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*ੈ✩‧₊˚๓คՇƈɦﻝกց รƈคɼร⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —

      MARISOL BOPPED HER HEAD TO MUSIC BLASTING THROUGH HER HEADPHONES. In the midst of her pursuit of serenity, she dedicated herself to researching effective methods to alleviate her distress, with music emerging as a promising avenue. The ambiance was enveloped in the gentle tunes resonating from her chosen playlist when, unexpectedly, a sharp bang echoed through the room.

Instantly, she swiveled her head, her feet casually dangling off the armrest of the couch. "What the heck?" she murmured in a mix of surprise and frustration, her eyes fixing upon the sight of a soaked Robby standing in the center of the kitchen, a bewildered expression mirrored on both their faces.

Gently peeling one headphone away from her ear, she deftly nestled it behind her earlobe, a gesture poised with casual grace. "What happened?" she inquired, a playful snicker dancing in her voice as she struggled to suppress a bubbling laughter. Robby, catching her demeanor, rolled his eyes in response.

"Your boyfriend and your friends are the masterminds behind this chaos!" he exclaimed, his frustration resonating through the exclamation. The air buzzed with a mix of amusement and accusation, creating a moment suspended between mirth and exasperation.

Raising a quizzical brow, she responded, "Okay? I can't dictate their actions. They're individuals." Her words carried a hint of defiance as she spat them out, arms folding defensively across her chest. Meanwhile, Robby clenched his hands into fists, the tension palpable. Her gaze momentarily dipped to his balled fists before flickering back up to meet his face.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the escalating tension. "Dude, seriously? No need to turn this into a brawl. You're drenched, and let's face it, a shower wouldn't hurt. Plus, that Axe Body Spray was practically assaulting my senses," she quipped, her words a mix of sarcasm and amusement. The insult prompted a glare from Robby.

A groan escaped her as she skillfully deflected his punch, seamlessly employing the techniques of Eagle-Fang karate. In that moment, Robby began to sense the gravity of the situation. Marisol's eyes sparkled with a newfound determination, signaling an unexpected turning point. Unbeknownst to him, this was precisely what Terry Silver had schemed for – to enlist Marisol Cervantes onto his team, using Robby as an unwitting pawn in the elaborate game.

Robby's punch sliced through the air with a menacing swiftness, the rush of wind almost brushing against her face. Reacting with a dancer's grace, she elegantly ducked down on the second swing, a smirk playing on her lips. "Missed, dumbass," she taunted, savoring the split-second victory.

In that moment, her fingers tightened around his wrist, not with brute force but a calculated finesse that hinted at control. Robby, sensing the subtle dominance, gritted his teeth, his left hand balling into a clenched fist, frustration etched on his face.

Marisol's eyes darted to his clenched fist, anticipating his next move. Swiftly, she shifted her strategy. With a deft twist, she dug her nails into the swinging arm, a controlled pressure that threatened to break the skin. Sensing his discomfort, she seized the opportunity, striking the other forearm with precision, aiming for the vulnerable heel of his palm.

As if choreographed, her foot slipped in tandem with the strike, destabilizing him momentarily. The culmination of calculated moves left Robby momentarily off balance, a pawn in the unfolding dance of their impromptu sparring session.

His glare bore into her as he released a battle cry, seizing her by the waist and initiating a synchronized descent to the ground. With his fist defiantly raised, she deftly intercepted it, orchestrating a swift flip that reversed their positions. In the midst of this intense exchange, Marisol felt the tide of emotions rising within her. Soon, a crimson veil descended over her vision as anger and rage took control.

Her punches, delivered with rapid precision, targeted his face mercilessly. Using the middle and forefingers of her right hand, she struck him harshly along the nose and mouth. The barrage was so swift that he struggled to comprehend the flurry of blows, his consciousness slipping away.

Amidst the relentless assault, a sudden crack reverberated, piercing through the intensity. It brought Marisol to an abrupt stop. "Marisol, stop!" he pleaded, desperation evident in his voice. She, however, furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, lost in a haze of erratic recollection.

As if emerging from a fog, the last coherent memory she held was of Robby pushing her to the ground. Climbing off him, she found herself staring down at her hands, the realization dawning on her. "No... no. Not again," she muttered to herself, grappling with the disconcerting echoes of a past she couldn't fully grasp.

A look of disbelief contorted his features. "What the heck! You nearly broke my nose," he exclaimed, rising to his feet, blood visibly dripping from the throbbing injury.

Panic flashed across her face as she stuttered, "I-I'm so sorry. I-I don't know what happened," her eyes reflecting genuine remorse. He watched as she stared at her hand, now red, bloody, and bruised.

Examining her bewildered, he asked, "Do you not remember?" His voice carried a mix of concern and confusion, as if probing the depths of an unexpected and unsettling event.

A subtle shake of her head met his inquisitive gaze, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Is this not the first time?" he probed, a mixture of worry and curiosity in his eyes. She looked at him, a moment of hesitation hanging in the air before she finally admitted, "No." The weight of unspoken history resonated in her response, casting a shadow over the unfolding conversation.

A shadow of concern swept across his face. "Marisol, I think it's crucial for you to see a doctor," he suggested, his worry palpable. Quick agreement came from her as she nodded with urgency. "I agree... plus, I think I broke my hand," she revealed, her expression marked by a frown and a hint of discomfort. A subdued grunt escaped her as she gingerly held her injured fist with the support of her other hand, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Within the confines of the ER, impatience lingered as Robby stood near the curtains, his foot tapping anxiously. The air was charged with anticipation as they awaited the arrival of Marisol's dad and his aunt, who were an hour away enjoying a Wicked show with Mila.

Marisol's attention snapped to her doctor's voice, pulling her focus away from the apprehension. "She's in there, Mr. Murphy," the doctor confirmed. The curtain was drawn open by George, Marisol's dad, who rushed towards his daughter, enveloping her in a heartfelt hug.

Amidst the concern and the emotional reunion, Robby voiced the question on his mind, "Where's Aunt Nattie and Mila?" The uncertainty of their whereabouts added another layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere in the emergency room.

George acknowledged with a nod upward. "They're at home. I dropped them off," he swiftly clarified, then shifted his focus back to Marisol, cupping her face with a mixture of worry and fatherly care. Marisol's heart raced, uncertainty clouding her thoughts. She glanced at Robby, seeking guidance in the delicate situation.

"What happened?" George inquired, his concern deepening. Marisol hesitated, her lips parting as she grappled with how to articulate the events. Turning to Robby for support, he stepped in, addressing George with a measured tone. "Uncle George, sir, Marisol and I got into a fight—" he began, attempting to navigate the intricate details of the unfolding situation.

George's jaw tightened, a knot of tension forming on his face. "You two got into a fight?!" His voice escalated, a stern glare fixed on Robby, while Marisol, sensing her father's rising concern, gently nudged him in the side.

"Dad, I started it. I got really mad, started fighting him, and I almost fractured his nose, which explains the thing on his nose, and I blacked out," Marisol confessed, her words carrying a mix of regret and the raw acknowledgment of the consequences of her actions. The air in the room thickened with the weight of the revelation as George absorbed the gravity of the situation.

George's stern gaze bore into Marisol. "What do you mean, 'blacked out'?" he pressed, seeking clarity. Nervous laughter escaped Marisol as she hesitated. "Haha, funny thing... uh," she looked toward Robby, signaling that the situation warranted professional attention. "You're gonna want to get the doctor for this," she informed her dad, prompting Robby to nod in agreement before swiftly leaving to find the doctor.

George's frustration manifested in a groan. "What the hell, Marisol? What has gotten into you lately?" he yelled, the weight of concern evident in his voice. Marisol's lips curled into a frown, ready to address her father's questions. "Dad, before you start lecturing, listen to the doctor. She'll explain why," she urged, trying to maintain a calm tone amid the rising tension.

"No! I want answers from you!" George insisted, shaking his head in disbelief. Marisol, feeling the pressure intensify, met his glare with a resolute gaze. "Fine! I have bipolar! You said I might have it like Mom, and I do! I blacked out during a manic episode!" she shouted, her revelation breaking through the room's strained atmosphere. The air hung heavy with the weight of the disclosure, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.

A wave of solemnity washed over George's face as Robby reentered the room accompanied by the doctor. In the aftermath of Marisol's fervent disclosure, Robby offered her a sympathetic look, understanding the impact of her revelation that reverberated through the entire floor.

"Hello, Mr. Murphy. I am Dr. Brown. So, your daughter came in claiming that she blacked out during a manic episode, also asserting that she punched a wall multiple times, resulting in a hand injury. Is that correct?" Dr. Brown inquired, her professional demeanor underscoring the severity of the situation as she sought clarification from George. The room held its breath, awaiting the father's response to the stark reality presented by Marisol's turbulent episode.

A mixture of frustration and concern painted George's expression as he looked at Marisol and Robby. He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sigh that carried the weight of the situation. The truth in Marisol's admission hung in the air, acknowledged but not fully grasped.

"Yes, it is. Uhm, what is it that she has?" George inquired, his eyebrows raised with a blend of worry and curiosity. There was a palpable urgency in his question, a father seeking clarity about his daughter's well-being from the medical expertise of Dr. Brown. The room held a tense anticipation as the answer unfolded, revealing the nature of Marisol's condition.

Dr. Brown shifted her attention from the clipboard to George, delivering the news with a measured tone. "Marisol has a broken hand, and she'll need to wear a cast for three to six weeks. During this period, regular check-ups will be necessary to monitor the healing process," she detailed, ensuring the practical aspects of Marisol's physical recovery were clearly understood.

The atmosphere shifted as she continued, "Additionally, we are diagnosing her with bipolar disorder. Both she and your nephew shared information, and the patterns in their stories align with the symptoms of bipolar disorder. As part of her treatment plan, we'll be prescribing medication and strongly recommending therapy to provide comprehensive support for her mental health," Dr. Brown explained, acknowledging the multifaceted nature of Marisol's well-being. The weight of the diagnosis settled in the room, leaving a trail of necessary steps for Marisol's recovery.

George remained silent, nodding in acknowledgment. "We will provide you with the prescription papers, discharge papers, and a list of recommended therapists to support her recovery," Dr. Brown explained. "Okay, thank you," George expressed his gratitude as the weight of the situation settled around them.

As Dr. Brown prepared to depart, she shared a reassuring smile with Marisol, who reciprocated with gratitude. George exchanged a meaningful glance with Robby, silently signaling him to step out. Robby acknowledged with a pointed gesture and a nod. "I'll be in the car," he declared, gracefully allowing the family the space they needed for their internal conversations.

George's eyes rested on his daughter, a mixture of emotions flickering in his gaze. With a tender gesture, he ran his hand through Marisol's hair. "I'm so sorry, Marisol. I'm glad you finally took a test. After that conversation we had the other day about it, I wasn't sure if you would ever do it," he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of shared concerns and a father's unwavering support. The room held a moment suspended in the complexity of their shared journey.

Marisol sniffled. "I- I'm sorry for acting different lately. It's been so hard and I feel like it's my fault-"

George shook his head solemnly. "No, Marisol. This is not your fault. This is your mother's fault. She kidnapped you and Mila. You two are now carrying the weight of that trauma," he emphasized, his words conveying a mix of sympathy and frustration at the events that had left lasting scars on his daughter and her cousin. The acknowledgment of the source of their pain hung heavily in the room, a painful truth that needed to be confronted.

Marisol's lips twisted into a frown, and George, attuned to his daughter's pain, wrapped her in a tender hug. In the solace of his embrace, she released the emotions that weighed on her, tears flowing freely. "Why can't I be happy again? It hurts so much, Dad," she sobbed, her voice laden with a raw ache.

He continued to rub her back soothingly, absorbing the depth of her anguish. "I know, I know. I wish it would stop. I miss my happy Mari," he confessed, his words echoing the shared yearning for a return to a happier time.

"Please make it stop," Marisol whispered amidst her sobs, a plea that hung heavy in the air. George, understanding the limits of his words, chose to offer the silent comfort of his presence. He allowed her the space to cry it out, a shared moment of vulnerability where unspoken pain spoke volumes, and the healing process began with the simple act of being there for each other.

Marisol was discharged later that night, and in the following days, she didn't return to school. Thursday arrived, and a few hours late, she walked through the school doors. Her silence had been palpable, and concerned messages flooded her phone. Unbeknownst to others, Mila had explained everything to Eli, who harbored a sense of relief that Robby had been supportive and hadn't made it all about himself while genuinely helping Marisol through a difficult time.

With her head held low, Marisol retrieved her backpack from security, lost in her own thoughts. In the midst of it, an accidental collision occurred as she bumped into someone. Looking up, she found herself face to face with Moon and Eli. "O- Oh," she stammered, a fleeting moment of discomfort settling in her chest as she observed them together, her heart sinking at the unexpected encounter.

A jealous look flickered across Marisol's face as Moon addressed her. "Hi, Marisol! It's been a while. How are you?" Moon asked, sporting a cheery smile. "Good as I can be," Marisol responded with a simplicity that concealed the complexity of her emotions, offering a small, forced smile in return.

Eli, perceptive to the truth beneath the surface, refrained from pushing or revealing his understanding. He didn't want to overstep; instead, he aimed to create a space for Marisol to open up when she felt ready, allowing their connection to unfold organically. The air hung with unspoken dynamics, each character navigating their emotions in the delicate dance of interpersonal relationships.

Marisol's eyes fixated on Eli, and a genuine grin stretched across her face at the sight of his newly purple hair. "Oh my god, I love the new color! Wish it was blue, though. It's my favorite color after all, but this works. You look super handsome," she complimented, her enthusiasm evident in both her words and expression.

A radiant smile accompanied her raised hand. "Can I touch it?" she exclaimed, the excitement evident in her voice. Eli nodded, his cheeks flushed with a shy smile. Marisol's fingers gently reached out, making contact with his mohawk. As she explored the new texture and hue, a wave of nostalgia hit her as the style echoed the familiar blue mohawk he once wore. The moment carried a sense of shared history and a glimpse into the ongoing evolution of their friendship.

A subtle shade of red colored his cheeks, and a swarm of butterflies took residence in his stomach. "T- Thanks," he stammered, offering a soft gaze in response to Marisol's compliment. However, in an attempt at conversation, he unintentionally blurted out, "I see that your blonde is fading out," his words hanging in the air with a hint of regret.

Almost instantly, he facepalmed, realizing the potential awkwardness of his comment. The moment bore the complexities of their interaction, a mix of genuine gestures and the occasional stumble in their exchange.

A subtle blush painted his cheeks, and a flutter of butterflies danced in his stomach. "T- Thanks," he managed, meeting Marisol's eyes with a soft, appreciative gaze. However, caught in the moment and attempting to contribute to the conversation, he unintentionally blurted out, "I see that your blonde is fading out."

Regret flashed across his face, and he swiftly facepalmed, a physical manifestation of the realization that his words might have carried unintended implications. The air momentarily hung with a mix of genuine compliments, inadvertent awkwardness, and the vulnerability of their unfolding interaction. Despite the hiccup, the shared exchange added layers to their evolving connection.

A subtle flush of red crept onto his cheeks, and a flurry of butterflies stirred within him. "T- Thanks," he stammered, responding to Marisol's compliment with a soft gaze that revealed a mix of appreciation and nervousness. However, as he attempted to contribute to the conversation, he unintentionally blurted out, "I see that your blonde is fading out."

Instantly, a flicker of regret crossed his face, his hand meeting his forehead in a facepalm of embarrassment. The moment held the awkward charm of a genuine but unintended misstep in their interaction. The air became tinged with the complexities of their evolving connection—a blend of genuine compliments, accidental candor, and the shared journey of navigating their friendship through both smooth conversations and occasional awkward turns.

Marisol couldn't help but snicker. "Definitely the women. You wear some girly gay clothes, and Miguel's more on the masculine side," she observed, punctuating her statement with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. Miguel, reacting with a scoff, couldn't let the comment slide. "Ha ha!" he exclaimed, playfully pointing at Hollis, injecting a light-hearted banter into the conversation. The exchange resonated with the camaraderie and ease of a group comfortable with poking fun at each other.

Hollis couldn't hide his eye roll. "Thanks," he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, shooting Marisol a snarky look. Undeterred, she forced a smile, nodding her head as if to say, "You're welcome." Gripping onto her backpack, she sighed, the tension from the exchange trailing her like a shadow as she moved toward her next class. The atmosphere held a touch of lingering awkwardness, the residue of a momentary clash in their banter.

Blissfully ignorant of the tumultuous events at the dojo, Marisol descended the stairs into the kitchen that night, a craving for a late-night snack pulling her downstairs. The quietness of the evening was interrupted by the doorbell's ring. Curiosity piqued, she headed to the door, opening it to find Eli on the other side, sans his famous mohawk. The sight caught her off guard, and her jaw dropped open in utter shock.

"Oh my fucking god! Eli, what happened?" she exclaimed, the words tumbling out with a mix of surprise and concern. Instinctively, she covered her mouth with her hand, processing the drastic change in his appearance. The unexpected encounter painted the room with an air of disbelief, leaving Marisol grappling with the mystery of Eli's transformed look.

A soft sniffle punctuated the air, and it became apparent that he had been crying. "De- Demetri dropped me off here. I- I didn't wanna go home," he stammered, his words revealing vulnerability. No longer exuding the confidence he once did, his back slouched, and his head lowered, a tangible transformation in his posture. The weight of emotions draped over him, painting a picture of someone seeking solace and refuge in that moment.

The scene invoked memories from a time that predated Hawk and Cobra Kai. "Come in," Marisol warmly invited, creating space for him to enter. As he stepped inside, his eyes landed on a framed picture of Belly on the wall—an emotional snapshot from a period when they had to part ways with their canine companion due to the tumultuous circumstances.

"I miss Belly," he confessed, and Marisol's face contorted into a subtle expression of sadness. "Me too. She was a great dog. I wish we didn't have to give her away," she responded, her words carrying the weight of shared regret and the ache of parting with a cherished pet. The room enveloped them in a moment that resonated with both fond memories and the lingering sorrow of having had to say goodbye to a beloved four-legged friend.

Eli's laughter carried a touch of nostalgia. "I remembered when we found her eating your birthday cake last year," he reminisced, a playful gleam in his eyes. Marisol couldn't help but burst into giggles. "Oh my god, I forgot about that!" she exclaimed, the shared laughter filling the room with the delightful echoes of a cherished moment from the past. The exchange unveiled a snapshot of their friendship, wrapped in the joy of shared memories.

Eli raised his brows, sighing. "Sorry for changing the topic, but ca- can you shave the rest..." he pointed, his words trailing off. Marisol simply nodded in response. "Sure." The moment hung with a shared understanding, a shift in conversation that carried a subtle request, met with a simple affirmation.

Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, Eli's gaze landed on Marisol's nightstand, revealing a telltale pill bottle – evidence that she had started taking her medication. As much as the incident fueled Marisol's desire for retribution, she recognized the paramount need to stay composed. Thankfully, the medicine had begun its work, acting as a stabilizing force amidst the emotional turbulence that threatened to engulf her. The room held a delicate balance between the turmoil of emotions and the resilience fostered by Marisol's determination to stay calm.

Eli maintained a solemn silence, shadowing Marisol as she entered her bathroom. Retrieving a razor from her drawer, she turned back, her expression marred by a frown filled with concern and determination. "Who did this to you?" she pressed, the urgency in her voice palpable. Eli, head bowed, remained tight-lipped. "Please," Marisol implored, her eyes reflecting a desperate need for answers. "Robby," he whispered quietly, the revelation hanging heavily in the air.

"What?! That little bitch is sleeping in the other room. I should shave his hair off with this—" Marisol's voice, fueled by anger and a swirl of conflicting emotions, surged forth, punctuating the charged atmosphere of the room. The bathroom became a battleground of emotions as Marisol grappled with the shocking revelation and the impulse to retaliate against the person who had harmed Eli.

Swinging the razor around her hands, Marisol's agitation was palpable. Eli, sensing the intensity, gently grabbed her wrist to halt the motion. "No! Just- just leave him alone. I deserved this! I hurt everyone around me. Look at you! You- You have to take medication for Bipolar now. This is probably mine and Sam's fault. Mostly mine! I made you like this. I was a bully. I turned into my worst fear. I'm a pussy. You probably hate me secretly and are just being nice to me. I bet you like Sam, not me." The confession spilled from Eli's lips, a tumultuous admission of guilt and self-condemnation.

Marisol leveled a knowing gaze at Eli. "Stop it, Eli. Stop talking about yourself like this. You didn't make me the way I am. My mom did. Bipolar runs in my genes. My mom is a piece of shit, who is still on the run from the cops because she's a coward. You're not. It's also not Sam's fault either. You shouldn't really bring her up, as much as I like her, but I like you more. You are also not a bully anymore. It was Cobra Kai's fault and Kreese's fault for making you act crazy. But I don't blame you for trying to be confident and change your style; you just lost yourself on the way," she asserted, her words carrying a reassuring wisdom.

She clicked her tongue, the subtle sound punctuating the moment. "Now, let me shave this purple mess off your head. This is your new beginning," she declared with a tone of determination and encouragement. As she prepared to wield the razor, he nodded in agreement, signaling his readiness for the symbolic act of transformation.

"Okay. Thank you for everything," he expressed his gratitude, a glimmer of appreciation shining in his eyes. It wasn't just a casual acknowledgment; it carried the weight of genuine affection. The prospect of facing life's challenges without her seemed daunting, especially considering the memories of the first two times they had weathered difficulties together. Their bond was evidently a source of strength and resilience.

She released a heavy sigh and commenced shaving his head. Without glancing at the mirror, he fixated on the floor, observing each strand of leftover purple tumble down. Silently, tears welled in his eyes. After a few minutes, the buzz of the razor ceased. She placed it on the bathroom counter and prompted, "Okay, look at yourself in the mirror." The bathroom held the weight of transformation and introspection, marked by the sound of the razor, the falling purple remnants, and the anticipation of facing his reflection.

Eli lifted his eyes, a subtle worry etched on his face, as he confronted his altered reflection in the mirror. His lips curved into a faint smile, a moment of self-recognition. "You look handsome still!" Marisol's exclamation carried a genuine sense of appreciation, breaking through the tension.

Eli turned to her, eyes widened with a mix of surprise and insecurity. "Really?" he inquired, seeking affirmation in her response. Looking down at him, Marisol nodded with a re-assuring look, her gaze communicating genuine admiration and acceptance. The bathroom held an atmosphere of transformation, acceptance, and the warmth of Marisol's reassuring words.

Examining his reflection in the mirror, Eli offered a light-hearted suggestion, "You should be a hairstylist." Marisol chuckled in response, grabbing the razor and casually placing it in a drawer. "Yeah, I'm thinking about it. I'm stuck between that and being a teacher," she shared, revealing a glimpse of the future paths she contemplated. The banter and shared aspirations added a touch of camaraderie to the transformative moment in the bathroom.

A grin spread across Eli's face. "You would be great doing both," he complimented, his voice taking on a softer quality that Marisol quickly recognized as the sweet, gentle Eli she remembered from before. She reciprocated with a quick, teethy smile, appreciating not just the compliment but the familiar tone that accompanied it.

"Thanks," she expressed her gratitude, and he responded with a smile of his own. In that exchanged smile, there lingered an unspoken connection, a shared understanding that transcended words in the transformative aftermath of the impromptu haircut.

—

ash speaks!

This was the breaking point and the climax. Season four is kinda close to an end! I might have some slow updates for season five. I'm not sure yet.

This part of the Act Four should be getting better, but there will be still some sad stuff. Marisol does have Bipolar and is working on herself to try and control it.

If i do write any of it wrong please do let me know. I did some research though!! So I'm trying to write it accurately!