Wilting

                                    

                                          
(A/N: Hi everyone! Trigger warning still apply here, very upsetting, slightly unrealistic medical happenings, but I had a rough few months so, it's catharsis time! Enjoy. I hope)
     "Thanks for helping me with the make up, Nea." Orchid said meekly as took a seat at their familiar library table. It was unnaturally warm that day, and the snow had reduced to a thick, dirty slush, bits of dead grass poking through. 
"Don't mention it." She bit the eraser off her pencil, "You say she just came out of nowhere, huh?"
"You were spot on about them, I should have listened…" 
In the span of a week or so the bruising around her eye had become an angry violet, but the slightly off foundation blended in well enough with the dark circles under her eyes, no one paid enough attention to notice.
"You're not going back are you?"
"Of course I am." Orchid almost seemed offended, "The creek should be almost thawed."
"Jeez." Linnea muttered, "Don't get testy, He's not gonna shoot himself if you're not there for a week."
"Nea!" 
"Sorry, sorry…he might."
Orchid sighed, "Hey, Jørn's gonna pick me up in a few, wanna come talk to him?"
"Hm, Nah, I'm alright. You want me to walk you there?"
She nodded meekly in response. The fight had her shaken up to the very core, and knowing Emma was somewhere scrambling around campus…
'Loki, protect me?'
-
     The walk over was short enough, just a cut through breezeway, past a few hideous bushes. Orchid lugged her bag over her shoulder, walking slowly, deliberately, eyes darting this way and the other.
Anyone with black hair, short black hair, short black hair and an ugly haircut.
"You okay back there? Oh…" Linnea stopped in her tracks, not making a sound as Orchid walked into her.
"Hm?"
"Bushes, Bushes, Bushes!" Linnea squeaked, dragging her short friend into the foliage with little more than a rustle as to not draw attention.
Orchid lifted herself on her knees and peeked through the leaves. 
Kristian. Kristian with a girl. Blonde, White blonde with intense black eyeliner, sharp enough to slit someone's throat or stab them in the back.
"Oh no way." Linnea muttered, "You're seeing this too right?"
Orchid swallowed hard as he kissed the girl, smudging her black lipstick, his hands traveling to her hips, comfortable, like two people with a history would. "I do…" she muttered. 
"Man this is great." Linnea choked back laughter, "He's probably cheating on her with half the girls here."
"That's awful." 
"Girl, he's awful."
"Well, Obviously, but I don't think anyone deserves that…"
Linnea gave her a quizzical look, "Yeah and that tooth she knocked out deserved better, but no one's standing up for it."
"That doesn't matter right now, Nea, come on, I still need to find Jørn. Pelle gets anxious when he's home alone."
"Tch, I'm sure he's just fine. Probably collecting rose hips or whatever it is you guys do."
-
     The dull, dirty blade ran against Pelle's sickly pale wrists, a dark stream of blood pouring from the fresh wound, staining all it touched in deep red. 
He hissed in pain, watching with wide eyed fascination as his hands spasmed in pain he didn't feel, even as he ran his hunting knife clear across his throat.
     Shaky hands gripped for Øystein's shotgun, hastily placed when the frontman left to see parents. Pelle scrambled, beginning to choke on his own blood, slippery fingers pulling the trigger, body aching for the sweet relief of the Reaper's grip.

*Click*
-
     "Yeah, No joke, he was all up on her! It made my skin crawl." Orchid shivered, leaning her head against the window of Jørn's car.
"Ew." He scrunched up his face, "Did I tell you Øystein's been talking to him? Like, talking talking?"
"Like he wants to date him or…?"
Jørn burst out laughing, "Fuckin' probably. I don't like the guy, goes by Varg now." 
"Varg? You're kidding. Is it german?"
"Probably, dude's a fuckin' weirdo. First time out the gate, we're hanging out, Bam, Hitler joke.
Orchid shivered, "Øystein's hanging out with him? Willingly?"
"Yeah…" Jørn groaned lowly, "He's starting to piss me off, I dunno how far this band is gonna go if He keeps up with this shit."
     The car grinded to a halt, and Orchid wasted no time galavanting up the stairs. "Pelle! You're gonna be late for the- the- the-" Her eyes widened when she saw him, all air escaping from her lungs.
Pelle was uncomfortably squirming, holding his throat with bleeding hands, an empty shotgun thrown haphazardly nearby. 
Orchid screamed, running to his side, trying to assess the damage, falling to her knees and holding his head. "Pelle, what did you do?" She gently croaked out, fat tears dribbling down her face. 
     Her scream alerted Jørn, who nearly fell down the stairs when he got up. He shouted some obscenities, but it all sounded like static to Orchid. 
Even as he was hauled out of the house, white noise blared in her head, over the music on the radio, over Jørn's expletives and screeching tires. 
Pelle's head was nestled as comfortably as it could be in Orchid's lap, bleeding all over her one pair of jeans.
     With a last bit of strength it seemed, one pale, red stained hand cupped her face. Pelle breathlessly pulled her head down, touching their lips together, 
The static got louder.
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