Borderline

by Scampy

Chapters

I - Emotional Instability
II - Impulsive Behavior
III - Severe Dissociation
IV - Life Worth Living

I - Emotional Instability

Sugarcoat just rolled her eyes when she saw me.

That was stupid. Sugarcoat rolled her eyes at everything, that didn't mean she hated—

She rolled her eyes as soon as she saw me approaching because I'm exhausting to be around.

Sugarcoat rolled her eyes at everything—

Especially me.

"Uhm, hello? Anyone home?" Sugarcoat's voice broke through the thoughts.

Sour Sweet blinked. "Y-yes!" She shook her head vigorously. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Sugarcoat rolled her eyes. Sour Sweet's heart cracked a little more.

"You don't need to apologize," Sugarcoat droned. "It's fine."

But it wasn't, and Sour Sweet knew it. She nodded all the same.

Beside them, Sunny Flare stared at her phone screen. "Sucks that the school's not hosting any events for spring break this year."

"Nah, it's totally cool," Sugarcoat said, her expression as blank as her words. "Like, who even cares about going on an awesome trip? Yachts are boring. I can't wait to spend the whole break at home doing nothing."

"So you don't have any plans?" Sour Sweet asked, definitely a little too loud. "I don't have plans either, maybe we could do something!"

Why would they want to do something with me?

"I-I mean, if you want to."

Of course they want to do something, just not with me. Sugarcoat made it obvious that she doesn't have plans—too obvious.

"That is, uhm…"

She's lying, she does have plans. They just don't include me.

"If you're really not busy, of course, I…"

She wants me to think she's at home doing nothing all week instead of doing things without me, because she thinks I'll get all pissy and mopey if I find out and she's sick of me—

"...Sorry, I—sorry. Nevermind."

"What're you sorry for?" Sunny Flare raised an eyebrow. "If you wanna hang out, I'm free."

She doesn't want me there.

"I, well…"

She's just being polite. If I say yes she'll be mad.

"No, that's okay, sorry." Sour Sweet couldn't meet her friend's eye. "I'm sorry."

Sunny Flare shrugged. "Alright, nevermind then." The words were sharp and quick, yet still lingered just long enough for Sour Sweet to be sure of their meaning.

She hates me. They both hate me.

She had to turn this around. She could turn this around—just be like Saccharine, everyone liked Saccharine. Act like her, be like her, don't be like herself. It was all too easy for people to hate Sour Sweet, but everyone loved her sister.

Half-sister.

"I'll leave it up to you!" Sour Sweet spat out the words too fast, like they were venom on her tongue. There was no way the girls understood, not when her tone was all messed up. They probably thought she was being sarcastic, with how slurred and cheery her voice had been. Idiot. Idiot.

No wonder I have no friends.

"Alright, well…" Sugarcoat stretched her arms above her head and yawned, clearly bored—bored with me, because she hates being around me—"I'm sure I'll think of something. Just make sure you keep your phone on, okay?"

"Wh-what? Sorry, I—no, okay, I will! Can't wait!" Sour Sweet chirped happily. Keep her phone on! That meant Sugarcoat was going to text her later, which meant she did want to spend time with Sour Sweet which meant she didn't hate her—

Or she was talking to Sunny Flare.

—Or she was talking to Sunny Flare.

"Yeah, same," Sunny Flare said, confirming Sour Sweet's fears. Not only had she misunderstood someone who was supposed to be her friend, she'd interjected and answered a question that wasn't even meant for her, forcing Sunny Flare to awkwardly answer only after Sour Sweet had stupidly and shamelessly invited herself like a total cretin.

Idiot! Stop being such an idiot!

Settling beneath a fresh wave of well-deserved self-loathing, Sour Sweet mumbled, "I'll, uhm… I'll see you later, I guess."

Sunny Flare looked at her for a moment, her expression contorting the tiniest bit. In annoyance, no doubt. "You okay?" she asked.

Just listen to how she sounds. She's sick of me, because I'm—

Too much. Sour Sweet was too much, she knew that. She knew it.

Saccharine wasn't too much. People liked her. Why couldn't Sour Sweet be like her?

"Oh, me? I'm fine, really!" Sour Sweet said, praying to whoever would listen that Sunny Flare wouldn't detect the small bits of wavering in her voice that Sour Sweet failed to cover. "I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Yeah, sure." Sunny Flare nodded, her expression unchanged. "We'll see you later, okay? Keep your phone on."

She's only saying that to make me feel better.

"Will do!" Sour Sweet gave her a smile. It was a frail and hollow thing.

No wonder I have no friends.

Sugarcoat spoke up. "You should post a message in the group chat," she said to Sunny Flare, as indicated by her breaking eye contact with Sour Sweet as soon as she started talking. "I'm sure we can gather up enough people to do something interesting."

Group chat? Sour Sweet was in the group chat, so maybe Sugarcoat really did want her here—

Or there's another group chat they haven't told me about.

"I'll try to remember to put something up after classes get out," Sunny Flare said. "Speaking of, I gotta get to chem lab." She turned to Sour Sweet and looked her dead in the eyes. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Oh—okay! See you later!" Sour Sweet blurted out.

Sunny Flare just nodded and walked away. Sugarcoat, already returning her eyes to her phone, did the same, leaving Sour Sweet alone in the intersection between halls, wondering against her will why Sugarcoat didn't bother to say goodbye too.

Because she thinks I'm too much.

Idiot.

Sour Sweet kept her eyes on the ground as she made her way to her dad's house, passing row after row of identical suburban homes. Were they identical? There were probably some small differences here or there, but the homes blurred together in her periphery all the same. They all blended together seamlessly, all fitting in.

Despite living with her dad for nearly seven years now, Sour Sweet had never once made an effort to befriend any of the neighboring kids. She always told herself that one day, she'd introduce herself. Make a new friend, someone whose opinion of her wasn't colored by a lifetime of stupid mistakes and overly emotional bullshit. A fresh start.

That's what moving here was supposed to be, right? A fresh start?

But I went and made it rotten anyway.

She'd had a chance to make new friends at Crystal Prep, and what did she have to show for it? A few girls who barely tolerated her, all while smiling like nothing was wrong, like interacting with Sour Sweet wasn't the most exhausting part of their day.

Why do they put up with me?

A handful of piteous half-friendships were better than nothing, she supposed, but it'd be easier for everyone if the girls just had the courtesy to tell her to fuck off instead of stringing her along. She frowned as her muscles tensed briefly.

Why do I put up with them?

At last arriving at her dad's place, Sour Sweet shook her head and tried to release some of the tension grinding through her. Her decision to walk home rather than take the bus meant Saccharine was probably here already, even though her elementary school got out even later than Crystal Prep, for some stupid reason. A quick glance at Sour Sweet's phone confirmed her expectations—as well as zero notifications from the group chat, or anyone else.

Liars.

Her frown darkened into a scowl. She should've known better than to trust people who lied to her on a daily basis.

Sour Sweet shoved her phone back in her pocket with one hand as she fumbled for her keys with the other. She could deal with that reality check later—Saccharine was here, which doubtlessly meant childish screams and naive smiles awaited her. It wouldn't do to come storming through the door all pissed off and pouty. Her sister didn't deserve that. With a few deep breaths and a nod to herself, Sour Sweet made her way inside.

"You're home, finally!" The joyous cries of an eight-year-old were the first thing to greet her. As Sour Sweet locked the door behind her, she heard Saccharine come running around the corner. "I saw you out the window!" her sister said as she wrapped Sour Sweet in a hug, burying her face in her side.

"Of course you did." Sour Sweet did her best to smile. It was always easier when Saccharine was around. "Did you have a good day at school?"

She could feel Saccharine nod against her. "We learned about bats today!"

"Now that's something cool!" Sour Sweet's smile felt a little more real as she brushed a hand through her sister's pale gold hair. "What's something you learned about bats?"

Saccharine grinned up at her, blue eyes wide and wild. "Some eat bugs, but the big ones eat fruit! And they, uhm… they sleep upside-down!"

"You're getting so smart," Sour Sweet said. It was true—Saccharine learned everything fast, even if she didn't always know how to explain it back. But she was smart, and she worked hard. She deserved someone in her life who told her so.

As Saccharine pressed her face into Sour Sweet's vest again, Sour Sweet asked, "Have you heard from Dad today? I didn't see his car out front."

"Nope." Saccharine hugged Sour Sweet a little tighter. "I think he's working late again."

Sour Sweet rolled her eyes. Of course he was.

All the better to stay away from me.

No, that was stupid. Dad wasn't like that. He worked hard for both of his daughters, it wasn't right to—

He only makes it home on time on days when I stay out late.

Of course Dad loved her—

Then why did he try to replace me?

Frowning, Sour Sweet freed herself from her half-sister's grip. "I'm gonna hang out in my room," she said, already turning to walk away.

"O-oh. Okay." Saccharine said softly. "I know more things about bats—"

"I don't care about the bats, Saccharine," Sour Sweet snapped.

She doesn't deserve this. She didn't do anything wrong.

"S-sorry, I meant… I'm really tired, sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." Turning to face Saccharine, she held together the best fake smile she could. "How about you watch TV or something, and I'll make us dinner in a bit?"

With a quiet nod, Saccharine started to leave for the living room. Sour Sweet watched her go, until a heavy surge of guilt tore through her.

"I'll be quick, Saccharine. I love you, okay?"

"I love you too," Saccharine replied as she rounded the corner out of sight. Tears burned in Sour Sweet's eyes at those words spoken by such a sweet girl, too sweet to realize what a heartless bitch she lived with. Despite having so many reasons to the contrary, she still loved her big sister.

But for how long?

That wasn't—

Eventually she'll get sick of me too.

Sour Sweet wiped her tears away, her gaze falling to the floor. With a bitter sigh and an angry grimace, she retreated upstairs to the bedroom and locked the door behind her.

"Sour Sweet, come in! It's so good to see you!" Dean Cadance smiled warmly in the way only someone who was paid to be nice could do. "How are you today?"

"Me? I'm fine, of course I'm fine!" Sour Sweet did her best to smile back.

Liar.

"Or, I guess, uhm—"

No wonder nobody likes me.

"I-I'm okay."

The dean observed her silently for a moment, clearly longer than she would if she didn't suspect something. Sour Sweet's shallow grin faded and she buried her gaze in the floor.

"That's good to hear." Dean Cadance leaned forward in her chair. "Can I get you anything? Snack? Water? And thank you for coming, by the way."

"Water please!" Sour Sweet said gladly, to which Cadance nodded and left the room. Presumably to get some water, of course. She'd come back. It was her office, it would be weird if she didn't come back. Besides, if the dean was offering her water, that must mean Sour Sweet wasn't in trouble.

Or she's trying to soften the blow.

The blow of what? Sour Sweet frowned, fidgeting in her seat as she checked the door for Cadance again. Sour Sweet hadn't done anything wrong, had she? Nothing that would get her in trouble with the dean, anyway. Acting like a weirdo in front of your friends wasn't a punishable offense, at least as far as she knew. But what if they told the dean—?

"Here's that water for you." Cadance's sudden voice made Sour Sweet twitch. "I hope tap is okay, the staff fridge has been out of it lately."

"Of course, thank you!" With the brightest smile she could manage, Sour Sweet sat up straight—don't slouch, don't act like a pig—and took a sip. It was cold. Maybe cold enough to come from a sink but it might be from a fridge. But why would the dean lie about something like that?

She has no reason to trust me.

"So," Cadance said as she returned to her desk, "do you know why I asked you to visit me today?"

I did something wrong… or someone lied and said I did.

"No," Sour Sweet said, suddenly stiff with anger.

Someone must have lied about me to get me in trouble. Maybe to get me expelled? To get rid of me?

Again, the dean didn't respond immediately, as if waiting for Sour Sweet to continue with a more revealing answer. Sour Sweet instead resolved to cross her arms and let the silence stew.

Finally, Cadance spoke up. "Well, I heard from a couple of your friends yesterday—"

They hate me. They hate me and want me gone and lied to the dean to get me expelled because they think I'm too much to deal with.

"—who were concerned about you."

She's lying. They hate me.

Sour Sweet squirmed, anger and adrenaline suddenly burning in her chest. Her heart rushed in her ears as her gaze again fell to the floor, her vision blurring into static as she stared intensely at the patterns in the carpet beneath the dean's desk.

This would never happen to Saccharine.

"Sour Sweet?"

"Oh, sorry, yes?" Sour Sweet sat up with a big smile. Act like Saccharine. Be like her. Everyone liked her.

But nobody likes me.

"This is just a check-in, don't worry. Not a big deal at all." The reassuring look on Cadance's face almost masked the obvious lie. "You don't have to pretend with me, okay? This is a safe place."

"What?" The beginnings of panic clawed at Sour Sweet's insides. "I'm not pretending, I-I don't get what you mean."

She thinks I'm lying. I'm not though, I'm not!

The dean continued as if Sour Sweet hadn't said anything at all. "Nothing you tell me will leave this room," she said. "In situations like this, your privacy is my main concern."

Situation? What situation? Was she really going to be expelled? This was all wrong, Sour Sweet didn't want to upset anyone, she didn't mean to… to do whatever she did, whatever her friends thought…

Suddenly feeling heavy, Sour Sweet forced out a reply. "What did my friends say?"

They're not my friends.

"It's nothing serious, Sour Sweet," Cadance said. "They just asked me to check on you, that's all."

I must have done something awful without even realizing it.

The dean wouldn't say. Was it for privacy reasons? No, why would her friends' privacy matter if they weren't the ones in trouble? It had to be something else. She wouldn't say because whatever they said must have been awful because Sour Sweet was awful—

"Sour Sweet?" Cadance sounded concerned—annoyed.

"Why?" She barely managed to squeak. It was so hard to breathe. She was making a scene again, just like with her friends, idiot, idiot—

"Because they care about you." Cadance was still smiling at her like nothing was wrong, like her friends hadn't already proven how much they really hated her. "You know that, right?"

Did they? Cadance apparently thought they did, or at least she expected Sour Sweet to believe so. If she didn't, the dean would be mad at Sour Sweet for talking back to her.

"Of course!" Sour Sweet's voice bubbled with stale enthusiasm. "Of course they do! I have such good friends, they're so thoughtful."

"Mhm." The dean's smile fell away for the briefest of seconds, but Sour Sweet caught its ineffable meaning.

She doesn't trust me.

"You spent your early childhood with your mother, is that correct?" Cadance asked.

What? What did Mom have to do with this?

I can't tell her anything. She won't believe me. Nothing bad happened anyway.

"I-I guess, yeah," Sour Sweet said stiffly, "but now I live with my dad and my sister."

"I see." The dean nodded. "What was your mother like?"

"Not now, Sour Sweet."
　　　　　　　　　"I said not now."　　　　　　　　"You think you're so much smarter than me, don't you?"
　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You eat like a pig."
　　　　　　　"No wonder you have no friends at school, if you act like this."
　　　　　"Go to bed. No, I said go to bed, now."　　　　　　　　　　　　　"God, you're so ungrateful!"
　　　"You are just too much, y'know that?"
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You know, I didn't weigh that much when I was your age."
　　　　　"Brush your hair, it looks like a rat's nest."　　　　　　　"Don't you ever use that tone with me again!"　　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　　"'B-but! I-it's just! I didn't mean to!' I don't care."　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You don't get to speak to me that way, ever."　
　　"Stop making excuses!"　
　　　　　　　"Next time you use that tone with me, you can fix your own dinner for a week."
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You're lucky I don't make you sleep outside!"
　　　　"He was my husband, I'll talk about him however I want."
"We only got divorced because of you."
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"Aww, is she all angry? Grow up."　　　　
　　　　　"It's not your place to tell me how I can talk about my own ex."　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"I am done with this! I should've thrown you out on the street!"
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"No one will ever love you the way I do!"

She won't believe me. Nothing bad happened anyway.

Sour Sweet blinked. "She was fine. She worked a lot."

"She never mistreated you?"

The room was suddenly too hot. Sour Sweet felt her whole body burning. "I… I don't know what you mean."

Without missing a beat, Cadance asked, "She never made you feel like your feelings weren't important?"

But they aren't important.

"I…"

I'm not important. Not to Mom and not to anyone.

"I-I don't know what you mean…"

I don't matter to anyone. They all wish I was gone.

"It's alright," Cadance said. She pulled a box of tissues from a drawer in her desk and held it out to Sour Sweet. "You don't have to answer if you're not comfortable doing so."

Sour Sweet shivered, her chest aching and her face burning. Was she crying? When did she start crying? She blinked several times and turned her misty eyes to the tissues, and inadvertently caught a glimpse of the overly concerned look on the dean's face.

She thinks I'm exaggerating to get sympathy.

"Here." Cadance offered her the tissues again. "It's okay, I promise."

The poor abused girl whose mommy was oh-so mean to her, and that somehow makes it okay for me to be a nightmare to be around? Please. No one's going to believe that.

Sour Sweet took a single tissue and wiped her eyes, then stared at the floor again. "Sorry," she said as quietly as she could.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Cadance said. "How about you spend the next period in here? We can talk if you like, or I can leave the room, or whatever you want."

Sour Sweet heard the words, but their meaning didn't register. Her head was pounding, aching, swirling with the consequences of her failure to keep it together.

What if she talks to the girls after this? She thinks I'm exaggerating for attention, she thinks I'm a liar, she thinks they're right to hate me—

She wasn't trying to exaggerate, she didn't mean to start crying, she didn't mean to—

No one cares. No one will ever care.

"Sorry…"

Not unless I make them.

Sour Sweet resolved to spend the weekend in bed, with her door closed. Her phone sat on the nightstand, waiting in vain for an invitation she knew would never come.

The bedroom she slept in here was larger than the one she'd had at her mom's house, and much more furnished. A small, circular vanity mirror sat atop a small dresser by the door, and a row of small plushies and figurines sat atop a set of hanging shelves above it, hung neatly from the soft violet walls. The dresser itself held a bag with make-up, a dozen or so hair-ties in a variety of colors, and a thin, sleek laptop—her dad's old one from work, before he'd replaced it last year. Her closet was full of new clothes that actually fit her, rather than the baggy thrift store finds she'd owned upon moving in. Against the back wall was a wooden bed frame complete with carved bedposts, atop one of which hung a red holiday hat Saccharine had excitedly gifted her for Christmas last year. And with a full-sized mattress, plenty of pillows, and a thick duvet patterned with streaks of pink and cream, Sour Sweet knew too well that she ought to be more grateful for it all. More appreciative of how much Dad had provided for her.

But no matter how many times she slept in this well-furnished room, in that soft and cozy bed, she never woke up feeling rested. How could she? This wasn't her room, and that wasn't her bed. It was a bedroom, with a bed, but not her own. She could sleep in it, live in it, yearn for it at the end of each and every long day, for weeks and months and years on end, but it would always feel wrong.

She'd left her room, her bed, and all her things back at Mom's house. All these years later, she would still wake up expecting to be in the home she'd grown up in—the home where she was no longer welcome.

And whose fault is that?

Friday night dragged on slowly enough. Of course Dad was working late again, so Sour Sweet had once more come home to just Saccharine, all hugs and excitement… only to smother her sister's smile as she had the day before. As heavy as the guilt that dragged her down afterwards was, though, she knew it was for the best. Sour Sweet didn't deserve that smile, so instead she stayed alone in her room. Worse, she made Saccharine feel alone, wherever she was in the house. What was one more act of neglect inflicted on a girl who would grow up to hate her either way? Might as well speed up the process and get it over with.

She was half-asleep by the time Dad got home, but the sound of the front door opening woke her like a gunshot. Her heart slowed a bit when she heard Saccharine's cry of delight, and her dad's equally enthusiastic response, followed by whatever echoes of conversation they shared in hushed voices downstairs.

About me, no doubt. About what a bad sister I am.

Bad sister, bad daughter, bad person. Sour Sweet rolled over beneath her blanket as the cloud of melancholy surrounding her suddenly cracked with thunder, and a hot flash of anger ignited in her chest.

No wonder he'd wanted another kid. Sour Sweet had been such a useless burden that she'd blown up his first marriage—how was it fair to be mad at him for wanting to try again? To have a daughter he could love and be proud of? He'd only made space for her because his second wife had died and Sour Sweet had nowhere else to go, and even then it was probably just to have her help take care of Saccharine. That's all she was to him, a glorified babysitter.

And I can't even do that right.

All too quickly, the heavy fog returned to extinguish whatever embers of anger she'd tried to hold on to. Her frown melted away as she stared at the ceiling fan, and she pressed herself deeper into the mattress.

Selfish, useless idiot. No wonder Mom had wanted her gone.

How long before he does, too?

With a groan, Sour Sweet pulled the duvet over her head. She should've known better than to move here. She should've known better than to think he'd love her the way he loved Saccharine. She should've known better than to trust him, or anyone.

Sour Sweet frowned in the darkness beneath her sheets. She was an idiot for ever thinking Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare were her friends. Of course they'd go to the dean. Of course they'd try to get rid of her. She should've known better than to trust them.

Is it really their fault, though?

…No, that wasn't right. They weren't the problem. They were never the problem. How could she blame the girls for trying to enjoy their lives? Trying to get Sour Sweet expelled made sense. If she was better, if she was different, they never would've been forced to go to Dean Cadance in the first place.

Her trust in those girls hadn't been misplaced—trusting herself had been the mistake. How could she ever trust herself to make her threadbare friendships last, even just through the end of high school? The enormity of the task of just being fucking normal was too much for her, because of course it was. Everything was too much for her, just as she was too much for everyone else. Tension coiled around Sour Sweet's throat as she tossed beneath her duvet again.

What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Maybe she'd been born wrong somehow, with something in her brain screwed up from the moment she'd come into the world. Perhaps there was some fundamental piece, some crucial element that made a person function and work and be whole, that she'd lived her whole life without. Maybe she was just a dumb, sick animal pretending to be human, while everyone around her played along with the lie and treated her like one of their own. If that was true, then Mom had been the only one to acknowledge reality—the only one willing to tell Sour Sweet what she really was.

Her limbs twitched and tensed. Sour Sweet took a short, sharp breath of the stale air in this stupid fucking room that would never be hers. That had to be it. No matter how hard Dad or Saccharine or Dean Cadance or anyone else tried, they couldn't fool her. She was sick—maybe even crazy.

Who even was the real Sour Sweet, anyway? Was she the mopey loser who had siphoned piteous contempt from Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare the other day? Was she the cold-hearted bitch who had snapped at her little sister, or the girl who had oozed with fake smiles and exaggerated tears when she spoke to the dean? Was she the thoughts in her head, scolding and hating herself every time she screwed up, or the brainless idiot stumbling her way from one stupid mistake to another? So many faces, so many twisted knots of emotions out of her control, each version of herself terrible in their own unique ways. She must be crazy; she didn't even know who she was anymore, if she ever knew at all.

No wonder Mom had to be so harsh to keep me in line.

And if she was crazy, what did that even mean? How many of Sour Sweet's thoughts were her own? That voice in her head that felt like self-judgment, was that just her being crazy? Psychotic, even? She wasn't hearing voices, at least she didn't think so, but her thoughts and feelings were totally out of her control. What else could that mean, other than her being sick? Normal people should be able to control themselves, and she couldn't. She was always messing things up—at school, at home, maybe even in her own head.

Sour Sweet's eyes flicked around the bedroom, from the mirror to the shelves to the ceiling fan. None of this was hers. She shouldn't even be here, shouldn't even be alive, maybe—maybe none of this was even real. Maybe Mom had thrown her out on the street like she'd always said she would, and this was all some fever dream as Sour Sweet drifted away in an alley somewhere. Her vision blurred, her breathing quickened as her chest tightened, and the world seemed to slip away through the cracks in her composure… until her gaze passed over the little red hat on the bedpost.

For a moment, it was the only thing in the world. Sour Sweet stared at it, and heard Saccharine's laughter—whether downstairs or in her own mind, she couldn't tell. But Saccharine was real, though. The love that made her give Sour Sweet that gift was real. Love for her, for a half-sister who was always so awful to her.

Slowly, stiffly, Sour Sweet sat up in the bed. She rubbed at her eyes, grateful to find them dry. She reached up and pulled the little holiday hat down from the bedpost, turning it over in her hand.

It was too small for her, being made for a young child, but of course Saccharine hadn't known any better. She'd gotten it from her first grade class, a handout to all the kids by a teacher whose name Sour Sweet couldn't remember. It had been the first gift she'd gotten from her little sister, the first gift given by anyone other than Dad after she'd moved in with him. It was her reminder, wasn't it? Proof that no matter what, someone loved her. Someone cared about her. Someone was always happy to see her, always wanted her around, always would love her, no matter what…

…Until I make her hate me.

…Until Sour Sweet made her little sister hate her.

All at once, her chest felt like it'd been hollowed out, her insides scraped raw. What was she even doing right now? Reminiscing about the love of the little girl she'd blown off the moment she'd walked through the door? The little girl who was downstairs with their father, loving and being loved, being a better daughter than Sour Sweet could ever hope to be. Filling the hole Sour Sweet had left in his life when she'd been handed off to her mother, and doing a better job of it than Sour Sweet ever could.

With a soft exhale, Sour Sweet returned the little red hat to its place on the bedpost, then buried herself in the pillow, pressing it to her ears to block out the sounds of the happy family downstairs—a family she would never belong with. As the sounds of her father and half-sister faded into muffled noise, she stared at Saccharine's gift and hated it.

It was her reminder, she realized—a reminder that her days of being loved were numbered.

All at once, everything grew distant. Sour Sweet reached for her phone beside the bed. The bright blue notification light blinked at her, but she didn't bother to check her messages as she turned the phone off and returned it, face-down, to the nightstand.

II - Impulsive Behavior

The rest of the weekend passed agonizingly slowly. A few bright spots rose through the muck—notably the hour or so Sour Sweet spent playing a board game with Dad and Saccharine. There were laughs and smiles, though none of them felt real. Sour Sweet was far away, as if watching through frosted glass while someone in her guise spent time with her family. Soon enough it ended, and she returned to the bedroom to fade back into the gray haze.

All too soon, Monday came, and school along with it. Dad offered to drive her, but Sour Sweet politely declined like a good daughter should, opting to walk so as to not waste his time. It wasn't until she'd made it half a dozen blocks towards Crystal Prep that she realized she'd forgotten breakfast, but she wasn't really hungry anyway. No harm done.

As she got closer to school, dread crept up alongside her. She'd probably see the girls at some point during the day, even if it was just passing in the halls. What was she supposed to say to them, after what they'd done? And that wasn't even mentioning what they hadn't done. Dean Cadance had said they were concerned about her, but if that was true, wouldn't Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare have checked on her over the weekend? They had her dad's home phone, along with his address, but they never came to see if she was okay.

Of course they didn't. They want me out of their lives.

Sparks of tired, bitter anger peeked out from behind the curtains of the haze that had smothered Sour Sweet since the weekend, but only for a moment. As Crystal Prep came into view around the corner, she pushed the feeling away as best she could.

Classes were normal enough in the morning—lectures, videos, a quiz Sour Sweet had forgotten to study for, and a number of other things she didn't care about. It all blurred together, anyway—regardless of what was being discussed or presented, all Sour Sweet could think about were the girls, what they might say if they saw her, and whether there was anything she could do to make up for the things she'd done to make them hate her in the first place.

When lunch hour arrived, Sour Sweet found she still wasn't hungry. But, as she trudged into the cafeteria, a sudden rush of anxiety surged through her. The world slowed, her eyes widened, and anger burned so hot in her chest that it hurt to breathe.

Across the cafeteria, Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare stood by a set of double doors while Dean Cadance talked to them.

They're talking about me.

In seconds, anger turned to terror. What was the dean saying about her? Obviously something about her meeting with Sour Sweet on Friday, but which part?

Mom. She must be telling them about Mom. What if she tells someone else? What if she tries to get Mom in trouble?

No, that… But Cadance said she wasn't going to share anything with anyone, right? Had she really lied so blatantly to Sour Sweet's face?

And I was stupid enough to fall for it. She's talking to the girls, of course she'll talk to someone else, she'll try to get Mom in trouble and Mom will think it's my fault and she'll—

Peeling out of the lunch line, Sour Sweet made a beeline for the girls, just as Cadance left through the double doors. A second later, Sunny Flare was the first to spot her approaching, and her face lit up with a big smile as she waved at her from across the room.

What?

Sour Sweet stopped in her tracks, only for Sugarcoat to turn and wave too, beckoning her over. The fear that had driven her steps just moments prior now fought to keep her still, but she couldn't risk upsetting the girls any more than she already had.

Sunny Flare kept smiling, and Sugarcoat hadn't rolled her eyes yet, not even when Sour Sweet meekly stepped up beside them. Instead, Sunny Flare pulled her into a hug. "It's so good to see you!" she said happily. Sugarcoat nodded in agreement.

Is this a trick?

"What, uhm…" Sour Sweet looked away as fear and confusion twisted into a knot in her throat. "What was Dean Cadance talking to you about?"

"She was just, y'know, letting us know you were okay," Sugarcoat said. "She said she couldn't share any details, but—"

Liar. She has to be lying.

"Sure she did," Sour Sweet snapped, rolling her eyes at Sugarcoat for once. "She cares so much about privacy, right? That's why she blabbed to you about everything?"

Sunny Flare put a hand on her shoulder, but Sour Sweet pulled away. "Sour Sweet, hey, calm down. She means it, okay? Cadance didn't tell us anything, and we didn't ask. She just told us you were okay, and that it'd be good to, y'know…" She shrugged. "Let you know we care, I guess?"

That… No, that can't be right. That's not true, she's lying!

Sugarcoat adjusted her glasses and nodded. "We were worried when you didn't respond to the invite I sent. Or, Sunny Flare was worried. I knew it was no big deal." She rolled her eyes… at Sunny Flare. "Honestly, Sunny, you're so dramatic sometimes."

Sour Sweet's heart hammered in her chest. None of this made any sense. Both of these girls hated her, didn't they? All the proof was there—

"It's not dramatic to care about my friend," Sunny Flare said, frowning.

Friend—?

"Hey, Sour Sweet?" Sunny Flare was suddenly staring at her. "You okay?"

Tears streamed down Sour Sweet's face. Her first attempt to speak left her as a weak cry, so she held her breath stiffly for a few seconds, wiped her eyes, and exhaled slowly.

They're giving me another chance…

"I-I'm okay," she said. "Sorry—"

"Don't apologize, it's fine," Sugarcoat said. "So you're crying your eyes out during lunch, who cares? We've all done it."

"Speak for yourself," Sunny Flare said.

"Whatever." Sugarcoat rolled her eyes.

They're giving me another chance!

"You two are the best!" Sour Sweet clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, you said something about an invite?" she asked, a smile pulling at her face. "I knew you'd figure something out for spring break!"

Whatever it is, I have to go along with it and do it right.

"Uh, yeah, we figured something out," Sunny Flare said. "We asked around and got enough people together for a party on Saturday, at Sugarcoat's place."

Sugarcoat smirked. "My parents are gonna be out of town. It's too perfect." She looked at Sour Sweet expectantly. "Sound good?"

"Sounds great!" Sour Sweet said. "Lemme know the time and I'll be there with bells on!"

Sugarcoat raised an eyebrow. "I already did. Check your phone."

"O-oh, right." Sour Sweet's joy melted into shame. "Sorry, I—I'll keep my phone on, I promise."

"It's fine, really." Sugarcoat rolled her eyes.

Stop apologizing, it'll just make them mad at me again!

"R-right." Sour Sweet nodded sheepishly. "No sorries."

Sunny Flare shot her a grin. "'Atta girl."

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, but everything felt a little lighter than before. Sour Sweet finally turned her phone back on, got the time for the party, and spent her lunch breaks smiling and laughing with her friends. Her evenings were split between trying to catch up on all the assignments she'd stupidly blown off over the weekend, and spending as much time with Saccharine as possible to make up for being such an awful bitch to her the week before. Between playing some of Saccharine's favorite games, taking her to the park, and baking cookies together to surprise Dad, hopefully Sour Sweet had done enough to earn her way back into her sister's good graces.

The night before the party, Sour Sweet lay in her bed, dreaming of all the goodness that could come of this weekend. This was her second chance, her big opportunity to do right by her friends, and make a good impression on everyone else there as well. Maybe she'd even make new friends! Friends who would invite her to more parties, where she could meet more people and… and…

I need to get this right.

No matter what, Sour Sweet knew she couldn't let that voice in her head screw up the second chance her friends had so graciously given her. She had to be in control, to stay in control. She couldn't let whatever sickness made her the way she was keep ruining her life—or, more importantly, the lives of those around her.

The more she thought about it, the more the solution seemed obvious—just stop being so damn combative. All too often, Sour Sweet would snap at someone trying to be nice to her, often because she'd assumed the worst of them without good reason. And every time she did, the interaction would end with her kicking herself for being such an awful bitch.

It was an easy fix, then. Just be nice. Be agreeable. Assume the best of others, and surely they'd assume the best of her.

Saturday came, and she spent the morning following the group chat with her friends as they planned the details of party—something Sugarcoat admitted they should've done way sooner. Sunny Flare was ordering pizzas, splitting the cost with another girl she knew who wasn't in the group chat with them. Sugarcoat's dad apparently had some cool surround sound setup, and of course she insisted on choosing what went on the music playlist for the night—Sour Sweet couldn't help giggling to herself when she'd scrolled through a short, silly argument between Sugarcoat and Lemon Zest about who had the better taste in music. Indigo Zap had also invited her boyfriend, who then invited a bunch of his friends as well, expanding the number of partygoers to something like thirty.

Sugarcoat was definitely going to have her hands full cleaning up after such a big party. Sour Sweet resolved to be a good friend and offer to help, hoping that would make up for her not bringing anything herself.

Midday passed and turned to afternoon. Sour Sweet spent longer than she probably should have showering, putting on makeup, brushing her hair, choosing an outfit… It all had to be perfect. She eventually settled on what to wear: black leggings—black went with everything, Mom had told her once—matched with gold-striped shoes and a soft pink tank top. She completed the ensemble with a thin black jacket Dad had bought for her earlier in the year. The tank top was probably a little more low-cut and form-fitting than it needed to be for a party with friends—certainly Mom would never approve—but the girls wouldn't mind. Besides, it wasn't half as revealing as some of the stuff she knew Sunny Flare owned, and honestly, it was nice to feel pretty. In some small way, feeling pretty was like feeling confident, and Sour Sweet needed all the confidence she could get.

With just enough time to spare, she asked Dad for the car keys, promised to be safe, and gave Saccharine a quick hug. The drive to Sugarcoat's house was a short one, but just long enough for Sour Sweet to remind herself one last time.

I can't fuck this up. I can't. They won't give me another chance.

Be nice. Be agreeable. No mistakes, no matter what.

As soon as she arrived, Sour Sweet decided that big parties sucked.

Sugarcoat's house was big—her parents had "more money than God," Sunny Flare had quipped—but it wasn't big enough. The main floor, with as many rooms as it had, was still far too crowded for Sour Sweet's liking, and the upper floor was off-limits, Sugarcoat had said. That meant that getting anywhere required bumping into at least a few people in any given doorway, assuming Sour Sweet could even find where she was going. Being in a crowd was bad enough—being a short person in a crowd was even worse. More than once, she wished she'd worn platforms or heels, miserable as they were, if only so she could see more than a few feet in any given direction.

It didn't help that seemingly everyone she passed was already in conversation with at least one other person. Only Sour Sweet stood out, drifting from room to room in search of a person or group that would make room for her, straining to hear familiar voices beneath the loud blare of party music.

Relief flooded through her when she finally found one of her friends. Sunny Flare, clad in a bright blue dress, sat on a wide couch in what Sour Sweet could only assume was some kind of home theater, being chatted up by some guy Sour Sweet didn't know. The rest of the room was dotted with a few other partygoers in their own conversations, some of whom she'd seen at school, with others being strangers.

I'm the only one by myself.

This was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake. She didn't know anyone here, she couldn't introduce herself if it meant interrupting someone, she didn't belong here, nobody wanted her here—

"Hey, you made it!" Sunny Flare called to her from across the room. "Come sit down, this couch is crazy comfy."

Even as fear swelled all around her, Sour Sweet smiled and made her way over. That fear was lying to her, that's all it was. She was fine—this was all fine.

Be nice. Be agreeable. Stay in control.

"Sunny, hi!" Sour Sweet squeezed in between her friend and the arm of the couch, pulling Sunny Flare into a big hug. "We made it! Spring break, baby!"

Smile. Stay excited. Be like Saccharine, everyone likes Saccharine.

From across the couch, the boy who'd been talking to Sunny Flare leaned over and waved. "Hey, don't think we've met," he said. "Name's—"

"I'm Sour Sweet!" Sour Sweet said, grinning broadly.

"—Steel String," the boy finished. "Nice to meet you."

Not so much, idiot!

"R-right," Sour Sweet said quietly. "Nice to meet you too."

"Yeah, I was just telling Sunny here about my band. It's just me and my buddy, but we've already lined up to play some major shows. My dad got us in for this thing at his office, like a fundraiser party or whatever. It's gonna be packed." He smirked, giving Sour Sweet an unsubtle stare. "Enough about me though, you just get here? I can go get you a drink or something."

Be nice. Be agreeable.

"Yeah, uhm—"

Before Sour Sweet finish, Sunny Flare grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her up along with her. "Actually we were just leaving."

Steel String blinked. "You, uh, you sure?"

"Yep. Later." Sunny Flare gave a half-hearted wave before dragging Sour Sweet out of the room.

She's mad, did I make her mad—?

"Thank God you showed up when you did," Sunny Flare said, pushing her way through the crowd with Sour Sweet in tow. "He would not shut up about his stupid guitar." She sighed, placing her hands on Sour Sweet's shoulders. "Anyway, sorry about that. You okay?"

Stay in control. Don't let the bad thoughts win.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine, thank you!" Sour Sweet nodded enthusiastically. "Are you okay? I-I'm sorry if I upset you, I—"

"No, it's not you, I promise. I just can't stand creeps like that." Sunny Flare shook her head, groaning. "I swear, half the guys here only showed up hoping to get laid."

Unsure of what to say, Sour Sweet just nodded again, but it felt wrong. Had he really been a creep? Wasn't she supposed to assume the best of others? How was she supposed to make new friends if she thought everyone she didn't know was creepy—?

"I shouldn't be complaining. You'll have it worse than me tonight," Sunny Flare said, gesturing down at Sour Sweet's clothes. "Don't get me wrong, that outfit's adorable. Just be careful, and don't be surprised if you catch more than a few stares tonight."

Again, Sour Sweet didn't know what to say. "I-I, uhm, I'm glad you like it?"

"More power to you though, right? Wear what you want, who cares what other people think?" With a stretch and a sigh, Sunny Flare glanced around the room. "Anyway, I wanna go get a drink, and see if I can find Sugarcoat or Zest—this music sucks." She held her hand out to Sour Sweet. "Wanna come with?"

She wants me to stay with her!

Sour Sweet perked up immediately. Taking Sunny Flare's hand, she said, "Sure, lead the way!"

The party only picked up in scale the longer Sour Sweet was there. Groups of three or four people huddled in every corner of the house, chatting and laughing. For her part, Sour Sweet stayed with Sunny Flare, as well as Sugarcoat once they'd found her at the center of the brief frenzy that ensued when the pizza arrived. Sour Sweet chose to stay out of it, not being hungry anyway.

From there, the three of them moved to a living room adjacent to the kitchen. Sugarcoat mentioned offhand that it was the smaller of the house's two living rooms, but Sour Sweet couldn't help but notice that it was bigger than all the rooms in Dad's house by far. Large or small, though, it had settled into the closest thing the party had to a quiet room. For the next hour, while people came and went, and the music cycled from song to song, Sour Sweet sat beside her closest friends in the world, a wide smile across her face the whole time.

"So like, finally I just told Zest if she wanted to pick the playlist, she should've hosted the party herself." Sugarcoat took a sip from the plastic cup she'd filled with a mix of three different sodas. "It's fine though, honestly. She's allowed to listen to shit music, I don't mind—so long as it's on her own speakers."

Sour Sweet giggled, loudly enough to be sure Sugarcoat could hear her over the noise filtering in from the rest of the house.

Laugh at her jokes, make sure she knows I'm listening.

Sunny Flare smirked. "Maybe sort that out before the party, next time," she said, before finishing off her own soda.

"Whatever," Sugarcoat said, rolling her eyes.

She's not mad at me. She's not. Stay in control.

"So Sour Sweet," she asked, "what've you got going on the rest of the break?"

Be nice, be friendly.

"Nothing special," Sour Sweet said. "Dad wants to take Saccharine to the lake at some point, he hasn't settled on a day yet though." She smiled brightly. "Why, did you wanna hang out or something? I'm free tomorrow!"

Sugarcoat shrugged. "I don't think so. I'm definitely gonna be up late tonight cleaning."

"Yeah, and I'm definitely gonna sleep in past noon tomorrow." Sunny Flare nodded in turn.

What if they have plans without me?

"Y-you sure? I could always—"

"Pretty sure," Sugarcoat said, rolling her eyes.

Don't be so insistent, idiot!

Sour Sweet scrambled to fix her mistake. "Sorry, I-I uhm… I could help clean up if you want! It's no trouble at all, I meant to offer earlier anyway!"

Be agreeable.

When Sugarcoat didn't respond after a pause, Sour Sweet spoke up again, her voice wavering. "Uh, h-hey! How about I go get you girls refills, huh?" She quickly got up. "Sunny, you had root beer, and Sugarcoat, you had a bit of everything?"

Be nice. Be helpful.

Sugarcoat finally shrugged before finishing off her soda and handing her cup to Sour Sweet.

Make myself useful.

"Yeah, thanks…" Sunny Flare eyed Sour Sweet as she passed her cup over. "You okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine!" Sour Sweet laughed—stay in control, don't let it out—even as her heart hammered in her chest. "I'll be right back, okay? Promise!"

Sunny Flare looked concerned—angry—but didn't press further. Sour Sweet took the opportunity to make an exit before she fucked things up even more.

Stupid fucking useless idiot, trying to take up even more of their time. I'm already on thin ice!

Sour Sweet stumbled through the giant house, already lost in the crowd, which seemed to have grown even larger. Panic gripped her throat like a vice, and her breathing came faster as she squeezed through gaps between groups of people, making her way blindly. Which way was the kitchen again? She hadn't been paying attention well enough, she could hardly see anything with so many people, she didn't mean to mess up again, she just wanted to be good to her friends, friends who she'd wronged again just after they'd given her another chance, friends she never deserved in the first place, friends who were probably—probably wishing I'd just leave and never come back—!

Like the clumsy idiot she was, Sour Sweet tripped and fell. The plastic cups she'd been holding clattered on the hardwood, spilling melting ice all over.

No no no no no no…

"You okay?"

Sour Sweet looked up, tears burning in her eyes, to see a boy holding out his hand. She took it, wobbling as he helped her stand.

"There we go, on your feet," he said. "Are you hurt?"

"S-sorry, I'm sorry," Sour Sweet stammered. In her periphery, she could see a few other partygoers looking her way, watching her cry in the middle of the room like a stupid child. "I—I'm okay, sorry…"

"Hey, no worries," he said. "No one got hurt, so no big deal."

Stay in control. Don't let it out, don't let it out, don't let it out—

Her vision blurred and her breaths grew tighter. "Th-the ice, I—my friends, they wanted me to—"

The boy raised an eyebrow. "It's just some ice."

Just keep it together for once, idiot!

Sour Sweet wanted to reply, to scream at him the magnitude of her failure, but she couldn't. Her words collapsed into sobs as the world, and the last of her friendships, came crashing down around her.

They never should have trusted me.

"Woah, okay. Let's find you a chair." With an arm around her waist, the boy gently guided her out of the room. "And could someone clean that up, please?" he said to all the people staring at her. "Slipping hazard or whatever."

They gave me another chance and I ruined it, like I ruin everything!

"Here, found a good spot." The boy led her to a pair of chairs in the corner of a familiar room—the theater room, she realized. She gratefully slumped into the chair, still crying like an idiot.

They're better off without me. They're too nice to say it, but it's true.

"So, uhh… Can I get you anything? Water? Tissues, maybe?"

"Huh?" Sour Sweet sniffed and wiped her eyes, even as tears still streamed down her cheeks. "O-oh. No, thank you," she said stiffly.

Don't make him put up with me longer than he has to.

"If you say so," he replied. "Oh, I'm Tenor, by the way. Didn't have a chance to say with all the, y'know. The stuff." He looked her way, and kept looking at her.

He wants me to say something.

"Sorry for making such a scene," Sour Sweet said quietly.

"No worries," Tenor said. "Besides, that's one hell of a way to make an entrance."

Is he making fun of me…?

"Whatever." Sour Sweet crossed her arms, frowning. "I'm fine. You can leave now."

"Why would I do that?" he asked.

"Trust me," Sour Sweet said, "it'll save you some trouble."

"How do you mean?"

Sour Sweet glared at him, only to find him staring right back. "What are you, my fucking therapist?"

"Nah," he said, smirking. "But I bet whoever is has their work cut out for them."

Sour Sweet wanted to snap at him again, but his point was hard to argue.

No amount of therapy can fix me.

Tenor stretched and sat back in his chair. "You still haven't told me your name."

She gave him a quick glance. "Sour Sweet."

"That's a cute name," he said. "More sour than sweet today, huh?"

At that, she sighed. "Every day, seems like." After a pause, she added, "Sorry for being such a bitch."

Shrugging, Tenor said, "You're allowed to be a bitch when you're having a bad day."

"B-but I'm—I'm always like this!" The words suddenly came spilling out, and Sour Sweet was powerless to stop them. "No matter what I do, I just—just fuck everything up, and everyone ends up hating me, and they should!"

He stared at her for a long moment. "I dunno. You seem pretty cool to me."

"That's only because you don't know me," Sour Sweet said stiffly.

"Tell you what," Tenor said, standing up. "I'm gonna go get us some drinks, you can tell me a bit about yourself, and then I'll decide how much of a bitch you are."

Sour Sweet rubbed at her eyes, staring at the floor again. Hadn't Sunny Flare told her to be careful? That half the guys here were creeps? She'd been trying to look out for her friend, hadn't she?

But Sunny Flare's not my friend anymore.

All at once, bitter anger settled in her limbs. Why should she listen to Sunny Flare, anyway? Tenor had been nice to her so far, and besides, wasn't this also what she'd hoped for when she came here tonight? Making new friends?

Fuck it.

"Yeah, sure," Sour Sweet said, smiling as best she could. "Just water, please."

"Water, you got it, Tenor said. He left the room, returning a minute later with ice water for her. "Try not to drop this one." She took it, and laughed. It even felt real.

For the next hour or so, the two of them sat in the corner of the theater room, talking quietly as dozens of other partygoers came and went. He told her about his music—apparently he played piano and worked on weekends as a teacher for kids. She told him about Saccharine, about her dad's work… anything but talking about herself. Eventually, though, he breached the subject, and to Sour Sweet's surprise, talking about what a miserable bitch she was came easily to her, at least when talking to a stranger.

Awful to her friends, awful to her family—even her little sister. Ungrateful, spiteful brat who would rather hide in the room her dad provided for her than speak to him. Always moping, always selfish, always surprising herself with so many new ways to upset the people who cared about her, to the point where they didn't even want her around anymore. And who could blame them, when she acted so horribly? She deserved to be alone. She deserved to feel bad.

Through it all, Tenor listened in silence. He never looked away, even when she did. For the first time in years, Sour Sweet felt like someone was really listening to her—and, just as amazingly, like she really wanted to be heard.

When her shameful ranting finally petered out, Tenor clapped his hands together. "Alright, I've decided," he said, as if he were declaring a verdict. "You, Sour Sweet, are—drum roll, please." He paused, then gestured to her. "I'm serious, drum roll. You gotta do it or I can't finish."

She laughed, and beat out the best drum roll she could on the arm of her chair.

"Ahem. You, Sour Sweet, are… not such a horrible bitch after all." He took her hand and shook it intensely. "Congratulations, really. I'm so proud of you."

Sour Sweet laughed again, harder than she had in… she wasn't even sure how long. Was this what normal friendship was like? It was so easy. She sat up, still giggling. "Thank you," she said, bowing as best she could while sitting. "Truly, my greatest achievement."

"Seriously though," he said. "You don't sound like an awful person—just a girl who's used to people being too hard on her."

Then, he scooted his chair a little closer to hers and put his arm around her.

Sour Sweet's whole body stiffened, if only for a moment. She looked up at him, and he looked back, smiling. "This okay?" he asked.

Is it okay…?

She exhaled softly. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay."

Be nice. Be agreeable.

Slowly, Sour Sweet leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. Her heartbeat rushed in her ears, but she didn't move away.

Stay in control.

He sighed, and she did, too. The longer he held her like that, the more Sour Sweet realized it was actually kinda nice.

"Are you always so nice to strangers?" she asked.

"Not as often as I should be," Tenor replied. "But I make an exception for pretty girls in distress."

Smile and laugh.

Sour Sweet laughed quietly, and pressed against him a little more. "I'm sure all the pretty girls appreciate it."

"You'd know better than me," he said, and tension coiled around her throat.

Be friendly. Keep him happy.

She swallowed thickly. He pulled her a little closer, and she held his hand with her own. She looked up at him, only to find him already looking at her—at her eyes, her face, and lower.

He smiled at her. "So," he asked, his voice dropping lower, "wanna find someplace more private to talk?"

Sour Sweet held her breath. She was stupid, but she wasn't too stupid to know what he meant—what he wanted. Did she want it too? Did that even matter? Was it safe to say yes, was it dangerous to say no?

Do I even care?

Dad made her promise to be safe. Sunny Flare warned her to be careful. Sour Sweet felt her muscles tense as she realized, why the fuck should she listen to either of them, anyway? Sunny Flare was sick of her, and Dad already replaced her with a better daughter. They didn't care about her, so why should she care about what they said? She looked up at Tenor again, waiting patiently for her answer.

Be agreeable.

She nodded, and he stood, still holding her by the hand. He led her out of the theater room, to a second staircase in the back of the house. A quick look around showed no one was watching, so she followed him up the stairs to the second floor, across a hall, and waited while he checked door by door until he found a bedroom. He pulled her in, closed the door, locked it, and then there was no one else. Just him, Sour Sweet, and the gray haze creeping in from everywhere to smother the fear trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Not even a second later, he was on her. His hands were on her, his lips were on hers. Sour Sweet had never kissed anyone before—just like that, something that should have been so memorable was over, and he kissed her again. The stubble of his facial hair prickled her lips, and his hands found her shoulders again. He closed in on her, his eyes meeting hers, but he stopped.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

Don't give him a reason to hate me.

Sour Sweet nodded, smiling at him. It didn't feel real, but it must have looked real, because he kissed her again right after. As he did, the haze crept in like a slowly rising tide, easing the anxious surges in her chest a little more with each passing moment.

He grinned, and stood. Both of them kicked off their shoes, and seconds later his shirt was off too. Then his hands were on her again, guiding her arms out of her jacket. The room was warm, but Sour Sweet still shivered at its loss.

With his hands on her waist, Tenor guided her backwards until she fell onto the bed. Then he was on her again, one hand tracing along the curve of her hip while another dipped just barely beneath the hem of her tank top. He looked down at her with a look on his face that she couldn't quite describe, and said, "You're a fucking bombshell, y'know that?"

What was she supposed to say to that?

Whatever he wants me to.

Sour Sweet didn't know what that was, so instead she kissed him, this time because she chose to. It felt awful, and when he kissed her back, the gray haze sank in a little more.

A hand slipped beneath her top, pulling it up and exposing her skin. Moments later, he was leading her to sit up, then pulling the top off her entirely. She sat still as he did, nor did she move when he reached around her to find the clasp of her bra and pull it apart. The feeling of being stripped bare as he pulled her bra away should have terrified her, but the haze clouded her mind. It pushed her away from herself, slowing her thoughts, and she watched from a distance as he played with the girl who looked like her.

It was like that for a while. The girl on the bed lay there, not making a sound, as he played with her breasts. Light squeezing gave way to fondling and rubbing, which gave way to pinching and kissing. Little sparks of pleasure fluttered between her legs, and Sour Sweet felt them even through the haze. But when his hand reached lower, brushing along the top of her leggings, the haze parted, if only for a moment. Her chest tightened, her breaths came sharper, and adrenaline pooled and writhed in her gut, urging her to get away, to run, to shout or scream—but the girl on the bed remained silent.

Tenor found her gaze. "Hey, are you sure you're alright?" he asked. "It's okay to say no."

But it isn't.

The girl who looked like Sour Sweet smiled sweetly. "I'm sure," she said, without a trace of doubt or fear.

I already lost two friends tonight. I can't lose another.

He watched the girl for a moment, and Sour Sweet did too, from her place far away from her body. Dull, distant calm hung over her as the girl who looked like her stared at the ceiling, and Tenor slipped his fingers beneath her leggings. This time the haze didn't part, or even thin. Sour Sweet felt nothing as her hips raised slightly, allowing him to pull her leggings off and toss them aside.

Her inner thigh felt his touch, and the haze flickered. For milliseconds at a time, Sour Sweet was back in her body, feeling everything, only to vanish into the haze again. Even still, she was silent. What else could she do? She told him it was okay.

Because it is okay.

But what if she didn't want this?

It doesn't matter what I want.

But she was afraid. Didn't that mean she should say no?

That's not a good enough reason.

But she was scared—

So what? I'm scared all the time.

The gray haze thickened, darkened, and suddenly she was underwater. Her breaths seemed unnatural, her vision blurred, and every movement of her body was like slow motion. Through the shimmers of the surface, she caught glimpses of the boy she met that night holding her, kissing her, his hands drifting all over her body. She could feel it all, even so far down, where the light barely reached and any attempt to speak was like screaming for help from the bottom of a lake.

She felt the waistband of her panties lift from her skin as his fingers slid under it, and stayed silent as the undergarment was stripped away. She lay there, exposed and defenseless, as his hand lowered between her legs. His fingers passed over her, gently drifting up and down, igniting sparks of pleasure that made her shudder. As she did, the haze smothered the last of her fear, threatening to suffocate her completely.

This is normal. Someone touching me like this is normal.

But he wanted more than to touch her like this. Was she really okay with letting him—?

I'm okay with it. I have to be.

But she didn't want to, she didn't love him, she didn't even like him—

That doesn't matter. It'll make him happy.

Why was that so important? What about her happiness?

Making other people happy makes me happy.

Then why wasn't she happy right now?

…

…Because I don't care anymore.

Sour Sweet watched, impassive, as the boy she barely knew removed the last of his own clothing. The girl on the bed spread her legs apart, inviting him to do what she knew he wanted. Her eyes closed, she exhaled as much as she could with the haze filling her lungs, and she waited.

He said something she didn't hear. He lowered himself between her legs, grabbed her by the hips, and pressed forward—

—She felt it touch her—

The haze disappeared, and Sour Sweet pushed him away, screaming.

III - Severe Dissociation

Lying naked on the bed, Sour Sweet couldn't stop crying.

Idiot. Hopeless, useless idiot.

Tenor immediately backed away from her. "Woah, o-okay, we're stopping—"

"I'm sorry!" Sour Sweet spat out the words like they were hot coals. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I—!"

I couldn't even keep a friend for one night.

"N-no, no, hey, it's okay, let's just—just slow down for a second—"

Isn't this supposed to be normal? What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Suddenly all too aware of how exposed she was, Sour Sweet scrambled to put her clothes on. Leggings and top, no time for anything else. She had to get out of here, she had to get away, she couldn't stay here or she'd just make things worse—

"I'm sorry," she stammered again. "I-I'm so sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me—"

I'm so fucking selfish.

"Just breathe, okay?" Tenor kept talking to her like she was a person, rather than the sick, delusional animal she was. "Let's just take a minute and talk—"

He hates me, he has to, there's no way he doesn't hate me now—

"No!" Sour Sweet cried, struggling to keep her hair out of her face as she pulled her top back on. She grabbed her shoes, not bothering to put them on as she ran past him, tears streaming down her face. "I-I have to go, I'm sorry, I have to go—!"

The door closed behind her, and just like that he was gone from her life forever. She had no time to grieve the loss of her last friend—she had to get out, now.

Down the stairs, to the back of the house. The room was full of people, but thankfully no one looked her way—at least until she started shoving her way through the crowd. Music blared around her, people staring and murmuring, as Sour Sweet pushed her way to the door.

They'll all hate me forever now.

Someone said her name, but she couldn't stop, couldn't listen. She had to get away, she had to go away. She ran out the door, across the driveway, to her car parked on the street. A voice called out to her again, but she couldn't look back. She was already in the car, turning the key, and driving away, leaving her last chance for friendship to vanish in the distance.

A few blocks away, Sour Sweet pulled over, praying no one would see her. She cut the engine, killed the headlights, and lost herself in the dark. Her chest burned as panic crashed over her like a wave, and her whimpers at the end of each breath worsened into cries.

Sour Sweet screamed. She screamed and sobbed and slammed her head against the wheel again and again. Idiot. Idiot. Couldn't she do anything right?! How long had she found a new friend in Tenor before she'd irreparably ruined things—less than two hours? What the hell was she thinking, coming to this party? She knew she'd mess it up, she knew she was hopeless. Already her second chance with the girls had crashed and burned, and now Tenor—

I led him on then ran away. He'll never want to speak to me again.

That's not what anyone else would think, though. All those people she'd barrelled through on her way out would see her for what she truly was—some stupid slut who'd spread her legs for a guy on the same night she met him, only to run away crying when it was over.

But I didn't even have the basic courtesy to let him fuck me.

Screams and cries and sobs tore at her throat. She shouldn't have said anything. She shouldn't have done anything. She should've just stayed there, silent and compliant, letting him fuck her as much as he wanted. She owed him that much, after how many times she'd told him she wanted it. He must have been so excited… She let him hold her and kiss her, strip her down and touch her everywhere, but she wouldn't let him fuck her, too?

How could I be so selfish?!

There was no excuse. He gave her so many chances to say no, but she just kept telling him what he wanted to hear, because he'd been so nice to her, and—

Sour Sweet's breathing stopped, her eyes widening. Was that all he had wanted? Did he even see her as a friend? What if it was all an act, and he was just another creep like Sunny Flare had warned her about? Tricking her, trying to make a good impression so he could get her alone, and then throw her away when he was done with her?

That would still be better than this.

Idiot. Stupid, selfish, useless idiot. How long had it been since she'd run away, five minutes? Ten? If she'd stayed, it would probably be over by now, and she might have even enjoyed it. He definitely would have, and then maybe she could have kept being his friend, so long as she let him fuck her when he wanted to. Would that really have been so bad? But no, like always, Sour Sweet couldn't control herself. She couldn't sit down, shut up, know her place—

No wonder Mom wanted me gone.

And now Tenor wanted her gone, too.

Another screaming sob ripped its way out of her. Sour Sweet hugged herself, gripping her forearms tightly, her nails digging into the skin. It stung, and little half-moons dotted her arm when she pulled away.

She deserved to hurt, after what she'd done to him, what she'd done to everyone. She had hurt so many people—Dad and Saccharine, Sunny Flare and Sugarcoat, and now Tenor. Only Mom had been smart enough to recognize Sour Sweet for the time bomb she was, and knew to get clear of the blast before it was too late. Everyone else was too good, too trusting of a sick, stupid whore who forced her presence on her friends and led people on without following through. They would all be better off if she left them alone, if she went away forever, if she just—if she would just…

…Die.

Was that true? Would they really—

Of course it's true, and everyone knows it. They're all just too nice to tell me.

They all knew. They all wanted it. They all wanted her out of their way, out of their lives, they…

Sour Sweet exhaled slowly, softly, as a cold, silent calm swept over her.

They all want me to die.

By the time Sour Sweet got to her dad's house, it was almost midnight. Dad was working tomorrow, so he'd gone to bed early, and of course Saccharine had gone to bed hours ago. Sour Sweet stumbled through the darkness, quiet and cold. Her jacket was back at Sugarcoat's house, she realized, but that wasn't important. Nothing felt important anymore.

Rather than going upstairs to bed, she instead entered the kitchen. Along the right side of the room was a set of drawers, the first of which held her target. She opened it, feeling around for the handle of the small paring knife. Dad always kept things organized, so even in the dark, the knife was easy enough to find. Sour Sweet took it, closed the drawer, then finally made her way to the upstairs bedroom.

Closing and locking the door behind her, Sour Sweet turned on the lights. She looked down at the knife in her hand.

Should I write a note?

No, that wouldn't be necessary. Everyone would understand—Saccharine might be confused at first, but Dad could explain it to her well enough.

As Sour Sweet sat on the bed, staring at the little knife, that familiar gray haze slithered its way up her spine. The whole world dulled and grew distant, and Sour Sweet, exhausted and unafraid, held the blade of the knife to the side of her neck.

Did she really want to die, though?

Does that even matter?

She needed to stop being so fucking selfish. This wasn't about her—this was about Dad and Saccharine and the girls who had been her friends, and all the pain and misery her presence would cause them. This was about Tenor, and about all the guys who Sour Sweet would doubtlessly lead on, only to torment them with her whiny bullshit. For once in her life, she needed to put the needs of others before herself and—

Sour Sweet pulled the blade away, gasping. The haze flickered, and anger swelled in her chest.

Stupid, selfish bitch.

She stared at the knife, turning it over in her hand a few times. Its blade was short, but it would be enough. Just one deep cut into the side of her neck and she would be gone, and everyone else would be happy—grateful, even…

Heartless, hopeless monster.

…But she couldn't even give them that.

Sick, slutty idiot.

The gray haze washed over her, and again, she was far away. Sour Sweet watched, unable to care, as the girl in her guise pressed the knife's edge to her forearm.

Mom was right. No one will ever love me again.

In a single, swift motion, Sour Sweet slashed the blade across her arm. The stinging sensation shot through her, cutting through the haze and everything beneath it. All the memories of her failures, all the anger and pain and terror, all the hatred and loss and misery… In an instant, it was all gone, stuffed away in the back of her mind, leaving Sour Sweet alone in the bedroom to watch her blood trickle across her skin.

Sour Sweet stayed in the bedroom, with the door locked, for all of Sunday. Hunger came, but with enough waiting, it passed. Saccharine knocked on her door a few times, but Sour Sweet just told her she was resting. On the bedside table, her phone sat unplugged, its battery dead. What the other partygoers thought of her didn't matter—whatever hurtful things they could say, Sour Sweet had already said to herself.

Through it all, the paring knife saw plenty of use. Sour Sweet made over a dozen cuts along her left forearm, and twice as many on her thighs. Whenever the haze crept in, threatening to drag her back down to that place she had been while Tenor was touching her, the knife cut through it with ease, anchoring Sour Sweet to her own body.

Every cut was made with her sins in mind. She would feel the pain, watch the blood, and think of all the people who cared about her whose lives she had made worse, just by being part of them. The friends who hated her, the boy who was so kind to her, the mother who tried so hard for her—all of them deserved better. All of them deserved a chance to hurt her, like she had hurt them. They weren't here, though, and even if they had been, they were all too kind to do to her what she deserved.

That's okay. I can do it for them.

No amount of apologies could make up for the things she'd done. Hurting herself wouldn't make up for it either, but if nothing else, it reminded Sour Sweet of what she deserved. Each cut was a prelude, she knew. A practice run for the last thing she had to do, for her best chance to do right by the good people she'd left devastated in her wake. She thought about it as she lay in bed, and it gave her enough comfort to sleep through the night.

Monday greeted Sour Sweet with a heavy pounding on her door. Panic flooded her veins as she shot up in bed, a scream already forming on her lips—until she heard who it was.

"Sour Sweet? I know you're in there!" Sugarcoat's voice called out, and the banging resumed.

What does she want? To yell at me?

Quickly as she could with sleep still clouding her eyes, Sour Sweet rolled out of bed. She threw on a hoodie to cover her arms, pulled on a pair of sweats to hide her thighs, and stuffed the knife in the drawer with all her makeup.

"I really need to talk to you!" Sugarcoat shouted through the door.

Anxiety stiffened Sour Sweet's limbs as she approached the door, and unlocked it. Whatever Sugarcoat wanted to say to her, she could take it. She deserved it. The least she could do was let her former friend chew her out for being such a needy, hopeless bitch—

Sugarcoat opened the door, and their eyes met. Behind her, Sour Sweet saw Sunny Flare with her arms crossed, and Saccharine standing halfway down the stairs, clearly scared.

"There you are!" Sunny Flare said. "God, do you ever keep your phone on?"

Just let her say what she wants. I deserve it.

Sour Sweet looked away. "S-sorry," she said quietly.

Sugarcoat sighed. "Whatever." Turning to Saccharine, still watching from the stairs, she said, "We need to talk to your big sister alone, okay?"

Saccharine looked at Sour Sweet, fear plainly written on her face, but after a moment, she nodded. "Okay," she said. "Sour Sweet?"

Sour Sweet's heartbeat rushed in her ears. "Y-yeah?"

"I-I love you, okay?" Saccharine told her. Sour Sweet thought she saw tears in her eyes. Then she was gone, down the stairs and off to another room.

Sugarcoat watched her go, before sighing and pushing her way past Sour Sweet into the bedroom. Sunny Flare did the same, and Sour Sweet, rubbing at her eyes, followed behind them and closed the door.

"I brought your stuff back," Sugarcoat said. Sour Sweet blinked, and realized that she had been holding a bundle of clothes the whole time—the jacket, bra, and panties Sour Sweet had left behind. "Do I even wanna know why I found your underwear upstairs?"

She hates me, I knew it.

"What happened, anyway?" Sunny Flare said. "One moment you're going to get us drinks, the next you're just gone, and then Zest said she saw you storming out?"

"And all of yesterday you just ignored us!" Sugarcoat said. "Do you know how worried we were?"

They both hate me.

Sour Sweet stared at the floor. "I… I-I, uhm…"

"It's totally fine," Sugarcoat said, rolling her eyes. "Like yeah, I told everyone no going upstairs, but at least you picked the guest room to hook up in—"

"I didn't!" Sour Sweet cried, her eyes watering. "I-I didn't, I…"

But I should have.

Sunny Flare's eyes went wide. Her whole demeanor softened, and she stepped forward slowly, taking Sour Sweet's hands in her own. "Sour Sweet, did… Did someone hurt you?" she asked, her voice low and quiet.

She has it backwards, I'm the one who hurt him.

Sugarcoat seemed to catch Sunny Flare's meaning, and mirrored her concern. Sour Sweet felt her hand on her shoulder, Sunny Flare's hand still holding her own, touching her—

"No!" Sour Sweet shook her head, pulling away from them both. "N-no, I-I… I didn't mean for it to happen, I-I'm sorry—"

Stop making excuses.

Sunny Flare immediately pulled Sour Sweet into a hug. "I'm so sorry," she said, holding her a little tighter. "I-I'm so sorry, Sour Sweet."

"Who was he?" Venom laced Sugarcoat's words. "Tell me his name, we can—"

She wants to get Tenor in trouble.

"Stop it!" Sour Sweet screamed, pushing Sunny Flare away. "H-he didn't do anything wrong!" How did they not understand? It was her fault—it was always her fault.

"Sour Sweet, please, listen to me." Sunny Flare stepped closer again, without touching her this time. "It's not your fault, okay? It's not."

Sour Sweet felt her breaths quicken. All at once, the fear drained out of her, leaving nothing but anger in its place. "How the fuck would you know, huh?" she snapped, glaring daggers at Sunny Flare. "You weren't there, you don't know what happened! And why do you care, anyway?!"

"Because you're my friend!"

"Stop lying to me!"

Sugarcoat took a step back, but Sunny Flare stood firm. "I'm not lying," she said. "How could I not care that—" Her voice wavered suddenly— "Th-that my friend was—"

"He didn't hurt me!" Sour Sweet shouted. She had to fix this, she had to make them understand, she couldn't cause Tenor any more trouble. "He asked me if I was okay, over and over, b-but I just, I-I just kept saying yes—"

"Even though you were scared?" Sugarcoat said.

"That doesn't matter!"

"Of course it matters!" Sunny Flare said. "It's not consent if you only said yes because you were scared of him!"

"But I wasn't scared of him!" Sour Sweet said. "Stop telling me how I feel!"

Sunny Flare looked so lost. "Then what were you afraid of?"

"That he'd throw me away like you did!" Sour Sweet screamed.

Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare were silent. Before either of them could speak, Sour Sweet continued. "How many times have you made it clear you're sick of me? How stupid do you think I am?" she cried. "Lying to me, avoiding me, trying to get me expelled?!"

"What are you talking about? We—we never…" Sunny Flare trailed off, seeming scared—furious.

"You're our friend, dumbass!" Sugarcoat said.

Liars. They both want me to die.

"You don't have to pretend anymore," Sour Sweet told them. She marched forward, herding them towards the door. "I-I know you both can't stand me, so you can stop with this—this stupid fucking pity and just cut me out of your lives already!"

"We don't—"

"Forget it!" Tears returned to Sour Sweet's eyes as she forced the girls out of the bedroom. "I can't keep living like this, always—always wondering when you'll pull the plug on me! I know you both wish I was dead, a-and that I deserve it—"

Sunny Flare raised her hand. "Sour Sweet, please—"

"—So just do yourselves a favor and leave me alone!" With that, Sour Sweet slammed the bedroom door in their faces and locked it.

She took a heavy breath, and then another. Silence loomed on the other side of the door, until at last she heard footsteps descending the stairs. The front door opened and closed, and just like that, Sour Sweet was alone.

It didn't take long for her to start crying again. Sour Sweet curled in on herself, huddled beneath the bedroom door, mourning for the death of her friendships. There could be no doubt this time. They were gone, and they would never come back.

I'm doing them a favor.

Cries grew into sobs. Sour Sweet buried her face in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her face hurt, her throat hurt, her head hurt… and she deserved all of it. All that pain and so much more. Sour Sweet didn't know how long she stayed there, crying like an idiot in a room that would never be hers. Oozing self-pity, putting on a pathetic show for no one to see, as if anyone who did would care.

No one cares. No one ever did.

It wasn't long before the gray haze found her. It wafted in from beneath the crack in the door, swirling and surrounding her, coiling around her throat and choking the last of her cries. Sour Sweet fell silent, waiting for it to take her completely. Once it did, maybe the fear would be gone. Maybe the haze could guide the knife to her neck, press it in, and slash it through.

"Sour Sweet?"

Her head rose, muscles aching. She waited, hoping Saccharine would think she was sleeping and leave, but instead her half-sister called her name again.

"Sour Sweet? Hello?" Saccharine knocked on the door lightly.

"Go away, Saccharine," Sour Sweet said. She did her best to keep her voice cold and distant, though it hardly required effort anymore.

"I… N-no!" Saccharine knocked on the door again. "Let me in, I miss you!"

Sour Sweet frowned, anger flaring in her chest. She'd only just woken up, but piecing things together made her realize that Saccharine must have been the one to usher the girls in. Dad wasn't home—he was never home. It had to be her.

Sour Sweet opened the door to see Saccharine looking up at her. The gray haze drained away as anger burned brighter, forcing it out, and Sour Sweet took a step towards her half-sister.

"Why'd you let them in, huh? Couldn't you tell I was sleeping?"

Immediately, tears formed in Saccharine's eyes. "I-I… It was late, a-and your friends said they were worried, and I was worried too—"

"They are not my friends!" Sour Sweet snapped. "And I wanted to be left alone! What part of a closed door don't you get?!"

"I-I wanted to make sure you were okay," Saccharine said.

"I've never been okay! How could I possibly be okay when everyone hates me?!"

Saccharine just looked confused. "I don't hate you," she said softly.

"Well you should," Sour Sweet said, crossing her arms. "It'll happen eventually anyway."

"But I don't want to hate you…"

"And I don't want to be hated, but it doesn't matter!" Sour Sweet said, her voice raising. "Those girls hate me, my mom hates me, Dad hates me—"

"Dad always says to be nice to you—"

"Because he's trying to trick me!" Sour Sweet yelled. "He wants to keep me here, act like everything's fine, so he'll always have me here to take care of you!"

"B-but…" Saccharine looked so sad as she said, "But Dad loves you…"

"Liar!" Sour Sweet screamed at her. "He loves you, but he just tolerates me! H-he never loved me, just like my mom never loved me!"

Saccharine tried to hug her, but Sour Sweet backed away. "He only keeps me around because of you!" she shouted, her heart so full of anger that it threatened to burst. "He needs my help now, but when I needed his, he gave me away and replaced me with you!"

Her breaths came slower and heavier in the silence that followed. Sour Sweet shut her eyes, grimacing at the dull pain of her headache. But when she opened them, her heart nearly stopped.

Saccharine wept softly, staring at the floor. "I-I'm sorry," she cried, shaking her head. "I-I'm sorry, Sour Sweet, I—I'm sorry…"

I'm a monster.

Sour Sweet took a step back. Her heart urged her to move forward, to embrace her sister, the sister who still loved her more than anything in the world—

I'll only hurt her again.

The bedroom door closed between them. Outside, Saccharine's voice was hollow and frail.

"I-I love you, Sour Sweet…"

Turning away, Sour Sweet whispered under her breath, "I love you too."

The hours passed in silence. Sour Sweet stayed in the bedroom, door locked, passing the paring knife over her skin every so often.

The gray haze had returned, and this time even the knife couldn't cut through it. As weighed down by the haze as Sour Sweet was, she barely felt the knife's sting anymore. Or maybe it was just getting dull.

I made my sister hate me.

Sour Sweet pressed the knife into her forearm, and pulled. The blade dug deep into her skin, and blood rose up behind it to fill the cut. Pain came with it, distant as it was.

I make everyone hate me.

Another cut, parallel to the last. Not as deep, but the pain of both felt like what she deserved.

They all want me to die, and they're right to. I shouldn't even be alive.

When she closed her eyes, Sour Sweet saw Saccharine's tear-stained face, heartbroken and miserable because she'd been naive enough to think she could help the sister she loved so much. She saw Tenor, confused and afraid, as the girl who had told him explicitly that she wanted him suddenly screamed and pushed him away, long after letting him hold her, kiss her, strip her naked, and touch her. She saw Sunny Flare and Sugarcoat, horrified, as the girl they once cared about shouted at them like the deranged freak she had always been and chased them away.

Monster. Slut. Idiot.

The knife bit into her again, this time on her thigh. The tops of both her thighs were stained red after dozens of cuts, large and small, had been carved into her skin.

There's no going back now.

Slowly, Sour Sweet stood up from the bed. The closet would be a good place. Knife in hand, Sour Sweet started to cross the room—then stopped. In her periphery, she saw something. A piece of paper, folded, had been slipped beneath the bedroom door.

The haze's grip on her thinned, but it still held her in place. She stared at the paper, then at the knife in her hand.

Don't look. Just do it.

Sour Sweet took a step towards the closet, but froze. Above her, the little red holiday hat hung from her bedpost, and when Sour Sweet closed her eyes, she saw Saccharine. Not hurt, not crying, but laughing excitedly as Sour Sweet opened the bag containing the first gift Saccharine had ever given her big sister.

She was so good to me, and I hurt her anyway.

Would it always be that way? Shame and guilt and pain swirled through her mind like thundering storm clouds, flashing with lightning and illuminating so many memories of all her mistakes. Years of pushing away her friends, of avoiding her father, of disappointing her little sister over and over… How could she not see the pattern? The problem was her—it had always been her. No matter what, she would always hurt the people who cared about her.

In the end, they would all leave her. Just like Dad did when she was little, and just like Mom did years later. Deep in her heart, Sour Sweet didn't just fear that—she knew it. As sure as she knew the sky was blue, she knew that anyone she tried to connect with would, sooner or later, see her for the monster she was. Then they would leave, for their own health and safety, because Sour Sweet was just too much.

Always afraid, always quick to lash out. Always inflicting her own pain on others, without even meaning to. Always mired in self-hatred, no matter how hard those around her tried to make her feel better. Who could ever love someone like that?

No one.

Her grip around the knife's handle tightened. It would be so easy. Just one quick cut into the side of her neck and everything would disappear. Dad would be relieved, Sunny Flare and Sugarcoat would be grateful, and Saccharine…

Saccharine would be devastated.

She'll get over it.

She shouldn't have to.

She replaced me. I should hate her.

How could she hate her little sister?

Half-sister.

She breathed in, and out. If she was going to leave her sister forever, she could at least read whatever Saccharine had written.

It doesn't matter what it is.

Sour Sweet placed the knife on the dresser. She would come back for it. With that thought, she retrieved the note from under the door, and opened it.

'I love you no matter what.'

The words were scrawled beneath a big heart, drawn with a bright pink colored pencil. Sour Sweet stood there, reading the words over and over. Something in her head insisted that, if she read them enough times, the words would change, or somehow lose their meaning.

But they didn't. No matter how many times she read it, the message was the same.

No matter what.

The gray haze's hold on her slipped, and Sour Sweet took the chance to tear herself away from its grasp.

Her eyes ran red with tears as she put her hoodie and sweats back on. Saccharine didn't need to see her like this. Without the anesthesia of the haze, the pain of her cuts settled in, and her every movement was stiff and slow. Even still, she never let go of the paper.

Sour Sweet found her sister downstairs, lying on the couch. At first she thought Saccharine might be asleep, until she bolted upright at Sour Sweet's approach. Without a word, Saccharine shot across the room and hugged her as tightly as a little girl could.

I don't deserve her.

That didn't matter. She loved her all the same.

She'll hate me eventually.

No. No, she wouldn't.

"S-Saccharine?" Sour Sweet only realized she was crying when her voice cracked. "Can you get me the phone, please?"

Her sister nodded and ran off to find it. Sour Sweet waited, reading over her sister's words a few more times.

No matter what.

When Saccharine returned with the phone, she handed it to Sour Sweet then immediately hugged her again. Saccharine held her the whole time as, breath wavering and limbs aching, Sour Sweet dialed their father's number.

It rang once, then twice—

"Hello?"

Sour Sweet's composure broke when she heard his voice, but she pushed on. "H-hi, Dad," she said. "I… Could you, uhm…"

"Sour Sweet? You okay?"

Saccharine held her tight. Sour Sweet looked at her sister's letter, read over the words one more time, and sighed.

"N-no," she said through her tears. "I'm not okay."

IV - Life Worth Living

The campus of Skyland Gardens stretched over several blocks of the city. A main building housed the visitor's center and the majority of the rooms used for group therapies, as well as the offices of the clinic's many therapists. From there, a path led through the campus's titular gardens, winding through flowers and art projects before forking into walkways towards the recreational annex, the greenhouse, and the residential area. It was in the last of those that Sour Sweet waited for her friends, having found a comfy enough chair beneath the wooden awning lining the outside of most of the building.

Spring was giving way to summer, and with it, the days grew warmer. In the days leading up to the girls' visit, Sour Sweet had gone back and forth with her personal counselor about whether she should wear a jacket. On one hand, of course she was ashamed and embarrassed of the scars that littered her left arm. On the other, her counselor had said, hiding them only reinforced the belief that she should be ashamed. Sour Sweet had enough reasons to hate herself, most of which she had yet to process, but this one, she had decided with a little encouragement, was something she could push back on.

They'll think I'm ugly. They'll see and be uncomfortable and wish they'd never come to see me—

No, don't spiral. Stay in control, not for the sake of others, but for herself. Feelings didn't always line up with reality, her group leader had said, and while it wasn't Sour Sweet's fault for having feelings like that, it was up to her to identify them, check the facts, and do her best to turn her mind towards feelings that were more effective.

The process didn't always feel good. Sometimes it really sucked, if she was being honest. But she had a good reason to keep going, even when all the skills and terms and everything else felt too overwhelming. Sour Sweet thought of the paper she'd brought with her, the words on it, and the sweet girl who'd given it to her, and resolved for what felt like the thousandth time to not let this thing in her head keep her from the life she wanted.

It was a dialectic, she realized, like so many others her group therapist kept talking about. Her scars might make her friends uncomfortable, and, they could still be happy to see her. One didn't cancel out the other. Contradictory feelings existing together, sometimes separate and sometimes not, best understood not in opposition to each other, but as part of a greater whole.

Her friends would feel bad when they saw her scars. They would be happy to see her. Both ideas could exist, because they were both rooted in the same truth: her friends cared about her, and they wanted her to be okay. Sour Sweet held firmly to that thought as, at last, she spotted Sunny Flare and Sugarcoat coming down the path to the residential area.

Sunny Flare was the first to wave, her pace picking up a bit as she did, and Sugarcoat wasn't far behind. Sour Sweet stood to greet them, only to nearly fall over when Sunny Flare hugged her as hard as she could.

"It's so good to see you!" Sunny Flare said.

Sour Sweet lightly hugged her friend back. "I'm happy to see you too," she whispered. Sunny Flare hugged her a little tighter, and beside them, Sugarcoat rolled her eyes—but never lost her smile.

The girls found chairs on either side of Sour Sweet, and the three of them settled in the shade of the awning. More than once, Sour Sweet caught the movement of their eyes, little stiffenings in demeanor—with her scars uncovered, both girls saw them easily enough, and—

—They hate looking at them. They hate looking at them because—

—Because they cared about her. Sour Sweet took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and opened her eyes.

"Thanks for coming, really," Sour Sweet said. "Dad and Saccharine have stopped by every few days, but… It's nice to see you again."

"Oh, Dean Cadance asked us to say hi for her," Sunny Flare said. "She said she can stop by with your graduation stuff, if you're okay with it."

Sour Sweet nodded. "That's nice of her." Graduation had been about a month after her breakdown, only a week after she'd started her treatment. "I'll think about it."

"Sorry we didn't come visit sooner," Sugarcoat said. "We wanted to, but your dad said we weren't allowed."

"Yeah, the visitation rules are weird," Sour Sweet said. "It's like, family only for the first few weeks, then I can have friends visit so long as I keep up with my groups and stuff."

"And how are those going?" Sunny Flare said softly, meeting Sour Sweet's gaze. "Is it, y'know, helping?"

She came all this way, I need to give her an answer she'll be happy with—

—Or she could be honest about how she felt.

"Kinda," Sour Sweet said, staring at the grassy yard on either side of the path. "Mostly I've just been learning a lot. I'm still new to all this therapy stuff, I guess."

"So are you feeling better at all?" Sugarcoat asked.

Tell her what she wants to hear—

"Not really," Sour Sweet sighed. It was an unhappy truth, but it was the truth. Was it the whole truth, though? Sour Sweet thought of her sister, of the words on the paper Saccharine had given her, and added, "But it'll get better. I know it will."

"That's good," Sunny Flare said. Tears lined her eyes as she put a hand on Sour Sweet's shoulder. "I'm really proud of you. I can't imagine how hard this is, but you're here, and you're working to make it better."

Sour Sweet looked her way, and smiled. It felt real. "Thank you," she said. "A-and, uhm… I'm really sorry. About, y'know, how things went at my dad's place."

"Don't worry about it," Sugarcoat said. "We were never mad at you, dummy. Just worried, y'know?"

Sour Sweet sighed. "Y-yeah, I know. I'm sorry for making you worry."

"What'd I tell you about no sorries?" Sunny Flare told her.

Sour Sweet didn't know how to respond to that without another apology, so she just nodded.

"So like—and you don't have to answer if you don't want to—" Sugarcoat waved a hand— "but what's wrong with you, anyway?"

Immediately, Sunny Flare reached over Sour Sweet to smack Sugarcoat on the arm. "What the hell, Sugarcoat?" she snapped. "Have a little tact!"

"I'm just asking!" Sugarcoat shrugged. "So I can better understand, y'know? And be a good friend and all that?"

"It's okay," Sour Sweet said. She took a deep breath, remembering what her counselor said—a diagnosis was nothing to be afraid of. It didn't define her, and there was no shame in sharing it.

—But what if they think—

"It's called borderline," Sour Sweet said the words before the fear could catch her. "It's like this emotion regulation disorder, like all my feelings are always dialed up to eleven."

"How do you feel about it?" Sunny Flare asked.

"Honestly, not as bad as I thought I would," Sour Sweet said. "I already knew something was wrong with me, but now that I know it has a name, and it's been studied, and there are ways to treat it… It's scary, but at the same time, at least I know I'm not just crazy?"

"That's really good." Sunny Flare smiled at her. "You're not crazy—you just need some help, that's all."

Sugarcoat nodded. "So is it like a genetic thing?"

Sour Sweet shook her head. "My counselor said it comes from a few things, and that can be part of it, but it's mainly caused by, uhm… being abused as a kid."

"Oh." Sunny Flare paused, taking Sour Sweet's hand. "What… What, uhm—"

I can't tell her, what if Mom finds out and comes after me—

"My mom," Sour Sweet said quietly. "She's… not a very good person, and she never really liked me. And she let me know that in a lot of ways." Saying any of this felt like inviting God to strike her down with lightning, but it was the truth. "She always assumed the worst of me… I think it's like, she said and did so much bad stuff when I was little, that she taught me to not like myself, either, and now I'm always scared everyone else will treat me the way she did."

Sunny Flare hugged her again. "I'm sorry you had to live through that," she said.

"Yeah," Sour Sweet sighed. "Me too."

"At least she can't hurt you anymore," Sugarcoat said. "So how long are you gonna be here for?"

"It's a three-month program," Sour Sweet said. Three months that felt as if they stretched out towards infinity.

"We'll keep visiting, if you'll let us," Sunny Flare told her. "Whenever you want, okay? Good weeks, bad weeks, boring weeks—you let us know, and we'll be here, soon as we can."

"Y-you really don't have to," Sour Sweet said. "I know it's a long time—"

"We want to, dummy." Sugarcoat nudged her with a smile. "You're in, like, a big mental health place, of course we wanna check up on you. Make sure you're doing okay, y'know?"

Sour Sweet couldn't bring herself to look at either of them. Even in treatment, she made her friends worry. Shouldn't she feel bad about that?

Of course I should, I'm inflicting distress on people who care about me because I'm too much—

…Or she could be grateful, she realized. Grateful that she had people in her life who cared about her enough to worry when she wasn't okay.

Sour Sweet sighed. "I think… I think I am starting to feel better, actually."

At that, Sunny Flare reached over and hugged her again. After a pause, even Sugarcoat joined in.

Sunny Flare hugged her a little tighter. "Even on the days when you don't, you're still our friend, no matter what."

Tears welled up in Sour Sweet's eyes. A small sob left her, but it was a happy thing. She smiled—a real, true smile—and let herself fully sink into the embrace.

No matter what.

Author's Note

This story was inspired by my own experiences with borderline personality disorder, prior to getting treatment. If you feel like the emotional patterns displayed in this story are similar to your own, I highly recommend asking a mental health professional about Dialectical Behavior Therapy. It's life-changing in the best possible way.

Thank you for reading :heart: