#acceptedrisk.

"I am thinking." She spat, left hand curled into a fist beneath the table, frustration a boiling coil in her belly ready to burst. Anger was not aimed towards her friend (teacher, in this instance) rather poised against the unfamiliar work before her, sheets and textbooks filled with content she should have known years ago. Intentional isolation forbade her from such intricate knowledge. The tragedy cannot be wiped away as tears threaten to spring— the only way to rid them, to save herself further embarrassment, was to bite down hard on the skin inside her mouth, a small touch of pain to keep grounded. Yet, the pages remain blurred, numbers unreadable behind the glistening in her eyes, brain unable to comprehend presented equations. She threw the pencil on the desk in an act of defiance, a statement that she was finished for the day.

the amount of curiosity coursing through her cold body was almost alarming; occasionally reaching an extent where it forged into something overwhelming, too. a thousand years she had been lost in strangling silence, stuck in an impermeable darkness where hours of the day merged together in one, non-linear structure. complete chaos beat inside the head and heart— until the light finally hit and ironically her life found reason. that overwhelming nature first began in the shape of a loud, albeit kind band of ghosts who all meant well: exceedingly proved in the way they handled themselves around her. soft but not condescending. always encouraging but never pressuring. to put it lightly, her emotions were complicated; unsure how to express bellowing mountains of words, all compiled in messy, erratic thoughts... (whether they'd even form sense if she tried was another story completely.) with the newest addition to their house, however, she discovered it actually was a little bit easier. perhaps it wasn't so terrible being a mere echo of yourself. especially when you're more alive than you ever were, back when drawing poisoned breaths. there is no harp of misery plucked, no child stained in prophecy or expectation. she is janessa ives and nothing less. she tugged a deep breath inwards, eyes cast down while carefully crafting the planned response; then glanced back up, briefly pausing before continuing.

she scrambled off the couch, directing her path to the fridge. a ridiculously full fridge of christmas snacks, enough to feed ten people, rather than the two residing in the small home. she retrieved the plate of sugar cookies (made by her own hand, thank you very much!) and the gingerbread men specifically stocked in preparation for max visiting. those were store bought, though, with becky’s assistance, as she didn’t trust herself successfully completing such a complicated recipe. they needed to be perfect. "what do you want to watch? i will get the fire ready, and you pick a movie for us." she set down both plates delicately on the table, as a final request sounded; "do you want a drink, too?"