She goes on, voice going scratchy as she describes how she'd tried to fight them off, how she'd struggled and hit them and it was useless because there were more of them and they were bigger than her, stronger than her. She tells you— and, you note absently, it's only here that her voice regains some strength— about how it was only the intervention of a hero that had saved her— Shadow Stalker— and how Shadow Stalker had proceeded to attack the men assaulting her, how Shadow Stalker had broken them and driven them off and saved her.
"I stayed in my room for days after that," she recalls. "I was too— too terrified to come out. Mom tried to get me to come out, but I couldn't. I thought— it felt, I don't, I don't know-"
You help her out.
"It felt like everyone knew," you say. Your voice sounds dull, almost emotionless. You don't look away from the pepper shaker. "Like everyone could look at you and see what had happened. Like there's a mark on your body, and everyone could see it. Nobody got to touch you, but they made you feel helpless. Like they were in control, and they stripped that away from you, made you feel like a toy for them to play with, like you didn't matter. Only they're important enough to matter. Them and what they want. And every time you went outside, you could feel their eyes on you. You can feel them looking at you, judging you for not getting away. You hate it. You try to tell yourself, it isn't my fault. But you feel weak anyway. Worthless. Like every time they look at you, you're a victim all over again, and all you want to do is go back inside and hide."
You finally look away from the pepper shaker, looking at Emma instead.
Her face has paled. She looks stricken.
"I understand," you say as calmly as you can. "Thank you for dinner, Emma."
And you move back out of the booth, ignoring her attempts to reach for you, and run away.
Dad greets you as you walk back in the front door. "Taylor?" he says, sounding a little surprised. "I thought you were going out to dinner with Emma. Did something happen?"
You ignore him, barrelling straight through the house and into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. He follows you and knocks loudly. You ignore him. You can't deal with him right now.
It's nine oh-one PM.
Your room is a mess. Your bedspread is ajar. Your notes are spread across your desk. Your books aren't in order on your bookshelf. Some of your clothes aren't folded. Your breaths are coming more rapidly. You shouldn't have run home.
Your room is mess. Disorganized mess. You hate it. Why did you let it get like this? Why didn't you realize what a mess it was before?
With shaking hands, you move over to your bed and begin smoothing it out. You don't stop until it's perfect, until every wrinkle is gone, until your bed is exactly as it should be. Exactly as you want it to be.
It's nine forty-two PM.
You move on to your desk.
Slowly, methodically, you work your way around your entire room, bringing to it a sense of order. You arrange your books, first by alphabetical order, then by colour, then by size, then back to alphabetical order. You tuck your notes together, ensuring all the pages line up neatly together and rest exactly in the corner of your desk. Your pencils sit in a straight line against the wall, arranged so you can reach them with minimum fuss. You fold your clothes; then, unhappy, unsatisfied, you take out your entire closet and begin refolding your clothes, item by item. You arrange everything carefully in there, top to bottom. Jackets, then shirts, then underwear, then pants. You take them out three times, sorting them differently. By size, first. Then by style. Then by colour. You're satisfied, eventually, with the colours. Black on the left, white on the right. Dark to bright.
Your hands are still shaking.
It's four fifty-five AM.
Your bedroom is in order now. Everything is where you need it to be.
You climb into bed, and watch the minutes tick down.
You're going to have to make a decision soon, you know, as you watch the clock tick closer to seven. You can stay home, hide until Dad leaves, and put up with it when the school calls later. Maybe staying at home will calm you down. Maybe it'll make it worse. You don't know. It sounds tempting. Or you can go to school. Sit down and try to pretend nothing happened last night. Pretend you didn't just describe to Emma the way in which she victimized you. Pretend that you don't walk through the halls with your arms tucked in defensively. Hug Madison. Hug Sophia.
The clock ticks down. Your deadline approaches. What do you choose?
[] Stay home. You can't deal with going to school right now. Just... hide from it all. Or, well. Don't stay home, because Dad will find you, but don't go to school, either. Do something, somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. [If you pick this, pick one of the below options.]
— Results: Taylor will skip school for the day. Madison and Sophia will grow concerned, and Madison's tutoring sessions will be interrupted. Taylor will be home in time to commence studies with Sophia, but Taylor will eventually be forced to disclose what happened to Madison. The knowledge that the bullying hurt Taylor more than she let on will cause emotional harm to Madison. Danny will be notified that Taylor skipped school. Taylor will put off her breakdown some, allowing her to deal with it more gradually.
[] Go to the library. Somewhere nice, quiet. Read a book. Read three books. Didn't Victoria recommend a series? Maybe you could read that. Nobody should pay attention to you in a library, right?
— General results: Taylor will head to the library for the day and begin reading the Harry Potter series. This option will begin the path to opening up early recruitment of Tattletale.
[] Go to the clinic. Not a quiet place, but nobody pays attention to you there. What are the chances that Amy will be there, anyway? Low enough that you're willing to risk it.
— Success chance: 50%.
— General results: Taylor will head to the clinic for the day and immerse herself in her volunteer work. Will result in Taylor being assigned more interesting duties related to cataloguing supplies, engaging her more than her menial duties have so far.
— On a success: Amy will gain 2 Affection for Taylor without Taylor using her powers. Taylor will meet up with Amy on one of Amy's lunch breaks. Sensing Taylor's emotional distress, Amy will not push Taylor, but will invite her to sit down and talk about books for over an hour. Doctor Fitzgerald will note of their growing friendship. May provide an opportunity to begin early recruitment of Brandish soon.
— On a failure: Taylor will immerse herself in her work. Amy will not be present at the clinic that day.
[] Write-in. Please justify how it will help lower Taylor's stress level.
[] Go to school. It's important to keep up appearances, even if you're pretty sure you're still in the middle of an emotional breakdown. It'll be fine. You'll just— cling to Madison. Or maybe Sophia. [If you pick this, pick one of the below options.]
— Results: Taylor will go to school despite her breakdown. Will substantially increase Taylor's stress level, but the opportunity to interact with Madison and Sophia will end the breakdown early.
[] Just try and act normal in school. If you don't let on that anything's wrong, then nobody will think anything's wrong. If nobody thinks anything's wrong, then nobody will ask questions. The problem solves itself.
— Results: Taylor's stress levels increase further, but does not risk anyone else finding out.
[] Cling to Madison. She's— yours. She's yours. If you tell her to skip class for you, she will without hesitation. Maybe that's enough reason for you not to do this.
— Success chance: 50%
— General results: Taylor will ask Madison to skip class with her, and she will oblige. Madison's grades will suffer a little, but the two of them will hide on the roof of Winslow for the day.
— On a success: Taylor deflects Madison's questions successfully, interrupting her with lots of loving snuggle times. Taylor's stress levels decrease some, and Taylor and Madison get to spend an entire school day together doing naughty things. Encourages Taylor to bury her emotional problems by seeking comfort in the arms of her women.
— On a failure: Taylor is forced to disclose to Madison what happened last night. Taylor's stress levels remain unchanged, moving both positively and negatively thanks to the interaction. Madison will be emotionally hurt by the revelation that Taylor lied about how much the bullying affected her, and by the revelation that she hurt Taylor this badly.
[] Ask Sophia to skip class with you today. She's not ready for this. Not yet. But you can make her ready for it. Without even damaging her, probably.
— Success chance: 80%
— General results: Taylor will ask Sophia to skip class with her, and she will oblige, only leaving Taylor when Taylor goes down to have lunch with Madison. Taylor's stress levels will decrease slightly. Taylor will deliberately use her power on Sophia to make her okay with staying with Taylor, shifting Sophia's outlook on certain things in her life, especially how she views those close to her.
— On a success: Sophia's Lust and Loyalty increase by 1. Taylor manages to retain total control over her powers, and only influences Sophia far enough to shift her outlook to get her to want to keep Taylor safe. Taylor and Sophia will spend much of the day either playing around or "playing around".
— On a failure: Sophia's Affection increases by 2 and her Lust increases by 1, but the general state of alarm increases by 2. Taylor's control over her power slips somewhat— or, perhaps, she is not as in control of herself as she seems— and she influences Sophia further than she means to. Sophia's outlook on life is altered more substantially. May have substantial impacts on Sophia as a character.
1.18
> Success chance: 50%
> Necessary roll: 50. Rolled: 63. Success.
You rise from your bed the second the clock hits six o'clock. You refuse to look at it, knowing that if you see it now, you're going to spend the next half an hour straightening it. Instead, you head over to your dresser and quietly pull out some clothes suitable for running, then strip, pull the clothes on, and walk briskly out of your room.
Dad isn't awake out there. Good. You pass straight to the door, pausing to make sure the spare key is still there— it is— before you head out into the streets and begin jogging. You realize quickly that you forgot your water bottle, but— you'll live.
Your shoes slap against the asphalt of the roads, the sound seeming louder than it should be thanks to the stillness of the houses around you. You concentrate on your breathing, a basic rythm you'd picked up from Sophia. Two steps, left, right. Inhale. Two steps, left, right. Exhale. Two steps, left, right. Inhale. Over and over. The minutes blur by, but you're barely cognizant of them. You just jog. Left at Baker. Left at Kappel. Left at Elm. Left at Terracotta. Back home. Left at Baker. Left at Kappel.
Your legs burn, but that's okay.
Eventually, it's seven. You keep going. Seven fifteen. Seven thirty. Seven forty-five.
By eight, your legs are aching, your lungs are burning, and your throat feels parched.
Oddly, your thoughts feel freer. Clearer.
Sophia was right. Jogging does help. The simple rythm of it, the way the world falls away around you— yeah. You can see why she does this.
Dad is gone by the time you return home. He left you a mug of coffee sitting on the table, and a small piece of paper. A note, you think at first, telling you to go to school. But when you pick it up, the message is simpler than that. Warmer than that.
I called the school and told them you might not be in today.
Talk to me when you're ready. I'll be here for you.
I love you.
Your chest aches, but it's a good ache this time.
With Dad's implicit permission to skip school, you feel assured about your decision to skip school for the day. You feel bad about leaving Madison alone— actually, you feel really bad about that, and kind of lonely— but you can't deal with Emma today. You need some time away from her, some time to process what she said last night.
Instead, you head back to your room and get another change of clothes, then head to the shower. You're covered in sweat. It feels a little gross, even if you're pretty sure you don't stink too badly. Once you're in there, you take your time, luxuriating in the heat of the shower and allowing the water to run down and soothe your aching legs. You're tempted to take care of another ache while you're in there, but... maybe now isn't the best time. Not so soon after last night.
You climb out and towel off, getting dressed in your clothes. They're not very exciting, but you're not planning on doing very much that's exciting today. You just need to distract yourself. You're feeling a little better already. The jog, and the following shower, definitely helped.
The change jar isn't getting any fuller, but you reach in and pull out some coins anyway. Dad won't mind, and you know that he'd prefer you take the bus to the clinic rather than try to walk there yourself. It's not safe to walk through those parts of town, especially not for a young girl like yourself.
... Not that it feels much safer to drive right now, given what Emma told you last night. Still, buses aren't cars. They have security cameras, and there are more people on them. They should be safe, right?
You walk to the bus stop. When the bus arrives, you hide in the seat closest to the bus driver, and make sure you're in view of the security camera at all time.
Luckily, you do make it to the clinic safely. The bus driver gives you a little wave as you step off the bus; you wave back, but don't smile at him. He closes the door in your face. Rude.
Shaking your head, you turn and head over to the clinic. It's not that far away from the bus stop, so it doesn't take you long to arrive. According to the clock hanging at the back of the room, in fact, it's not even nine thirty when you get in.
The receptionist— a different one, today, a man with darker skin and a wig— gives you an odd look as you approach the counter and pull the sign-in book over to you. "Aren't you meant to be in school right now?" he asks. His voice is deep, and there's a strange coarseness to it, like he's inhaled too much smoke in his life.
You shrug half-heartedly, but before you can work up the willpower to answer, you're distracted by the sound of someone calling your name behind you. You turn, and are immediately confronted by a man in a long white labcoat— Doctor Fitzgerald. He's actually wearing doctor-y clothes today. Do doctors really wear coats like that? Huh. You'd though that was just a TV convention.
