I CARRIED KARATS ; private

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Fun fact: Suiteheart was playing the ukulele she had traded the old merchant for. The door to her room was cracked just slightly, and a soft melody trickled into the hallway. It was sad and sweet and quiet. She hummed ever so slightly as she played. Weariness bloomed in her low singing, but she could not rest - would not rest. Her dreams were too odd to sleep, and she refused to give in to the odd sights she encountered as she slumbered. Old languages, murder, vampires... She could not fathom why she was dreaming of these things, but unbeknownst to her, these were memories.

In due time, she would discover all the answers to her many questions, but now was not then. Instead, she would be left to wonder, so she occupied her mind with other things. Though she had spent most of the day wondering about her ailing, pregnant wife as well as Hazel and Bastille, she quickly ditched her worry in favor of redecorating she and Margaery's room. It had started by removing everything and starting fresh.

After stripping the room bare, she began to replace the furniture (who knew shapeshifting was so useful?). She began with placing down bedding: she had found a ton of different pillows and blankets from various unused rooms. After creating a sleeping area, she moved on to the walls. Small cords of twine were strung across the walls, and pictures she had taken were hung from the cord. Smiling and laughing faces in the photographs cheered her on as she hung up a drawing Littlepaw had given her for her birthday over a year ago. Various potted flowers and succulents were sat upon a few tables that were scattered with knickknacks like seashells and gemstones. Two helves full of books lined one wall.

After she had finished redecorating, she had chosen to rest and play her instrument. Sheet music was scattered around her, and a look of concentration adorned her features. A blank sheet of paper sat at her immediate left while a pen rested on its face. It appeared as though she were trying to write a song or capture a small tune (she was repeating a few musical phrases, playing the same several notes more than a few times). Once a few moments elapsed, she scribbled something illegible down on the sheet of paper before changing the notes up. Suiteheart's face quirked up in disgust, for she clearly did not enjoy the sound she was producing. She knew that this would take time - perhaps too much time - to work out, but the activity was therapeutic. For the first time in a handful of days, she felt calm.

The white feline, as she picked the strings of her ukulele, could almost forget her sick Margaery. She could almost forget the fight she had with Bastille and then finding him at the border. She could almost forget having to drag Hazel away from Bast, as if she were afraid he would hurt her. She could almost forget the awful dreams. The terrible events of the passed two weeks melted into nothing as she composed a small song. And that was how it should be, she thought. Still, she could not help but feel guilty.

So absorbed in her own activity, she didn't hear Hazel knocking.

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

ooc im morphing this into a human au bc i should have specified that earlier but i didn’t, oOPS

Hazel would forever follow the sound of music.

She would forever love the way the sounds bathed sensation over her skin; guitar strings like honey and drums like a heartbeat. It flowed like water, fell like rain, broke like glass - the notes sang like birds and wailed like thunderstorms while the baseline crashed like lightning, and the melody rolled like thunder. Music created windows to new worlds, opened eyes to souls and set poetry in motion, and she would always, always follow it.

But this time, it just so happened that she was already outside the place where the sweet notes drifted from. It was possible she had followed it here, but...she didn’t know. All Hazel knew was that her hands were shaking and her forehead was pressed against the cool metal of Suite’s door, trying to remember what she was doing and collect herself enough to actually go through with it.

Because hell, there were pieces of her scattered everywhere.

Angry pieces, bitter pieces; pieces sharp with frustration and confusion and...and god knew what else. There was fear, awash with old memories, and there was relief. All-encompassing, consuming relief in watching their idiot Seraph suck in his first breath after a minue and a half of silence. After a minute and a half of just...nothing. After no pulse, afer being able to see the deathly stillness of his body. All this time, Hazel had been so frustrated with him; so upset at him for hurting Margaery and Suite and for drinking and acting like he felt nothing. She was still frustrated with him, really. But walking up to that border, Hazel had gone cold; felt it all drip like ice into her veins, felt it freeze over and she just froze.

There was the terror of never seeing him again - of never hearing him laugh, of never rolling her eyes at his sarcastic wit or listen to his voice drag over the words of ancient classics in the fading evening light. And it washed over her slowly, cruelly, wave by wave drowning her in this horror that was losing what she’d worked so hard to get. It was in that moment, of cold, icy realization, that she realized she wanted to help him, despite everything he’d done, said, or reminded her of.

Then he woke up, staring at her like a lifeline, and looked away. And then everything came rushing back, and Hazel wanted to yell at him.

But now she realized there was something else she needed to do. Something else that had been such a roadblock for her, she could hardly do anything. So she took her shaking hands and curled it into a loose fist, knocking against Suite’s door. When there was no answer, Hazel took a shaking breath, and turned the doorknob, pushing her way in ever so slightly.

“Suite? I...can I talk to you, please?”

★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★

[sup]c) miithers[/sup]

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"][okay deadass ya girl was going to do that anyway but i forgot]

Shay was no stranger to having to watch those you love die. In her years on Earth, she had had to witness it countless times. She had sat beside them, those she lost. She had held their shaking hands, and she had felt their grip on her slowly, slowly loosening. She had watched, with great tears, as the light of life drained out of their own eyes. With trembling voice, she had assured them everything would be alright. Through sobs, she sang gently to them as they slipped into the afterlife, leaving her and the rest of everything they had ever known.

She had held onto Margaret, once, as her wife died. Shay had held her hand and begged her not to leave. Margy had simply smiled sadly, placing her hand on Shay's cheek. She had tried to explain she would be back, that she could never truly leave Shay's side, but despite knowing her wife would return, the pain of parting (if only for a short while), had destroyed a part of her soul.

Shay wasn't sure. Maybe she was just selfishness. Maybe she just couldn't deal with being alone. It felt like she had been on her own her entire life, and after she met her wife, it felt like she was home. To have that feeling, that person, ripped away from you in one fluid movement was more than words could describe. It pained her more than anything else had in the past and probably more than anything in the future. It took her breath away. It made her lose a sense of purpose and belonging.

And now, as her wife was pregnant, she was beginning to feel these things again. Cruel thoughts crept up into her mind, and she tried to fight them. It made her sick to think about. And the whole situation with Bast only made it worse. His yelling and accusations made her feel like complete and utter shit, like a failure. A part of her knew it was true and maybe that was what hurt the worst.

Drawn from her thoughts by Hazel's voice, she almost jumped. The Ecliptic Admiral smiled as she realized who it was, and nodded her head at the question. "Yeah, yeah, c'mon in," she said. Upon noticing the other female's shaken appearance, concern washed over her face. She put her instrument down and focused completely on Hazel. "What's wrong?"

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel swallowed as she inched further into the room, eyes tracking Suite’s hands. Her tongue felt thick against the roof of her mouth, unsure of what to do or how to start. She knew what needed to be said, but she didn’t know how to...get there.

Dragging her bottom lip beneath her teeth, Hazel pushed the door shut, listening to the small click of the knob before she turned around. Her eyes found Suite’s hands again, then the walls, following the twine clinging to the paneling. The photos that hung there seemed like such a Suite thing to do, even if Hazel had never physically witnessed her take a picture. The other baubles scattered about the room - seashells, gemstones, geodes - seemed to emit the same sort of Suite claim over the room.

Admittedly, her gaze snagged on the bookshelves, a bubble of bittersweetness rising in her chest even if a small, fond smile tugged at her lips. Everyone in the Ascendants seemed to have a bookshelf...except Hazel. She hoped to fix that one day. Her eyes roamed the spines of the books, hoping to spot something classic or Latin-written, but found nothing that stuck out to her immediately. Hazel let her eyes flutter shut, tipping her head back against the door for a brief moment. God, she missed Bastille and his book collection.

Standing up again and pushing away from the door, Hazel took a step toward the middle of the room, and hesitated. “Nothing. I’m - nothing is wrong.” She stumbled over the words, feeling her heart clog her throat. A fleeting smile appeared in a poor attempt to prove her statement. Find a distraction, find a distraction, a little voice whispered. Hazel blinked, feeling a bit more panicked than before now that she was actively wasting Suite’s time.

Eyes falling to the ukulele next to the other, Hazel’s focus sharpened. She’d always wanted one of those...had always heard they made the happiest sounds. She glanced at Suite, barely inclining her head towards the instrument. “Can - can I - ?” Hazel stammered, sitting down and reaching for it, hoping Suite said yes.

It was smaller than she thought. It seemed more fragile than some people said. Hazel held her breath, reverent, as she settled it in her lap and ran trembling fingers over the smooth wood. “I always wanted one of these,” Hazel murmured, voice hardly above a whisper. “but Mother said music makes her head hurt.” She didn’t look at Suite - just kept her gaze somewhere between the blankets and the instrument. The back and stem of it were still warm from where it rested against Suite, and Hazel clung to it in a way, feeling stupidly desperate as the heat seeped elsewhere.

She ran her fingers lightly over the strings, letting the ridges of the cords trail along her fingerprints. Then she pressed down, wanting to hear the twang of music. Her thumb nearly slipped, as nervous as she was; knowing that this wasn’t hers and she was inexperienced with it and could readily break it if she wasn’t careful.

As the sound escaped into the air, Hazel bit her lip through a watery smile. It was a ridiculous thing to get emotional over, but... “I never thought I’d get to hear it in person,” much less play it. “Never thought I’d get to learn. Mother hates the idea of me making “useless, obstructive noise” all day long.” She breathed, not quite ready to let go of the ukulele.

★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★

[sup]c) miithers[/sup]

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Baby blue eyes studied the younger girl carefully. Shay's eyes were soft as if she were worried staring too hard might break her. Shay had seen this look before - not on Hazel, no, but she had seen it in plenty of others. It was uncertainty mingled with many other things, she knew. A small frown morphed upon her pink lips, replacing the lopsided grin she had so readily displayed upon Hazel's entrance. The concern that was gathering on her features multiplied. Something was clearly wrong.

She watched as Hazel's eyes searched the room, focusing on every little thing. For a brief second, Suite almost felt embarrassed. So much of her personal life was on display in her room: wedding pictures, baby pictures of the triplets, the hand-drawn family portrait illustrated by Jack in crayon. There were records on the desks depicting her love of everything classic rock to new pop. Jewelry was stacked neatly together on a shelf, but she wore her favorite ones - the silver locket Margy had given her and the bracelet Hazel had made for her. Besides that, there were just oddities from all over from her year of travel. Everything in her room was personalized to fit the aesthetic she lived and the one she shared with Marg. Despite it feeling like she was showing Hazel a part of her soul often untouched by others, she no longer felt sheepish; she loved Hazel like a daughter or a sister even. She didn't mind letting the golden girl into her world. She especially didn't mind when it appeared the other was in need of help. 

"Hazel, I know you," she murmured. She took pride in knowing what emotions looked like on those she cared for deeply. She knew when Hazel was happy, normal, but this was neither of those things. There was clearly something upsetting the other, and Shay wanted to get to the bottom of it. However, she didn't want to pry. Maybe Hazel just needed to be around someone right now. Shay often felt that way. "If you want or need to talk about something, I'm here for you. Always." She offered Hazel a reassuring smile and left it at that.

Watching as Hazel's attention fell onto the ukulele, Shay grinned a bit. It was more than obvious Haze was interested in the instrument, and without the girl needing to finish her sentence, the blonde had picked it up and was placing it into the younger girl's hands. Music was always a good force in her life. It made her feel at peace with parts of herself that she otherwise would have been at war with for years to come. It grounded her. She wondered if it could offer the same type of solace to Hazel.

"My parents were super against music too," she admitted, pulling a knee up and wrapping her arms around it. She tried to think back to her mother and father, but things were always so hazy. She remembered minor details, and she believed she must have forcefully forgotten all those shitty times. "I'm sorry you didn't get to experience playing music when you were younger, but it's never too late to start," she added after a beat, reviving that lopsided grin of hers.

Quietly, she sat and listened to Hazel's words about her mother and one small thing she had never had the chance to get to know. It tugged at the strings of her heart, and Shay decided that if she ever met Hazel's mother, she would give her hell. Absolute hell. "Hey, Haze, I've got an idea," the blonde said, sitting up, inching closer to the other. "How about I give you that ukulele, huh? As a late birthday gift? And I can teach you how to play it too. I'm pretty good at teaching if I do say so myself." She chuckled the last part of her words, but sincerity bathed her tone throughout her speech. From the look on Hazel's face, this was clearly something she had always dreamed of. If Shay could make a little part of it come true, why shouldn't she try?

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel, I know you.

Hazel swallowed thickly, fingers stilling over the strings of the instrument. Did she tell her? Did she dare expose the rest of her broken, shadowed past? Hazel scraped her teeth against her bottom lip, worrying at it like her fingers worried along the lines of the chords. There was so much that could go wrong if she broke, if she gave in. There was so much at stake, so much that Hazel wanted to desperately cling to - so much that she wasn’t ready to lose yet.

Hazel’s gaze fell to the necklace resting against Suite’s collarbone. Her tongue felt dry, her throat raw; she felt that if she opened her mouth to speak, no sound would fall from her lips. “No...no, you don’t know me.” The girl finally whispered, voice hoarse and cracking.

“You think you know me, but you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about where I come from or why I came to the Ascendants, Suite.” She spoke quietly, unknowingly curling into herself. “I didn’t...Mother always said that I’d never be allowed to leave the house, that I didn’t deserve to see the world. I didn’t believe her for a while, y’know?” The ghost of a forced smile danced across her lips. “When she left for the night, and if I had finished my chores, I would sneak out the back door for a little while and touch everything I could get my hands on. Broken pots, dirt, grass, worms, caterpillars, tree bark. I got so many splinters from trying to climb the fence,” She huffed out a wet huff, curling her fingers into her palms. “Those were hard to hide from Mother. I learned pretty quickly that I wasn’t very good with tweezers. I must’ve been...seven or eight, I think.”

Hazel didn’t remember when she set the ukulele aside, leaving it in favor of curling her arms around her knees. She remembered her backyard so vividly: the five foot tall wooden fence, the young maple tree growing against the wall of their house, the assortment of broken flower pots hidden among the overgrown weeds and grass to the left of the back door. How many times had she drawn the small square of land? How many times had she laid there, late at night, staring at the stars and listening to the steady thump of music and drunken yelling from the house down the street?

“I stopped going outside when I was ten. Mother had locked the back door; sealed it shut with something. And I was too scared to go out the front door, because I figured one of the neighbors saw me and told Mother - the front lawn wasn’t any safer.” She shrugged, trying to tap down the memory of her last night outside for a very long time. “I didn’t get dinner for a week after Mother found out I went outside. It wasn’t...so bad, I suppose, because I still got breakfast and lunch. I pretty much made myself dinner anyway, because Mother was usually out. I think what really hit me was... uh...” The first time Mother took a kitchen knife to the inside of your leg. Hazel swallowed thickly.

“Mother used to spank me with the back of metal serving spoons. That started when I was seven and a half. By the time I was eight, she would - she would take anything near her and hit me with it if I did something she didn’t like. I had bruises everywhere...my knees, the backs of my hands, my elbows and arms, my stomach. I wish she would have stuck to the spoons and dull-ended household items.” She breathed, resting her forehead on top of her knees and squeezing her eyes shut.

“She started using sharper things around the time I was nine, I think. Kitchen knives, forks. Scissors. She’d just...she’d get so angry, and she’d grab me by the arm and drag me to the kitchen and open the top drawer and - and -“ Hazel’s breath hiccuped. She snapped her head up, opening haunted, unfocused eyes so she didn’t relive the horrifying memory. But she didn’t look at Suite, either. Just let her gaze fall over her shoulder.

Tears gathered quickly in the corners of her eyes. “The littlest things could set her off, it was - it was horrible. She’d be quiet, and then a floor board would creak and she’d start screaming, Suite, and if I ran, I just got twice the punishment. I spent so many nights teaching myself to bite my tongue, to bandage up my cuts and scrapes and hide them. They made Mother angry, too.” Hazel buried her face in her arms again, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Suite must have thought she was an abomination, a freak by now, but Hazel was too deep into it to shut her mouth just yet. “I think the worst place she would put me was the coat closet, where we kept all the cleaning supplies. It was pitch black and dusty and cramped; it reeked of chemicals and I think that if you shone a flashlight in there during the day, there would be spots of blood all over the floor.”

For a minute Hazel just sat there, face burning with shame as she quietly sucked in breath after shallow breath, knowing Suite was looking at her with some sort of horror. “I’m so weak, Suite, I was so tired of being afraid...so I ran, ran as fast as I could and ended up here. Didn’t matter - I’m still weak and I’m still a coward and I’m still afraid; nothing’s changed!” Her voice was rising, the jittering in her fingers spreading to the rest of her body. “I’m still...” Her voice cracked. “I’m still covered in scars.”

Hazel didn’t register her offer; though if she had, she would have refused profusely, vehemently against taking something that Suite used so frequently for comfort. What she did register was the gentle rocking of her body and the utter despair and misery coursing through her veins, knowing that Suite would never look at her the same way again.

“But...there’s something you have to understand,” She croaked. Something that might make you see. “Mother wasn’t always mean. When I was little - really little, she’d take me out to the front yard and blow bubbles for me. She’d paint my fingernails. She’d bring me these colorful little toys from the store across the street. It went away gradually; started with the smell of alcohol that clung to her clothes. Then she started staying out every night, and would come home stoned and sloshed and how she didn’t die from overdose, I don’t know.” Hazel’s heart ached; ached for the old memories she could hardly remember now, for the memories she was starting to think were fever dreams. Her heart also ached in a new way: a way that was fresh and desperate, because someone else in her life had recently started coming back with the smell of alcohol clinging to his clothes...

“I don’t want to hate her.” Hazel admitted, jerkily wiping at the tears that slid down her cheeks. “I can’t hate her because it wasn’t really her fault. She was a good person once. She really was. I just...I didn’t help her. And now I’m just terrified, Suite. I’m so scared. I know people here wouldn’t hurt me, but every time someone lays their hand on me I can’t feel anything but her nails and the kitchen knife and hear her voice; it was always so angry at me, Suite, she was always so angry. I want to get better, but I can’t get the images out of my head - I don’t know how to get rid of them.” She cried quietly, letting her head hit her forearms. 

★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★

[sup]c) miithers[/sup]

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"][this is so long and i proofread none of it so rip @ me]

Shay liked to think she knew everyone. One of her most special talents was her ability to read people. She could tell if they were happy, sad, angry - it didn't matter how hard they tried to hide it. She could hear the deep sorrow hidden in laughter. She could see rage like a dark cloud, resting in someone's eyes. She could pick out joy in plain-faced individuals. As someone who was so used to messing things up, she had had to learn how to read people. She had to learn how to tell if she stepped for far over lines or if she hadn't stepped far enough. Shay supposed this was also true because she genuinely cared for most everyone she met. She wanted, needed, to know how the important people in her life were feeling. She just wanted to help.

Soft sky-colored eyes watched as Hazel swallowed and then averted her eyes. Shay's eyebrows would knit together in deep concern. Something was clearly wrong. She opened her mouth, on the verge of an apology because it seemed she had once again taken one too many steps over a line, but Hazel was speaking. The other's words hit her like a ton of bricks because it was true. Despite feeling as though she had known Hazel her entire life, Shay had not truly known her for too long. Even so, that did not detract from the fact that she cared so deeply about the other; it also did not detract from the fact that Hazel had the habit of wearing her emotions on her sleeve, much like Shay.

In silence, she listened. Worry of motherly proportions drifted into her gaze as Hazel began to recount the story of her life. Without thinking, her hand moved to hold onto her necklace, toying with it as she listened. The comfort it often brought her was not quick-coming as she noted how upset Hazel was becoming. Shay wanted to tell her that it was okay, that she didn't have to tell her these things, but she held her tongue. Maybe Hazel just needed to talk this through.

Shay shook her head slightly. Hazel's mother never let her leave the house? Shay's parents had begged for that to happen. She had been so problematic as a child, going into her early teenage years. She had been consumed by rage and odd memories that did not feel as though they were her own (even though they were). Her parents could not fight her combative personality, so they let her come and go as she pleased. They had tried, and deep down, she knew they had loved her. The blonde female had, at one point, believed them to be horrible, awful people. Oh, how wrong she had been. Hazel's mother was far and away worse than her own had been, and that killed Shay's soul.

She watched as Hazel pulled her knees to her chest, resting her forehead against her knees. The sadness in the other's voice was difficult to swallow, but the matter-of-fact tone was even worse. Shay hated that this was something the Starstruck Guardian was used to. No one should have to deal with abuse from someone who was supposed to nurture you. When Hazel lifted her head and Shay saw the tears forming in the other's eyes, her chest felt tight. Hazel, for all her smiles and sunshine, had lived through absolute hell. And there was still more to the story.

Shay turned, reaching for a box of tissues that was sat atop a small desk to her right. When she returned to have Hazel, the other had once again placed her head down. Wordlessly, the Ecliptic Admiral placed the tissue box at Hazel's side.

If Hazel had been expecting a look of horror from Shay, she would have gotten that. The look was not directed at Hazel but at the girl's mother. She could not wrap her mind around the fact that Hazel had lived through all of this to tell the tale. Shay was not so strong; she would have crumbled beneath the terrors of Hazel's home life. Although she conducted herself as an almost indestructible individual, she broke as easily as a piece of fine china would when it fell to the ground. She often faked it until she made it, but Hazel... Hazel was made from an entirely different mold; she was more powerful than Shay could ever hope to be.

"You're not weak," Shay began, voice breaking under the emotions she was experiencing. Clearing her throat, she started again: "I promise you that you aren't weak. Haze, anyone that can find it within themselves to escape something like that is so fucking strong. Please see that, okay?" There were so many people who were often too afraid to leave what they had only ever known - even if it was bad. Hazel had not been afraid to save herself. "It takes more than guts to do what you did - to live through what you lived through, kiddo... And after everything, you still smile. Hazel, my dear, that's strength. Anyone who can live through hell and come out on the other side as loving and caring as you are is someone who's strong. I know it doesn't seem that way, but I swear to you that that's the truth." She hoped Hazel could understand and accept that. "And being covered in scars is okay too. I know they look ugly, and they're a constant reminder of everything that tried to break you. But they're also proof that you survived."

Shay's hand moved to the collar of her shirt. She moved it down just slightly to expose her upper chest and show Hazel two large marks. It was an old wound, but time had not made it fade. She let go of her shirt, returning things to normal and concealing her scars once more. "I have a few more, but that's the worst one. A few years ago, the group I lived with was attacked. I was captured, brought into the enemy's territory... It was a good thing my captor was a shitty aim." She shook her head minutely, but she knew that had he been better, she would have been dead. "I like to pretend I'm a badass, but I couldn't do anything. I was too scared. I just... let everything happened. I stayed there for weeks, too afraid to do anything. People had to rescue me." She paused as a slight embarrassment washed over her. "But you, Haze? You rescued yourself." She smiled, gently. "The scars I have don't make me any less of a person though - they don't make me weak or stupid or anything else. They don't make you any less of a person either. I promise."

The deputy listened, too, as Hazel began explaining things had not always been terrible. It broke her heart to hear. Hazel had once been surrounded by goodness, by light and love, and then slowly, it faded. The smiles turned to screams, the toys turned to knives, and fingernail polish turned to alcohol and drugs. People changed. That was one of the great horrors of the world.

"I hate that you had to deal with that for so long, Haze. No one should have to," she said, a frown upon her face. "And I know how hard it is to hate someone even after all the bad things they've done. I think it's human nature, you know?" She lifted one shoulder up in a half-shrug. It was perfectly fine to not like her mother as well. It was perfectly plausible to love someone and not like them at the same time. She knew that was probably how Hazel felt, so she left it unsaid. "Hey, just promise me you won't blame yourself for what happened with your mom, okay?"

Her frown deepened as Hazel began wiping away tears. Hazel was more than torn out about this, and Shay wished so badly she still had the ability to help soothe the emotions of others. She also wished for the ability to take away Hazel's pain because, God, she wanted to do that so badly. "It's okay, Haze, really," she began. "After everything you've been through, it'll take time to get used to things again. Don't beat yourself up over it." It was almost similar to Shay's feelings with alcohol; several bad experiences with it had caused her to tense up and feel uneasy around alcoholic substances. "I know you're trying though, and that's always the first step. And I would start with little things: handshakes, high-fives, that sort of thing. But only when you feel comfortable. No one is going to force you to do something you don't have to."