Warning: Depression. Suicidal thoughts.I was feeling like killing myself and was using a laminated card and drawing lines on my throat and my besties freaked out and told me to stop but I couldn't cuz the pain was almost satisfying. So, I decided to write about it instead I'm sorry for writing such a depressing story.

\ Keefe and Sophie are dating in this. /Neverseen defeated 2 days ago ago. /

Collab with: KittyCoder6

Sophie's POV

Sophie sat on the floor of her bedroom, her back pressed against her bed. She was trembling, holding a dagger. She rolled up the sleeves of her blood-stained tunic sleeves revealing scars. Scars she'd given herself.

A tear rolled down her cheek - why was she doing this? She didn't know. Actually, she did. It was her fault. All her fault. For some reason, her mind liked those three words. It latched onto them and stuck them on repeat in the back of her head. If she had been more careful and less reckless, he would be here with her. All her fault. If she hadn't been focused on killing Gethen, she'd have noticed the dagger that Lady Gisela threw at her. All her fault. Sophie wouldn't have needed Sandor to push her out of the way and end up taking the hit. Now, he was gone. All her fault. Because of her. She grasped the dagger tighter and used it to cut a straight line on her wrist. Tears fell from her eyes at the sharp pain, but she bit back sobs. She deserved the pain. Because it was all her fault.

" This is all your fault, you idiot. How could you be so stupid?" Sophie scolded herself quietly through gritted teeth, more tears leaking. "Sandor's going to die because of you," A sob finally slipped through, and she dug the knife into her skin harder. "So careless, so foolish. And to think people look up to you." She had been doing this ever since Sandor had gotten hurt - blaming herself. Her mind would probably break soon, but Sophie deserved it.

He hasn't technically died, a tiny voice of reason argued. The only voice that spoke logic amidst her self-hurting subconscious. Yet, she reminded herself, silencing the voice. Everyone thinks he'll make a recovery. They kept telling her he would. But she knew the truth. She'd seen him. He was bruised and the weapon had hit several vital organs. He couldn't even breathe on his own. Lies. They were telling her lies to keep her sane. She couldn't exactly blame them. She had seen herself in the mirror that morning and she looked horrible. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were dark circles under her eyes. They were so dark they looked like bruises. A mixture of tears and sweat pooled at her chin and dripped down.

Sophie tightened her hold on the dagger and pressed it to her hand even harder, mindlessly. She drew it across her skin, causing yet another wound. Warm blood trickled out of the cut and onto her carpeted floor. Pain shot up her arm, a burning, blazing pain - but she ignored it. She deserved to be hurt. It was her fault after all. She embraced the pain that throbbed through her veins. It burned and blazed more than the sun. She wanted to yell, scream, thrash, flail, but, she didn't. She just sat there, staring at blank space, trying to ignore the blood trickling out her gash.

Footsteps sounded from outside her door, coming up the stairs. She flinched at the noise but wasn't worried. Sophie knew she'd locked the door, like always. Sophie paused. The layers of doubt in her mind told her otherwise. Panic clouded in her mind. Eyes wide, she remembered she had forgotten to lock it. But it was too late. The door flew open, revealing a boy with messy blonde hair and ice-blue eyes that were always filled with happiness and mischief. But not now. His hair was flatter than normal - never a good sign. And his eyes were tired and worried. Concern for her, she figured. The thought only sent her spiraling deeper into guilt. She didn't deserve his kindness. Keefe's eyes widened as he took in her ridiculous shape.

" What are you doing?"

Keefe's POV

Keefe ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it even more, as he walked up to Havenfield. He was getting seriously concerned for his girlfriend, whom he hadn't seen in days. He thought after what happened with Sandor, she'd need someone to talk to. And since that someone had always been him, Keefe was surprised when she immediately locked herself in her room for two days straight.

"Hey," he greeted Sophie's parents as he entered the house. Edaline and Grady looked at him with tired eyes. The pain was hurting them too.

"She hasn't come out yet," Edaline said, a slight quiver in her voice. They'd told him the same thing when he'd come before. She hasn't come out. They told her that ever since Sandor had gotten hurt and was with Elwin, Sophie had locked herself in her room and refused to eat or come out. Keefe had visited the last two days and begged her to come out or at least talk to him. It didn't work. He was scared. He could feel her emotions from outside the door and it wasn't anything positive. Flashbacks of him sitting out of the bedroom, his head leaning against the door, haunted him. He shook his head in a vain attempt to shake it away.

With the amount of guilt Sophie was feeling, her mind could break. The very thought made him feel lost as if she were already broken. He hated that feeling, hated thinking it was even an option.

Keefe finally got to the last step, and he suddenly felt so guilty. He felt like every bad thing in the world was his fault. His brain told him that was absurd, but he kept feeling it. He practically collapsed to the floor on the verge of tears, the emotions were so strong. Once he came to his senses, though, Keefe realized those emotions were coming from Sophie. He was, if possible, more scared. Is this what she felt? She was going to get her mind-no. He refused to let himself think that. He shoved the thought to the corner of his mind and ran a hand through his hair. On any other day, he would be concerned about his hair. But, now? His Hair may as well be the last thing on his mind. And if that ever happened? Things were VERY bad. He got his thoughts back straight and focused on the door in front of him.

After a few seconds, he tested the latch. It was unlocked. Finally, he thought. He reached out and threw the door open. The sight before him took his breath away - in the worst way possible. He wanted to tear his eyeballs out. He didn't want to believe his eyes. He didn't want to believe the sight in front of him. He wanted to close his eyes and wish this was all just a nightmare. A horrible nightmare that's what this was. But it wasn't. His eyes were wide and fear and concern was pulsing through his veins, overwhelming him. He wanted to fall to the floor and just let everything go. But he couldn't. He had to stay strong. To face the scene in front of him. To face her emotions. To face his emotions.

Sophie was sitting on the floor, with her head leaning against her bed and her legs crossed. She'd gotten paler and thinner, but that didn't worry him the most. She was holding a dagger that was dripping with blood. There were two fresh wounds on her right arm and one on her left. Blood was flowing freely out of them and onto the floor but she didn't seem to be concerned. He was though. Before her, was a pool of blood. Her blood, Keefe realized. His eyes widened even more(didn't think that was possible) as Sophie stared at the ground. More specifically, the blood surrounding her. The smell and sight of the red liquid made him want to gag but he held it back and focused on the bleeding girl in front of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stepping closer to her. Tears started to form in his eyes and clouded his vision but he pushed them back. She was clearly in pain, no denying the Empath, but she made no movement. The only evidence that she was still sane was the tears trickling down her cheeks and the trembling of her lips. She was still staring at the pool of blood. " Foster. Sophie, what are you doing? Is this..." His voice trailed off as he noticed more scars on her arms. They went all the way from her shoulders down to her palms.

His heart broke into even smaller pieces. He stepped closer until he was right next to her and tilted her chin up. Her skin was cold, it made him feel like he was touching someone who was half-dead. Her brown eyes, that were once twinkled with joy, were filled with so much pain and guilt, it broke his heart. She didn't deserve this. She never did. It wasn't her fault. Though Keefe had a feeling if he told her that, she wouldn't believe him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and took the dagger from her. She seemed to snap back into the present once he did. "No! Give it back!" she pleaded weakly, reaching out to grab it. The least logical part of Keefe's brain almost wanted to. The tears spilling down her beautiful face made him almost want to beg to do whatever she wanted. But Keefe held it higher so it was out of her reach. He had to do the right thing. Even if that meant going against what she asked for.

"No, Sophie. I-I don't know why you're doing this, but you can't, okay?" Keefe replied, his voice cracking. He used his other hand to gently cradle her palm in his. "You can't do this to yourself, you can't blame yourself like this," he whispered. She just froze. Then started mumbling, "It was my fault. It's all my fault." Keefe sighed and stood up. He wasn't sure how much he could trust her being alone but he decided to risk it, walking to the bathroom to put the knife in a high-up cabinet. He knew she wouldn't be able to reach it. Keefe walked back to his girlfriend with a wet towel and some medicine for her wound.

He found Sophie curled up in a ball, her self-made cuts still spilling blood. He picked her up in his arms, careful not to hurt her further, and set her on the desk chair. Lifting her arm, he started cleaning the gashes, being careful not to press too hard. With each touch, he flinched as pain stabbed his senses. He didn't understand how Sophie was sitting so quietly, with no indication of being in pain. Sophie watched him work in silence, almost like she was waiting for him to leave so she could keep hurting herself.

He wasn't letting that happen. No matter how intense her feelings were, he would stay by her. "You really need to stop having such intense feelings, Foster," Keefe said before he could stop himself. He winced at his bad wording - that didn't help the situation at all. She was feeling so much regret, pain and worry that if he didn't know better, he'd think it was coming from himself. From himself, that is, if he ever ended up killing the entire Elvin population, since that was the amount of guilt he felt from her.

"Sorry," she apologized, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were glued to the floor. He tilted her chin up so she was looking at him.

"Foster, why did you do this?" he asked, keeping his voice soft and gentle. She looked away but he wasn't letting her go so easily. "Sophie, please," he begged, hoping using her first name would convince her. "Tell me." She sighed and gave him a timid nod. He gave her a small smile, but in his head, he was overjoyed at the tiny victory. He helped her move to the bed and sat next to her. "Give me a few minutes, I need to clean this up first."

Sophie's POV

Keefe gently pressed the wet towel to Sophie's cuts, lessening the pain. She was almost mad at him - Sophie wanted, needed, deserved to hurt - but she also couldn't help but grin slightly at his stubbornness.

He kept sneaking glances at her, and not in a subtle way, and eventually, she had to tell him, "You can stop doing that."

"Doing what?" he asked innocently. He accidentally pressed too hard on one of her wounds and she flinched. "Oh - I'm sorry, Sophie, I didn't -"

"It's fine," she promised him, taking a deep breath. "And what happened to Foster?"

Keefe looked at her, his blue eyes filled with concern yet somehow staying beautiful. "I'm not joking right now," he said. His voice had a protective edge that made Sophie feel even guiltier. A sentence in the back of her mind on the top of a podium, shone on a spotlight: You don't deserve him. She looked away, only to have Keefe tilt her face back to his. "No - stop it, Sophie," he insisted. "Stop blaming yourself for everything. Stop feeling guilty for good things. Honestly, how do you even manage to do that? It's a good thing that I love you, a good thing that I care about you and want to take care of you." He cupped her face with his hand. "It's a good thing that we're in this together, okay?"

Sophie's insides were tearing each other apart, all wanting different things. One wanted to scream that he'd never understand. Another wanted to believe his lies and never leave his arms. One wanted to argue that they weren't lies. Another argued that they were. One just wanted to pretend she didn't hear him saying anything, and the last two were torn between saying it was all just a joke and everything was fine, or telling him the truth. They warred with each other. Fighting for different things.

On impulse, she decided to tell him.

"At... at the battle..." Her voice faltered. Keefe seemed to guess she was going to tell him and put an arm around her shoulder for her to lean on him. She gladly did so. "I-I was ch-chasing Gethen, and I -" The sentence was cut off with a sob, making Keefe hold her tighter. He brushed the tear off her face with his thumb, and Sophie melted into his hand. "I was so focused on Gethen, wh-when Gisela... Sandor had to... and he..." Strangled sobs came from her throat and Keefe patiently waited for her to continue, rubbing her back in slow circles. It was unfair how great he was.

The guilt was crashing in on her as she remembered every pained detail of the story. The rest of the story came out in a rushed mess."It-it was my fault, I was too idiotically obsessed with Gethen and I couldn't see Gisela line up the dagger, and if only I wasn't, a moron, Sandor wouldn't have gotten hit, it was all because of me, and now he's going to die, and it was my fault, I'm sorry, it was all my fault, I..." Sophie kept repeating. "It's all my fault."

She could feel herself falling. Falling into the deep pit of darkness. Keefe wasn't there anymore. Sophie wasn't there anymore. She wasn't in her bedroom, she didn't have her wounds or blood-soaked tunic. She was still falling. Falling back deep into an endless hole. A hole of guilt. She'd caved in on herself, she knew, and now she was drifting in her mind. Only one conscious thought.

It's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault.

Suddenly, though, new thoughts entered. These weren't any more cheerful.

I'm just a burden, I can't lead - who am I? A failure. I've malfunctioned before, but I bet this pushed everyone over the edge. They were probably planning to get rid of me anyway, and I hope they do. No - actually, I want to get rid of myself. I don't want anyone else to be bothered by it. They already knew I was breaking, I'm pretty sure. After all, it's my fault Sandor's going to die.

Die. Death. Jumping off a cliff. It's strange, I do that regularly, and yet I'm still alive. If I wasn't, Sandor wouldn't die. Well - not because of me, at least. I'm just a struggle, a chore to deal with, I'm hurting others. I'm probably hated by most of the Elvin world. They'd like it if I was gone, right? I mean, how many times have I failed? They could replace me with someone better. Someone who doesn't screw up this bad. Yeah. They'd like that.

The Neverseen's face flashed and they stood there laughing at me. Fool. Idiot, Dumb. Ridiculous. Malfunctioning. Defective. Useless. Pathetic. Words sent her spinning. Spinning around and around. Lady Gisela's cackle rang in her ears. In the distance, she could hear her friends and parents voices. She chased trying to find it and when she reached them. They weren't welcoming her. They jeered at her. Calling her weak. Pathetic. A fool. A burden. Was that what she was? A fool? A pathetic little moonlark who burdens others? But the scene faded and she was surrounded by darkness once again. It was suffocating. Light shone in a distance but she was too exhausted to go after it. She had accepted it but a voice rang. "Keefe!" Reminding her of her true love.

Keefe, of course. Keefe. The name sent her spiraling further. Here I am, thinking only about myself, per usual. I'm so selfish. How would Keefe feel? I'm sure he would hate me for it. But... if he hates me, it'd be easier to let go, right? I hope so. I don't want to leave him going down the same path I am.

Keefe's POV (yes, again)

Sophie kept repeating it, over and over again. He was confused - she hadn't been the one to stab Sandor. How could it be her fault? Her monotone voice sent shivers down his spine when she didn't react to him calling her name. The guilt had doubled, making him start crying. It was a searing heat in his chest, he'd done something wrong, he knew it. Then he realized what was wrong.

Sophie, he thought. It's probably my fault she's like this. I could've come right after the attack and comforted her, telling her it was not her fault and she might've believed me. She didn't come to me because she didn't think she deserved it, but she deserves so much more - if I'd reminded her of that, we wouldn't be here. I figured she knew what she was doing, just thinking through it by herself - but I was wrong. I'd made the wrong decision. AGAIN. It's all my fault. This is because of me, I know it.

Keefe's hands were shaking at the revelation. The girl he loved - had always loved - might be breaking... because of him.

The thought was too much, he couldn't handle it. Between Sophie repeating his thoughts, "It's all my fault, it's all my fault," with tears streaking down both of their faces, and his lips trembling, he felt like he might break himself. He was shaking his head frantically, needing to get the wretched ideas out of it. Keefe gripped his head and cried out in frustration. His breathing quickened along with his heartbeats. They pounded in his ears, worsening his throbbing headache.

He had to stop. He knew it, but he couldn't. It was just easier to retreat into his mind and think he deserved it. but he didn't. And neither did she. The only thing Keefe could see through his tears was Sophie.

Sophie. His Sophie. His Foster.

At that moment, Keefe decided: No matter what, he was going to help her out of this. He was going to help BOTH of them out of this. He won't break. She would suffer too much if he did.

He took her hand and tilted her face towards him. Sophie's eyes were glazed over, her dry lips repeating those four words over and over again. It was honestly getting a bit annoying. She looked like she was dead or in a trance. Which is why, he started repeating his own four words, over and over again, overlapping her chants. "It's not your fault, it's not your fault, Foster."

He kept saying those words for a minute or so and noticed she'd been slurring her words. The chanting had gotten slower, and the glaze over her eyes peeled away. For what seemed like the first time in forever, Keefe saw Foster staring back at him with clear eyes - until they welled with tears.

Keefe's eyes widened, he leaned in and rubbed her arms. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He wanted to smack himself for that comment - of course not! She's crying!

But Sophie leaned into him and clutched his shirt in her hands. Sobbing, she managed to get out, "I'm so sorry, Keefe."

"No," he panicked. "You have to stop being sorry! That's what the problem is!"

"I know," she sniffled. "I'm sorry for being sorry. I wasn't thinking straight - I should've gone to you like always. But I... I didn't know how to explain the feeling where... you're such a horrible person you might as well..." She trailed off.

"...Kill yourself?" Keefe guessed. A tiny nod from Sophie into his chest broke a little piece of his heart. "Foster," he whispered, holding her in his arms and moving her into his lap. After a bit of trying to get into a comfortable position, the two rested with Sophie on top of Keefe while he sat up across her pillows on the bed. Her head was still content buried in his chest, and he felt the calm radiating off of her like a cat after a mid-afternoon nap. (A/N: cat reference >:) )

"But I'm good now," she said after a while. "What... What made you better?" Keefe hesitated to ask. He wasn't sure if she'd be comfortable talking about it.

"I remembered something from back in the Forbidden Cities," Sophie explained. "In school, we learned about what suicide means and why not to do it. What causes it and all that? I can remember two times my teacher said major things: 'Suicide is a permanent punishment for a temporary problem,' and 'It doesn't get rid of the pain, it just gives it to someone else'. I knew I didn't want that, I didn't want you to feel pain because of that. Then I sort of wondered why, and all the memories of you and me came rushing to the front of my mind. I could see every time you comforted me, or made me laugh or smile, all your stupid smirks and teases, and -"

"You don't like it when I tease you?" Keefe interrupted.

Sophie put a finger to his lips. "uh-uh-uh, I'm talking," she giggled. "And no - I love your smile and your jokes, and the way you can do them both even in bad situations, and I know all the great things about you. I'd thought to myself, 'I can't hurt this person like this... I love him too much.'"

Keefe's heart melted at her words. He'd waited forever to hear her say that, and even if she never had, he'd been ready to wait until she did. Because he would never pressure her into anything, he loved her too much for that. So, grateful she'd already said it, Keefe looked into her eyes. "And I love you too much to lose you like that."

Gently, he wiped the last tear off her cheek. He kissed her cheek and they both smiled at each other. Eventually, Keefe spoke back up. "So... you're okay now?" Sophie looked at him. "Yes, Keefe. I'm okay now. And I -"

Before she could finish, her Imparter started ringing. They jumped, quickly found it, and answered it. It was Elwin. "Guys!" Elwin exclaimed. "It's Sandor!"

Sophie's face fell. "Is something wrong?" she whispered. Keefe felt her dread from a mile away as they awaited his answer. He sat down and pulled her into his lap.

"What? No - he just got clearance to go back to his role as your bodyguard!" Elwin said. Sophie's smile brightened the whole room and Keefe couldn't help laughing from the pure joy flowing out of her. "What's he laughing at?" Elwin asked.

Sophie looked away from the Imparter sheepishly. "Probably me, somehow," she admitted.

"You're just so happy!" Keefe smirked. "How am I not supposed to react positively to the pure, utter joy coming off of you when we're barely a foot apart?"

She - for whatever reason, Keefe didn't know - moved away from him. That made him laugh harder. "You know a few feet doesn't make a difference, right? In fact, we've had this exact same conversation before." He winked. Sophie's face turned bright pink. "As far as I remember, we were interrupted by the Forklenator. Have you ever wondered what would happen if he hadn't been there?" At the memory, Sophie's cheeks grew even darker. At this remark, Elwin left the call.

Keefe closed the distance between them. "Would you like to know?"

For a few seconds, Sophie simply stared at him, her cheeks flaming. Then she shook her head, "Maybe later - Sandor's okay! We have to go check on him and -"

"Does later mean now?" Keefe fake-pouted. She laughed at his antics and ran out of the room, prompting him to chase her. He gladly did, up the staircase and to the Leapmaster. It still surprised him how perfectly fine she was - all her emotions were in check, despite everything she just went through. He supposed it was since she realized she was being a bit ridiculous with thinking Sandor's injuries were her fault.

At the very last step of the stairs, Sophie tripped - and fell right into his arms. She laughed and smiled. "Thanks, Keefe."

"I'll always be here to catch you, Foster," he promised. "Always."

She beamed and called for the crystal. It wasn't her fault. He was glad she understood that now.