^ quick reminder that our girl is beyond gorgeous ^

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H o l l o w s   I n
T    I    M    E
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After my breakdown, it had been established that I would start therapy sessions. Again. It reminded me of that, after my breakdown back home, my parents had also found me a therapist.

I had a therapist; my parents thought I was dealing with post traumatic stress—it could've been that, or it could've been the fact that my best friend died at the hands of the man I loved, and then that life was stripped away from me.

The therapy sessions wouldn't start for a while since they had to employ someone externally. Meaning that they would come from the 'real world'. Meaning that they had to stay here forever, and never spread word of this place. It must be a high pay, or I can imagine a lot of people turning down the jobs the Academy offers.

I wasn't permitted to go to school today—for obvious reasons—and Jameson checked in on me every five minutes. I reckoned it was a tiring task, but he continued to carry it out anyway.

I heard a creak. "I'm fine." I spoke up before Jameson could pop his head into my room. I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just sick of Jameson's persistent worry. He has always been persistently worried.

But Jameson's head didn't come around the door. Nothing happened for a good few minutes. And then something hit my wall.

I jumped up from my bed and screamed, getting caught on my duvet and crashing down to the floor, yelling in pain as I bashed my knee into the hard floor. Jameson ran in and observed the scene in mega speed. Then he ran over to the window. He pulled out his phone. He dialled. I whimpered and pulled my legs up to my chest, scooting into a corner of my room, away from all the havoc.

Shouts were heard from outside and Jameson shoved the window open. "I don't think that's suitable behaviour on school property!" He yelled down at them and I jumped. Quickly, he turned from furious to down-to-business as he spoke on the phone.

I couldn't hear what he was saying. I was too busy cradling my injured knee. The phone call ended and Jameson slammed the window closed with such force that the cracks in the already shattered window started to reach out, flagitious fingers fanning out, seizing its next victim, proliferating out, until the window was completely besieged with clawing cracks. It reminded me of my mind. There were cracks in my mind. And something just as small as something bursting through my window can set it off. And then the terror spreads.

"We need a new window." Jameson turned around casually, phone still in hand. You don't say. Then he saw me. He forgot all about his phone, letting it get lost in my bed, and hurried over to where I sat, curled up in a ball on the floor. He reached out. I flinched.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He assured me.

Tears fell from my eyes. "I know."

Jameson did a double-take. "You do?" He asked. I was about to let my fifteen year old self roam free. But I wasn't ready.

Instead, I joked it off, "Yeah, it's your job." I had said something similar when I was fifteen, believing the only reason that Jameson could possibly want to protect me is because he gets paid to do it. And I used it now for the same reason. Because I didn't believe that he could ever be willing enough to put his own life before mine for absolutely nothing in return.

"I'm your Guardian, I'm supposed to get caught in the crossfire." Jameson explained, but I found myself shaking my head.

"So you just sign up to get yourself killed?" I asked. Jameson pondered on my question.

"Are you saying I'm not a good Guardian?" He finally resulted to; I rolled my eyes.

"I'm saying you could get killed—your job is to get killed." I repeated and, again, Jameson paused.

"My job isn't to get killed, it's to protect you." Jameson replied, a glint of amusement in his eyes but his posture remaining tense, in his usual alert way.

"But you could get killed doing that." My tone was questioning, not believing how someone could risk their life for someone else.

Jameson nodded, "Of course." He replied instantly, as if it was second nature.

Even if he had meant it then, I see no reason why, or how, he could still want to put his life before mine. A prime example of this is the fact that he abandoned me for five months. I don't care if he had faulty data, now I've got a faulty brain.

I blinked. Jameson's hand was still wavering mid-air. And I let it. If he wanted to touch me, he'd have to reach out farther—I'm not going to tell him what to do.

Instead, upon looking into my eyes, he pulled back his hand. "They were only pranksters, Sky, don't worry." His compassion leaked out of his words, as my memories leaked out of my eyes. I was losing them all, and Jameson was losing me.

I trembled, my hands going up to my head as I threaded my fingers through my knotted hair. "I can't keep doing this." My voice wobbled, sounding so desperate and afraid.

"Doing what?" Jameson asked, seemingly surprised at the sudden change in direction of our conversation.

"Being scared of my own fear."

I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled my legs in close to my chest. I felt like if I held myself tight enough, I could hold all the pieces together.

"You can create half a cure for that." Jameson spoke up. I frowned. Half a cure? What am I? Diseased? Upon seeing my expression, Jameson elaborated.

"You can't cure your fear, because your fear is based off your memories over the past few months." He cast his eyes downward. I couldn't tell if he was ashamed of himself or in pain. Or both.

"But you don't need to be scared of those memories. That fear." I stared at him and, finally, his gaze met mine again.

"Fear makes you stronger." I stopped crying. What?

Jameson kept going. "Your fear won't destroy you if you don't let it." His voice was soft. "You control your emotions—your fear, your sadness, your–" He froze, "–happiness." I looked up to see him duck his head.

"I still believe in your heart." He whispered, "I'm not going to give up until your heart loves and your brain dreams." Suddenly, I couldn't register what he was saying.

"I'm not giving up on you. Even if you gave up on me ages ago." I sat in silence. Jameson was right. I had given up on him. Why believe in someone who never came to save your life? Not within the first week, nor the first month, nor the second, or the third, and then the fifth rolls around and I'm drowning in scars.

He gave up on me.
His words mean nothing.

Jameson seemed to be deciding what to do for a while. Then he got up, and left.

I sat there for a long ten minutes after he had left, then I stood up, and carefully laid my beautiful dress, which had been left crumpled in a corner, on my bed. I'll get the hanger later. My phone lay where I had discarded it on the bed, and I picked it up to see a million notifications from the girls. It was lunchtime now, so they were probably in the hall, enjoying their pain-free lives.

'Sky, where are you?'

'Skyiiieeeeee'

'We're really worried text us when you can x'

And they carried on like that. Three pages down. And those are only the ones I missed this lunchtime. Since I wasn't allowed to go to school today, I'm also not permitted to go on the 'school areas' of the Academy either, so I'll have to order my food. Which meant talking to Jameson.

I got up and padded over to Jameson's room. The door burst opened as I was reaching out to push it. I jumped. Jameson's eyebrows raised when he saw me.

"I was going to ask about lunch." I said, taking a few steps back. Jameson nodded.

"I've called someone to repair the window—do you want pizza?" He asked. 

"I don't mind." Jameson stared at me. Maybe he was going to try to stare so deep that he'd figure out exactly what meal I wanted, along with the sides.

And so he ordered a BBQ pizza, and when it arrived, I stared at my broken window. Jameson noticed this. And then pulled out his phone and made several calls, his voice sounding annoyed but his words hard to decipher.

Soon, our window was being replaced. And when it was finished, Jameson took the pizza over to my window seat and beckoned me over.

"I'm sorry about the wait." He said, his eyes filled with worry as if he'd caused some irreparable damage.

I only nodded, and picked up my first slice of pizza.

Then we ate, by a fixed window, on a seat, looking out at the fields around the Academy. If I hadn't known better, I would've said that it seemed like I was back in two-thousand-and-sixteen, and fifteen all over again. But I knew better.

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Ye hoe you 17 how you not getting this yet

God

It's been long enough

Can we just

Hang on

Let me just

How did that window get fixed so quick

Who did that job dayummm

Need that person in my life

Fixing my windows
Bc it's so slow lmao I'm not funny

-word

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Next update: Wednesday
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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE SPOILER:

Different day, still in the present.

As one mystery races off, several more bloom.

Some old, some new.

And, of course, we all have to be aware that, sometimes, we can be exposed.