RP: Nerves Characters: Jaime Time/Date: late morning, September 22 Location: her & Dug's room Warnings/Rating: Idk yet Summary: Jaime is badly affected by dementors and contemplates offing herself Status: Closed
Jaime's thoughts were drifting to darker places. She supposed it wasn't ... unexpected. Not really. Not with seven of the things floating around now. She wondered how the wizards were holding up, and she knew two of them would be out of commission tomorrow night. The werewolves. She wondered how that was going to be handled. The dementors were increasing like the reavers had been, which meant by the end of the week ... they'd probably be overwhelmed. If it kept up like that, and she saw no reason they wouldn't.
She heard a tapping against the glass, and she groaned and made a face, curling up on her side on the bed. She wasn't happy; why were they hanging around her window? Or were they even? It was hard to tell sometimes -- she couldn't see them, and the tapping could be in her mind for all that. Still, she felt the depression washing over her again.
It was conflicting. Sickly so. She wanted to be with Mal, to curl up in bed with him, but at the same time, she didn't want to inflict her mood on him. She didn't know how he was being affected by the increased number of them, but she knew she'd take anything he said personally and to heart. So she didn't want to listen to any dementor-inspired moodiness from him. But she wanted to go see him. It was a sick condition, and Jaime groaned again as she buried her face in her pillow. The pillow of the bed she hadn't slept in for ... weeks, now, but the one she was considering crashing in tonight if this kept up.
It wasn't like he wanted her anyway. No one did. She was just ... convenient, for now. That was all. That was all she ever was. The difference here was that he didn't have some government run lab to send her off to to get her out of his hair like her parents had. She could want him all she wanted, but he'd never want her back. Not really.
Jaime pressed her hand to her wrist, trying to ignore the thoughts that kept creeping in. If no one wanted her, why should she bother continuing to exist? Why should she? No one would miss her if she was gone. No one would. Not even Mal. He'd just find someone else. Some other convenience.
She tilted her head, blue eyes focused on the open door of the bathroom ... but it seemed like too much effort just then to get up and see if there was anything worthwhile in there. So she'd lay here for a bit longer. Her nails scrabbled at her opposite wrist, marking the skin but not breaking it. For now ... it was enough to keep the worst of the urges at bay.
But what about tomorrow?
What about the next day?
Could she still hold out against them then?
Pale blue eyes shifted then to regard what she could see of the hallway through the open door of her room. Open, because fighting this was easier when there was a chance someone could see. So she laid on her bed, and dragged her nails along the underside of her arm, and tried not to think the dark thoughts that kept creeping in.