Dahlia jolted as the water was thrown from her hand, yelped when the glass shattered against the wall. Quinn fell into a panic, curled like a cornered animal and let out a terrible scream. Still sitting there, Dahlia hunched away, winced, tried to keep it from sinking any deeper into her. She didn’t leave, though. Part of her did want to, but that part was weak. So much of her was weak, and afraid, and [i]helpless[/i], and if she left Quinn now she’d be no different than she’d been a week ago. She’d be a failure. [i]Still[/i]. 

And a bad friend.

She couldn’t be that anymore. 

Dahlia scooted over, closer. She took Quinn’s hands gently from above her head, guided them low and held them tight. 

“[color=skyblue]Quinn—Quinn, hey.[/color]” she kept her voice soft, calm, as best she could. "[color=skyblue]You don’t have to drink it. You don’t. I didn’t—I didn’t know. I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise. I’m sorry. Please, you have to relax. You have to, you’ll hurt yourself. Please.[/color]”