| ashes & fire |

[Caligrace]

02.08.2019

I couldn't find my other journal. It's probably still tucked away in the boxes I've yet to unpack. The boxes that continue to take up space in the living room, collecting dust. I know that I should. I know that I need to move, that I need to put order to this place, to try and fill it with life... but I've lost the motivation.

Instead, they sit there, day and night.
Just as I do.

You need to train, Caligrace, a voice whispers.
You need to feed, Caligrace, another insists.
You need another hit, Caligrace, the third laughs.

I do neither. I stay trapped within these four walls, only leaving to ensure that Fate hasn't burned the clubs to the ground. Sometimes, I stay for a drink, but then the voices get too loud, the emotions cloud my mind, and I run.

How did it get like this? I was doing better, I was finding myself. Now, I'm slipping. I'm slipping, further and further, and the addiction is worse. I fight it, though, even as my hands shake. I fight it, even when I'm clawing at my skin, trying to peel it from my bones. I fight it, even as I scream, even when I know it can take it away.

Sometimes, Every comes. If Fate calls, she comes. If I call, she runs. She came again tonight.

I don't remember calling her, I don't remember screaming for her.

I just remember her hands on my shoulders, in my hair, as I clutched the edge of the sink, the white porcelain stained red with the blood that spilled from my lips. Tears stained my skin, smeared my eyeliner. I was a mess, a complete wreck, but there was no judgment in her eyes. She held me, even as I fought her. She clutched me to her chest, even as I beat against her.

I don't remember how long we sat like that, huddled on my bathroom floor, until finally, finally, I succumbed to sleep.

I woke in my bed, wrapped tight in the leather jacket that still smelled faintly of him, and she was gone. A note was left, a note I didn't read. I know what it would say. She'd come back, call her if I needed her. I woke, and I came here, to my desk, and I opened my laptop and stared at the screen until these words started to form.

I don't know what good they're going to do me. If - no, when - I make it through this, they'll just be a reminder at how I failed. Still, I write, wanting to document this struggle, this nightmare I find myself in.

On top of everything else, I miss him. It's not like he's gone, not really. He hasn't vanished like everyone else, and it's probably for the best that he doesn't see me like this, but I miss him. I just have to wonder, if, wherever he is... he misses me, too.

I should unpack at least one box.
Just one.

[Caligrace]

The boxes are unpacked.

I wouldn't say they are done. They're not. They're just no longer full. The items are scattered across the floor, and some have been stolen by the foxes. I watched Gavin snatch a pillow and run off outside.

I don't think I want to know what they're up to.

It's getting easier, I think. I feel it getting easier. I'm not shaking as much. I'm not wanting to claw my skin from my bones. I'm not calling Every every second. I'm able to stand on my own two feet, even if I'm a little unsteady.

I'm still training. I run his words through my head, I replay those days together. Every day, I take that step forward. Every day, I push to overcome the very thing that mocks me, that threatens to steal my happiness.

I'm stronger than all of this. I'm stronger than my demons, I'm stronger than my flaws.

It's just a day at a time, that's all.
One day at a time.

[Caligrace]

I have a room finished.

It's the living room. It's decorated, everything is put in a place. It's a beautiful mix of chaos and order. I think it'll make Every happy, to know that I at least got that finished. As long as she stays in the living room only.

Like you can do that.

The others, of course, are still a mess. A complete and utter mess. The boxes are open, the objects strewn across the floor. From here, I can see a couple of books edging out of the bedroom and into the hall. I can't be bothered. Instead, I'm going to transfer everything I've already written and into the computer, like Every suggested. This way, I can always have it with me, and as long as I find a way to encrypt it, no one can access it. Hopefully.

It's better than carrying around a notebook, I guess.

The shakes are mostly gone. I don't feel as if I have a stone in my chest, that someone is ripping apart my insides. However, that means that the emotions are back. Those tethers that twist around me and chain me in place. It's louder, now, but I'm going to figure it out. I have to. A relapse is out of the question.

I refuse to turn into her.

Someone told me this is actually supposed to be a blessing, and not a curse, as I call it. Use it to my advantage, or something like that. Put good in the world. It was a blur of words, a voice I didn't know, a blurred shape of a human. They had come to me when I was locked in the bathroom at Myth, trying to hide away from it all. I felt their sincerity, their compassion - but I also felt something else, something dark. Maybe I imagined it.

Either way, fantasy or reality, perhaps this means that it is a blessing. If I can learn to control it, after all of these years, I can help better the world - help better this city.

For now, I'm going to try and work on another room. When it gets a bit later, I might hunt down that wraith that's supposed to teach me how to finally be a telepath. Poor Every.

Now she'll never escape.

[Caligrace]

I don't know what happened.

I don't know how it happened...

... How does this keep happening?

[Caligrace]

Am I ready?