the concept of a houseowner reader who had rly bad anger issues and kinda takes it out on the objects in the house pre-dateviators ,,, like throwing dishes and ripping up your clothes or your stuffed bear or your blanket, screaming at your mirrors, throwing books at walls, but every time u have an ‘episode’ u get extremely apologetic and teary eyed and you scream louder and sob and you fix everything you’ve broken and hold everything you can as close as you can and fall into a depression that lasts anywhere from a week to months at a time. even though you dont know theyre alive, ensouled, feeling things, you feel so bad for hurting something that did nothing to hurt you (despite all the stubbed toes and papercuts) once you get fired, your life turned over, once you find out that this entire time, everything in the house is truly alive, you just about collapse in your entryway.
when skylar finishes her little guide, you turn in for the night, and you take the glasses off until you get some food and coffee in you. then you shower. well, you stand under the water for a few minutes with the intention of showering, then your legs sort of give out and you fall to your knees and cry. (you try not to think about your shower being alive too. you try not to think of the vulnerability.) later, finally, when you crawl out of the bathroom, tug on some clothes (pretend to give yourself some sort of dignity), you decide to try and introduce yourself around the house.
you can’t decide whether it’d be best to suck up your shame and face the objects you know you must, or to try and get a better reputation with the others so they can put in a good word with them for you. you sit in the bay window in your living room, inhaling as much fresh air as you can. despite the sweetness in the spring air, you feel more than a little sick.
you put the glasses back on. skylar is there again, rest a comforting hand on your shoulder. “how are you feeling?” she asks. “that was sort of a lot to dump on you all at once wasnt it?” you hesitate to answer. you don’t really know her to answer honestly but then again, you don’t really know her to be courteous enough to lie. “i’ll be alright” you say, knowing your inside voice will always be stronger and meaner than your outside voice. “just a bit overwhelmed i think. i’ll be alright.” she gives you a reassuring smile, and disappears.
laying on your bed, you turn to look at your stuffed bear. you’ve had him your entire life. your first best friend. hes been torn and mended about as much as you have, and always remained soft and reliable. because someone in your life had to. you decide it’d be fitting if he was the first person you talked to.
you awaken the bear, and he smiles at you. you do your best to smile back but even from where you’re sitting you know its more of a grimace. his adorable little jacket is more stitching than fabric and even his bow has been diy-ed in some places. despite the wear and tear that demonstrates your less than gentle treatment of him, he looks very happy to see you. you try your best not to cry. you think once you mightve been called manipulative for it, and that might’ve made you more upset. but as you’re apologizing, as he’s holding you, as you have your first real conversation with your best friend of as long as you can remember, you can hardly bring yourself to try and control how you look. you sob, and you grin, and you laugh, and it makes you feel better.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
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