Keyboards (ch2)

2-DAY EARLY RELEASE FOR ALL MY PATRONS!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

WARNING: This chapter will deal with very heavy, mature, and triggering content. Please read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.

Chapter 2.

When she finally reached her bus, Weiss hobbled on and got a seat near the front, slouching against the back of the seat. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, the knot in her stomach having vanished for the most part.

Now it was just the usual unease that came with going back home, how she'd need to avoid her father at all costs, lest he was in a bad mood again.

No one sat next to her as per usual, and as the bus took off, Weiss replayed in her mind what had happened in the bathroom just now. She remembered those gentle words and gentle arms as though her life depended on it.

It was only then she realized she'd failed to ask the other girl her name.

. . .

Blake walked onto the bus with her head up, nodding to the driver. She took her usual seat at the middle and put her headphones on, drowning out the loud people around her.

She knew her parents wouldn't be home so she would have a few hours to herself. Already she was planning on getting online to check her favorite blog and watch some videos.

The bus took off as she thought about the girl she had helped in the bathroom. She just thought now how she had forgotten to ask what the other girl's name was.

. . .

The bus dropped Weiss off at her house, and she mumbled a farewell to the driver as she stepped off. It was getting a bit dreary out, and Weiss was starting to feel the effects of the sour weather dragging her down. She rushed up to the door, fumbled for her key, and pushed inside, shaking herself off in the parlor.

She jumped when she heard a shout from a deep voice - none other than her father. Weiss turned to him and quickly apologized for getting water on the floor, and she hurried to the kitchen to get supplies to clean it up.

After that, Weiss frantically tended to her chores, which involved cleaning up several of the house's rooms. Winter - being the older and more successful daughter - only had to take care of her own room, while Weiss was stuck with just about everything else. Whitley was "too busy with his homework" to be assigned chores.

But the thought of the freedom that came after the work motivated Weiss, just as it always did. After she'd prepared herself dinner, she would eat it alone and then retreat to her room to complete her homework and go online, where she felt most comfortable.

With those thoughts in mind, she made haste as she swept the kitchen floor just as it started to thunder outside.

. . .

The bus dropped Blake off a few blocks from her house. It wasn't a long walk, and it was one she made all the time. She leisurely strolled home, unlocking the door and walking inside when she reached her modestly-sized house.

She had a few hours to herself and only a few chores to take care of around the house. It was just herself, a small cat, and her parents, so the house was never too messy and was easy to clean. For now Blake would go online and relax a little bit before taking care of her chores.

. . .

After about an hour, Weiss had finished cleaning things up. She needed to make sure everything was thoroughly spotless, lest her father reprimand her for leaving so much as a speck of dust on any inch of his mansion. Her sister never showed herself; Winter worked from her room and only appeared for meals or to talk with their father.

At long last, Weiss went to the kitchen to start preparing her own dinner.

It was a simple mistake, but one that would cost her.

A blast of thunder startled her, causing Weiss to drop the glass she'd been holding. It shattered deafeningly, echoing throughout the entire house.

Naturally, her father heard the sound and his bellowing shout had Weiss freezing in terror.

He stormed in screaming, and would hear none of Weiss' profuse apologies. She knelt down to shakily pick up the pieces with bloodied hands as his booming voice continued to crash down on her even louder than the thunder did.

His words cut deeper than the glass ever could.

Worthless.

Good for nothing.

A mistake.

That was all she ever was to him.

Weiss let out a sob as she tossed the glass shards into the garbage and fled for the stairs, praying he wouldn't follow.

. . .

Blake checked the time on her laptop. She had been on for a little over an hour now.

Standing up, she cracked her back before walking into the kitchen. She grabbed a quick drink of water before starting her chores.

First she swept the kitchen floor, then she put food into the cat's dish. A crack of thunder caused her to spill some pellets on the floor.

"He'll get it," she mumbled as she stepped over it and placed the food dish in its normal spot.

Then was her least favorite job, cleaning the litter box. She did it as quickly as she could to get it over with.

And before she knew it she was back in her room, ready to relax.

. . .

She scrambled up the stairs and dashed to her room, not even bothering to turn on the lights as she slammed the door behind herself. Weiss rushed to her bed and threw herself down, stifling her sobs into her pillow as the thunder continued to blast angrily overhead. She was terrified, mostly of her father following after her.

But it was a small mercy that she didn't hear his footsteps even after several minutes. He left her alone, just as he always did.

Weiss clutched at her sheets, but let out a cry of pain when she felt her skin tear. Looking down, she discovered she'd run off with a large shard of the broken glass still in her palm. A long, deep cut coated her hand in blood, and Weiss trembled.

Something snapped within her. And she couldn't tell if it snapped into place or shattered altogether.

Clarity or insanity, she couldn't tell.

She stumbled over to her desk, opened her laptop, signed on with shaking fingers that mistyped every other letter. She didn't check her blog or anyone else's. She simply opened up a blank text post and started to type:

For anyone who reads past this cut just know that this will be the last you hear from me. I'm tried. I'm scared. And I just can't do this anymore. Goodbye.

She hid the message under a cut and then posted it.

Then, her eyes went back down to the glass in her hand. Tears dripped onto her upturned wrist.

A soft sob fell from her lips as she grasped the ragged edge in her bloodied hand and stared down at the soft skin. The thunder crashed again, and the tears fell faster.

She just needed to build up her resolve.

. . .

Blake got back on her computer right as a little brightly-colored notification told her that one of the blogs she followed had updated. Refreshing the page, she saw with a trill of happiness that it was her favorite blog.

But something about the post made her instantly uneasy. The post was hidden under a cut that she had to open to view the post, and there were no tags. It was just blank.

She started to read and immediately felt sick.

This wasn't like the other posts, even the ones the owner of the blog would often put under cuts.

Blake knew exactly what they were talking about.

The post had no indications that anyone else had read it. no likes or comments. Blake was the only one right now who knew. Possibly the only person in the whole world.

Hands shaking, heart throbbing, she navigated to the blog's main page and started writing a message to the girl who ran the blog:

Hey, I just saw your post... I'm not sure what's going on but please don't do this. You are beautiful, interesting, and a wonderful person who has so much to live for. People care about you. I care about you, and I want to keep seeing your pictures and reading your posts. Please don't do what you are thinking... Please.

Blake sent the message as soon as she was finished. In her rush she forgot to send it anonymously, but she didn't notice.

. . .

Weiss turned the shard of glass around in her palm. Part of her wanted to clean the blood off her hand, but the other part told her within a few minutes, it wouldn't matter.

There'd be a lot more blood than this.

She'd considered it before, attempted it a few times, but this was really it. She wasn't even scared anymore. She had no regrets. No one would really miss her.

Glancing around the room, she wondered… where she should go through with it.

The thunder crashed again and she felt nausea rise up in her throat.

But just before she could push her chair away from the desk, she noticed a little bubble pop up, indicating she had a message. Sniffling, she reached out a shaking hand, hoping the message would give her the last bit of encouragement she'd need to do this.

She clicked.

And she started to sob all over again.

Her eyes were welling with tears, her face drenched and keyboard soaked with them.

She recognized this person's writing style.

This... was the anonymous person who always popped up to send her a message whenever Weiss was feeling down.

Always… this person was there for her.

Weiss thought that… just maybe… this person truly cared.

The shard of glass fell from her hand and clattered to the floor. Weiss folded her arms over her desk and buried her head, stifling her wails to the best of her abilities.

She wanted to… message this person back.

She wanted to believe this was real.

But she wasn't sure if she could.

. . .

Blake just stared at her computer after she sent the message, trembling, wondering what would happen next.

There was nothing else she could do now, no matter how she looked at it. The barrier of the Internet and the physical distance, not knowing who the other person even was...

This was all she could do. Just type a message.

She had already offered her kind words, and it was just up to the other person if they would help or not.

Standing up, Blake took a deep breath and decided that she needed to do more chores to take her mind off of it. She couldn't help anymore, and sitting there staring at her computer while worried sick wouldn't do anyone any good.

Grabbing her laundry, she took it out to the washer and put her darks in, trying to imagine things would be all right with that person. Her cat jumped up next to her looking for attention.

"Hey." She spoke softly and scratched under his chin.

Her mind was all over the place. She remembered the girl at school in the bathroom. Blake's kind words had helped her today. She could only hope they'd also help the person on the other end of that blog post.

. . .

It took her a long time to stop crying.

After a while, it finally started to sink in - what she'd almost done.

Weiss was terrified of herself, that she'd ever be so far gone to the point that her mind would need to persuade her heart that there was no other feasible way out than to take her own life.

It was horrifying, how the lapse of one temporary moment could have such permanent results.

Eventually, she pushed away from her desk and stood on wobbling legs. She flicked on a lamp, locating the glass on the floor before she limped out into the hallway, taking refuge in her personal bathroom.

She dropped the glass into the waste bin before going to the sink to clean off her hands and splash cold water onto her face. But she made absolutely certain never to look up at her reflection.

She dried off, wrapped a few band-aids around the cuts in her palm, and hobbled back to her room on quiet feet.

When she returned to her desk, none of it felt real. The images of her own bloodied hands from moments ago, the terror and fading adrenaline she was still feeling... It was all so disorienting.

But nonetheless she felt obliged to message this person, now that she knew the username. She didn't know what to say, so she just let her fingers move freely, if not slowly, across the keys:

Hello… Please... keep these messages private. But thanks to your message, I didn't go through with what I was intending. I wasn't thinking clearly. You saved me from doing something horrible. I can't ever thank you enough…

There was… so much more she wanted to say, but she wanted to wait for a reply first; she needed to make sure this person knew the immeasurable good they had done for her.

She clicked send, and wiped her sleeve over her eyes as she waited.

. . .

Blake took her laundry out of the washer and put it in the dryer. Once the machine started she decided she would go back online and hope that her favorite blog had updated for the better.

It almost didn't feel real. To have seen a message like that posted online in quiet text. It was very different from hearing it from someone's mouth, in an actual voice and with tone and feeling.

It really got her thinking. That the person on the other end could do something horrible - to themselves or someone else - and Blake might never know of it, or be able to do anything about it.

She made it back to her room, and her throat was dry.

When she sat down at her desk, she saw that she had a notification, informing her that she had received a message. She never got messages.

She steeled herself and opened it.

And relief flooded through her to see that it was from her favorite blog, from that person. Blake was instantly overjoyed after reading it knowing that the other girl hadn't gone through with what she had planned.

With tears in her eyes, Blake typed back.

You don't need to thank me. I'm just so happy that you're thinking clearly now. I'm here if you need me, and I mean that. I have a question, though... How did you know I was the one who sent you the message?

. . .

It was a few more minutes of wiping tears and pulling out tissues before Weiss could see her computer screen clearly again. By that time, she noticed she'd received another notification and clicked to read it.

She scoured the words before slowly typing up a reply:

When you sent your message, you weren't anonymous this time. Which reminds me that I should thank you for all of the times you've sent me encouraging messages in the past, for every little thing I was complaining about, no matter how insignificant it was... I recognized your writing style, but I never knew who was sending these messages until now. So… I've got a lot to thank you for. I owe you my life. What could I ever possibly do to repay you?

Just remembering what she'd almost done to herself a few minutes ago had Weiss crying again as she sent her message. She hugged herself in the cold, dark room, knowing it was the best warmth she was ever going to get.

She found herself missing the girl from the restroom today. The girl who had hugged her.

. . .

Blake remained on the same blog screen, tensely awaiting a response. When she got it, she read it immediately.

She mentally chided herself for forgetting to go anonymous. But that didn't really matter anymore. She was happy that things had turned out this way.

You don't need to repay me. I was just worried that you would do something bad. And you don't need to thank me, either. I love your blog and I always wanted to give you some encouragement.

Blake finished her message and sent it. She just stared at her computer, not fully believing that this was happening.

. . .

The reply message arrived before long, and Weiss scanned it before doing her part:

Like I said, you've always been helping me out, haven't you? It's always you sending those kind anonymous messages. And the few times I disabled the feature, you were too shy to message me in case I found out who you were. I'm sorry your secret was revealed… but if it hadn't been, I might not still be here right now, talking to you.

You're a really wonderful person, and if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to… maybe get to know you better. I feel talking to you properly is the least I can do after you saved my life.

I'm tired, but… I'm scared to go to sleep. I don't want to keep replaying what I almost did to myself just now. If you can stay up a little later, would you mind talking to me a bit more?

She felt bad putting pressure on this person, but Weiss felt that just maybe they wouldn't mind exchanging a few more messages with her tonight. So she sent her message and hugged her knees to her chest as she waited.

. . .

Blake noticed the new message as soon as it came in and opened it up. She read it quickly before responding:

I'm so glad you're still here, so losing my anonymity is a small price to pay. And I would like that. I've followed your blog for a long time and I would be happy to get to know you. I don't go to bed until late anyway, so I'll stay up and talk to you as long as you want.

Blake sent her message and got comfortable in her seat. There was an odd feeling spreading inside of her, but it felt nice.

It was the feeling of helping someone help themselves.

. . .

It was comforting to know this person wasn't going to leave Weiss alone in her time of need. The storm was still raging on outside and it was evident she wouldn't be allowed to sleep even if she wanted to.

Weiss wiped her eyes one last time to find they were dry at long last, though she still shuddered. When she glanced down, she noticed the band-aids all over her hands, concealing the cuts beneath. She shivered again.

She curled her palm up as she read the reply, pondering what to talk about next with this person.

Thank you so much. If you need to go at any time, please tell me.

I guess… we should start with introductions... I don't want to give away my real name, but a lot of people online call me Princess. What should I call you?

She wanted to say more, but decided to save those things for future messages to make the conversation last longer.

. . .

Blake was ready for the message.

I don't really have a preference for what you should call me. I can tell you my real name if you want or you can just call me BlackCat. Whatever you're comfortable with.

. . .

Weiss considered her options for a moment, wanting to think about this and not answer hastily.

I'll call you Cat then. I haven't told you my real name, so I wouldn't want you to have to tell me yours either.

I guess… maybe tell me a little about yourself? But you don't have to say anything you don't want to, like where you live or anything. You've probably seen my pictures already, but I'm a girl, and I'm in high school. I do a lot of work at the school because my older sister was very successful there. My father wants me to be as great as her, but it's really stressful. I got sick earlier today.

Sorry. You probably don't want to hear all of these depressing things. You could tell me whatever you'd like about yourself.

SEND

. . .

Blake read the message a few times before responding, not wanting to say anything to upset this girl, Princess.

Well, I'm also a girl in high school. I do something at school but I don't have too much going on. My parents are more laid-back and just tell me to do my best. It's all right, I don't mind talking about whatever you want... If you don't mind my asking... how are you feeling now?

. . .

Weiss wasn't sure how to respond to that. It was such an easy feat to lie via text and words. But she felt that Cat deserved better than that; after all, she'd just saved Weiss' life.

So the girl opted to be honest with her:

Truthfully... I don't feel very well. I might be sick again because I just keep thinking about what I almost did. I feel like... I can still smell blood.

She could've stopped there, but there was something about nighttime that made a person excessively sentimental and quick to open up despite their better judgement. So she continued:

I don't know. I'm scared something like tonight could happen again, where I won't be thinking clearly and I'll do something stupid again because there's no one there to stop me. I'm scared I won't be able to control myself… I'm scared of myself…

. . .

This message from Princess was more weighted, and Blake felt herself frowning, felt that prickle of concern in her gut again. She wanted to comfort Princess, especially after the night the other girl had had.

Maybe... you could get something to mask the smell. It could help you feel a little better. And I know you're scared of this happening again, but you're wrong about one thing. I'm always here for you, so whenever you feel like you felt tonight, please message me. It doesn't matter what time of day, I will be there for you. I'll answer as soon as I can. I mean it.

. . .

Reading those comforting words made Weiss' heart calm. She'd never had anyone tell her such things before. And more than anything, she wanted to believe in this girl, even though she didn't know her.

And her solution to Weiss' problem was a good one. Mask the scent. She heeded Cat's words and got up from her desk, crossing the room to her drawers and pulling out some air freshener scented like lilacs. She spritzed a bit around her desk, then on her bed.

While she was up she gathered the strength to change into her sleepwear and a robe.

When she sat back down at her desk, she inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting scent of flowers as she typed her response:

That's a lot better. My room smells like flowers now.

And thank you for your offer - I really mean it. But I wouldn't want to burden you anymore than I already have. I don't want you to keep having to worry about me all the time…

. . .

Blake rubbed her eyes a little bit. She was a tired from the day at school, but she'd be damned if she let Princess hanging at a time like this. Being a little exhausted from school was nothing compared to what Princess had gone through.

It's no trouble at all. I want to help. What are friends for after all?

So you said you were involved with extracurricular activities. What are you involved with?

Blake shook herself off to make sure she'd be attentive for the reply. She really did want to talk more and to learn about Princess. Anything she could find out could potentially allow her to figure out the right thing to say in the future, should anything like this happen again.

. . .

Weiss felt a bit guilty for some reason, but the word "friends" left her staring at her screen for a good few minutes.

"Does she… really mean that?" she murmured.

No one had ever referred to her as a friend before. And yet, it wasn't so hard to believe when Cat typed it to her. The conversations were already coming naturally, before they'd even realized it.

Weiss did something she never thought she could've done on a night like tonight. She smiled.

I'm involved with a lot of things in school. My sister was the Student Council President, and I'm trying to get there as well. But right now I'm only working in the higher-up positions.

I'm also in the senior math, science, language, and history clubs as well as the art club, but I'm an underclassman so it's a bit difficult. And I often volunteer before or after school hours to help out the teachers and build up extra credit as much as I can.

What do you do?

. . .

Blake read the message her new friend has sent her. It was a long list, and Blake was shocked at first. But then, it was no wonder Princess was stressed to such a drastic degree.

Wow... you're super busy. Where do you plan on going after high school? With a resume like that you could go just about anywhere you wanted. I'm not involved in nearly as much. I take one higher-level class and I volunteer around my town. During the spring I play track and field. I'm a runner.

Now that she thought about it, Blake hadn't ever really had this conversation with anyone else before. She didn't really have any friends in her sport or around town. It was peculiar, but it also felt... sort of nice.

. . .

Weiss hadn't really taken her future into consideration all that much; she simply assumed she'd be doing whatever her father ordered her to.

I'm not sure what I'm doing after high school. My father probably has some Ivy League college picked out for me to go to. I'd like to go to college, but I don't want to go to a big one. But I don't think I have much of a choice. I'll deal with it, though.

I'd like to do what you do. Being involved in the school isn't as great as it may sound. The resume is hardly worth all the stress. I think your kind of schedule is healthier.

And you run? I've never been very athletically-inclined. I can't run very well. My father always made sure I trained my mind, not my body, so I have a weak immune system and get sick very easily.

Maybe someday I'll learn to run and I can run to come meet you, even if you live across the world.

It was only meant as a wistful joke, but Weiss had to admit she would've done it if she could.

. . .

Blake was now in the habit of checking her messages every few minutes for a new one. Right when she checked, the little notification button lit up.

I'm sorry to hear you're so stressed. Maybe talk to your father about it? But even if he doesn't let you lighten your schedule, I believe you can handle it. You're amazing, Princess.

And yeah, I run. I wasn't very good at any other sports, but I've always been fast. So track was a good fit for me, though the coach can be annoying.

And... I would like that. And if you can't run to meet me, I'll run to you.

Blake sent the message with full conviction. She would absolutely run to go meet her new friend if she could.

. . .

Weiss was touched at the reply.

It was true she wasn't very athletically-inclined, but she'd push herself to meet this girl if it was ever possible. And just the fact that Cat offered to come meet her too…

Weiss felt something warm curl in her chest. The smile on her lips stayed.

Thank you. It's really nice to read you'd come all the way just to meet some random person like me. You've known me for a long time I guess, but I never knew you. I'm following you now, by the way.

She glanced at the clock on her computer and whimpered when she realized how late it had gotten. The storm had even started to subside by now.

…I don't know what timezone you're in, but for me it's getting late. I think I'll try to go to bed after all.

Honestly... Thank you so much for tonight, Cat. If it's all right… can I message you again tomorrow? I know it's only been one night, but… I really liked talking to you.

. . .

Blake saw the time and realized that she needed to go eat and get ready for bed as well.

One last reply and then I'll go to bed.

I never thought that you would follow me. I've been following you for a long time now and it's nice talking to you. You're an amazing person, and I enjoy talking to you as well.

I need to go to bed too. I'm really glad I could help you tonight. And of course it's all right for you to message me. I would love to talk to you more. I mean it.

. . .

As she read the reply, Weiss felt a prickling kind of feeling in her chest, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was something she'd never felt before, but she decided instantly that it was a sensation she rather liked.

All right. Thank you again, Cat. Thank you so much. Sleep well tonight. I'll message you tomorrow whenever I can.

She sent her message, closed her laptop, and turned off her lamp, and she had to admit that was hard to do - she wanted to talk more…

But she had school tomorrow, and she needed to focus. She felt she was tired enough where she could just fall asleep after laying down, and hoped that her mind wouldn't be able to dwell on what she'd almost done earlier that evening.

Weiss crawled into bed and rested her head on her pillow. Her eyes closed, and on the backs of her eyelids, her mind replayed the typed conversation she'd just had. Her thoughts wandered as she finally fell asleep.

She imagined writing more and more things to Cat, imagined meeting her, even if it was only in her dreams.

. . .

Blake read the last reply from her new friend and smiled at the words on the screen. She closed her laptop and stood up. Looking out her window, she saw how dark it was outside.

Changing into a night shirt, Blake left her room and went to the kitchen. Her parents still weren't home but they had told Blake they would be working late. Right now her only company was the little black cat who watched her.

"You probably want food."

And while making both her dinner and the cat's, all she could think about was Princess.

When she laid down for bed a few moments later, it was much the same.

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A/N: My partner and I had known from the start we'd wanted this roleplay to be more serious and weighted. Upon editing it, I tried to give this chapter a bit more attention, adding in lines here or there that I thought would help make it a bit more realistic for this kind of situation.

I'm sure it's as odd to read a chapter with almost no spoken dialogue as it is to write one, but I hope that didn't take too much away from the story.