#theycallmeruthless

theta-knight

(trick, definitely.)

thanks sweetie hhh smooches forehead i just read your card because i wanted to save it for my actual birthday and just!!! you break my heart just so and it's beautiful because you're the wonderful wonderful light of my life thank you ruthie so much!!!!!!!

Rules are rules, and despite being a strong advocate for their existence, but oh my glob, she deplored them. 

They were all sorry for the longest of time.

That's all she would hear, the apologies, the compliments laced with sadness, and the occasional rude ass motherfucker who told her she was an ugly piece of shit who deserved to die, and were devastated she survived the accident. 

"Little ol' Toutou got scratched by a big scary pokemon! Such a tragedy!" They cooed, with wicked glints in their monochrome gazes, their stares pierced the silence that would settle after Cheren punched someone in the face. 

Bianca would take her hand, soft fingers would twine with Touko's bruised digits, and lead her away from the scene of the crime. Despite their good intentions, the brunette hated the pitiful glances, she could feel them bore into her skin, little laser beams that cut her up and threw her out to sea.

The accident was an accident, and that was it. No one had the right to judge her, she wanted to plead. She wanted to scream at them, scream at everyone. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the days that followed were hellish. She woke up nostrils filled with the prongs of an oxygen mask and a bubbling hysteria, threatening to blow the place up--she had been a molotov cocktail. She refused vistors, and grasped the handles of her bed, and shook precariously, beautifully, from the balcony at one point. The thought of jumping seemed so lovely at the time, the wind caressed her cheeks and long long legs she couldn't see anymore.

She wouldn't be scared, she thought. She wouldn't be able to see the concrete grave. 

If it wasn't for the knocking at her door, she would've probably done it. After the incessant beats, she scurried back to her bed, not before toppling her nightstand and unused IV stand over, where she threw the covers over her face and sobbed.

After being discharged from the hospital, she continued to be a light particle ricocheting from the walls of her inner skull. Thoughts and colors couldn't connect, she couldn't press her finger against her nose and picture it.

She couldn't do anything. The first day she tried to reinstate her morning ritual, she ended up walking out of the bathroom with lipstick trailing from the edge of her lips to the arc of her nose. N had laughed, before going stone cold serious, pressing a calloused hand against her painted cheek. Touko stiffened under the brush of his palm, goosebumps forming wherever he touched. 

He stopped, too pale hands clasped on his lap, gray eyes focused on her milky blue gaze. She can feel his heartbeat through the vibrations in the air, if she pressed her hand against his chest, she'd feel it constrict and contract and explode--

"I'm so sorry," he whispered before turning away. He knew what he did, and she held no remorse, no regret. The anger long subsided. It wasn't his fault, it was no one's fault. 

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she said, plainly. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, hair she would never admire in a looking glass again, and pulled it up in a low ponytail. N sighed, and helped her by tucking loose strands behind her ear. 

"It was my fault, you shouldn't have been there with Zekrom went berserk, it was stupid, and irresponsible, and dumb, and shitty, and--" She shushed him before his familiar wicked fast vibrato could get too far.