dry-humoured jab you receive. You can almost picture the shit-eating grin on the woman's face.

Aside from just your cheeks heating up — a familiar throb begins between your legs.

Cringe-inducingly fast.

Heat floods your abdomen, and you whimper into the sleeve of your shirt. Get a grip.

"Mhm," you hum, breaths shaky enough for her to catch up on, surely.

Yet, no tease finds its way to you.

You watch the woman guide the cursor across the screen, jumping between windows and settings you've never seen before.

In a whim, you stumble across your words just to stutter, "I- I didn't catch your name."

"It's Sevika, ma'am."

You bite your lip and mutter back your name in the hopes that your voice sounds more stable than it truly is.

"I know, ma'am," her voice rumbles. "I can see it here on my screen. Loads of info." A rumbling chuckle. Ugh.

You blush at that; a shy smile curling on your lips as you whisper a surprised, "Oh."

"Mmh." Another click on your screen.

"You... uhm, liking any of the info?" you ask and facepalm internally. Real smooth.

"I don't quite follow," a smirk paints her tone.

"Just... nothing. Forget it, haha."

Your thighs clench, rubbing together — breaths growing heavy, nearly laboured.

She clears her throat. A dreamy sound to you and your delicate senses.

"You good, sugar?"

You could moan.

"Mhm, yeah. I'm fine," you swallow thickly. Press your thighs closer together; eyes shutting in parallel.

"Oookay, just gonna click a few more things."

"A-ha..." you hum, eyes still screwn shut.

You shift in your place, hips moving in impatient circles — elicting a long-surpressed moan out of you.

Panicked- you muffle it to the palm of your hand, eyes flying open.

A quiet second ticks by.

Heart damn near pounding out of your chest, you wait for a reaction. A responce of any fucking sort.

A raspy command echoes in your ear then.

"Do continue."

You ignore it with a soft chuckle, cheeks flaring to a crimson bloom.

"A- are you almost done?"

A grumble evokes, honey dripping from around its edges. "Not quite. Need to finish what's been started."

You whimper.

She knows.

"Right, n- yeah."

Fuck, you're pathetic.

"Just gonna make sure this value doesn't drop," she hums, muttering a handful of technology terms under her breath.

You don't understand them, but you find that you don't need to. Not if she sounds that good either way.

Gathering up the courage, you shift your hips again. Your underwear — damp now — rubs just right against your seat.

Another whimper escapes. You let it.

"Good, good," a gruff murmur. Praise in the disguise of a casual comment.

Your eyes fall shut once more — hips now moving in proper grinds.

You can still hear the distant clicks, the rolls of a mouse moving and hovering.

The steady puffs of Sevika's breathing.

You grind harder. Moan, but hardly bother to quieten it. You know she heard it the first time — whats the use of hiding, now?

"Gonna check your formal access," Sevika notes mid-click, cursor moving in circles as something loads in the background.

The pop-up closes.

Some code flashes over the screen — numbers, letters, underscores and dots.

Your hips never halt.

The seam of your seat strokes just right against you and your heated skin.

A gruff advocate. "Riiiiiight there."

You moan louder now. Less ashamed, more worked up. Tuned to the pin.

Too worked up to care.

"Good. Yeah. Can you hold on f'me?"

"N- no, fuck..." you pant, heaving. Clit throbbing. Slick coating your inner thighs.

"Just a second."

"Mmmhm," you whine, legs trembling.

Body still moving.

You blink open an eye.

The cursor dances over a loading number.

89%.

A hum. "Just a second, dear."

Your thighs clench at the nickname, blabbers starting to fall from between your chapped lips.

"N- need to, I really- miss- Sevika," you groan.

93%.

"Mh, I know." You imagine her face. Smug.

"Please-"

"Just a moment, angel."

99%.

Angel?

Another whimper breaks free. Your hips glide once more. Twice more.

"F- fuck, m' so close--"

100%.

"Okay. Go on."

The coil in your stomach breaks.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan; jaw locking for good.

A gush of brand new slick fountains out of you — soaking you, your underwear and your jeans with an actively growing wet, dark patch.

You blink, dizziness overtaking you.

The cursor hovers.

You watch it close any remaining windows.

Offhand.

Casual.

A dark hum follows.

"Still with me, darlin?"

════════════════════════════

© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.

#a/n - this hurried piece of shit sucks!!!

ノノ sevika m.list. ノノ main m.list.

You'd managed to get out of bed every morning without a struggle, and even ticked off many errands from your list of to-do's. They'd been building up, since you have a habit of procastinating and staying in bed instead.

Not that it's really your fault; depression tends to tire one down, setting invisible weight for them to carry.

You're used to that weight. Or so you tell yourself.

This day, like any other in the past few weeks, started off normally enough. You dozed off a few times. Still had enough time to make breakfast in the morning, and somehow got to work early.

Though, in your victory of finishing the entire breakfast, you forgot to pack lunch.

A small mistake. Could’ve happened to anyone.

The bar was as busy as ever.

Zaunites really kick it with the alcohol, no matter if it's day or night, morning or the afternoon.

In your case, it was early noon. You served customers whenever they came, took whatever tips they'd left (rarely) and had a few smoke breaks.

It ramped up in the evening.

The whole saloon was filled to its brim, drunken patrons perched at every single table, demanding for refills; every inch of the space hectic and buzzing with energy.

You hate the rush, but it comes with the job. You'd gotten good enough at handling it, and survived through the nights just fine.

This night was different, of course.

It started with a small nitpick your coworker threw your way. No big deal. You brushed it off — let it in one ear and out the other.

But as the night deepened, and the customers got rougher, their voices raised in demands and nauseating catcalls, your facade of coolness started to slip.

"Hey, wide-eyes!"

You froze, tray in hand. Whether that was an insult or not, it didn’t take much to make you doubt yourself.

Your insecurities run deep, rooted to your very core. The shittiest remarks could ruin your entire night, if only given the chance.

"Yes?" You turned around, feigning a smile.

“Can the pretty girl bring us our drinks, or ‘s it too much for you to handle?” he slurs. The table broke into roaring, mocking laughs. It was like they wanted to ravish you whole.

“We've asked twice now!”

Another barking laugh. A crooked look your way.

It was your last straw.

You felt humiliated. Stupid.

Of course you’d forgotten drinks and orders before, but to be made fun of so loudly… it hurt.

"I'll have it by you in a second," you choked out, making a beeline to the backroom of the bar. You ignored the sneering calls you got as you left the table behind — your mind zeroed on just getting out of the place.

“I’m off,” you slammed your tray onto a table, some of the drinks on it splashing onto the surface.

A startled bartender straightens up, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Hey- you’re not done for another two hours!” he yells behind you, pissed that his break got interrupted.

You didn’t care.

“I don’t care,” you bit back, gathered your things and headed straight to the backdoor, pushing it open.

You sounded rather angry, despite the growing knot in your throat.

“I can’t do it.”

“What the fuck-?”

The door slams shut behind you.

════════════════════════════

When the familiar door of your apartment came to view, you felt numb and tired. The latter, mostly.

It wasn't the kind of exhaustion you could sleep off — it was the kind that clings to you bone deep and refuses to loosen its grip.

Stumbling into the apartment, you held back the earlier tears. There was no apparent reason for them anymore.

Sure, you'd been called names, but that was nothing new to you, working in a bar downtown of Zaun.

Rude customers were to be expected, and you knew it the second you got the job.

If anything, you were in the wrong here; running out mid-shift when the bar is at its worst. They need all the hands they have, and you just… left.

But still, you couldn't shake off the impact the mens words had left on you; they criticized your appearance, something you're not particularly confident of, anyway.

More tears build in your eyes. Your eyes blur even with the effort of holding them back.

It wasn’t just their mean words that had led you to this place. The hurt always builds up. Over weeks. Months even, and you can never see it until the pressure snaps, and you collapse under the weight of your worries.

It’s easy to blame it on one specific event, rather than admitting that you’re not well overall.

This time, that blame falls on the men.

Leaving your shoes and jacket behind, you drag yourself to the bathroom with heavy steps.

Entering the room, you strip off your work clothes, leaving them on top of the bin, simply too lazy to stuff them inside.

You catch a look at your appearance and nearly flinch.

Dark circles frame your eyes, bottom lip bitten bloody, trembling.

You look away before the sight can burn itself to your mind — before you can convince yourself that that's all you'll ever be. Unattractive. Too sensitive.

The thoughts start to swirl in your head, unbidden and brutal.

It's you, unfiltered, and you don't like what you hear.

Don't like how you think. Don’t like how you act, how you stand, or how you walk in staggered, shy steps.

Don't like how you let yourself get walked upon, and take it all, time after time.

Your mind quickly starts to steer off its rail, going straight to the piece of metal that sits in your mirror cabinet. You hadn't touched it in weeks, purely because you were too busy to. It didn't feel like you needed it.

But like a red rag to a bull, you turn to the sting for comfort.

The razor soon sits in the palm of your hand, its weight insignificant but its purpose great.

In nothing but your underwear, every bare inch of skin looks inviting. Empty spaces just asking to be filled.

You slide down the wall, one knee pulled up.

A tired cry tumbles from your lips, and you grunt in frustration, whispering a command like you're no person with feelings at all.

"Shut up," comes out weak and shaky.

With a trembling hand, you drag the razor across your wrist — a horribly familiar spot to start at.

The sting only registers after three more lines, and you allow yourself to whimper. Then slice your skin more.

The more they sting and bleed onto the floor, staining the shiny tiles below — the more you want to cover yourself in the cuts completely.

Your head hurts. The tears you fought against start to stream down your cheeks, nose clogging up.

Any sob that tries to escape, though, you swallow back.

You make quick work of cutting, even when it feels like your hand is disconnected from the rest of your body.

And when you blink, as if finally snapping out of whatever trance you’ve been in, you take in the full damage on your body: cut after cut, marring almost every patch of skin.

You nearly gag.

Then fumble with the toilet paper. A towel would be better, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Pressing it against the cuts, the blood soaks right through. Your throat hurts, the loud sob that has been building up all night threatening to escape.

You hiccup instead.

The mess makes itself in the bathroom.

Bloody tissues overflowing the trash, messy cabinets a visible result of your urgent search for bandages.

Now, your hands are in the sink, the water mixing with your blood in twisted, sinuous shapes.

Another hiccup breaks from your lips, this time louder, shakier.

You don’t feel any better than before.

There’s only an added weight to the previous one you already carried — hiding, lying.

You don’t know if you have any fight left in you for that.

But you can’t let Sevika know.

There’s enough shit going on in her life for your bullshit to add to it.

════════════════════════════

Sevika stumbles into the apartment, throwing her keys onto the kitchen counter.

“‘M home!” She calls out.

No answer.

“Baby?” she steps out of her dirty boots.

Fortunately for her, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up under the blankets. Safe.

It's a sight enough to calm her earlier nerves.

In careful, unhurried steps, she nears the couch you’re sprawled on and kneels.

“Baby,” she tries again.

This time, your eyes flutter open.

You blink, unsure if the blurry sight of Sevika is just a hallucination made up by your frayed mind.

Crouching beside the sofa, her hand reaches out to soothe down your hair. Definitely real.

You lean into her touch, yawning.

“I passed out after work…” you mutter, slowly sitting up.

Sevika raises an eyebrow at your quick explanation.

“Unprompted, but okay,” she chuckles gruffly, standing up as you stretch and slowly wake.

Sauntering over to the cozy kitchen of the apartment, she calls back, “You hungry? We got yesterday's leftovers.”

Your eyes follow her steps. So steady, deliberate, confident with such ease.

You’d be jealous if you weren’t dating her.

Pathetic, you think, comparing yourself to your own partner.

“Uh, yeah… sure,” you answer just a beat too late, mind focused on a thousand things at once — one of those things being the undeniable stinging under your sleeves.

Sevika pauses, throwing you a look over her shoulder as she prepares the meal.

“Baby, ‘s something wrong?”

“No- no. Just… had a rough shift. I’m fine.” Your voice gets swallowed by the buzz of the microwave.

She hums, giving you yet another look — this one more suspicious, but taking how she lets it slide; your secret is still safe.

Sevika soon plates up the now warm food, closing the cutlery drawer with her left hip. “Rowdy customers, I take it?”

She walks back toward the living room, two bowls in hand.

“You know it.” You sit up properly, taking the bowl Sevika offers you. The brew smells good — heavenly even, but truthfully, you’re in no mood for any food.

Your appetite isn’t in its best suit.

But, it was easier to accept Sevika’s offer than to start explaining yourself, and perhaps revealing just a little too much of the mess inside your head.

The couch dips when Sevika takes a seat beside you.

You shake your head to abandon your thoughts. “Enough about me. How ‘bout your day?” You force a spoonful into your mouth, swallowing feeling like a chore.

It tastes like nothing.

You know that Sevika is an amazing chef, so the fault is in no way hers, leftovers or not.

You’re just numb, from head to toe, apparently all the way to your taste buds.

Sevika gets comfy, eagerly scooping the food in her mouth. “Silco was an ass, as usual,” she swallows. “Jinx, a pain in my ass, as also usual.”

You chuckle, but don’t register much after that.

Her voice trails off into white noise, just a backdrop as you mechanically shovel food into your mouth.

Your mind spins. Spoons clink. Your body stings all over, a constant reminder of your slip-up.

By now, you haven’t got the slightest clue what Sevika is rambling your ear off about. You barely remember to nod every now and then, foggy vision staring into your slowly emptying bowl.

“Baby?”

“Uh-uh… yeah,” you utter mindlessly, nodding weakly.

Her fingers curl around your wrist.

“Baby, what's this?”

That snaps you out of your trance. You glance down at where her hand rests.

Your sleeve has ridden up. A careless mistake that'll cost you one pained conversation.

Your heart rate spikes, face burning with shame.

A cold sweat settles along your back.

You feel sick.

Your gaze drops to the ground, whatever is left of your broth now growing cold, bowl in your lap.

You pry her hand away, pulling the sleeve back down, though there's no doubt about Sevika seeing the cuts; they were right there — basically shoved under her nose.

"Love…" Sevika’s voice cracks, hand reaching out again but stopping just short of you — hesitating.

Your eyes stay glued to the floor. Maybe if you stare at it long enough it'll swallow you whole.

You don't quite fight it when she takes hold of your wrist again. You just let her, your hand limp and cold as opposed to her warmth.

Your eyes blur.

Sevika rolls up your sleeve, fully this time.

What greets her is a mess of angry red lines that mark your skin, bloody around the edges. Bandages that cover the cuts only partly — as if you didn’t care enough to bother taking care of them.

She scans every cut, every not-even-partly-healed, bloody scab.

They can’t be older than a few hours, top.

The realisation breaks her heart.

The thought of you, home alone, hurting yourself…

"Baby... what's this?" her voice, so gentle, so worried — you can't take it.

You don't deserve her worry.

"Nothing," the lie slips out so easily, even with the evidence right in front of both of you.

“Baby, don’t insult my intelligence.” There’s an edge to her voice that easily comes off as anger instead of concern. It’s wholeheartedly the latter, but she can never fully control her tone. It slips, has ups and downs and goes from sweet to hardened in the matter of seconds.

It has caused miscommunication in the past. This is no different.

You shrink back, tears starting to stream down your cheeks in hot, quick streaks.

It's all crashing at once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, shoulders shaking. You can’t hide the hurt on your face.

Sevika recoils at the pain that flashes in your eyes. “No, no, hey,” she coos and coaxes your face toward hers, fingers gently gripping your chin.

Again, you don’t fight it.

“That- that came off wrong. I’m not mad at you. I’m worried,” her voice catches. You hiccup, face quickly becoming a mess of tears and snot.

Sevika shakes her head. “I just- why would you…," a swallow. "Why?”

Why?

It sounds so simple, but the answer is nothing of the sort. You’re not sure if there truly even is an answer.

Cutting isn’t something you end up resulting in — it's just something you do every now and then, when life feels all too hard, when your thoughts won’t channel out otherwise.

It’s not that much of an escape, but rather a tool: something that helps you through life.

Something you need. Always have.

It’s not something you can explain in a sentence, or set out a line of actions for, explaining what will push you to do it.

It just happens.

When you show no signs of answering, but rather start crying more, Sevika is quick to move both of your bowls to the coffee table — and to envelope you in her arms.

She guides your head to her shoulder, running a soothing hand down your back.

The pressure of it is enough to break you, and for the first time all day — you let yourself properly cry.

Your sobs aren’t shockingly loud, nor do you shake dramatically in panic, but the pain in your tears, your voice, is no less serious.

And here, in the warm hold of the oh, so worried Sevika, the cries feel just a bit heavier than they did when you were alone in the bathroom.

Your breaths come out in strangled, shallow gasps, hands twisting in her shirt as your tears soak the fabric.

“Baby, I have to see…” she struggles to hide the urgency in her tone. “You might- might, need stitches. Please, love, are there more?”

That catches you off guard. Sevika and the word please don’t go hand in hand casually — meaning that she must be scared out of her goddamn mind.

You sniffle, a snotty sound, and nod yes.

“Where, baby? Show me,” she urges, “please.”

You sit there, baffled about yet the second please she has let out in the span of ten seconds.

You think about taking your shirt off, but don’t give the thought too much of your energy.

You can’t bring yourself to do it.

Where, is also a bad question.

There’s nowhere you can point, as your entire body is a map of the cuts. They’re scattered everywhere — some in places you don’t even remember leaving them to.

Sevika scans your face, catching onto the fact that you’re overwhelmed, reasonably so.

“Can I lift you up?”

The question, as sweet as it is, only makes you cry harder.

You nod, a jerky move as you drown in tears.

Sevika doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, her touch careful to not hurt you.

When you’re settled in her hold, she then makes a beeline to your shared bedroom.

The whole way there, you babble weak apologies to the crook of her neck. “I’m- ‘m so sorry... I ruined dinner,” you hiccup, voice coming out strangled and wet.

“Shhh.” She sets you onto the bed. “You didn’t ruin anythin’, I promise. We can warm up dinner, or make something else, but I can’t have you bleedin’ or in pain.”

You hiccup, unable to nod, or to show any sign of understanding for that matter.

Her hands rest on your knees, gentle, careful.

“Can you show me?”

You shake your head no, ashamed.

“It’s gross.” I’m gross, you don’t add.

“Baby, I don’t care,” she urges.

You stay silent.

A heavy, trembling sigh leaves her lips.

“Can I look for myself?”

After a long pause, you nod, and immediately regret it.

It’s too late to take it back when Sevika starts to undress you.

Her touch is devoid of anything sexual, despite the intimacy of the scene. If it wasn’t for the context, it might’ve seemed sweet or sensual.

Now it’s just heartbreaking.

With every piece of clothing that she shreds off of you and drops to the floor in a discarded pile, more and more of your scarred body gets unveiled to Sevika’s eye.

There’s far too many cuts for her to count.

They truly are everywhere — your arms, thighs, hips, shoulders, stomach, chest… It would be easier to list the places where they’re not.

Her heavy gaze has you shrinking into yourself.

You hiccup again, nose swollen, cheeks blotchy.

Eyeing you, Sevika’s jaw is clenched so tight you’re afraid she might snap a tooth, and by pure instinct — you lift a hand to soothe the spot.

Sevika scoffs in disbelief, the sound shaky.

Your body is covered in cuts, self-inflicted may she add, and here you are — worrying about her, rubbing your thumb along her jaw.

She lifts a hand to cover yours on her face, coaxing your eyes to meet her shining grey ones once more.

“Why?” Her voice breaks again.

You hate that it's all your fault; the growing tears in her eyes. The crack in her tone.

“I don’t know.”

You close your eyes. Tears cling to your lashes, stubbornly refusing to glide down your face.

“Please, baby.” Sevika lays her head on your chest, listening to the steady thump of your heart.

"Talk to me.”

For the first time in your relationship, Sevika is crying.

If it wasn’t for the shake in her shoulders, you couldn’t have been able to tell.

That earns a pained sob from you, too. “I’m sor-”

“Stop apologizing, goddamnit,” she cuts you off, lifting up her head. Her cheeks are stained.

The sight of her, the big bad Sevika in tears, is enough to silence you.

"Sit still," she sniffles.

Baffled, you watch how she gets up to her feet and hurries into the bathroom to find the first-aid kit she knows is somewhere in there.

You pick at a loose thread on the bed’s comforter, sitting there on the edge; naked save for your panties and bra, vulnerable save for the shock you got from seeing her cry.

When Sevika comes back, first-aid kit in hand, she goes full nurse mode — taking care of your cuts in practised, methodical moves.

She doesn’t actually know squat about the medical field, but has had a fair share of accidents of her own to know the key things.

In theory, she’s a self-taught, unpaid, very gruff and unreliable doctor at your private service.

You sit and let her play the part she needs to; knowing she can't fix whatever is eating you from the inside, she's willing to spend hours patching you up from the outside.

“I don’t want you to hide from me. I want you to come to me.”

Sevika gently plasters a bandage to your forearm, fingers twisting to get it right.

You look down.

"I... I can't."

Sevika's throat bobbles. You catch the motion.

She then frames your face with her hands, forcing you to look at her.

Her voice holds urgency. Fear that overrides her concern of your discomfort.

“I need you to call me. Anything. Please, baby, I can’t bear the thought of coming home and finding you-” she stops herself, face twisted in pain. Lip trembling.

Silence settles, heavy with silent pain.

Your responce, when it comes, sounds shallow.

“I would never go that far."

Deep down, though, the image she’s painting doesn’t sound too horrible to you.

Sevika studies your face. The dreamy haze in your eyes, under the tears and misery.

You wouldn't mind it, and its clear.

Sevika hauls you into her arms.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispers into your hair, eyes screwed shut. “Promise me you won’t do that. I’ll hide every damn weapon in this house. I’ll lock you in the bedroom with nothin' but the bed.”

You try to pull away.

"Sevika, I–"

"No," she grabs your chin, keeping your gaze on her.

Harsh, yes, but for a reason.

"I can't bury my wife. I won't."

Your lip trembles.

You watch Sevika take a breath, like she's trying to stay strong for you. To find the right words, mulling over each syllible until nothing sounds right anymore. Then-

"Tell me what I need to do to avoid that." Her hand drops from your chin, and finds your shaking hand to give it a squeeze.

One. Two.

"Please."

You stare at her hand in yours. Calloused from the wear of life, but gentle through her love for you.

"I wish I knew, Sevi," you admit. "I wish... I knew what to do."

A sniffle.

"Because I would do it for you. But now it feels like- like," you choke on a breath.

"Like there's nothing left to do."

You watch Sevika's face crumble in real time.

"Baby..."

Another beat passes. You try to think of how to articulate all your thoughts into words, but come up with nothing worth saying.

"There's nothing left, Vika," you hiccup, hand shaking when it comes up to wipe a tear.

Sevika crushes you into a hold — guiding your face to her neck, burying her nose into your hair.

"I'm here. I'm right here, baby," she breathes against you. "You won't leave me. I won't let you."

"I try so hard, Sevi," you sob. "I try every day..."

"Oh, baby, I know. God, I know you do." She rocks you gently. "That counts. You hear me? Every fucking day counts."

"I don't wanna dissapoint you..."

"Dissapoint me? Not a chance in hell, baby." Sevika presses a fierce kiss onto your forehead. Chaste, but sweet. "You ain't dissapointing me. But I need you to come to me before it gets to this point."

A weak sniffle from you.

"I- I can try... but-"

"That's all I ask baby."

Another kiss, this time to your temple.

She then frames your face, eyes gentle when they meet yours.

"I... I love you. Don't you ever in your life think I don't, because I do. And it- fuck, baby... this?" she rubs her thumb over the bandage on your arm, the blood slowly leaking through.

"I just- it pains me. You don't... deserve this."

Your voice wobbles.

"You don't know what I deserve..."

"Stop, baby, that's your brain bein' an asshole," she grunts. "You deserve the whole goddamn world. And then some."

A tiny, broken laugh slips out of you, raw but real.

"There it is," Sevika says softly. "Still got a sense of humor on ya'. That's good," she grins carefully, squeezing your arm and poking the under of your nose with her finger.

You giggle, swatting at her hand despite yourself.

Sevika smiles, earnest but pained, and soothes your cheek with her hand, gaze searching yours.

"How does a movie sound? Somethin' cheesy. Those com... roms you like. Take your mind off things," she kisses your head again, hands gently rubbing.

"Talk more when ya feel better."

"Romcom," you correct her in a small giggle — the stinging on your arms nearly forgotten under the light of her love.

Your hopelessness dimishes; even if just for a while.

"Tell you what," Sevika shifts, bouncing you lightly on her knee. "You go choose a movie, I'll re-heat dinner-"

"Or throw it away," you propose with a giggle, wiping at your wet face.

"Or, throw it away," she agrees. ",'s pretty bad. What was it again-?"

"Your three day old pasta," you say numbly.

"Yeah. Throwin' that way," she laughs. "We'll eat ramen. You like that, yeah?" she checks, cupping your chin.

You smile tiredly.

Push away a harmful thought when it gets too close.

"Yeah," you reach up to hold onto her hand cupping your face. "I like that."

"Good. Only the best for my girl."

Sevika presses a kiss to the top of your head, smirking lightly.

You scoff tiredly.

"The best? Ramen? Really?" you shove her on the shoulder playfully, mustering up all the energy you have.

"The best," she teases softly, standing up and setting you on your feet.

She does a gentle pat on your back to assure you, giving you a once-over and then starts walking.

"C'mon."

When Sevika doesn't hear the shuffle of your steps following hers, she turns. "Baby?"

She has nearly walked out of the room when you pause, standing still by the foot of the bed; hesitant, vulnerable, unsure.

"Can i just... change?" you shuffle in place nervously, hands covering your bandaged up arms.

You know Sevika saw the cuts upclose and personal, but still — it doesn't lessen your uncomfortability. At all.

The look in your eyes is nothing short of shame and embarrassment.

Sevika's eyebrows scrunch together slightly. "'Course, but... you do know that I don't mind 'em, right love?" she softens her voice, leaning slightly against the doorframe. "I mean, now that they're there already, no use of hiding. I know what happened and I ain't intend to make you feel bad 'bout it."

Your feet shuffle.

"I know. I just..."

"Ain't no need for explanations," she cuts you off with a careful jerk of her hand, a tender look on her face.

"I get it," she murmurs lowly. Lovingly.

Comfortable silence.

Just the two of you staring at eachother.

Then she pushes off the frame.

"Change, choose a movie- I'll get the ramen cookin'." She smiles, easy-going. Even in the face of all this.

You smile in tandem, though yours comes out more tired than hers.

"Thank you, Sevi."

You quickly step forward, pressing a hurried kiss to her lips on your tippytoes.

Sevika, however, isn't in much hurry as you are.

She smiles, halting in her steps once again to peck a kiss to your nose, forehead resting against yours.

A strip of light cuts through the space between the bedroom and the hallway, casting delicate shadows on your face.

Sevika admires — zoning out completely until you start to blush and shove her off.

"Vika.." you whine- but are quickly cut off by another kiss.

Deeper, but not lustful.

Loving.

A small string of drool connects between your mouths when the kiss parts ways.

"I love you. Never fucking forget that," Sevika rasps against your lips; her voice raw — like the words came out before she could run them over in her brain.

You freeze for a bit.

Then run a thumb over her bottom lip.

Her hand graces your arm — the heavily bandaged one — not by accident, by meaning. Knowledging your pain.

You close your eyes.

Press your forehead even closer to hers.

Her breaths mingle with yours. Her fingers caress your arm. Up, down, up, down...

Your eyes close so tears won't fall again.

They do anyways.

"I love you too."

Something is still pained deep in your heart.

It reflects as stinging on your arms; surfaces as tears running down your face.

But Sevika's touch keeps it at bay.

"I won't forget," you whisper. "Promise."

════════════════════════════

© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.

[MAIN MASTERLIST]

the cliffhanger is lowkey consuming me too XD even though i know what'll happen...

for a little bit of alleviation i can say this: reader isn't going to die, but the event will obviously scar (physically and emotionally), which creates a whole new challenge for the dynamic ... sevika gets overprotective, sort of clinging to past fear, whilst reader tries to heal of said past. 🤐

——×— · · ─ ༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻─ · · —×——

> CHAPTER 3 Hurt Things

Wipers whine against the windshield.

Your eyes burn when they flutter open: corneas gaining damage from the bright layer of white blanketing the nature that surrounds you.

The road is lost to the eye. Can't tell where each line ends.

You stretch; fingertips grazing the matted roof of the truck, back cracking like your bones just snapped back to their place.

"Snow-?" you then croak out, blinking a tired eye towards Sevika.

She's leaning against her hand, shoulder pressed to her window.

"Yup. Bunch of it," is the short, clipped answer you receive.

Too tired to question her further, you rub your eyes and try to twist around to catch a sight of the view behind you.

It's no better than the view infront.

Miles of emptiness. No houses. No people. Snow-covered trees that just barely pass as forests.

A tumble of white dust follows the truck. The tires scrunch.

"Caroline holdin' up okay?" you joke lightly, turning back around to face ahead.

"Yeah. Fine." Sevika side-eyes you, feigning weak anger, though, a tired smirk twists at her lips. "Filled 'er tank a few miles back. You were out cold."

"I didn't get my nightly dose of sleep," you argue lightly, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Y'woke me up early, 's what you get."

"Get peace n' silence for eight hours straight?" Sevika raises an eyebrow. Throws a dry look at you, and then focuses back on the road.

You scoff. "Pfft, yeah. Eight hours, for sure," your eyes roll on their own, tone groaning as you bend down to fetch your bag from your feet — rummaging through it.

"Yeah. Eight hours," Sevika chuckles, finding amusement in your denial. "Was a peaceful day. I already miss it."

"I didn't sleep that long. It's still bright out-" you whip your head up to check. Glance around once again. Back, left, right, forward. Up at the sky.

It is indeed not that bright out.

"Okay. Whatever. Depends who you ask," you then declare, and return to going through your backpack.

Sevika grunts, first with amusement, and then with annoyance — as your digging shows no end.

"T'daylight hidden somewhere 'nthere?"

"No," you deadpan. Dig the bag some more. Throw whatever comes your way — out of your way.

A hairbrush hits Sevika in the face. Her nerves win.

Her hand reaches out to yank the bag away from you — only for you to yank it right back.

"What the fuck??" you shout.

Sevika tries to multitask driving and arguing. For whatever stubborn reason.

"Jesus, kid! Just-"

She stops the the car. Sudden. Breaks streeching.

It halts.

You're both panting; eyes wide, hands on the board, fingers shaking.

A deer stares back at you. Eyes just about as wide as yours, nose twitching.

Silence. No one moves.

Then the deer runs off. Feet clanking against the frozen road, the sound carrying itself inside the truck.

"Christ," Sevika heaves. Running a hand over her face, your bag still in her hand; only now it's down enough for you to snatch back.

"Don't make it your business to act like my mom. I have enough issues without someone trying to control everything I do," you spit — slamming the door shut with uncontainted anger, and nothing but a backpack to your name.

You then walk the side of the road, feet leaving small inprints to the snow below. Your sneakers squek.

You don't glance back. No sound follows you.

Then the truck starts again.

For a brief, sad second — you're certain Sevika's going to drive off without you. Just speed right past.

She should. That's what you want her to do.

That's what you've convinced yourself.

Then the hood of the truck appears in your field of vision. Sevika's driving it slow, one hand on the wheel — other hanging out your window.

"I'm sorry, okay? Get back in. It's fuckin' freezing," she tries.

You don't look at her when she reaches your pace.

A frustrated sigh.

"You're right. It ain't my business what you do," she presses the gas. Backs far enough to catch your eyes. "Sorry for snappin' for no reason. Someone's oughta keep you in line," she grins weakly, making a jab at her own wrongdoings.

Your steps halt. Sevika stops the truck.

You glare at her.

"I'm reeaaally sorry-" Sevika holds a hand to her chest, grinning.

It's like a melodramatic play. A modern, cheap one at that.

"You're awful."

"The worst," she agrees in a tired grumble, opening the door for you.

You don't move. Sevika catches the glimmer in your eye; one hinting at trouble.

Her head drops to hang low. "What?" she mutters, gruff. Loathing.

"You let me drive a mile."

Her head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. There's a permanent scowl on her face.

"Absolutely not. Nope. No chance."

"Yes. One mile of me handlin' Caroline and I'll let you keep your authority," you press. "And I get to smoke one cigarette. Mine are out," you add just as her mouth opens.

It closes again.

Sevika mirrors your earlier glare and reluctantly pushes the door open wider.

"You owe it to me. Snappin' for no reason!"

"Fine."

You grin in winning, eagerly climbing back into the truck.

"But- after we clear this snow. Don't wanna end up dead in a ditch," Sevika clarifies, waiting for you to settle before pressing the gas pedal once again.

"I don't see this snow vanishing anytime soon," you snicker lightly, poking her side. Just pushing the buttons you've already set off once.

Sevika scoffs and dodges the pokes, focused on the long road unfolding far into the horizon.

"Patience is a virtue."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"... kinda hypocritical. I mean, you just lost it because i was going through my bag-"

"-patience is a virtue." Sevika repeats it, only louder than before, yet hearing you just fine.

"Okayyy," you titter. "Whatever you say."

Caroline's been resting on the side of the road for hours.

You're perched up near the campfire with a twig in hand, prodding at the few chumps of wood with deadly consentration; tongue peeking out the corner of your mouth.

The fire crackles — and a small ember nearly catches onto your jacket.

"Fuck!" you yell, tumbling back just to fall flat on your ass.

"Ouch..." you wince.

"Told you not to go near that."

"Fuck!!" you yell again, jumping back another few inches as Sevika's figure emerges from the darkness.

"I was just helping," you jeer, throwing your stick at her. Sevika watches it hit her chest and fall to the ground.

"Don't. More trouble than it's worth."

She kneels by the fire, rearranging the woods with a log. You follow the movement.

"Plus, you're already injured," she continues, voice a low murmur. You look down at your stitched hand and scoff.

"Don'need any more damage," she says.

You're silent for a while — watching her handle the fire. Then you perk up, voice certain. Defensive.

"I've handled campfires before. On my own. I can do it now, too."

A laugh.

"Oh, yeah?" Sevika throws you an unamused look. "How'd that turn out just now? How 'bout before?"

You furrow your brows, trying to remember anything positive to pass along about your prior experience with fire.

Nothing comes up.

Your argument falls apart.

"I... uh, burned my hand," you admit, waving around the scarred palm.

Sevika doesn't even look.

"Figured. Was stitchin' up the same arm just days ago. Hard to miss it." She gestures towards the limb, gaze finally moving to you — the fire abandoned.

"Uhh, yeah."

You awkwardly twist your feet against the snowy ground. Sevika watches.

The fire crackles and another timber flies by you — giving you enough of a reason to scoot back to sit on a tree log like Sevika already is.

It's admittedly better than the cold ground.

Sevika pokes at the fire. Wind blows just lightly; grazing treetops with a gentle sway.

"What's your favourite colour?" you break the silence.

Sevika glares at you over the fire.

"Black," she deadpans — her tone matter-of-fact.

"Oh, depressing. Nice."

"Okay, short stuff, what's yours?" she pushes.

"Short stuff?" you question, mouth dropping open.

Sevika smirks smugly. "Are you not like, what, one-four-something tall?" she teases, poking at two different fires. The camp's and yours.

"No! I'm not even-" you cut yourself off with a groan and take a deep, shaky breath. "Whatever. My favourite colour is green. But I like all the colours."

"All of 'em? Wow. How childlike."

"It's still less depressing than your answer!" you argue between chuckles, hands flailing in exaggeration.

"Fine. You win, odd child."

"You're the odd one," you mutter under your breath, mind reeling for a new question.

A new one finds its place in your mouth quickly.

"Favourite animal?"

"Wolves. Boring question, next one," Sevika demands, dry humor painting her tone.

She rummages a bag and pulls out a can of tuna to hold over by the fire.

"You're dull," you snicker. The smirk never once vanishes from Sevika's face.

You mind mulls over all its carefully stored questions and settles on another one.

"Okay," you prop yourself better on the log, facing Sevika. "How would your life be like if the breakout never happened?"

Sevika goes silent.

For long enough to scare you into thinking you crossed a boundary that should've been left alone.

Then she moves. Takes her can of tuna — and speaks.

"Lonely," comes out honest and witty. Automatically, mid-tuna-bite. "Not that different," she hums tiredly with a mouthful; voice carrying a distant, muffled weight.

"I'd have a middle-wage job in the office. Ride around with Caroline every friday, lookin' to get some company for the weekend."

You nod carefully, unsure of what to say or do. Shit, great. Good job choosing the question. Not depressing at all.

"If it makes you feel any better, i'd probably be dead," you blurt out, eyes faraway, but your voice carrying a weirdly upbeat tone.

"Like, gone for good. If not because of my dad, I would've done it myself," you blabber — unable to stop now that you've started.

"I mean- I dunno how I ever made it this far, even. I'm not really supposed to be here," you chuckle; a squeaky, nervous sound.

That's when you look up.

Sevika's staring at you in near horrification — concern etched so deep into the lines of her face that it scares you. A lot.

"I'm fine, now!" you backpedal, eyes shining.

"Are you?" Sevika questions, eyes still wide, voice unnaturally careful.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm here, aren't I?" you smile wide — attempting to push the oncoming tears away. Your knee bounces.

Sevika nods with a frown, not missing a single second of your efforts in hiding vulnerability. You're performing the act with complete profession.

Might've even fooled someone who wasn't familiar with shielding their heart, too.

It takes one to know one.

"Yeah. You're here," Sevika agrees, eyes holding a level of understanding no words can pass along.

You swallow. Thick. Raw.

"So. Eheh," you wipe at your cheek, concealing a sniffle with a weak laugh. A crack in your carefully built armor.

"My favourite animal has to be tiger," you cheerfully state, carrying on like the previous two minutes weren't apart of the conversation to begin with.

Sevika goes along.

She knows some things are better left in the past. They're not worth the trouble.

"Tigers, huh? Why?"

"The cool patterns. Like permanent battle wounds," you explain. "And their face has this cool shape that only shows whenever they're hunting. I think that's cool."

Sevika chuckles, choosing to ignore the cold ache in her chest. The one that comes with fear and worry and ends in inevitable hurt.

"Not wrong there."

"Which one's are scarier, though? I think that's the real question."

"Wolves, easy. They got that howl."

"That's never once been scary. Ever in history," you argue lightly, laying down onto the log — your bag working as a pillow. An uncomfortable one.

"Never say never until you've experienced it," Sevika hums. "Sayin' works for every situation. Remember that."

You burst into tired giggles."You've heard a wolf howling?"

"Well-" Sevika's own composure breaks, a gruff laugh bubbling from her chest. "'m almost certain' it was a wolf... was a pretty loud night, I can't say f'sure-"

"Can't say for sure?" you question and laugh, gazing at the shining sky above.

A star winks back at you.

Sevika pokes at the fire, playful act hiding the lingering concern in her body.

"Never could say f'sure, kid. Never quite."

Whatever happened last night has vanished from both your memories.

Nothing was revealed. No one almost cried.

But everythings been awkward since.

And Sevika's acting different around you.

Carefully nitpicking every word and syllible before she speaks. Constantly eyeing you when she thinks you aren't looking. Tippytoeing around you in a protective cycle — both figuratively, and damn near literally.

"You sleep okay?" she asked when you two climbed the truck again, voice softer than the night prior.

"If a sore back doesn't offset a good night's sleep, then yeah," you answered.

And since then: the truck's been silent.

Repeatedly awkward, and whatever shitty country song is humming low from the speakers — is doing a terrible job at disguising that.

Sevika shatters the tension in the air, clearing her throat to catch your attention. Not like it had gone very far.

"You holdin' up okay?"

"I'm fine," you hiss, not looking at Sevika.

"Okay. That's good," she mutters.

Awkward silence once again.

You're already counting down the hours until sun sets. Sleeping is your only escape from this annoying woman and her bleak roadtrip to absolutely nowhere.

"Wouldya' look at that," Sevika let's out a shocked whistle, steering the truck left — towards an old gas station.

"Y'think there's anything worthwhile left in there?" you ask, voice blank. Bored.

"Idunno. Worth a shot, right?" she hums, parking Caroline upfront. She takes the keys, and after climbing out of the truck, she turns to you — still sitting in your seat, facing the other way.

Not looking particularly excited.

"You coming?" she asks.

No answer. Typical teenage grumpiness.

Sevika sighs.

"Maybe they got somethin' for you. A number on those magazines you carry." She gestures to your bag. "Can't have read them all, can ya?"

A second passes.

Then,

"I guess..." you agree cautiously. "I haven't."

"See? C'mon. Give it a shot." She taps the roof of the truck twice, urging you out.

You chuckle weakly, a tired smile on your face as you climb out and leave your bag beside Sevika's.

"Good, good," she hums, guiding you inside the decaying convenience store with a brief hand to your back.

You push it off and skip a few steps ahead of her just to gain some distance.

Inside, there's not much to gather up. Rows and rows of shelves, some of which have fallen down. Old food and whatever other supplies scattered in every crook and corner — none edible or of any value.

"Yikes." You gag, kicking a can across the floor.

"It... has seen better days," Sevika chuckles.

You glare at her.

"Why am I even here? It smells like death!" you exclaim, making faces and gesturing around. Dust particles float around the stale air.

"Calm down. I'm sure you'll dig up somethin' worth savin'. Go look around."

You scoff and roll your eyes, storming towards the door. "I'm going back to the truck-"

Sevika grabs your forearm — just above the sore stitches. Intentionally.

"Hey!"

You wince and halt in your steps, slowly turning to face her.

"I'm tryin' to be nice to you, but it's hard when you keep being ungrateful for every little thing. That can't make things better for either of us," she yells, frustration getting the best of her.

You stand still, numbly taking it all.

Sevika recoils. Just a little, but there's a snappy undertone in her words. "You gotta do your part, too, damnit."

You blink, chewing on your lip.

"Okay. Fine."

You twist out of her hold — sauntering straight to the back of the store.

Sevika watches in exparation, jaw clenching.

"Fine! You just sulk around! I'm sure that'll help the both of us by a lot!" she yells after you. Gets a tiny thud as an answer.

Then — silence. Again.

"Immature," Sevika mutters to herself, scouring the shelves in the search for anything withholding value.

Minutes pass. Sevika spends each one muttering bitter things under her breath, bantering with thin air.

"We've all lived rough lives," her ranting continues, "but I ain't see myself pouting just because-"

A louder crash.

A pained whimper.

"Kid?" Sevika turns around in a flash, feet already moving towards the sound of commotion.

Another smash echoes in the empty building. A collision. An echoing groan — one not of a humans. Shit.

"Kiddo? Answer me!" she shouts, sprinting now.

Between aisles — a terrifying sight greets her.

You with your thigh pierced and bleeding; trying to push off a decaying, rotten walker with it's mouth hanging open by your face.

Sevika moves.

Within seconds— she's smashing the walker in the face, knocking it out for good to step on its mushy head.

A gory, bloody sight paints the tiled floor, but it isn't enough to distract Sevika from your pained cries behind her.

"Kid- fuck.." Sevika panics, taking you in.

Half a fucking metal shelf is in your thigh. halfway inside. Inside.

Blood soaks your jeans at a speed to fast for her liking — your face already paling double the way it did when your arm got busted.

That was a surface wound. Just deep enough to scare but not truly harm.

This is deep. Piercing.

"H- hurts s'much," you cry weakly, hand flailing at her, eyes hazy with growing pain.

"Oh, shit- shit, I know," Sevika heaves, trying to asses your state.

Not good.

"Fuck, just- hold onto my hand, okay? Gotta getcha up," she helps you stand — only for the metal to move inside your leg.

You cry out.

"I know, kid, I'm sorry," Sevika blabbers, hoisting you up into her arms. The jostle of it pushes another scream out of you.

"I know- fuck..."

Sevika pushes the door open with her back and strides out of the store, legs growing weak with you crying in her arms.

You look bad.

"This's gonna hurt, but i need to getcha inside, okay?" she nods down at you, desparately clinging onto eye contact. You nod back shakily.

Sevika opens the trucks door and begins to gently lay you down; trying her very best to ignore each pained sound that it earns from you.

"Easy, easy does it-..."

The metal shifts once again — now majorly enough to rip your jeans along with it.

You scream again.

Sevika shuses you, face twisted in pain. "I'm so sorry," she winces, closing your door to round the car.

Her seat feels wrong. Breathing feels tight.

She fumbles with the keys, hands shaking, heart pounding. "You still with me?" she checks in.

You hiccup a pained, "a-ha..."

The truck starts and Sevika sways it back out into the open road.

Panic threatens to pull her down with you, mind reeling for a solution to your pain. Her thoughts go blank. Every prior survival instinct disappears into thin air.

"Talk to me. Tell me about somethin'," she demands, voice cracking, shaking.

"Tigers, you like those, right? Tell me 'boutthem," she urges, refusing to let you pass out. You might not sound the part, but man, do you look it.

"T- they can climb trees," you mutter, voice trembling. It sounds cold.

The teeth clattering kind; the sudden kind.

"Climb trees? Humor me," Sevika pushes, eyes scanning the road.

Nothing, nothing, and some more of nothing for what has to be fucking miles.

"Yeah, w-... with the claws," you force out, eyelids growing heavy. "'n they eat deers."

"Deers, huh? We saw one yesterday, didn't we? Remember that?" Sevika fumbles with the glove-box; one hand on the wheel. Old cans, empty cigarette packs — but zero shit to help you with.

The truck goes over a bump. You wince.

"I remember," you whisper, silent tears trailing down the apples of your cheeks in shiny paths.

Sevika's mouth curls at the sight, something in her heart twisting. Fuck.

"Was pretty scary, wasn't it?" she swallows, sweat collecting on her forehead.

Not as scary as this, she doesn't add.

"'m cold," you whisper.

"Shit, I know," Sevika's voice cracks, tongue coming out to wet her lips, eyes never coming stopping their balling between you and the road.

"You can hold my hand," she then offers without a second thought, grabbing your small hand into hers.

It's cold, like expected. Trembling, too.

She runs her thumb over the palm of your hand; the movement meant to soothe.

"Does this hurt?" she asks to distract you.

"No. It feels nice," you hiccup tiredly.

"Good. That's good. Focus on that, yeah?"

"Y- yeah..."

Sevika gulps, foot abusing the gas pedal. The truck slides on the icy road every now and then, gliding near the edge — a risk she's willing to handle.

Your vision blurs. Motion mixes into itself around you — spit collecting in your mouth, bile rising somewhere in your throat.

A chocked sob breaks free from your mouth; followed by a series of fresh tears.

You begin to blabber things no sober being could ever understand, growing hysterical.

"Oh, kid, it's okay... deep breaths," Sevika tries to soothe you, thumb still rubbing.

"I'don' wanna die anymore," you cry.

Sevika's stunned into silence.

"I'don' wanna... I'm scared, Vika," you sob in unadultered pain, teeth clenched as another cramp bites at your leg.

"I don't want to..."

"Fuck," Sevika heaves, fear creeping at her own doorstep.

She can hear her pulse in her ears; thrumming loud.

"You're not gon' die. I swear to you. It's gonna be okay."

"Promise me," you whimper, dread burning a hole into your chest.

Your ears ring, the sound nearly drowning out Sevika's voice as she squeezes your hand.

"I promise."

Another squeeze comes from her. You almost squeeze back.

Silence follows too quick.

"Kid?" Sevika looks down — and finds your eyes closed.

"Hey! No, no, no, no-... open those eyes for me, sweet girl," she taps your cheek, truck nearly swaying off the road.

Your eyes flutter.

Blood now paints not just your clothes — but the leather seats below.

"'m scared."

"Don't be. I'm right here."

Trying to keep you awake almost makes Sevika miss the smoke rising in the distance.

Smoke.

People. A possibilty.

Hope sparks in her chest, naive in its quickness.

"Hold on f'me. Stay awake."

Sevika takes a rough turn, truck swaying.

You don't even cry out at the harsh move — just let your head loll to the side, breaths laboured. Heavy.

"Cany' tell me more 'bout the tigers?" Sevika pleads.

No answer.

"Please, fuck," she pleads in a low whisper, hand curling harder around yours.

Nothing.

Something grey and tall sits behind a batch of trees — cloaked by the snowy branches that scrape against the trucks roof.

Sevika swallows thickly. Drives forward.

Concrete walls, shrouded by the foliage of plants just moments before, greet her with empty hellos.

But the smoke still rises somewhere inside. A light lits up near what Sevika thinks is the entrance.

She doesn't think: she moves.

"C'mon, up we go," Sevika grunts as she lifts you up and over the center console — and accidentally rolls the earlier country beat to thrum even louder.

The speakers boom behind her.

What would be a comical timing in any other situation only makes panic rise.

"We need help! She's injured!" Sevika yells the second she's out of the car, looking up at the manmade fence looming over you both.

She holds you close as you clutch at your leg in utter agony, head spinning.

Sevika's yells, even when let out right by your ear, never truly register.

They stay and they linger in the canals of your ears, ringing right back out.

"Please," Sevika pleads, voice rough. Pretent anger to lace over any true fear.

"If someone can hear us, please, just-!"

Something loud clangs. Loud enough to jolt even half-passed-out you.

The cement parts into two with great struggle; a gateway opening up in the middle.

Sevika watches it open with her mouth following tandem — not bothering to cover up her surprise for even a second.

There are people.

Before anyone can bother to introduce themselves, a man up front steps ahead.

"Is she awake? Where's the injury?"

"I- she's out, pierced thigh." Sevika fumbles over her words, the adrenaline pumping in her body partly working against her.

He dashes forward, eyes assessing not just you; pale in her arms — but Sevika, too.

"How deep?" comes out urgent.

"I- I don't know, christ- Deep enough?!"

He nods. Springs right into action.

"Follow me," he declares, running back through the concrete gates to safety.

Shock takes over Sevika's body in the form of silent observation.

Hundreds of people surrond her in every possible direction — following her steps as she runs right on the man's heels.

"Jesus, fuck," she mutters.

"It's a shocker, I know." The man weaves past someone, feet carrying him to familiar places. Sevika follows.

A tall building looms in short distance.

A drapery swings in the wind, its red cross contracting with the fabric's white.

"Halen!" the man calls out, voice carrying through the air in a pressing call.

A younger woman nursing a cigarette near the medical bay's entry turns her head — eyes going wide the second she registers the sight in front.

Two people sprinting towards her.

Someone new in clear distress.

A girl, maybe teen of age: bleeding in the other's arms — already having stained more than half of both their attire.

"Call Anye down from the fifteenth post!" the man yells, guiding Sevika through the entrance doors.

Halen nods and runs off.

Chaos continues inside. People already injured, yet none as badly as you.

Nurses abandon any non-urgent stitch-ups immediately. Shoes squek down the hallways. Something beeps in the distance, and in a split second-

You're being ripped away from Sevika's arms.

"Where are you taking her?" Sevika barks, anger holding itself stronger than fear.

"She'll be fine," the man affirms, yet doesn't answer her question. He helps someone pull on gloves, rummaging the front desk for paperwork.

Letters flash. AB's, O's, B's-

"But not if she doesn't get transfer soon."

"I can help. Let me be with her," Sevika's voice cracks. Fear finally overiding the anger.

"No. Stand back," someone commands.

They wheel you off somewhere. A room with flashing lights and windows with the drapes shut tight.

A mass of doctors, or people pretending to be the part — follow with their faces hidden behind plastic masks, hands gloved up as if to hide their shaking.

Just wearing the identity of someone better-educated without an ounce of true training.

"I need to be with her," Sevika shouts over the disarray, ignoring the two men — security, supposedly — trying to drag her out.

Your rooms door sits open.

Someone draws blood from your arm.

A young man is shouting into the phone, listing donors in the hopes that someone will answer.

Nothing, yet everything, is blooming in a noisy uproar right in front of Sevika's eyes — ranging from physical clutter, to a failing system build off of long-forgotten dreams.

She's watching it all thrive with a numbness in her chest.

So few of these people actually know what they're doing.

A cry bubbles from her mouth, weak from suspence. "She needs me there!"

No one shouts back.

Not to guide her to the lobby. Not to calm her nerves. Not to soothe her worries like doctors tend to do.

Not even to school her adult-ass out of the building.

"Please."

Nothing.

A frustrated sob.

"I need to know she's okay."

— · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · —

> [MAIN MASTERLIST] thank you for reading!

© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.

taglist :: @liifeunwritten

You stare into the mirror with what can only be disquised as disgust, toothbrush long forgotten in your hand.

Sevika spits foam into the sink. "Don't like what, baby?" she asks, busy rinsing her own toothbrush, multitasking with one hand rummaging the cabinet.

"My face," you whisper dryly, eyes still glued to your reflection. You wish to blink and look away — but you can't. The sight, in all it's imperfection, is one you can't tear your gaze away from.

How can someone even look that bad?

"What?" Sevika deadpans, all her moves halting as she focuses on you; unmoving infront of the mirror, eyes shiny. "That's nonsense. You're beautiful."

"Am I, though? I mean- you're just saying that because you're my girlfriend. You're practically obligated to lie," your voice cracks, defensiveness bleeding through the numb ache in your chest.

Sevika's eyebrows knit together.

"What are you even saying?" she questions, the barely contained anger rumbling somewhere from her chest.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fists clenching.

You blink briefly at the shining surface of the counter and catch your own eye.

Your chest tightens.

Ugly, ugly, ugly.

Sevika's hand comes up to wipe off leftover toothpaste from the corner of your mouth, coaxing your head to turn her way.

"Love-"

"Why are you even with me??" you interrupt, blatantly ignoring her growing confusion.

"I look gross. I-... I'm nothing without makeup," you sniffle in frustration, eyes now burning.

You take another glance at the mirror; shiver at the face that greets you.

Sevika attempts to shove you away from infront of the mirror with a gentle hand pushing your shoulder.

"Hey. Quit it," she snaps, voice rougher than before. Helpless.

You choke on a sob, succumbing into her shove.

"Fuck," you whisper, hastly wiping at your face. It's no use.

Tears drip along your cheeks in uneven paths; rolling down with increasing speed.

"I'm nothing, Vika," you then hiccup pathetically, covering your face with an unsteady hand — fingers trembling.

Your other shoves weakly at Sevika's chest; a futile attempt at pushing her away.

Sevika blinks down at you with pure bafflement. Her mouth opens and closes, hands hovering awkwardly by your sides.

"Honey, I-... I don't see no reason for you t'be this upset. You're gorgeous," she reassures.

To no avail, of course.

"You're lying. It's obvious," you argue, anger overriding any and all sadness.

You're taking the meaning of 'hating oneself' to a whole new level. By a harsh degree.

"You gotta stop speaking shit, sweet girl," Sevika snaps back with anger of her own; though it seeps through for different reasons.

She hates that you hate yourself.

You admitting every now and then that you didn't like yourself as much as one most likely should was nothing new.

That Sevika could handle. Could hug it away. Kiss it better. Speak to get your mind off of it.

This, though?

You — losing it mid-bedtime routine and weeping about just how much you despite your appearance?

It's certainty new. Heartbreaking at that.

Sevika fumbles her words again, chest aching; mirroring yours.

"You're gorgeous. Why argue otherwise?" Sevika asks, grabbing your hands in hers. Forcing you to look — only for you to turn away.

"Baby," she huffs, grabbing your chin to lift your face up.

"No," you insist, staring down at the floortiles; counting each tear that drops down.

"I'm not nice to look at. You know it. Everyone does. They can see it," you hiccup.

"You're the one seein' shit, baby." Sevika's calloused hands engulf your face, forcefully lifting it — up, up, up-

To look into the mirror.

"No," you sob, shaking your hand in a frenzy. "I don'wanna see," you cry, voice coming apart at the seams.

"See what, a beautiful face?"

You cry harder; chest collapsing into itself now that it finally can.

"S'not beautiful, Sevi-"

"It's right there for you to see." Sevika snaps again, holding your face forward.

You cry more; face blotchy, nose running, eyes reddening by the minute.

"You got these adorable lips," Sevika runs her thumb over the lower one, voice a harsh, yet comforting rumble by your ear.

You shake your head, no.

"Yes, baby," Sevika nods, meeting your eyes in the mirror. Hers are stable compared to yours. By tenfold.

"'N this cute nose." She pokes it. Something that'd earn a giggle from you on any other day, but only makes your supply in tears run faster.

"No," you insist like the word's been carved to all the crooks between your teeth.

Sevika just continues.

"These eyebrows. Growin' so nice. Suit you."

Seconds tick by.

Minutes.

Sevika goes over every one of your features, from eyes to the apples of your cheeks.

Your crying quiets slowly, but your insistance on doubling Sevika down with every single one of her compliments doesn't settle.

"That'd all look better with makeup on," you whisper quietly, exhaustion painting your tone.

"Bullshit," Sevika whispers, knuckles brushing against your cheek — watching how your lashes flutter, eyes falling shut.

"It's... 's all true."

"No, baby. Your mind's makin' stuff up." Sevika mutters into your hair, standing behind you on steady legs, arms sneaking down to wrap around your waist.

Grounding. Safe.

You sniffle weakly, twisting in her arms to press your face against her chest; smushed into her boobs.

Sevika laughs softly. "Comfy?"

You let out a muffled, weak giggle, nodding.

"t's good, baby."

Sevika could do three more hours of comforting you infront of the mirror.

Hell, double it to six, and she'd still do it. Without a doubt.

She could call you beautiful for days straight and it wouldn't be a problem.

Good thing is she doesn't have to.

It doesn't feel necessary.

Seeing as how you're half-asleep.

Your insecurities will still surface.

They'll sting, and linger for a long, long time. Perhaps forever.

Confidence will stick to its absent part. Maybe show up every now and then.

It's all okay, though.

Sevika will stay with you for that uncertain eternity, through the opposing emotions.

Self-hate; self-love.

You hiccup against her. Her face loses it's tension — softening immediately.

She pulls you in closer. Rethorical and literal.

No sum of self-hatred will push her away.

© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.

——×— · · ─ ༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻─ · · —×——

> CHAPTER 2 Our Memoirs

"Get up."

Something heavy hits your chest, forcing all the air out of your lungs in one go.

"W- what the fuck?" your voice, when it comes, is a breathy, croaked gasp from somewhere deep and unknown.

"We're moving."

"Moving where?" you snap, more pissed off than ever. You hate mornings, but more than that, you hate being woken up by assholes in asshole-ways in the morning.

You try to sit up, pushing the heavy item — a duffel bag — from your chest to the floor.

Sevika listens to your protests from the kitchen, packing her last bag in clipped, quick moves. "Good christ, stop whining," she mumbles to herself, ears then perking up at the sound of something hitting the floor.

She rounds the small corner.

"Kid, what are you-"

Her words halt in unison with her steps, eyebrows raising and then scrunching up as her face twists.

You haven't made a single move signaling that you're ready to leave. Infact, you've done the exact opposite of leaving — just having tossed over.

Sevika clenches her fists, eyes closing as she lets out a deep, frustrated sigh. "Kid."

"Jeeeesus," you groan somewhere into the couch cushions. "Can't I fucking sleeeep??" You sit up once again, but this time with the pillow — that Sevika so dearly lended you — held up to your face.

Your hair sticks out from behind it and Sevika has to fight to not let a laugh escape her. A cruel, mean laugh.

That'd only piss you off more.

"Stop the dramatics." Sevika launches over and grabs the pillow away, shoving something into your hand.

You blink open one bleary eye, and raise an eyebrow at the sight of a toothbrush in your hand. "Really?" you deadpan, giving her the most nasty, yet still-asleep, look.

"What?" she deadpans back, rolling her eyes and turning around to fetch the earlier duffel bag up onto the coffee table.

"Found it yesterday. Unopened pack. Perfectly good condition."

You extend your hand and hold the toothbrush as far away from your face as possible, lips curled in disgust. "I am not brushing my teeth with this. No way. Just fyi."

"Fine." Sevika grabs it from you on her way back to the kitchen, pocketing it into a backpack. You fake-hurl.

"What's wrong with you? That can NOT be any better for your teeth than just not brushing them-"

"Works perfectly fucking fine." She cuts you off, tying up a plastic bag that makes noise when it moves. Loud. Very steel-y.

Your curiosity piques and the grossness of Sevika's toothbrush is forgotten.

"What's in there?" you stand up, trying to rub the crust out of your eyes as you yawn. Proactively fighting sleep.

"Our breakfast, lunch, and dinner" She throws a can at you — which you catch by pure luck, and turn around in your palm.

"Tuna?" you look up at her again.

"Don't start complainin'," she grumbles back.

You watch her open a top drawer and pull out three guns, some of model you've never seen before. They clatter onto the counter, and you follow her hands as she inspects the cylinder of each one.

Empty, empty, one full.

That one slips into the gunpouch tied around her thigh.

"Eat it or not, I ain't fussed 'bout it."

You scoff and pocket the canned tuna — deciding to save it for later, eyes now moving to the duffel bag beside you.

You hesitate for a second before lifting it up — a decicion you quickly regret.

It has to be thrise your weight.

"Fuck- what's in here??" You curse.

"Your shit."

"I- I don't have shit!"

"Allow me to correct," Sevika strides over, fixing the strap of the duffel bag to sit better on your shoulder. An act of pure scron. Dry sarcasm shining bright, especially in her voice.

"That's the shit you're carrying to the car so we don't have to make two trips up here."

"The car?" You question with a glare and brush her hand off, standing tall even with the weight of which you can only assume is fifteen kilos worth of pricks.

"The truck." Sevika grabs her own share of bags, slinging a backpack on each side. "Caroline," she shrugs.

A laugh bubbles from your throat at that, eyes shooting wide open; no longer heavy with sleep.

"Caroline? You fucking named it?"

"Her. Named her." Sevika corrects you with a grumble, shoving you towards the front door, which you take as a sign to open — seeing as how you're the only one of two with free hands to scuffle ten locks open with.

"Okay. Jeez, her." You roll your eyes, holding the door open for her once all locks have been unlatched.

"I don't wanna hear shit about it." Sevika stomps down the stairs, not once looking back at the building she's leaving behind for good.

"Sure, yeah, no shit," you titter, trying to contain your laughs.

Sevika then glares at you from over her shoulder. You chuckle, holding open the apartment door as you two reach the lower lobby. "Zero shit, I swear!"

Sevika walks out the door with a scoff. You follow.

"Don't go breaking shit," she snarls dryly, suddenly going over a list of rules like she's in the navy and you're her personnel.

"Don't go touchin' the wheel, and don't ever go puttin' your feet up on the hood. We clear?" She asks, now standing tall beside the truck — Caroline.

It's got a layer of dark red, chipping paint, a warm rust visible in more spots than Sevika would probably like.

The left light is hanging on by hopes and dreams — not to speak of the interior, which looks far from inviting. The leather seats are torn and the fuzzy dice hanging by the windshield look older than time.

Ready to fall off at any given minute.

"Uh, yeah. We're clear, okay?" you chuckle nervously, slightly shrinking into yourself under her scrutinizing gaze. Like she's deciding whether you're really worth entering the vehicle.

You hold your breath. Sevika takes you in from head to toes once over just like yesterday; searching for something. Perhaps a shiver that'd reveal a lie.

Then- "Good. Get in."

She opens the passenger door.

"Ha, great."

Before you have time to climb in yourself, Sevika pushes you in and practically slams the door shut. Can't imagine Caroline likes that much.

You gasp in relief as a strand of your hair gets stuck between the door instead of your fingers — a very close call.

You hear her round the truck from behind, and can tell by the slight shake of the cab that she dropped something off into the back. That, and the loud sound of something getting thrown.

You use the time to fetch a hairband from your bag and tie your hair up somewhat neatly, tongue sticking out as you use the dirty side-view mirror to see.

The result is a messy ponytail. Ugly; fitting enough for you. But, everything is better than the mess it was prior.

Once she has climbed into the drivers seat, you reach for your seatbelt — and come to a quick conclusion that it is not where it's supposed to be.

Twisting around in your seat, you realize that it is, indeed, nowhere around. No seatbelt in sight.

"Uhhh, what is the safety degree of... Caroline?"

Sevika grants a bored look your way.

"Oh, yeah, she lost that back in '98," she then says casually, whilst actively not strapping up, either. Just adjusting the rearview mirror with all the calmness in the world.

You're pretty sure she isn't even fixing it. She's 100% just checking herself out.

Once she spots your fearful face in her peripheral vision, her admiring comes to a stop. Your eyes glance at her side once.

"Oh," Sevika yanks at the empty shoulder sash guide, "yeah, mines been gone since '03. Was a hard year for Caroline-"

"Is there any fucking safety precautions in this car??" you question. Not out of panic or fear; it's not like you've cared much for your life in years — but out of pure wonder.

Sevika rolls her eyes as an answer and turns her key in its place to start the truck; pulling out of the spot she has had the truck parked in for months.

She taps the wheel with her hand like a physical show of praise once it moves forward successfully. An action she doesn't seem to be that aware of; one that gets you weirded out.

"How's this thing even holdin' up anymore?" you ask, glancing out the window as you pass by familiar buildings. Rotten concrete standing tall with nothing but fortitude.

"She's holdin' up fine, ain'tya baby?" Sevika smoothes the palm of her hand over the compartment. You cringe.

"No wonder you're a loner."

Sevika glowers at you with one hand on the wheel. She then slips out words without running them over in her mind first.

"I don't take feedback from runaway teenagers," she grunts, gaze focusing on the road ahead.

You tense up against your own will. Her words being true doesn't make their impact blow any softer.

Your brain searches for a word; a banter, or a tease back, but your mind goes empty. Crickets empty. Lacking of any earlier bite.

Silence engulfs the truck. You fidget with the fly of a bag that's on your lap and pretend like your sudden silence is defiance instead of hurt.

Sevika notices. Hard not to when the teen that was just on your ass goes all quiet and glowering.

A quiet, grumbled, "sorry," breaks the silence after a while.

You scoff under your breath — eyes going wide when the sound comes out shaky instead of pissed. Too shaky.

"I ain't mean it," Sevika continues, tearing her eyes off the road to glance at you.

Stubbornly, you just stare harder out the window, hiding your face from her.

You're not letting the tears fall, but the knowledge of them being in your eyes in the first place is not one you want to grant Sevika with.

A heavy, pissed off sigh reverbates through the small space. You can hear the small creak of Sevika's grip tightening on the wheel.

Another sigh. Softer. Sort of. "How's the hand?" She somehow manages to make the question sound both forced and concerned.

"Fine," you snap.

Yeah. Fine if it means sore and aching. Sevika rolls her eyes, switching gears.

Silence again. A tad bit awkward, but not as tense as just minutes before.

You try to be discreet about sniffling and only do so whenever the truck goes over a patch of shitty road. More sound to drown out yours.

Once your breathing is steady again, you perk up. "Where are we even going?"

"North."

"Oh yeah, that says a lot. Thanks," you snicker, resting your head against the window. Your teeth clatter together at bumps.

"Well, North-East. That better?"

"Yeah, cause I know all the places up there." Your sarcasm only grows.

"Jesus, kid, I ain't know exactly where." Sevika snaps back. Then recoils when she catches the sight of you flinching.

She takes a deep breath. "Out'a here. 'tleast."

"Yeah. Figured." You agree in a mere whisper. Calmer, but still holding an edge.

Your fingers never once stop their tired fidgeting.

"See if there's a place out there with less of those things, would be at the top of our priorities. Findin' food and supplies would be next on the line," Sevika goes over her thoughts, voice now a steady rumble.

Something that mixes with the grumble of the truck's engine and creates a soothing lullaby.

"Yeah," you agree, voice quickly going monotone as you the truck passes your old school. You turn over in your seat to stare at the building even after driving by.

The big, broken windows stare back at you. The rooftop you slept at once. The worn down flag still swaying in the wind by the grand main entrance.

Sevika eyes you through the rierview mirror whilst still keeping her focus somewhat-ahead. "Got history?"

"Shitty history." You flop back down onto your seat.

"Somethin' I should ask about, or...?" Sevika mumbles, both her hands now on the wheel.

You don't answer. She doesn't need to know.

She has enough info as it is — that The Glass High was likely at some point lucky enough to withhold you as their student.

That's more than enough about your past.

"Right." Sevika leans back in her seat, growning comfortable as the truck reaches the outskirts of the city. It's even quieter. Emptier.

More fields, less housing.

Your fidgetting lessens. Focus goes to the trees outside. Blurring by in uneven patches of greens and browns.

A droplet hits the windshield, something Sevika first mistakes as water.

A minute ticks by. Two. Three. No more come.

She glances your way — and is met with a drooling, sleeping teen. Out like a light.

She then looks back out on the road, and an even number of more drops fall; ones she quickly recognizes as snowflakes.

Snow finding you two this early onto the trip brings out nothing but fear for what you'll still have to endure in the near future.

Snow blizards?

Sevika hates that it's a possibility.

Anything more than thirteen clicks North-East might just be a fantasy.

A risk that Sevika knew she was taking the second she woke you up this morning. She could've left when you were still out for good.

Could've taken the risk alone. Let you sleep it all off and wake up by yourself again.

But she didn't want to.

For some sick, stubborn reason she can't yet understand, the thought of leaving you alone was never in her field of vision. Not once.

There's no certainty that she'll ever get you two to any resemblance of safety ever again.

But it's still worth the shot.

— · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · —

> [MAIN MASTERLIST] thank you for reading!

© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.

All your so-called "friends" were gathered around, passing a blunt between carefree laughs and indiscreet snickers that were clearly aimed at you: the only sober one.

"Does the princess want a taste?" One of them teased, fully expecting you to back out like you usually would.

But when you rolled your eyes and grabbed the lit up blunt, all eyes snapped to you.

You'd gotten enough of all the remarks and teases. You didn't want to be the person they were making you into — someone boring. Someone so dull.

Nervous at the staring, you swallowed your pride and took a puff. Then coughed, enough for the rudest boy of the group to bark a laugh. Someone elbowed him in the ribs.

Fueled by his snickering — you took a longer drag and held the smoke for a while, ignoring the burn in your lungs.

The snickers quiteted.

So did your worries when it hit a good ten minutes later.

The bliss was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. To be missing out of something so relaxing for as long as you did made you feel incredibly stupid.

You could've been experiencing the blithe high whilst not getting picked at? You would've been a proper part of the group earlier on. Why avoid such a perfect position?

════════════════════════════

Why? Because hiding it would be impossible.

You didn't know it back when you started. It was just an occasional thing. A sometime-thing.

Just a hit after a hard day. A pill gotten from some friend-of-a-friend to take the edge off. A quick line of something powdery (with no clue of how it ended up as yours) to forget about your undone assignments and the relentless overprotectiveness of your mom.

That, though, only applied if she wasn't busy with work. And she was busy with work a lot.

But fuck, it got on your nerves.

"Have you eaten?"

"Is everything okay? You sure?"

"Is something goin' on at school?"

"You'd tell me if you weren't okay, right?"

"Yes, I'd tell you if something was wrong," was usually how you'd answer to keep her and her never-ending questioning at bay.

And it worked. Keyword: usually.

That is, until you couldn't be sober for longer than a few hours and your ability to hide it started to slip.

...

A late sunday afternoon, maybe sometime past six. You knew it from the bright sunset; counted the stripes it reflected down the hall on your way through it.

Floorboards creaked under your feet. Droplets of water followed you in a trail — hair wet from the shower you'd just taken. Had to have been the first one that week.

Gross, but you didn't care. Couldn't find it in you; didn't really even try. No one was there to complain.

The kitchen was empty when you staggered in; moves slouzy when you rounded the counter to get to the fridge.

The handle groaned when you pulled it and a magnet slipped to the floor. You grumbled something incoherent and knelt down enough to grab it, rolling it over in your palm, head woozy. A tired giggle fell from you.

The magnet was a cheap print one of some supposedly breathtaking view, Mallorca written on it in big yellow letters. What a deal for three dollars.

You remembered the trip in pieces. Loads of sunscreen and melted icecreams. Brief smiles, sandy shoes, colorful beach towels...

Your memories got droned out by the sound of a car pulling to the driveway. Your mom's car, whom you'd tried — and managed to avoid for the last four days.

It's a shitty thing that worktrips don't last longer than a few days. You would've preferred months.

Scrambling to attach the magnet back in it's place, you grabbed a carton of orange juice from inside the fridge and slammed it back shut. A mistake, as the same magnet fell again.

"Oh, fuck me.." you cursed, fumbling with the piece to hang it back up; closing the door with your foot, free hand already tugging open the pantry.

You grabbed the first three boxes of whatever came your way — scrambling out of the kitchen with your hands full, shoving the snacks to your mouth in a frenzy.

"Mhm, oreo," you hummed almost happily under your breath, a crumb sticking to the corner of your mouth.

Then boots hit the porch. Keys jingled. Your panic spiked. You didn't want to see her. Didn't want her to see you.

And within seconds, you were stumbling over the kitchen threshold — one foot already on the stairs leading upstairs, one foot stretched behind. Your balance shattered.

You fell in a split, an oreo rolling out of its box, from your arms, down, down, down the hallway-

Right onto your mother's feet.

"What the fuck?" Sevika sighed, exhaustion painting her tone as the door fell open.

That worn edge in her voice was one of the reasons why you didn't want to be around her. She had too much shit to worry about not knowing that her daughter was an impending drug addict.

Better if you kept it from her.

You had it in control, anyways. It was fine.

Hilarious, that she never noticed, given that the moment was one of many where she saw you high and didn't catch on.

You giggled, standing up and abandoning any fallen food, stumbling up the stairs.

"Sorryyyy..." you waved a hand, attempting to escape the situation as soon as possible — tittering to yourself.

Sevika stood in the hallway, dumbfounded at the sight; one eyebrow raised, lips pursing. "Have you ...slept at all this weekend?" she asked, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it up by the door.

You cleared your throat, attempting to appear more clear-headed then you were. "Yes, duh." You then answered, which wasn't a lie.

You weren't sleep-deprived. You were high. A distinct difference.

"Right," Sevika took a step forward, letting our a deep sigh. "Have you eaten anything besides... well, junk?" she asked with a playful, yet condescending smile, gesturing vaguely to your arms.

You glanced down. Unhealthy snacks greeted you.

"Well, I mean- yeahhh. Just like..." your brain searched for words, mouth opening and closing. You felt comfortably numb; mind devoid of any proper sentences.

Then your train of thoughts found you again.

"Like... earlier today. I ate earlier. Had lunch."

"Oooo-kay." Your mom's face scrunched up a bit, eyes leaving your form to set her keys and bag down.

Seeing the opportunity, you fled the moment and ran up the stairs the best you could — fighting the wooziness of your mind.

"Hey-" she groaned after you by the foot of the stairway, listening to your oddly tired laughs as they distanced. "Babygirl, I haven't seen you in-"

Then your door clicked shut. A muffled thump echoed from your room, along with another giggle.

Then — silence.

"Okay, just..." Sevika looked around the empty house, hesitating between following you and being the annoying, pushy mom or giving to give the benefit of the doubt and allow herself to have a bath.

A long one, preferrably with bubbles and a glass of wine. The trip had been hell.

Meetings, assholes, papers-

"Just- talk to me tomorrow, okay? I wanna hear what my princess' been up to," she yells.

No answer.

A heavy sigh left her lips. "Love you too."

════════════════════════════

You didn't leave your room for the rest of the night. Just enjoyed your munchies in bed, scrolling on your laptop with a goofy smile on your face.

Had anyone walked in, they'd probably have thought that you were hitting up boys or downloading porn. Oddly enough, you being under any infuence likely wouldn't have been anyone's first guess. You were never one to fall for group pressure. Atleast not before.

You smiled at your wall like a freak when meaningless, stupid thoughts invaded your mind once again. Silly things that made no sence, ever.

The mischevious mood hadn't visited you in a while, and when it did — it was hard to act normal.

You felt too... detatched. Indifferent of whatever problems were awaiting outside of your door. Undone assignments piling up. Final exams worth half your grade and entire future.

And who was it, that even decided that you wanted a future? What if you didn't want it?

You laid down, laptop long forgotten. You memorised the ceiling cracks. Counted nonsense under your breath.

Fell between the state of sleep and awakeness, thoughts swirling and gathering in your head.

What if you wanted to get shitfaced for the rest of your life, ignoring any and all real issues that others faced? Why did anything even have to be so hard?

...

A knock on your door broke the illusion of peace your mind had carefully built.

"Sweetheart, breakfast 's downstairs."

Breakfast?

Your blinks slowed.

You sat upright, dragging yourself to not stay in the comfort of your bed and the indent that likely had taken place there.

Your head throbbed. Fingers trembled, not by much, but enough to annoy you.

Your eyes searched the room, mind feeling too... awake. Too real. Too here.

When did the morning start? Better yet, did the night ever end?

"Jus'... just a minute," you called out coughing; mouth drier than a desert.

"Everything okay?" Sevika's voice bled through the wood of the door, asking in that motherly tone of concern that always managed to piss you off within seconds.

"Yes!" you snapped, head pounding at your own volume. You winced, almost, and climbed out of bed.

"Okay," her answer came quick, careful. You could almost see the strain on her face. "I'll be downstairs. But don't be too long, food's gettin' cold..."

Stairs creaked.

And then she was gone.

"Fuck's sake," you muttered in a thankful, breathless chant — turning around to hurriedly search piles of clothes for something that didn't reek of death.

An impossible mission, is the conclusion that you soon came to, mind already skipping a hundred miles ahead. Impatient.

You needed something.

Anything to calm your risen heartbeat. Take away the quiet, irritating buzz under your skin. Replace the cold sweat on your face with the same glow it had yesterday.

You look through bags. Search drawers. Turn over pockets — and nothing.

Nothing. Not even money to buy more of whatever you'd taken last time.

"Shit." You whispered, rubbing a hand over your face in a weak attempt of willing for this all to be a dream; but no.

It wasn't a dream. It was reality, raw and unforbidden in it's full form of what you'd been pushing away.

"Sweetheart, c'mon down!"

Your breathing turned shallow, fear glawing it's way out of you; looking for escape. That's when your throat tightened, mouth dampening, chapped lips parting around dreadful breaths.

You we're out of your room and by the toilet quicker than your mind could register; heaving out whatever food you'd consumed last night.

"Babygirl??" Sevika's worried voice called out, skipping up the stairs at a speed only a mother could muster.

Her hands — so careful when they tended to you, were soon gathering your hair behind, rubbing your back in soothing circles. How fucking fast did she run up?

"Get it all out, good, good-... oh, I know..."

You sobbed through the coughs. Your hands trembled. Vision blurred.

You didn't want this. When did it get to this?

Another wave of nausea hit you before the first one even subsided; knocking the breath out of you. Another heave.

Bile coloured the floortiles and the front of your shirt, your chest heaving in yet another series of panicked gasps.

"I didn't mean to-" you hiccuped, hands flaying to grab at something solid.

"Whoa, whoa, hey-" Sevika took them in hers, pressing them to her chest in a sturdy, safe hold. "Calm down, babygirl. Deep breaths."

She guided you through the nausea and tears; hands never leaving yours, eyes steady and warm. So calm it calmed you.

Once your breaths were on the somewhat-steadier side again, she lifted one hand and wiped at your teary cheeks with a calloused thumb.

You hiccuped again. Looked down shamefully, avoiding her sharp gaze. Sure, she was warm and soft and all of that — but a reaction like this from you wouldn't get brushed past.

Her hand found your chin, tugging your face up and keeping it there. Firm. Afraid. "Talk to me."

You shook your head, face immediately falling back down towards the cold floor. "Nuh- no... I can't-"

"Babygirl, let me help." She attempted, cooing at you to put a quick stop to the waterworks before they started again.

"No," you sniffled. "You'll be angry. I dun' want that..." you whispered miserably, body shivering from god knew what side-effects and withdrawal symptoms.

Your forehead pressed to her chest, resting there despite your fear. Your body knew she was safe.

Sevika let you. Watched you shake in her arms. Listened to your hiccups. Never once stopped rubbing your back.

"I promise to not yell," she started, voice raspy and low by your ear. Loving. So loving.

You glanced up, careful, hesitant; eyes shining. A teardrop clung to your chin.

Sevika's expression was one of pure pain. "I... I just want to help. I can't stand seein' you like this, babygirl. I need to know what's wrong."

You chocked on a sob. Fidgetted with your trembling hands and attemptted to pick at your cuticles.

Sevika's hand pried yours away. Coaxed your chin up again — urging you to meet her eyes.

"Please."

You blinked; slow. Then-

"Promise me you won't yell." A whisper.

"I promise I won't yell." A gentler one.

You mulled over the words. How the hell would one even admit to using drugs casually?

"I- I've been... taking some stuff," you muttered, shining eyes staring into her steady, soIicituded ones. "Doing stuff."

You swallowed thickly as a another shiver ran through you. Fear grew.

"What... stuff?" she pried carefully, hiding the edge in her voice. An eyebrow rose.

She didn't want to break her promise. She didn't want to yell.

"Some... stuff." You continued, voice trembling so bad it was hard to tell apart the words. "w- weed and... things."

"Things?" The concern in her voice picked up. "Babygirl, what things?"

"Whatever I got my hands to! It doesn't matter!" you caved in, hiccuping and crying all over again. Your sobs grew in intensity, nausea colliding with hysteria.

Everything hurt.

You just wanted it all to be over.

"I'm so sorry.."

Sevika sat still for a second, staring at you in disbelief and heartache.

Crumbled on the bathroom floor on her lap, a mess of snot, tears and whatnot — sobbing your heart out.

Then she pullled you even closer to her chest; cradling you, swaying back and forth as if you were a child again. So aad, small and hurt, in the need of nothing but love.

"I gotcha," she murmured into your hair. Your cries intestified.

"Shhh... oh, I know, I know honey." Her voice cracked, arms squeezing tighter. "I'm so sorry. Gosh, I- ... I'm so sorry baby."

Whatever shit you were in could be dealt with later.

Sevika had absolutely no problem scuffing up some asshole teens for being pressuring assholes, but first — she wanted to hold you.

Just comfort you until you felt okay again, no matter how long it took.

"Is that why you've been a goddamn mess runnin' up n' down the stairs the last, what- four weeks?" she joked lightly, voice muffled against your hair.

You broke into a wobbly laugh, nodding to her chest. "Y-yeah..."

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighed deeply, bouncing you slightly on her knee, leaning against the bathroom wall.

You cuddled closer to her chest, something deep in you aching for your mother's love. Another thing you had avoided for far too long.

The light above you two flickered. Your sniffles finally subdued.

Minutes ticked. Your hiccups softened; tears dried up, cheek pressed to her neckline.

"Is there anything left?" Her voice broke the silence.

You shook your head, finally honest. "I wouldn't be sober right now if there were." Your lips parted, hesitant. Swallowed.

Another tear fell and guilt grew.

"But I... I owe this one guy half of what's gone."

Sevika nodded slowly, chin on top of your head. "Okay." She sighed.

"So, you don't talk to him again. He gives you any shit, you redirect 'im to me."

"Mom, but-"

"No, I mean it. You ain't talking to any assholes no more. You tell 'em to come to Sevika if they got shit to sort out," she raised her voice just enough to cut through your weak argument.

You went silent. Pressed your pounding head deeper into her neck, breathing in her comforting scent just as another chill went through you.

Your voice, when it came again, was a trembling whisper. "I'm really sorry, ma."

Sevika pressed a kiss to your forehead. Squeezed your shaking form as if to drown out the storm she knew was coming.

The urges. The withdrawal. The whole mess.

"I know, babygirl." She whispered back with misty eyes, curling further into herself to keep you warm and safe.

"I know you are."

It was out of your control. She knew. You knew.

But she was here now, and damnit, if she wouldn't ride the last high down with you.

Other debts could be paid later.

This one needed attention first.

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a/n: sevika doesn't really know how to say "i love you" but she'll go through the drug addiction with you to gain proof for the words she can't speak ..?? what ok sorry bye

© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.

× Sevika worries. A whole bunch. She tries her best to help you to the best of her abilites, but both of you know that sometimes the pain can't be eased.

That just makes her worrying worse.

× She helps you down the stairs differently each time you need her help, to keep it fun. Sometimes she carries you bridal style. Sometimes she holds your hand and takes it step by step. Sometimes she piggybacks you.

× She isn't afraid to defend your name, regardless of if it's behind your back or not. Someone from her work belittles you as her wife? She puts them in their place. A stranger at the bus whispers at you sitting in the disabled seat? She tells them to mind their own business.

... Own goddamn* business.

× Never makes you feel bad if something needs to be cancelled. Hell, she seems to prefer dates at home much more than at expensive restaurants — rather cuddles comfortably on the couch with greasy food to feast on. Having you in her arms makes it even better.

× Won't let doctors leave you in the dark. If somethings worrying you and you're not sure if you were fully listened to; she'll drag every dang trained nurse to you and make them listen.

She demands answers and won't be left without them. Doesn't want you to, either.

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© MELLOWM1ND 2026 \ all works published on this blog are original and belong to mellowm1nd. Do NOT repost, translate, plagiarize or use my work on any ai platform.