From the /c/writing_critiques community on Chambers

Calla stared out her window at the night. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, but she knew she had to wait. She had to hear Isaac come home. Had to know that he was okay. At least, that was the reason she was giving herself. She gripped her wrist tightly when the urge to cut threatened to overwhelm her. She was free now from Mr. Solomon. Isaac had saved her. She had no reason to hurt herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. That if she cut herself, she would feel better. She would be better. She closed her eyes to find the firm grip of Mr. Solomon’s fingers around her wrist. “Cutting yourself will never make you feel any better, little girl,” he had said. “Is that what you did before you joined the Pheonix? Why you look like that?” she had retaliated. She would never forget the look of indignation that had crossed his face. “I am not a cutter, little girl. This is what your kind do to us.” She had believed him. She had believed everything he had told her. But now she was starting to wonder if that had been a lie. She rocked back and forth in her bed, trying to keep herself from the urge to cut herself. She had to hold on though. Isaac would be back soon. All she had to do was wait. She sat up in bed and rubbed her face, unknotting her hair with a flick of her fingers. She was so tired. She had stayed up all night, waiting. She must have fallen asleep right before the sun started rising. She hopped out of bed and ran to the door. She ripped it open, revealing Isaac, his fist raised to knock. She stared at him in confusion, rubbing her face. Had she started sleep walking? This felt just like all those other times. She blinked a couple times, but he was still there, looking tired and disheveled. She took a step back, rubbing her eyes. Was she dreaming? No, no, no. She was awake. She could feel it. But she still blinked, just to be sure. And he still stood before her, just as solid and real as before. “Are you okay, Calla?” he asked, with that look on his face. It was the same look he had worn on the day they had met, when he had given her his coat. She blinked again. But she was awake. She was awake, and he was here. “What’s going on? Why are you knocking on my door?” “Why are you staring at me like that?” he countered. She blinked again, and he was still there. She must be going crazy. “Isaac, what does your name mean?” she asked, before she realised that she had even said anything. But he wasn’t talking, just looking at her with that look on his face. “Why?” he asked. “I've been having these dreams, and I heard this name. I just need to know what it means.” “Okay. My name means he will laugh, and my favourite artist is Aubrey Vincent Beardsley,” he said. She stared at him. But that wasn’t right. Isaac didn’t laugh. Why did he tell her that? “And that's your middle name?” she asked, squinting at him. “My middle name is Thorpe,” he replied. “What’s your real full name?” “My full name is Isaac Havelock Thorpe. This is getting weird Calla.” he said. “You call yourself Isaac Thorpe because it doesn’t sound so pretentious?” she guessed. “Yes. I’m sorry though Calla, I’m really tired.” “I’m sorry.” She rubbed her face. “Wait, tired?” “Yeah, I’ve been up all night. But I don’t remember you calling me Isaac Thorpe.” he said. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m being so weird.” “No, it’s okay. I just don’t remember you calling me Isaac Thorpe. But I’ve been up for thirty six hours and have been driving for a while now, so don’t mind me.” She stared at him, blinking. She did call him Isaac Thorpe. But she was dreaming. Wasn’t she? “Isaac, how am I going to get through this?” “You’ll get through it, I promise. You’re strong. You’ll push through it.” She blinked again, and he was gone. She rubbed her eyes. She was dreaming. But it had felt so real. She was going crazy. That's all.

Opus Two

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