BLOODLETTERED.

                               she  stares  back  at   her   sister  blankly,         at  a  loss  for  words  as  her  eyes  dart  between  the  cigarette      &      the  younger  girl,       clearly  not  at  all  concerned  about   her  being  in  her  room,      rather  what  she  was  doing  there.       her  room  was  clean,      for  the  most  part   —–    but  that  was  only  because  she  barely  spent  any  time  in  it.         all  she  really  cared  about  now  was  that  her  sister  was  being  reckless        (      something  she  expected  out  of  her  but  HOPED  would  calm  down  given  her  current  condition      ).       ❛       rachel,      is  this  some  kind  of  idiotic  prank?          you  can’t  smoke  right  now!     ❜          she  said,     quickly  moving  over  to  her   to  tug  the  cigarette  out  of  her  hand,      as  if  she  had  any  kind  of  real  authority  over  her.          ❛      can  you  maybe  just  try  to  deal  with  ONE  bad  thing  at  a  time   —–     like,     i  don’t  know,     that   bandage  on  your  neck,        ❜          she  said,     her  tone  slightly  mocking  as  she  pointed  towards  her  neck.         ❛    you  survived,     you’re  not  invincible.      no  smoking,      ❜       she  repeated,     but  this  was  all  because  she  cared  about  her  sister.       she  had  lost  her  for  so  long   —–  now  that  she  was  finally  back,      she  wanted  to  know  she  was  SAFE,       &     she  was  prepared  to  do  whatever  she  had  to  to  ensure  that.

her sister’s bedroom looks a lot different,  but somehow still the same.    the same  personal touches  that made it so unmistakably  audrey jensen.    the same purple fucking walls she used to hate.    bullet’s seemed all too impersonal by comparison.    it belonged to a ghost.    to rachel jensen and the girl she  used  to be.    not the junkyard bitch who’s been staying there.    she prefers audrey’s because she hated it a little less than her own.    felt at ease despite how it changed,  but didn’t know how to say that.    and even if she  did,  she wouldn’t have bothered.     ❛     yo,  don’t tell me what to do !    ❜     it puts a strain on her throat to even raise her voice above a  conversational level,  but she manages with only  minimal struggle.     ❛     give it back,  ya thievin’ ass punk !    i’m not playin’,  yo,  c’mon,  this ain’t funny !     ❜     makes a grab for the appropriated cigarette at least twice before giving in,  waving a hand in dismissal and taking a step back to lean against the windowsill.     ❛     you ain’t gotta give me a speech,  a’ight ?    you’re all worried ‘n shit.    i get it.    yo’ room,  yo’ rules,  blah,  blah,  blah.    ❜