^ oh Bria 😍 ^

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H o l l o w s   I n
T    I    M    E
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And there it was. There was the truth. I was covered in bruises, faint and prominent scratches, some barely-there scars. But they were still there. I stared at the girl in the mirror. I didn't recognise her. But how could I? I kept her caged up, believing that if she remained as she had for the past five months, then she would be okay. But how is that ever okay? I did to myself what those cruel people did to me. And I did it willingly. How is that ever okay?

I tuned back into reality to see Bria gazing at my face through the mirrors reflection. Her eyes met mine as mine met hers. Her frown was no longer in confusion, but in concern. She broke the contact and her eyes continued to scan my face. I felt exposed. Like I was standing stripped naked in front of a crowd of two-thousand. Almost humiliated.

"I still think you're beautiful."

I stared at Bria as she stared at me. What?

"How?" I asked, looking at myself to see if photoshop had magically took hold of my reflection and sculpted it into perfection. Nope. Bria smiled softly.

She shrugged, "You just are. It doesn't matter what happened in your past, or who you were in your past. It matters who you are now."

I shivered. It was weird, how Bria could tell me everything I'd tried so hard to realise in the last two weeks, yet she made it sound so simple. I didn't have to be who I was last year. Nor who I was in those five months. I didn't have to be afraid. I also didn't have to be a monster. But no one could ever know about that. Ever.

I continued to stare at myself, seeing nothing but painful memories in my eyes.

"So should we go then?" Bria asked, picking up her bag and opening the door. I jumped and scurried over to where she stood, slamming the door shut. Bria seemed to elevate as she jolted in the air.

"I can't." I said.

"Yes, you can." Bria replied adamantly.

"No, I can't." I countered. Bria sighed, placing her bag back down on the sink countertop.

"It doesn't matter how beautiful you think I am." I saw Bria flinch. "When I walk out there, the whole world gets to see what messed up looks like." I nearly broke the sink as I lost my control. Bria looked at me wide-eyed, as startled as a stray cat in the street, roaming around underneath the full moon.

I breathed in and out for a few moments. "No one can know about this, Bria. And when I walk out of here, they're going to want to know what happened. They're going to ask questions that I don't want to answer." I told her with a hint of reason in my tone. It made me remember what had happened before I had first stepped out of my dorm after arriving back. I had been just as scared then.

"Because as soon as I step out of this room, everyone will become aware of me. I'll have to explain things without actually explaining them. I don't want to talk." It all sounded exactly the same.

"You don't have to talk." Jameson had assured me.

"Rubbish, I'll always have to talk. How else will I fight off the rumours?"

"You stay silent. I'll talk. I'll fight off the rumours." Jameson had said.

But Jameson wasn't here now. Whether or not I believed that he could fight off every rumour, I didn't have Jameson here with me in this moment. And that's the truth. I slumped over the sink and, for the first time since I had been back, I wished that Jameson was close-by. But Jameson was too busy trying to get forgiven. He's been deliberately giving me space, and too much—if you ask me.

"Okay." Bria said. My head shot up and I frowned at her.

"What?"

"Okay." She said again. "Let me see if I have any concealer, or something." She started to rummage through her bag again. I stared at her wordlessly.

She pulled out a concealer, but grimaced when she saw the colour. I stifled a laugh.

"I'm sure it'll work." She said, with optimism bigger than my list of all the times I've been attacked. It was a lot of optimism.

"Maybe we can mix it with my highlight.. or something." She murmured absentmindedly as she fished through her bag once more. She pulled it out, and then turned to me to start on my concealer.

"That's fifteen year old makeup for you." I joked, but Bria didn't look amused. She pulled a face as she started to dab at a faint bruise.

"Oh," I almost exclaimed, "oh, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's just—it sounded like something a fifteen year old would do." I tried to explain.

"Is that what you did when you were fifteen?" She asked with an eyebrow raised, moving across my face. I wish. No, when I was fifteen, I mixed danger and death together and got back home. That's otherworldly.

"No." I admitted despite my unorganised thoughts. Bria nodded in response and continued to work on my face. When she was finished, she took a step back and admired her work for a few moments, then gestured for me to turn around. So I did.

And behold, it actually worked. Bria stood to my left, watching me.

"Huh," she spoke up, then reached up to point at something in the mirror, "the highlight makes your bruises and scars look like stardust." And she was right. My scars were stardust–are stardust. Somehow, that fifteen year old logic calmed me. A part of me smiled, a part of me that I thought was buried in a hollow pit, and long lost. All of my bad memories are still bad memories, but I own them like they're the world's most grand gems. Diamonds, pure gold. The stuff you find at the end of the rainbow. My bruises and scars look like heaven-sent, shimmering stardust.
They are my armour.

"Bad experiences don't make you a bad person," Bria spoke up again, slipping her bag onto her shoulder. "They make you a better person, because you survived them."

I stared at her. I smiled. And I meant it.

I strode out of the bathroom with replenished confidence, and the embodiment of innocence itself strutted alongside me. And, as always, the corridors are her stage.

If I thought in a similar way to Bria, maybe I'd have realised all that I have today quicker—but maybe I'd be a completely different person, and I know better than anyone that a different person isn't a happier person. I'm not different. I'm enhanced. I've survived the harshest of winds and the most violent of rain, yet I eroded beautifully—because I live with what happened, and because I deal with what happened.

But erosion chips away some good, too, and I felt at a loss without the fifteen year old 'big heart' that I knew I now lacked. Maybe a 'big heart' was never possible—for anyone.

We made our way to our next lesson, shrouded in a senseless silence, but it felt comfortable. As we turned a corner, we bumped into someone. I apologised profusely as Bria flicked her hair over her shoulder, but then she grinned up at the person that I had shoved.

It was Wendy.
Not Wendy from Peter Pan.
My nutritionist.

She stared at me for a moment. Then she smiled, "You look better."

I rose an eyebrow, "You mean I look less like Funny Bones?" I asked; Bria stifled a laugh next to me. The comment was lighthearted, and my nutritionist responded with nothing but a smile. But she knew it was true.

At least I wasn't going backwards—I wouldn't want to take too many steps back and end up falling into that same hollow pit of hiraeth.

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Is this the sequel or like

This is a rip off why was the first book referenced so many times

#attentionseeking

Guys can we just

Where did Jameson go

Oh yeah

-dubye

IM SO FUNNY OMG

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Next update: Monday
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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE SPOILER:

Sky may have found a solution for the war that rages on inside of her mind, but what about the one that unfolds in real life?

Can she keep her dignity whilst also choosing the right side?

Will you find any hints of future, and current, mysteries?

And, most importantly, will the world continue to prove all Skyson shippers wrong?