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i. clementine has a breakdown in the bathroom

LOVE CLUB !
━━━━ 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙣𝙚.
⋆ bad things: cults ⋆
⋆ ebwtrtw: tears for fears ⋆

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CLEMENTINE spends a lot of time wondering what it's like to die – what it feels like, what it sounds like. She wonders if she'll explode like the music blasting through her headphones, sharing one last cry to the world before going silent for the rest of eternity. Or maybe, she'll turn into a shadowy static of nothingness that's only barely there – it's how she feels most days, anyway.

And, if she isn't already fantasizing about dying enough, being forced to see the counsellor every week would do the trick. Her mom decided if she wouldn't see an actual therapist, she might as well have someone to talk to. But Clementine doesn't mind Ms. Cappriotti all that much. It's Ms. Cappriotti desperately trying to get her to talk about her dad every week that she can't stand.

Clementine doesn't like to open up; she thinks there's a time and a place for things like that and it's definitely not in the counsellor's office. If she never even talked about her dad with her own mother, there was no way in hell she's discussing it with Ms. Cappriotti.

But Clementine would never say that. And Ms. Cappriotti would keep on trying.

The girl leans against the wall beside the woman's office as she waits. She shuts her eyes as her converse-clad foot taps rhythmically along the linoleum tile and her hands lay comfortably in the pockets of a jacket that doesn't exactly belong to her.

Clementine inhales deeply and the faint scent of cologne quickly devours her. It smells like pine and lavender – like Heathcliff.

She lightly smiles as she thinks of the dark-haired boy, but quickly purses her lips to the side in attempts to hide her love-bugged grin. She probably looks insane, smiling to herself in an empty hallway – she couldn't help it, though.

Everything about Heath is undeniably perfect. Even from a completely unbiased standpoint he was amazing (and yet, that was the understatement of the century.) He's the kind of guy so gorgeous he could probably drop out of school to take up a full-time career in modeling, all while being the kind of guy that gives his leftovers to the homeless. Clementine didn't deserve Heathcliff Brown – the world didn't deserve him either, though.

And the cherry on top of that sweet, delicious sundae was his name, of all things – the name he hates more than anything. He was named after a character from an Emily Brontë novel – Wuthering Heights (Clementine's all time favorite). But he always went by Heath, and had for a better part of his life; it's almost odd for him to hear it in its entirety.