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“Knife-edge,” Ophelia thought blearily, and her mouth twitched slightly at the implications. Her eyes were closed, head pressed against the once cool porcelain of the toilet bowl in a bid for relief from the not quite pounding in her skull. If it was possible, it was slow coming.
Ophelia had finished her business hours ago (minutes ago?), and had collapsed on the floor afterwords. She was still couldn’t move from her undignified slump on the ground. Her tongue felt heavy and thick in her mouth and her limbs prickeled in a way that signaled lack of circulation. A familiar, if shitty state of existence.
Her life.
If she didn’t want to feel this way she shouldn’t have tried to down the contents of her entire liquor cabinet along with, well... But no, she always does this to herself. How many things could be avoided if she didn’t fuck them up, just like she had done earlier tonight-
No. She couldn’t… No.
“On a knife’s edge.” Ophelia thought again. “It means your worried about something, or you’re trying to “balance between success and failure.”
She probably should be more worried, she wasn’t-she wasn’t okay, nothing had gone as planned (was there a plan) and now she couldn’t move from the floor with her pulse ringing in her ears and her breath a bit too slow in her chest. All in all, plenty to worry about, but she just didn’t care.
That was new. It was the caring part that got her into this. But, she didn’t want to think about that, not really.
Ophelia had gotten less than twenty hours of sleep in the last two weeks and was ready to take drastic action. Like attend her English course for once. Nothing had put her to sleep in high school faster than English.
Also, she was on edge and she had to get out of her apartment before she climbed out of her skin. So, she showed up and regretted the impulse almost immediately. It was dead boring and far too early to have bothered. She booked it at the nearest opportunity and went home to watch cartoons for four hours straight.
(She hadn’t seen Harris on the way in or out. She hasn’t seen Harris once this week.
She’s okay with that. She is.)
When she went to English she got a few odd looks and someone asked if she was lost, but that was expected, really. Not like she had ever attended past day one. The confusion was even funny in it’s own way. Not really enough to laugh about it, but still. She put on a grin, made an excuse, and life went on. Again, too early for most to give a shit beyond half dead curiosity. She loved college.
She drummed a nail on her chair and ignored the glares she got to keep an eye on the slow, slow crawling of the clock. This was a mistake. She couldn’t even make an effort to distract herself, couldn’t close her eyes and pretend to sleep. Or maybe...
-A meaty thud. Terror. Hands on her neck, pressing, squeezing. Smell of dirt and sweat. Hands frantically searching for a pulse-
She could live without a nap.
She checked her phone to satisfy the irresistible urge to do something. The weather was going to be nice today. Oh, Harris was going off the grid to finish a paper he had due, must be important. There was a new notification from candy crush, she wondered if she could play it on silent-oh.
Six unread messages from Jules.
She turned off the phone and tried to focus on the professor. He was reading an excerpt from a famous book. Joy.
(Three hours of her life she would never get back but- “on the knife’s edge”- it had given her something to think about.)
Ophelia was running. It was well worth making the effort if she wanted to get anything from one of the take out places before the lunch rush hit them. She could almost taste the spicy goodness now.
“Hey! Ophelia!”
She stopped in her tracks and Kennedy quickly jogged up beside her. The athletic girl grinned like she was genuinely happy to see her- and hell, maybe she was. She wouldn’t put it past her. Kennedy was actually a half decent person in a never ending sea of unworthy assholes, and more than that, someone who actually puts an effort to befriend one of those assholes for her best friend’s happiness.
Ophelia wasn’t sure when people had started to look at her like she as a person was worth something beyond what she could give them. She tried not to think about when they would realize she wasn’t worth the effort.
Her skin itched. She was suddenly aware she of how much she didn’t want to be in a conversation. She waved anyway.
“How have you been?” Kennedy leaned forward to catch her breath and light struck her face just so, making her eyes gleam almost golden. It took Ophelia a moment to realize she had been asked a question.
“Oh, uh, I’m fine. Just, you know, decided to get out a bit.” Kennedy's smile grew wider and somehow more perfect at the word vomit spewing from her mouth.
Ophelia took a moment to despair over the existence of straight girls in the world. Like, Kennedy was miles out of her league, but still. Unfair.
(There was a nuisance to that thought that she very specifically did not examine. Someone’s smile and a flash of blonde hair accompanied it.)
“I’m glad to hear it,” She said warmly, and good that’s okay that’s fine she can just get out of here quickly- “You look better. Jules said something about you missing her calls?”
Right. Well, whatever vestiges of a good mood she had scraped up just drained out from her feet. Ophelia tries to smile anyway, because it’s Kennedy and she’s on the very small list of people that deserve her effort. “I’ve been busy.” She hesitates, “How is she,” She asked quietly.
Ophelia tries valiantly to ignore the steady drumming of guilt-loathing-pain from beneath her chest. It doesn't work.
“Better if she heard from you,” Kennedy told her honestly. Ophelia nodded, accepting that. She deserved to hear it, but something in her expression made Kennedy frown, “She gets the cast off next week,” She sighed, “Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you two?”
Ophelia lets herself relax and adopt a lazy grin. Lying was second nature at this point. “We told you, remember?”
“Right,” Kennedy nods. “Bar fight.” Ophelia somehow gets the impression she’s unconvinced by the story. Which, understandable, considering it toes the line of plausible. But with the injuries they both had been sporting, it was that or underground fight club.
Something shifted, and all Ophelia could see was how tense Kennedy looked, frustrated. Her ridiculously perfect mouth pressed into a fine line.
“Maybe we should’ve gone with fight club,” Ophelia thought, shifting uncomfortably. Kennedy caught that and looked away, her shoulders loosening into something that looked more tired than relaxed. Ophelia grasped around for something to say to make things better but just came up empty.
“If I didn’t screw up, she wouldn’t be so stressed,” Ophelia reminds herself uncharitably, accepting the twist in her gut she so richly deserves.
She had fucked up the mission, miscalculated when the target-a guy who really likes kids-would be alone. It ended with Jules having to go to the hospital for a broken leg and Ophelia working through a concussion to fake a police report in one of the more seedy dive bars in the city.
Needless to say, Sweet/Vicious was taking a short crime fighting hiatus-especially since Jules put her foot down against her going after people alone.
Explaining why they both looked like they went five rounds with Chuck Norris without casting suspicion took a little more effort. Thankfully, she was a well known alcoholic and Jules was quickly becoming one of people who got easily pissed off when she decided to drink so it wasn’t too much of a stretch.
At least, she had thought so. Looking at her friend, she was wondering if the concussion had been getting to her when she came up with it.
Damn. They really needed to tell Kennedy. She got Jules not wanting to rock the boat after...everything, but she was someone who didn’t deserve their constant bullshit.
“Look,” Kennedy said, “I’m not an idiot, I can put two and two together. But I’m here, waiting for when either of you decide to talk to me.” She frowned. “I won't be waiting forever, though.”
Kennedy stalked three steps away, before turning and looking contrite. She bit her lip lightly, somehow avoiding getting lipstick on her teeth.
“I’m sorry,“ She actually was apologizing. “I shouldn't've lost my temper.”
Ophelia was already shaking her head. “It’s cool, man. Really.” Nothing Kennedy said wasn’t true.
Kennedy frowned lightly and looked like she was hesitating to say something. “Are you okay, O? It’s just, you don’t really feel okay.”
She felt mildly floored at the question. Right. This is what happened when you made friends with nice people. They actually gave a shit.
“What, me?” Ophelia snorted disbelievingly. “I’m in tip top shape.” Who even uses that phrase any more? “Don’t you worry.”
Kennedy looked unconvinced and something in her sank at the thought of adding another burden to her shoulders. But just then Kennedy’s phone beeped and she checked it.
“I gotta go to class,” She said apologetically. Ophelia gave a half shrug half smile thing. “I’ll see you around. Remember, call,” She said sternly.
“Yeah sure, later tonight, see you,” Ophelia said quickly and did her best not to bolt away like a startled cat.
Kennedy looked skeptical, but nodded and walked off. Ophelia’s body language immediately slumped after she was out of eyesight. She felt exhausted.
She took at her phone to check the time and grimaced. Fifteen minutes had gone by. There was no way she’d get to the mexican place before a line formed. She could wait, but there was something heavy in her gut and she just wanted to go lie down for a few hours.
She put her phone back in her pocket. She wasn’t hungry anyway.
*
She still couldn’t sleep. That was the problem. Or, well, one of them. Three hours of wasted time didn’t fix anything, nor did four hours of Loony Toons on repeat. Nothing was getting rid of that antsy feeling in her skin.
“Hey, it’s Harris! Leave a message after the-”
“Hey, Har-bear, it’s O,” Ophelia said in her best cheery tone. “Know you’re super busy with your new job, but how bout you call when you’re free and we can grab a meal? Pizza, maybe? On me, of course. Anyway-”
“If you want to extend this message press-” She hung up. Right, right. He was writing that paper. He had his phone off so he wouldn’t get distracted. That was fine. She saw a notification for seven unread messages from Jules, but she turned off her phone and flung it away. She couldn’t, not right now.
She put her head in her hands, tried to ignore the flaring of her vision from the constant watching of TV. She was exhausted. She wanted to sleep, she needed to sleep. She needed the thrumming beneath her skin and the churning in her gut to abate for just one minute.
Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw pictures of kids with too glassy eyes that she still couldn’t track down. A tire iron coming towards her skull that she barely dodged. Hands on her neck, glass in her back-
Jules lying face down on the ground, black clothes going heavy with blood. Terror of not getting to her in time. The sick crunch of the pedo’s knee giving away underneath her foot, and a frantic dash before more hands pulled her back. She had to-she had to-
It didn’t matter if Jules was fine now. In that second, she was dead and Ophelia was the cause.
Just like always. Because no matter how much she tries to help, she’ll always bring twice the hurt with her. She’s a mistake. Plain and simple. She’s always known it, just these days it’s coming more and more obvious.
She wasn’t stupid. She knows her thoughts aren’t all her’s. She gets like this sometimes, her thoughts twist around and eat her without an outlet.
But, her ex dumped her so sex was out. Video games were just stressing her out. Harris was busy, and she wasn’t that close to Kennedy, and Jules-
She stood up. Her hands were shaking, breath coming quickly. Weed wouldn’t work, she tried that yesterday and she still was like this. She needed, she needed something.
She got a bottle of whiskey and a glass, but the glass dropped and shattered because her hand wouldn’t stop fucking shaking. She laughed a bit helplessly. It was okay. She still had the bottle.
One drink, two, too soon the whiskey was gone. Makes sense, the bottle was half empty anyway. It’s cool, she had more on the coffee table. Her hands weren’t shaking as much at least.
But… The feelings were still there. But, this time she deserved them, right? She really screwed the pooch, she wouldn’t be surprised if Jules was disgusted with her, though she was too nice to say it. Fuck. She wanted to-she wanted to- No. She just needed another drink.
She walked out of the kitchen to get one, if glass cut her feet she didn’t feel it.
She wasn’t sure when she sat on the couch or how long it had been but there were several empty bottles surrounding her and she had enough awareness to know it wasn’t enough, that she needed something to be enough.
It was one of those days, one of her bad days. Her brain wouldn’t shut up about everything but what she needed to think and feel. It hurt. It didn’t matter that she deserved it, because right now it hurt.
She could stop it.
“No,” Ophelia thought, because she couldn’t go down that road. Not again. “I’m not serious about that.”
She could make everything better.
“Shut up.”
Life would move on. They wouldn’t really miss her. They have each other, and they’d be better for it.
“That doesn’t matter. I won’t.”
What would it change? The world was a wide place, she’d hardly make an impact.
“Sweet/Vicious. It matters.”
Jules could handle that. Probably even better without her dead weight.
“No. She nearly got killed without me, I can’t leave her alone.”
She taught Jules all the tricks she knows about computers, she’s competent enough not to need her help any more.
“Shut up. It’s not just that.”
Information was what she was missing in the beginning and she now has access to that more than ever.
“She needs my help.”
If Jules had been the one doing the research, they wouldn't've nearly gotten killed.
“I don’t know that.”
Yes, you do. Face it, you have always needed her more than she has needed you.
“That’s true,” Ophelia realized, slumping over. And it was. Jules, Harris, even Kennedy, now. She had always needed them despite trying not to. She always took and took and took-
She could end it.
There was something wet on her face. Was she crying?
She could make it stop.
Ophelia felt confused and miserable, she didn’t...know…
She could make things better.
It was obvious the whiskey wasn’t working like she hoped. She got up and nearly pitched over, managing to keep her feet. She had some E she had been saving for a special occasion. She wasn’t supposed to take it with alcohol, especially not this much but-
A hand full of colorful pills chased down by a swig of tequila straight out of the bottle.
She’d feel better or she wouldn’t feel. Either way, it’d fix one of her problems.
*
Ophelia lived on the knife's edge.
She knew that, she was okay with that. She had been aware ever since she was a kid looking up the mental illness section on wikipedia and realizing just how screwed up in the head she really was.
A few rolls in the hay, a drink in her hand, smoke or pills to make the night easier, always painfully aware she was walking a fine line until one day she wouldn’t. That was just how she lived, with an invisible noose around her neck.
When she was younger, it wasn’t a question of “if” but “when”.
But, things changed. She suddenly had people, she had gotten purpose. Made the world better in a way she could quantify. It was good. It was better than she imagined. Her bad days had gotten less and less.
It wasn’t perfect, but she had gotten comfortable, happy. Then times like this showed how far she had left to fall. A few bad days, an impulsive decision or three, and she was collapsed on her bathroom floor and not entirely sure if she was going to get up.
“Knife-edge,” It was funny, but she supposed not using a knife kinda took away from the metaphor. But, the functions were the same, so it’s the thought that counted, right?
Ophelia closed her eyes. She thought she could actually manage to sleep, now.
*
Jules slowly made her way up the stairs of the record shop, feeling a great hatred for crutches. Kennedy was ahead of her, cheerfully unlocking Ophelia’s door with Jules’s key.
O had been keeping to herself since the thing with Hosen and his friends went wrong. Jules had tried to give her her space, but it had been two weeks and she was both sick of it and worried! Since space to wasn’t working, she had decided to force the issue.
The door unlocks. “Hey, O. It’s me and Jules, we’re going out for breakfast and you’re coming with!”
Today was going to be an important breakfast and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous about it. She was planning to let Kennedy in on the secret, so her choice of Ken’s favorite place was a not so subtle way to butter her up.
Jules wouldn’t be that surprised if she already knew, though, with all the hints she was dropping. Especially the very transparent one she said about being willing to perjure herself for Jules that Kennedy had dropped with no context or explanation.
Well, hopefully it’d all go to plan. Maybe it’d even soothe away some of the the awkwardness she knew Ophelia had been feeling around Kennedy. They were becoming good friends, and if Jules had learned anything in the past few months, it was that secrets made things tough for any relationship.
“Ophelia? Are you asleep?” Jules snorts, almost to the top of the stairs. Ophelia would sleep this late. She prepared herself for a morning of her whining about how awful being conscious was, and pretended she wasn’t smiling at the thought.
“Hey, O?”
Jules was at the top of the stairs, considering what she was going to order. She stopped.
Kennedy screamed.
Jules stared at the mess, something holding her still as her brain cataloged it like her dad taught her. No obvious signs of forced entry. Empty bottles of alcohol surrounded by broken glass. Trash left out. The bed hadn’t been made. Blood smeared on the ground, but no signs of a fight. Something that wasn’t candy scattered on the floor.
“Jules, call an ambulance! She’s-oh god-I don’t think she’s breathing!”
Jules felt sick. Her grip slackened on the door frame and she sunk down.
“Ophelia, what have you done?”