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It starts for a stupid reason.
Ragatha sits in the cool dimness of her room, staring ahead, and she doesn’t know why she feels so bad, today of all days. The adventure had been draining, but weren’t they all, now? It was some sort of obstacle course, but she can’t really remember the specifics. She was way too busy running around after everyone, especially Gangle, who seemed to be the target of Jax’s ire for the day. She was, too, but that was okay, because she could handle it.
She’d messed up, though, and she’d gotten distracted, and it left him with an opening to push Gangle off the climbing structure they’d been on. She’d been alright — they had harnesses on today, since Caine was attempting to simulate reality for some reason, and so she just dangled — but Ragatha still felt awful, and when she’d gone to help, Zooble, who was more stressed than usual for reasons she hadn’t figured out yet, had snapped at her.
“[$&%!], Ragatha, haven’t you done enough?”
It had stunned her, and she’d felt her cheeks burn as Zooble enlisted Caine to help her retrieve Gangle, listening to Jax laugh somewhere behind her. After that, whenever she tried getting close, or helping, or even talking, Zooble would shoot her a look, so she just stayed quiet, feeling ashamed for the rest of the adventure, and trying to avoid the sound of Jax and Pomni whispering behind her. It wasn't a big deal. Zooble was probably just wound up because they were scared for their friend, and it had been Ragatha's fault that Jax could get close enough to hurt. But—
She can’t stop thinking about it. She bounces her leg, watching as it goes up and down and up and down, and wonders if Gangle was uncomfortable with her closeness today. Maybe that was why Zooble was so irritated; because Ragatha just couldn't get the hint. She had always been bad with social cues.
Up and down, up and down.
She gnaws at her lip with her teeth. It's not like biting real skin, but the feel of the fabric in her mouth reminds her of when she'd chew on the neck of her dresses as a child, and it comforts her. Even the thought of her mother's scolding of it doesn't dim the warmth of the memory.
It's still not enough to keep her from spiralling, though.
Had Pomni looked uneasy with her this morning? Were there more signals she'd missed? Had she messed up and not even realised?
And Jax—
Up and down, up and down.
Other adventures start flipping through her mind, some recent, some not, where she missed the mark. Why couldn’t she just learn from her mistakes? Of course they were getting fed up with her. She would be, too, if she was stuck dealing with someone who wouldn’t change.
Up and down, up and down.
She doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't. But she can’t stop. She buries her hands in her hair and bunches it up, rocking back and forth, but it doesn’t help, and she’ s still thinking about it, and she needs to stop but she can’t stop, and—
The next thing she knows, she’s holding her fabric scissors, and there’s a jagged cut down the back of her arm.
She stares at it, as stuffing escapes from the hole and the dull sensation of pain beats, and it takes a second before she computes what she’s done.
She completely freaks out, of course, just like the first time she did this back home. She swiftly stitches it back up, crying and regretting it, and cycling through all the emotions that come when you break yourself on purpose for the first time. Later, though, after she’s done and sitting with herself, and as she runs her fingers across the neat line of stitches, a niggling thought appears in the back of her mind, and it whispers, that wasn’t so bad. And she... kind of agrees.
It's not like she can bleed or die, at least from that, and it's not like there's a chance for anyone to find out. And it did help. She was so focused on what she'd done and fixing it that she'd completely stopped thinking about what happened earlier. So maybe—
She pushes it out of her mind. She starts the next day bright and sunny, and when she runs into Gangle and Zooble in the corridor, she tries not to be overbearing.
“Good morning, guys!” She says with a smile.
Gangle greets her back, gentle and sincere, and Ragatha makes sure to maintain a cautious distance between them, but Zooble just rolls their eyes and moves closer. She feels something in her chest loosen from relief.
It’s normal again. Everything’s okay.
The walk to breakfast is mostly quiet, except for when Zooble narrows their eyes and asks, “what happened to your arm?”
She blue screens a bit, before covering it up with an awkward laugh.
“Oh, you know…” she gestures vaguely, “it got caught during the adventure yesterday and tore. I’m such a klutz, huh?”
Ragatha knows she’s not a very good liar, and quickly steers the conversation to something else. Zooble still has an odd look on their face, but to her relief, it’s forgotten as the chaos of the day begins.
—
It becomes habit, after that. First only on really difficult days, when she's messed up badly, or Caine's gone too far, or something equally hurtful, but soon it happens after every time she misspeaks, and eventually it’s every day. But it's fine! It helps her stay focused, and besides, it's like her mom used to say: pain is the best teacher.
Well, okay, it’s not so much pain in this case, considering how it’s one of the sensations that’s muffled in the circus.
In the real world, pain was something she could give; in here, it’s a different kind of sacrifice. Her wounds don’t scab over and heal on their own like they did back home, and so she has to fix them herself, which takes time. There’s quiet comfort in the fact that even if it’s different than it used to be, she can give something.
…And there is still a little pain, which, admittedly, does help.
Sometimes, if she feels like she hasn’t done enough, she’ll just undo her work and start over again. It’s sort of poetic, how easy it is, to destroy all the work it took to put herself back together, but she ignores it. Introspection never leads to any good places for her.
It's not like she's doing anything bad. She can't get hurt or die in here, at least like this, so there's nothing to worry about. It just helps her work on being a better person, is all. It’s ritualistic.
She still doesn't want the others to find out, of course. She cuts at her thighs, because she knows it’s the place they’re least likely to notice, and she makes sure she does it well above the hem of her dress. She always locks the door before starting so that she can’t get caught off-guard.
It’s not perfect, though. More than once, she’s overestimated how much time she has to fix herself up, and she’s had to go on adventures with the job half-done. It isn’t really difficult to cover for, considering the lengths Jax goes to injure her, especially after what happened with softball, and if anyone notices she’s walking unevenly, or that stuffing has fallen out, she knows how to play it off. But that won’t work forever, and she's not willing to find out what happens when it doesn't.
She hides what she’s doing partially because she knows how she'd react if it was someone else doing this (but this is different! It's not like that!), but it’s also because— well. She can't quite silence the thought that if they found out, they wouldn't care, and she doesn't want to risk it.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, when it gets really overwhelming, she’ll fantasise about what it would be like if they found out and they did care. She imagines that they'd wrap her up in their arms, and reassure her that they do want her, that she matters, that she's important, that she’s loved, and she'd stop snipping her threads and she'd be fine and everything would be fine and everyone would be happy, and Jax would—
Nevermind.
She always feels terrible afterwards — how selfish can you be, Ragatha? — and cuts herself more to try and make up for it, ripping out lines of stitching over and over and forcing herself to redo them for hours. It’s okay. She doesn't technically need sleep, even if a lack of it kind of makes her head fuzzy and her movements slow.
For the most part, it's fine. At least, she believes it is.
Slowly, she starts getting more and more withdrawn. She’s still sociable during breakfast and adventures, but the in-between time, when they don’t really have to do anything, is no longer spent talking to Gangle and Zooble, or helping Kinger stay collected, or trying to get closer with Pomni and Jax.
She’s finally aware of just how much of a lost cause that last one is, anyways, and how much they really don’t want her around. It’s humiliating that she didn’t figure it out sooner.
Instead, she keeps to herself. She knows that the others find her constant attempts to help annoying, that her positivity irritates them, but she doesn’t know another way to be. If she just stays away, then she can’t make them mad, and she won’t get hurt, either. It’s a win-win.
She doesn't understand how much distance she's made until she goes to rush off after an adventure, itching to cut again, before getting stopped abruptly by a hand on her arm.
"Hey, Ragatha," comes Gangle's voice from behind her, and she settles a bright look on her face as she turns around.
"Hi, Gangle," she says warmly, and she delights in the tiny smile that appears on her face.
"I was, uh, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to draw together?” She asks hopefully, wringing her ribbon hands. “We haven't really done that in a while, and I thought, uh, I thought it could be fun.”
And Ragatha does want to. She can’t recall the last time they hung out together, and her chest twists at the realisation that it has been a while. But the thing is.
The thing is, she can already feel herself starting to panic at her ritual being interrupted, and it makes her feel out of control in a way she hasn't truly felt since her arrival in the circus.
Something in her chest goes tight at how far this has gone, but she shakes it off. It's not so bad, she rationalises. We can hang out tomorrow, when I'm prepared for it. I can make up for lost time. Everything's fine.
She tells Gangle as much, and in her haste to scurry back to her room and resume what she was doing, she misses the way her expression gets worried, and the look she exchanges with Zooble.
She's too busy grabbing her scissors.
-
She starts to admire the lines of mending along her thighs, and tries to make them as neat as possible. If a stitch is out of place, she'll just take it out and try again. She likes tracing them with her fingers, over and over; it’s soothing, to feel the different texture, to know that her body isn’t some perfect digital replication, that she’s made it a little real .
That moment with Gangle should have been a warning for her. It should've told her that she needed to be more careful, that she needed to back away from this before something bad happened, but of course, Ragatha being herself, she doesn’t get it until it’s too late, and it blindsides her.
It happens when she's walking through the hallway to breakfast. She's later than usual this morning — she passed out in the middle of fixing her stitches last night, and then she'd had to finish them when she woke up, leaving her in a rush. She’s close enough that she can see the others in the distance, but she's still alone when Caine pops up in front of her. It makes her startle, and she doubts she'll get used to it no matter how long she's in here.
"Ragatha, my felicitous friend, how are you this fine morning?" he asks, spinning his cane (the irony, she thinks dryly) around wildly. He continues without giving her room to speak, and she sighs, electing instead to watch the movement of his cane. As he loses control and it eventually goes hurtling off into the distance with a crash, she realises she’s zoned out. She tries to focus back in on what he's saying.
"—The thing is, Ragatha, I've noticed that your sprite is often stricken with injuries! I thought you would come to me to fix them at since point, but clearly that hasn't happened, and they seem to have gotten quite severe. I must say, that just won't do! So here, my dear."
He snaps his fingers, and Ragatha feels dread in the pit of her stomach. The skin— fabric— surface of her legs feel different, and she has to fight the urge to lift up her skirts and check, suddenly aware of the faces which have taken notice of her, and Caine, and are looking right at them.
She forces herself to open her mouth, and as lightly as possible, she asks, “what did you do, Caine?"
He chuckles. "Why, I fixed up your legs, of course! Good as new. No need for amateur repair, here, and no need to thank me, either.”
He pauses, clearly waiting for her to thank him, but Ragatha is focusing so hard on not freaking out that she doesn’t notice. He wilts and continues.
“Please, though, if anything like this happens in the future, my jolly dolly, come to me instead of trying to fix it yourself, okay?"
He claps his hands together and floats off, somehow, with a saunter. Ragatha has to push her feet to move forwards, even as the rush of faux blood in her ears starts to roar, and her mind screams at her.
He got rid of her lines. All the work she'd put into them, all the time and work and emotion, it was gone. She wants nothing more than to turn and sprint back into her room and hack at her legs again until they’re back to normal, but she knows she can't, not with everyone looking at her. It'll only rouse suspicion, and she doesn't want to cause trouble. She can’t cause trouble. She won’t.
She repeats that in her mind, over and over, as she reaches the table and sits down woodenly on Gangle's left.
"What did Caine want?" Zooble asks, bending their head from behind Gangle to look at her. Their expression is slightly pinched, and Ragatha hopes she hasn't upset them already. That would be bad.
She shifts her gaze down to her plate, trying not to focus on how the completely flawless, hyperreal dish reminds her of her own body, now, without a single scratch or mark or anything to prove that she’s still human.
"He was just telling me about what him and Bubbles were doing earlier. Honestly, I'm still not really sure," she responds, barely conscious of forming the words. A moment later, Caine pops back up, and they both look away from her, focusing on him as she talks about the adventure of the day. She grips her fork tightly.
She’s off balance the whole adventure. She knows the others have noticed, and she scolds herself for slipping up this badly – even Jax seems to have seen that something’s up – but she physically can’t push herself to do anything about it.
It’ll be fine, she shoves down the raw fear in her chest. I can fix it when we get back. I can fix it. I can.
The second they’ve returned to the circus, she’s stumbling away towards her room. Her door shuts with a click behind her, and she already feels somewhat soothed by the atmosphere, sparing no time in grabbing her sewing kit.
And in her haste, she forgets to lock the door.
She rips open row after row on both of her thighs, concentrating entirely on the task at hand, and it means she doesn’t notice the door tentatively opening until a gasp startles her and she drops the scissors.
She looks up, and to her horror, Gangle and Zooble are both standing in the doorway of her room.
“What the [$&%!] are you doing?” Zooble asks, eyes wide, and oh god, this is real, this is actually happening, please no—
She yanks down her skirt, and pushes the fallen stuffing under her bed with her feet before standing up. She laughs, so high and almost hysterical that it can’t be anything but fake.
“Hi, guys,” she tries to smile, but her face feels like it’s forgotten how. “What d’you need?”
Please leave, she silently begs.
They both just stand there, shell-shocked. She can see tears welling up in Gangle’s eyes and it almost breaks her.
She didn’t want this. She resents herself for all those times she fantasised about this. God, what is wrong with her? Why didn’t she check the door was locked? Her breathing speeds up. She’s such an idiot. She’s such an idiot. Maybe if she’d punished herself more, this wouldn’t have—
“Ragatha? Hey, Ragatha, look at me.”
Zooble’s closed the distance between them, and they’re kneeling down — when did she get on the floor? — with their hands on her shoulders. She tries to focus on the sensation of the shiny plastic gripping her shoulders, but she doesn’t look at their face. She’s scared of what she’s going to find.
“Ragatha, it’s okay,” their voice is urgent but still low and strangely gentle, and it makes her want to fall apart, but she’s not allowed to do that. She’s not.
Her mouth wobbles.
Another voice pipes in from next to her.
“You’re safe with us, Ragatha.”
She feels ribbon arms encircle her body. Ragatha doesn’t remember the last time she was hugged. This does break her.
She starts sobbing.
This is so embarrassing, she thinks between wet gasps, but she doesn’t stop. Neither of them say anything. Zooble’s shifted slightly to rest her head against their chest, and Gangle’s rubbing gentle circles in her back as she cries, but besides that, they don’t push her. They let her have this.
It makes her cry harder.
The tears eventually subside, and she manages to get her breathing under control after who knows how long. She doesn’t want to move from this position she’s in, but she can’t expect them to cradle her forever, and reluctantly she shifts off of Zooble. Gangle stops rubbing circles, but she leaves her hand on Ragatha’s back, and it’s a comfort.
“You with us?” Zooble asks, still gentle, like they’re trying to talk to a wild animal, and her heart aches at the softness. She gives a small nod in response. No one speaks for a long time.
It had to end eventually, though. This time, Gangle asks.
“What— what was that, Ragatha?” she asks, and Ragatha clenches her fists with a deep inhale.
“It—” she breaks off, and her chest feels tight. They wait.
Her voice is small.
“It started for a stupid reason.”
—
They don’t interrupt as she speaks. She breaks down again mid-way despite her best efforts, her eye blurry with tears, but Gangle just wipes them off before they can soak into her face, and she takes a deep breath before continuing, fisting her hands in her skirts.
When she's finished, it's mostly quiet, except for a sniffling sound to her right. When she swivels to look, Ragatha sees that Gangle’s crying. She feels like a monster.
"Oh, no, Gangle, please don't cry," she says, desperately, reaching out with her hands. "It's okay, really, it's—"
"It's not okay," she hears Zooble respond next to her, firm, even though their voice hitches.
Ragatha winces.
"But it's not— I don’t— I can't actually hurt myself here, or die, or anything," she gestures nonsensically with her hands, trying to explain. Zooble just shakes their head.
"That's not the point. You're hurting, Ragatha,” they look her in the eye. “You're not okay. And even if you can't— die, in the normal sense, we still know what that leads to here."
For a moment, they look scared, but it’s gone quickly as they steel their gaze.
"You need help, Ragatha. Please let us help you."
Something pangs in her chest.
"Okay," she whispers. Her eye burns. "I'm sorry."
"Please don't be sorry," Gangle asks, and Ragatha’s expression screws up. She just nods.
They help fix her up, this time. They get the stuffing out from under the bed as Ragatha brings her sewing kit down to the ground. There's something broken in Zooble’s expression as she rolls up her skirt again to reveal her thighs, but they don’t say anything, and hold her fabric skin together on her right leg while Gangle sews it up. Ragatha works on the left at the same time.
She glances at their work every now and then, and while it's not as neat as hers, it makes something ache in her chest. She was wrong. They do care.
Gangle grabs her hand when they’re all done, and she squeezes.
"Come with us," she asks, earnestly, but Ragatha feels doubtful. Zooble notices.
"Please," they add, gripping her other hand. “We want you to.”
The look on their faces are raw and pleading and it strengthens Ragatha’s resolve. They want her to join them. They want her to join them. They want her.
"Okay. Okay," she offers them a tiny smile, and they get up, a little unsteady. When they leave her room, it’s hand in hand.
I'm not okay, Ragatha admits to herself. But I will be.