Danger Days

Chapter Eight

(TRIGGER WARNINGS: Panic attacks, crying, very very mild self harm)

Plastic's breathing began to quicken. All of the emotions from the day were beginning to catch up to her. She went inside the room, closing and locking the door behind her, as the familiar feeling of a panic attack filled her.

Faint nausea churned in her stomach as she paced, breathing quickly. She felt a powerful urge to claw at her own skin.

She moved her hands up and buried them in her hair, pulling. It wasn't long however, before they moved to scratch at her arms, irritating the scratches from the bushes that she slept in.

She walked to the dresser, where sat a small stack of books. She pulled out a random hardcover and began beating herself on the forhead with it, squeezing her eyes shut.

Her panic began to ebb away as she did this, and before long she found herself able to climb into the dusty bed.

She buried her head under the gray sheets, sobbing as she smelled the faint smell of her mother. It was a smell she had never been able to describe. It wasn't flowers, or herbs, or food or anything. It was just mom. That's what she knew it as. And although as a child it had been comforting, now it just filled her with sadness. Pure, aching sadness that seemed to ooze into her heart and eat away at it like acid.

Plastic finally gave into her emotions, and cried.

She cried until her face was wet. Until her throat and chest ached. She wanted to wail as loud as she could, but knew her neighbors wouldn't appreciate it.

So she buried her face into a white pillow to muffle the noise, and cried some more. The pillow soon became damp, but she continued. She didn't care anymore.

It wasn't long before she heard a knock at the door. She ceased her crying at once, then raced to a mirror that leaned against the wall. Her face was damp and red, and her eyes were puffy.

She wiped her face dry, then took deep breaths while counting until there was another knock, and she went to open it.

At the door stood a blonde boy in a white killjoy mask. He wore an open lab coat over a white shirt and black jeans. His blue eyes examined her curiously.

"Hello," he said. "I know it's not my place, but I heard crying... I thought this room was abandoned."

"It's fine," she sniffed. "I'm Plastic Parade."

"Scientific Inhale," he said, smiling and revealing dimples.

"Thanks for checking on me," she half laughed. "And sorry for being so pathetic."

"You aren't pathetic," he protested. "Most Killjoys here have a lot of bad memories that they'd rather remember." He looked up at the pictures on the corkboard, and he smiled. "Is Nicotine your sister?"

"Yeah." Plastic chuckled. "I guess she's pretty popular around here, huh."

"I know the names of almost everyone here," Scientific stated. "But yes, Nicotine is pretty popular here. She's a really good artist, and writer."

"She always was."

A yell came from next door. It was muffled, but sounded like Scientific's name.

"That's my roomate," he said. "I should be getting back. We're in 28, don't be afraid to come over if you need us."

"Will do."

Scientific gave her one last smile, then went next door. She heard muffled chattering from inside.

Plastic closed the door and sat on the bed. The cuts on her arm were tingling, but she didn't move to bandage them, or clean off the blood that was beading up.

Instead, she stared up at the pictures on the corkboard, and smiled. Nicotine was smiling in some of them, something she didn't do often. Plastic was grinning in all of them, and her mother gave a closed mouth smile. Her mother was only in a few pictures, which were the ones with her kids in them too.

Plastic stared at them for a few minutes before deciding to look in the drawers. Two of them were clothes, but the last had stuff in it. A pack of expensive pencils that her mom had always used, a stuffed dog and a stuffed rabbit, which were Plastic and Nicotine's childhood toys, a binder filled with drawings and empty paper, a few books, some more pictures, and a gray and green blaster.

Plastic picked up the stuffed dog and looked into it's black button eyes. It was a brown and black dog the size of a water bottle, with a sewn on black smile. It was covered in lint and dust, but it was familiar. Plastic remembered the fit she had thrown when her mother had taken it away, saying she wanted it to last. Now, the memory was bittersweet. The dog smelled like dust.

The rabbit, which was slightly bigger, white, and less linty, remained in the drawer.

Plastic closed the drawer, shook the dust off the dog, and set it on top of the dresser, blowing the dust off the top before doing so.

Plastic gave a high-pitched sneeze, one she had always been slightly ashamed of, and sat on the bed. The room was dirty, and kind of ugly. It would need a new paint job, and maybe better floor besides the gross-feeling carpet that was there now, but that could wait until tomorrow. For now, it was late, and Plastic was very tired.

She flopped back onto the bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling. Life was changing, maybe not for the better.