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Snippet #2510129

located in California, a part of Suicidal Support, one of the many universes on RPG.




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β€œDo you have everything you need?”

Wren let his head lull against the window, watching the landscape of bright green and dull brown slide passed as the car zoomed silently across the road. It was beautiful, out here. Nature. He kind of wondered if it was just a part of his personality that was the reason why he enjoyed the outdoors, or if it was the Native American in him.

His therapist had called that kind of thinking a need for a 'sense of belonging.'


He didn't answer her, kept watching out the window, moving one of his hands subconsciously to roll up the sleeve around his wrist so his thumb could trace gently across the still healing wound there. It wasn't going to be a pretty scar, either, too jagged and raised...he'd been crying to hard to see properly.

β€œWren.” His mother wasn't shouting, but she was using what he had dubbed as her 'Mom Voice'. Just a little stricter, more on point. As a child it had meant he was about to get his hand slapped. As a teenager it meant she was about to drag him off to a mental institution.

Or, camp.

β€œYeah, mom,” Wren finally whispered, more to himself really. β€œI've got everything.” It wasn't that he wasn't happy to be going back – he was. He liked it there. It was just that he hated the way she drove there...sitting stiffly in her seat, hands directly at ten and two o'clock, avoiding any and all eye contact because she could blame it on needing to pay attention to the road, not talking...

It was like that a lot, now. She either completely avoided him...or she cried. His thumb slid across his newest scar again and he frowned as he pressed his forehead against the hot glass. Going back with extra markings wasn't great singled a relapsed. It told the world that he wasn't okay.

The car slowed as it eased into a park in front of the main building, and Wren already felt the noose around his neck loosen. He could breathe. Nice, fresh air. He never did feel like he was drowning here. His mom got out of the car first, smoothing out her perfect dress and fixing her even more perfect hair as she walked around. He was out of his seat before she could open the door, though.

β€œWell...” she stopped in front of him, her hands fluttering for a moment as she tried to decide what to do with them, eyes pointedly over his right shoulder. Finally, she touched his face, looked at him as she swept his hair off of his forehead. β€œI'll see you soon?”

β€œOf course,” Wren answered, and then felt his face break into a grin. It wasn't actually fake, but it could have been. No one would know the difference. His mother nodded, patted his cheek, and he opened the trunk to grab his backpack and his duffel before walking up the steps of the building. He didn't even turn back to wave.
Wren waited for a moment on the front steps, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The sun was bright and warm against his skin, everything smelled fresh and new and alive, and already he felt his spirits lift. Like he was home, in a twisted sort of way.

He remembered the First Day game from the year before, so once he was inside he dropped his bags to walk through the medal detector without a problem. Last year they had caught him with his pocket knife (a gift from his grandfather), and a chain wallet, but this year he left the former behind and no longer had the latter. He had a razorblade on him, though. He always his shoe, covered and tucked away was too small for the detector to pick up.

The place was crowded because, as always, he was late, but he managed to slide over to the notice boards, glancing across it until he found his name. Activity four. A few of the other names sounded familiar, but he doubted he knew anyone. From there things were pretty simple other than all the elbowing through people. He grabbed an activity schedule, signed in at reception, and figured out he was in Cabin 8.

Wren bounced his way outside, feeling lighter with every step he took, humming to himself. It was hot enough that he went to push up the sleeves of his hoodie, but in the end still couldn't quite bring himself to. Though he was sure everyone knew what he was hiding...he was wearing shorts and flipflops, there was no need for the hoodie. That was why, before, he had kept his cutting to easily hidden areas.

Putting the heat out of his mind, Wren jumped up the steps to cabin eight and pushed the door open, only coming up short when he realized there were two guys already there. One, who had probably just arrived a bit before him and was still standing, and one who looked like he'd just woken from a nap.

β€œOh, shit,” the words spilled out of his mouth before he even had a chance of stopping them. β€œI'm sorry I should have knocked. I can do it again?” he was already moving though, backtracking over clumsy feet. Even if technically it was his living space too..he had learned last year that once the big g-a-y card comes out, knocking is necessary. But of course he couldn't start off right. Of course.