UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
hey guys,
after thinking about it for awhile, iâve decided iâm going to stop posting on this account. due to a lot of personal stuff + my sobriety, iâm pulling back from posting.
iâll still be active on ao3, and posting my stories and works there. as long as ao3 is alive, iâll still keep posting.
itâs been a lot of fun interacting with yâall here. if youâd like to stay in touch or ask for some prompts, iâll be here.
love, v
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Rabbits
scream x the strangers
find it here
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Frowning, Sam erased the line, displeased with its structure. It wasnât as narrow or as razor-thin as she would like. She wanted it more profound, drawn with more purpose.
Purpose. Thatâs what her work was built on. It was about excellence with purposeâ and the pursuit of perfection. Nothing less was accepted, but nothing more was desired.
She took her time, etching the details and smudging the lines. Behind her, she could sense Tara getting restless, her breathing growing more rapid, labored in a way. Her baby sister was always so impatient, always too eager. It wasn't a bad thing, not at allâ but Sam was an artist. Her game was all about patience.
Their game was all about patience as well. After New York, and all the bloodbaths they escaped by the skin of their teeth, the sisters decided they needed something new. Something thrilling, something to keep them on their toes.
The Carpenter sisters were never too good at standing still. They were born to push forward and push the boundaries around them.
As her father used to say, Life is a movie. Only you canât pick your genre.
Sam always had a taste for horror films, after all. As did Tara. Both sisters loved the excitement, the rush, the absolute adrenaline of it all. It was exciting not knowing what would happen next on screenâ or whether or not everyone would make it out alright.
It was exciting, the unknown.
But once the sisters decided to make their versions, they knew it couldnât be like that. Unknown, sloppy, let open to interpretation. No, it had to be meticulously planned, down to the last idea. Tara knew this wellâ as she wrote up the plans while Sam drew them.
Sticking her tongue out in concentration, Sam smudged another line, a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead. Perfect. It had to be perfect.
On cue, Tara spoke, her voice restrained but her tone equally whiny.
âSam.â
Pausing her drawing, she put down her pen and turned to look at Tara. Sam arched an eyebrow of disapproval, staring at the girl behind her. Taraâs mask was trembling, the plastic quivering from her anxious lips. Tonight, Tara donned a new mask, a caricature of a womanâs face. It was a Pin-Up girl-styled mask, curled black hair, and gaudy pink eyeshadow to match. The red lips were pursed, and Sam could barely make out her sisters behind the plastic.
What she loved most about this mask, though, was the fact that their eyes had open slits in them. Surrounded by elaborate eyeshadow and long eyelashes, Sam could see her little sister's eyes quite clearly.
Big brown eyes stared back at Samâs, flashing with a multitude of different emotions. Excitement, anxiety, and even fear flashed through Taraâs eyes. But none mattered as Sam could still see the only emotion genuinely needed for tonight.
Bloodlust.
Reaching over, Sam patted Taraâs mask, caressing the soft plastic. Even though Tara couldnât feel the touch, she still leaned in, nearly sighing at the contact.
It took so much restraint for Sam not to engulf Tara in a hug. It was too much, almost. All she wanted was to devour her little sister and make her a part of Sam forever. She would do anything for her little girl. Anything.
Like putting together a hunt.
Turning back to her portrait, Sam hummed, smudging another line. But just as she started to get back into it, more whimpers began to distract her.
She looked over her portrait at her prey, three little rabbits, all ready to be taken apart. Glancing over them, she zeroed in on the one in the middle. He looked at her, his eyes full of hatred towards the girls. It was quite ridiculous, hating two people they couldnât even see.
Samâs mask was a simple burlap sack with two eyes crudely cut out. Unlike Tara, she wanted to look a little more menacing, a slightly more terrifying. The Unknown scared people in horror movies, and Sam would be that Unknown for her prey.
Rolling her eyes, she went back to her work. âIâm working,â she quietly warned.
Without hesitation, she received a response.
âDoes a drawing help you humanize us?â spat out one of their prey. The biggest one, naturally.
They just didnât know when to quit, did they? The game was set, the players were chosenâ and it would all be over soon. Patience was the key.
Without looking up from her paper, Sam arched an eyebrow. Cocky. Always so cocky. It was amazing how much prey could say when they donât know what they're talking about.
âDoes a hunt with no violence feed anyone?â she retorted softly.
Immediately, the room erupted with questions, fear spilling over the brim.
âA hunt?â
âWait, what do you mean?â
âPlease donât kill us,â whimpered the larger one.
Grinning behind her burlap mask, Sam cocked her head, a silent message to Tara. Her little sister never failed to understand Samâs non-verbal request, that little genius.
Tara reached into Samâs and nabbed the keys to their preyâs handcuffs, swiftly unlocking all three restraints. The handcuffs clattered to the hardwood floor, the noise echoing throughout the house. All three of their prey sat there, frozen, their hands still outstretchedâ as if they were still trapped.
Both sisters stepped back, picking up their weapons. Tara had chosen a long hunting knife, maybe a little less than a foot long. They had picked it up from their last hunt not too long ago, and it took perhaps a week to polish it newâ as their previous hunt was a little too messy for Samâs taste. Sam chose an ax, sharpened and gleaming in the fire's soft glow. It was a prize from their first hunt, the one in the abandoned building.
Sam was always a sucker for sentimentality.
Tara twirled the knife, the blade cutting through the stale with a whoosh. The ax rested on Samâs shoulder, both girls waiting for their prey to make the first move. They could run, they could fight, or they could beg. Either way, the sisters would catch them.
They didnât care for a sloppy ending, after all.
One of the prey, the meek woman who didnât say anything the whole time, began to whimper. Her hands were still held out as if she was waiting to be cuffed again. Neither sister said anything, instead choosing to wait. They always found their words before the hunt began.
Finally, the woman found her words. Any longer and Tara wouldâve ended their earlier, as her patience was wearing thin. Sam wouldnât have stopped her even though this wasnât how they did things. The whimpering woman was frankly getting on Samâs nerves as well.
âWhy are you doing this to us?â she cried, snot and tears running down her face.
Tara glanced at Sam, looking for permission to speak. Very slightly, Sam nodded. If it were anyone else, they wouldâve missed the movementâ but Tara wasnât anyone else. Her baby sister knew Sam well, and she knew that it was time.
Staring down her prey, Tara took a few steps forward, resting the tip of the hunting knife against the womanâs jugular. The woman gulped, choking on her tears. The knife pressed into her soft skin, blood specks bubbling up underneath the cold metal.
Leaning forward, Tara spoke softly, very softly. If the room werenât already dead silent, besides the crackling fire and the soft cries of their prey, nobody wouldâve caught her words.
âBecause you were home,â Tara said quietly, her tone unforgiving.
The words echoed across the room, their catch finally understanding what would happen. Tara stepped back to join Sam, both sisters watching as their prey twitched, their eyes rapidly surveying their surroundings. The sisters could see their eyes flitting to the windows, the doors, anything to escape.
Sam bit back a smile, slightly shaking her head. They always thought the escape would be the hardest part. How profoundly stupid they were. The escape, the chase, was the sisters' favorite partânothing more refreshing than earning the kill instead of taking lives just because they can.
Besides, it was hard to escape a house with all its exits blocked and electricity and cellular reception cut off. It would also be damn near impossible to run without any clothing or idea where they were, too.
Stepping back, Sam held a hand out, gesturing to their prey that they were free to go.
âGo ahead,â she softly said, one hand out to freedom, the other gripping the ax.
âRun, rabbits,â Tara chimed in, her tone taunting the people before them.
Their three captures glanced at each other nervously, almost unsure. Sam wanted to laugh at their expense. Of course, they wouldnât know how to escape, how to band together. There was no unity or perfection in their movements, unlike the sisters, not even close.
Sam turned and grasped the bucket of water next to the fireplace, tossing it onto the flames. Smoke and steam poured out of the fireplace, briefly enveloping the group.
Once the darkness engulfed them all, Sam slammed the ax into the floorboards, the movement damn near shaking the foundation of the house.
âRun.â
As their prey took off, scrambling to whatever room they deemed safe, Tara turned on her flashlight, both sisters admiring the drawing on the easel before them.
Three rabbits, all mutilated and torn apart, lay on the winter snow. Their blood colored the ground crimson, their guts strewn across the fresh snow; a christening.
Above the kill stood two hunters, watching over their prizes with pride in their eyes.
Tara gently took the drawing down, handing it to Sam. With one swift nod, Sam sent Tara to hunt while she pocketed her drawing.
Glancing out to the window to her left, Sam watched as the falling snow glistened in the night air. The color crimson would go so well with the glittering white ground.
Without a second thought, Sam disappeared into the house, grinning as she heard the first body fall to the floor.
It was time to hunt.
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Silence
life can bring so much pain
(tara reeling with samâs absence)
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Tumultuous.
Tara was used to a tumultuous, ear-splitting, noisy lifestyle. Nothing was ever private or sacred in the Carpenter home. It was always a raucous household, one bathed in sound. From the way her mother burst in while drunk, to how Sam and her parents shoutedâto the slamming of the door the day her father left, Taraâs ears always rang uncontrollably.
Sam loves to tell the story about Taraâs birth- and how her little sister was born in a fit of rage. Unlike Tara, Sam was delivered quietly, only crying a little once the Nurses showed her to her parents. They were concerned that Sam had pneumonia or poor lungs, but she was okay. Sam came into the world quiet, stoic, almost like she was plotting her escape.
On the flip side, Tara entered the world screaming, red-faced, and hollering. She was born two months premature, the size of a Coke bottle, with lungs that must have taken up half her body. Sam loves to recall that she had to plug her ears once Tara started screaming, squeezing her eyes shut because her sister was so goddamn loud.
Loved. Sam loved to tell that story. Her big sister left last night, slipping into the cover of the pitch-black night.
As quiet as Sam came into the world, she disappeared quite the same, leaving Tara to make up for the absence of noise that made her ears ring uncomfortably.
It was strange. Her big sister was a force of nature, the most assertive personality in the room. No man or woman could take Sam down, not even the girlsâ parents. Unlike her little sister, Sam was the catalyst; the only person able to handle the thunder was Christina Carpenter.
There was nothing that could rival Sam, nothing at all. Tara was the quiet one, the mousy one at that. She locked doors silently and moved through the house like a ghost. Sam would slam doors, stomp down the stairs, and bang pots and pansâ all to remind Tara that she was home and alive.
There was no comfort like a slammed door in the Carpenter house. It proved that they were still alive.
And when Sam left, she didnât even slam the door. Her big sister disappeared, quietly locking the door behind her as she left.
Leaving Tara to make enough noise for the two of them to prove that someone was still alive in this spiritless home.
Once she had figured out that Sam had bolted, Tara called Amber the following day, both girls skipping school. Amber was excited to play hooky and splay out on Taraâs bed and watch horrible rom-coms.
Tara was looking for answers.
âI canât believe she would do this. I cannot fucking believe it!â she swore, throwing one of Samâs journals at the wall.
Useless. It was all useless. For as larger than life Sam was, she made no noise in her journals, no hints for Tara to follow.
Her big sister was now a ghost in Taraâs life.
Tara was never good at living in a graveyard.
Amber huffed from her position at Samâs desk, her legs on the table, her arms tucked behind her head. âWas it really that big of a surprise?â
Throwing another journal to the wall, Tara swore. âYeah, to me, it was!â
Youâre lying, Tara.
She picked up another notebook, thumbing through the pages. Her fingers shook with rage, her bottom lip quivering in suit. âSam wouldnât have done this to meâ to us! She knew better. She knew what happened to families when the parent leaves, disappearsâ she fucking knew!â
You know who she was. Youâve always known. Why are you lying to yourself?
âShe was my parent. She knew better. Fuck, she knew better,â she swore, tossing the journal to the ground.
The journals and notebooks hit the wall with force but fell to the ground pathetically. The noise didnât last long, like Taraâs anger.
How could she be mad at someone who wasnât planning to stay long anyway?
Amber handed Tara another journal, unimpressed. âSo why didnât she do better? I mean, youâre torn up about it. Do you think she even cares what you think?â
Tara took the journal, faltering at her friendâs words. âIâŚâ
You know better, Tara.
Instead of answering Amber, Tara turned around and looked down at her bed. She threw the blankets and pillows off her bed, tearing through the covers. She couldnât answer that question because she knew the answer.
And she couldnât handle the truth.
She yelled in frustration, throwing the journal at the wall. Both girls watched it bounce off the wall and tumble onto the floor, forgotten. Tara gripped her hair, tugging.
âAnd she took my fucking knit blanket! Unbelievable!â she swore, kicking the bed.
Amber sighed, her voice bored, indifferent almost. It was almost like her best friend didnât care, didnât give a shit that Tara was going through something monumental.
Just looking at Amberâs face enraged her, fueled by her undying desire to throw the bed at her head. She tried to take deep breaths in and out, forcing herself to stand down. Amber didnât leave her; she was still here. It wasnât fair for Tara to take this out on her.
Until Amber opened her stupid mouth again.
âSince when is lying and stealing from your loved ones a symptom of addiction? To me, it just seems like an excuse for shitty life choices,â the girl said, picking at her cuticles.
There it wasâthe catalyst.
Wordlessly, Tara turned away, reaching for her jacket. She slipped it on, beelining for the door.
Amber, ever the detective, stood up quickly, shoving her body between Tara and the door. Tara kept her eyes downturned, her breathing uneven.
Reaching out, Amber grasped Taraâs jaw, forcing the girl to look at her. âWait, where are you going?â
Tara slapped Amberâs hand away, jutting her chin out. âTo the twins,â she said simply.
The girl cocked her head. âWhy?â
She rolled her eyes, pushing Amber out of the way. Opening the door, she turned to the confused girl, her teeth bared. âShitty life choices?â
Understanding flooded Amberâs eyes, and the girl faltered, knowing she was caught. Sighing, Amber walked towards Tara, her hands up in surrender.
âTara, Iâm sorry. That was over the line,â she started, her voice somewhat apologetic.
Too bad Tara was on fire.
âYou donât even see the fucking line, Amber!â
Tara closed her eyes, breathing out. She had to be careful. She couldnât handle another person leaving.
âYou know, I missed her so much. So fucking much. All those years, she became someone I didnât recognize anymore- and now sheâs gone. But I know the truth.â
âI miss her now that sheâs gone, but I missed her when she was still here. She hasnât been mine in a long time. I donât know why I keep fooling myself of that,â she whispered, her voice cracking.
Amber sighed, reaching out for Taraâs hand. Tara resisted at first, but the girl still held on a little too tightly for Taraâs taste. But the hurt felt good. It stifled the quietness that surrounded her now.
âIt wasnât real, Tara. If it were, she wouldnât have left. Itâs that simple,â the girl soothed, rubbing her thumb across the back of Taraâs hand.
Breathing heavily, Tara watched the girlâs hand, trying to remember how it felt to be alive. âAmber. If it wasnât real, then why does it hurt so fucking much?â she whispered.
âShe let you lean on her when you needed it. In return, you kept her alive when she actively tried to fall apart. You were a crutch. Nothing more,â Amber urged, her voice unforgiving.
Unforgiving as the silent house wasâ as if everything that happened, their past, their history, was nothing.
Maybe Amber was right.
Maybe Sam was never there.
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it is telling which of yâall were supportive of #justiceformelissa just because you werenât getting a scream 7âŚ.
well now you are! white mediocrity is always celebrated and accepted! fuck spyglass & this shitty excuse of a ânew scream filmâ.
i hope everyone who cares more about a fucking film than lives of actual people rot in hell
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a new collection of bloodier/spookier pieces of the carpenter sisters. vampires, zombies, serial killer sisters, oh my!
feel free to make suggestions as we go :-)
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Love Drought
spent my life in the dark for the sake of you & me
(notice me. iâm here. notice me)
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Caring too much was taboo.
There was something too viscerally repulsive about having passion in the Carpenter household. Love was a childâs game. It was only valuable when you were a kid and wanted something from people who could give it to you. Love was just a currency now, something that only worked if someone could make something from it.
But no matter that her love was useless now, Tara still held onto it. Her heart was wilting, the love she took in drying up. The well that lived in her heart, the one that was nurtured and fed by her big sister was at the end of its journey. It was drying up quickly.
The worst part was that Tara couldnât do anything about it. She had so much love to give to people who couldnât give it back. She gave out more than she could replace, and now she was bleeding out slowly.
Maybe it was her fault. Perhaps she loved too deeply, giving all of her heart away to people who couldnât handle it. But Sam used to take all her love and give it back to her little sister tenfoldâ like Tara was worthy of it.
That was four years ago. Everything had changed overnight, and Tara had no clue why. One moment, she received kisses all over her face; the next, she begged Sam to look at her.
Sam said she couldnât handle this anymore and that âTara needed to grow up.â Tara was grown now, and she wasnât a little baby. Love was for children. Sam knew that, why couldnât Tara? Sam told Tara she âhad no more love to give any moreâ.
And maybe she was right.
Yet, ten times out of nine, Tara knew Sam was lying. But nine times out of ten, she knew her big sister was trying. So she tried to be fair while Sam tried to be there and to care.
But her big sister was caught up in her tumultuous emotions, so everything that Tara did or said went unnoticed. All the words and ideas and memories that Tara had hung up in the air, her big sister so unaware of Taraâs aching heart.
There was something so destructively beautiful about Sam being her lifeline and the person trying to kill her. Not literally, though. Tara may only be twelve, but she knows her big sister wouldnât lay a hand on herâ even on the copious amounts of substances she was taking. Even then, Tara might take a brutal death if it meant that Sam was aware of her broken heart.
Tara knows that nine times out of ten, she was just stuck in her feelings. Her sadness seeped out of her, coating everything she touched, turning everything permanently blue. It wasnât fair that everyone she knew left eventually, and she was already preparing for Samâs departure. It was only inevitable for her big sister to up and goâ everyone else in their life had paved the road for her.
However, ten times out of nine, Tara was only human. She had no idea what she did wrong or what she did to deserve this isolation. She was twelve years old, barely old enough to cause destruction with her own hands. There was not a mean bone in her body that could treat her big sister the way she treated Tara.
Everything in Tara was committed and focused, even devoted to her big sister. The sun rose in Samâs eyes, the moon rising in her smile. Tara lived and died for every conversation, no matter how sparse they were.
Gone were the days of the big sister who helped her get dressed every morning.
âHere, let me put your coat on, honey. One arm out, ready?â
There would never be another night of falling asleep in her big sisterâs arms after a story.
âGoodnight, my love. Iâll see you in the morning. Remember you have a show-and-tell tomorrow, yeah?â
And she was sure Sam would never allow herself to be seen in public with Tara, much less hold her hand.
âHey, I got us. This movie is a piece of cake. Just hold my hand, yeah?â
But what had she done to deserve any of this? She loved too loudly and too visceral; she knows that. Everyone in her life has half-moon crescent marks imprinted in their skins, physical memories of Tara's grip on their life. All she did was beg for people to stay, to love her. Nobody listened.
She wasnât sure why she believed that Sam would.
Sam was seventeen now and off in her own world. She hadnât been Taraâs for four years, and she hadnât been sober in three. Tara had tried to dump out the pills, the handles of liquor. She hid Samâs wallet and even threw her big sisterâs phone in water; anything to disarm the suicidal killer within her sister.
What could be better than being with Tara?
Anything else.
Too many days had Tara spent staring at her big sister, watching her every move. Tara took notes in her head, jotting down everything her big sister did and didnât do. She figured that if she tried to meet her sister in her make-pretend world, maybe the words would turn sweet again like they were at the beginning.
She begged silently, pleaded, and even screamed for Samâs attention.
I love you.
Why donât you notice me?
Why canât you hear me?
Iâm right here. See me.
It didnât matter how loud she screamed or how hard she dug her nails into her skin. Sam never noticed, and if she did, she didnât say anything. The blood oozed down her wrists, and the only thing open in her life anymore were the wounds on her skin.
Sometimes, she was lucky and had a little interaction with her big sister. But that was only on Fridays, the nights Sam spent at the trap house off Bell Street.
Tara would find herself wandering the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Rummaging through the empty fridge, she almost jumped out of her skin once she heard the silent laugh of her sister.
As nonchalantly as she could, Tara glanced over, not making eye contact with her big sister. She couldnât spook the stray animal that lived in her home. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam sitting on the counter, her nose in her phone, a dopey smile on her face. Taraâs heart grew two sizes before it deflated quickly, knowing it wouldnât last.
Instead of initiating conversation or fighting to be noticed, Tara closed the fridge and slowly walked out of the room.
But Sam had other ideas.
âIâm going out. Thereâs a frozen pizza in the freezer. You know how to make it?â she called, kicking her feet slightly.
Tara froze like a deer in headlights. Her heart raced, her hands shook. It was like a shot of espresso and running a marathon, all rolled into one. Sam was talking to her, not at her. This was it. This was the moment Tara would profess her love in hopes that she would get something back.
But to be open was to be weak and to ask to be hit.
So, instead, she resisted the urge to be open, swallowing her pride. â425° for eleven minutes,â she said slowly, her voice wobbling.
Sam nodded, humming. âGood. If mom comes in, go upstairs.â
You remember. You know mom is the devil. Please donât leave me here. Tell me you love me. Please. Tell me you wonât go and leave me here alone with her. Please, Sam. Just tell me.
Tara bites down on her tongue hard. She couldnât get herself to believe that anything would be different if she held out the same wilted olive branch again. âOkay.â
Sam clucked her tongue in response, barely looking up from her phone. If she heard Taraâs heartbreaking on the linoleum floor, she didnât say anything. Her big sister just kept typing away on the screen, her dilated eyes glazed over like she wasnât there in the first place.
Before Tara could snap out of her trance of want, Sam had already moved on.
âGood. Adios,â she replied, hopping off the counter and heading out the back door.
Tara watched as her big sister wobbled through the backyard, her steps shaky, her face tilted to the sky. She wasnât sure how Sam could face life head-on like that when she left her whole world at home each night. It was as if Tara didnât have any use anymore, unable to provide Sam the relief and love that substances gave her.
So, like every night she was left alone, Tara felt her love dry up, the bucket scraping the bottom of the well.
But she still gave out what she could muster, hoping that one day, Sam might end this love drought.
âI love you too, Sam. So much. Iâll leave the back door unlocked like I always do.â
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Desperado
you better find somebody to love you, before itâs too late.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Some kids wished on shooting stars for their wishes to come true. Tara used to wish on passing cars instead.
As a child, she usually didnât take chances. Tara was careful, always watching from the sidelines. It was easier to watch life pass by without jumping in and being carried by the current. She was okay with it, as Sam always took her hand and dragged her headfirst- fearless - through their lives together. No matter what, no matter where, Sam always made sure Tara was included and thought of.
Once her big sister left, Tara stopped watching. She jumped straight into whatever was in front of her, headfirst, unwavering. There was no reason to be careful, be skeptical, or even to wonder. She didnât have a reason to believe in anything anymore. Tara believed that Sam loved her, but now she just believed she was crazy.
Most nights, when she couldnât sleep in that bare-boned home anymore, she found herself watching the traffic flow through the town. Woodsboro wasnât a big town, but it wasnât tiny either.
A town big enough for the two of them, Sam said.
Or used to.
Her midnight adventures started the night after Sam left. Tara found herself wandering out of her house, the May evening air nipping at her heels, propelling her down the street. She moved past the cinema, the police station, and the Mom & Pop shops and headed towards the highway. It was maybe a thirty-minute walk, but it didnât matter. She couldnât feel anything.
Sam had driven out of this town and took Tara's heart with her.
She eventually settled on the patch near the exit and watched the cars pass. Red tail lights flashed in the darkness, and various cars and trucks drove away from Tara as Sam did.
At first, she was furious with each cat that left and passed the THANKS FOR VISITING WOODSBORO sign. How could they? What could they possibly be leaving this town for? Who or what was out there to make them want to go?
Deep down, past all her anger and resentment for the departing cars, she realized what it was. It was yearning, a desire to be chosen. The habitual instinct that all humans are born with is not to be alone. She saw each car leaving the town she called home as a traitor because what could be better than living with her?
She had no answer. If she did, maybe she would have understood why Sam left. But she would never get the chance.
So, instead of screaming at the sky and the automobiles- both cold and unforgiving in their own right- she decided to play pretend. She had nothing but time anymore. She would wander every night to the exit and watch every car pass by, hoping, wishing, that one of them would stop and take her with them.
Those taillights turned into eyes, eyes that stared Tara down as they sped away from herâtaunting her. They were red eyes in the dark, taking hope with them wherever they went. And Tara could never follow.
Eventually, her obsession with staying up all night and chasing cars caught up with her. She couldnât stay awake during the day and found herself falling asleep in class. Sometimes, she wouldnât even return to her home before dawn, falling asleep on her front lawn or the bench in the park. The twins caught on early, and once Chad could drive, he would circle the block until he found the sleeping girl. Amber and Mindy did the same until it became too much.
She was seventeen when Amber finally snapped. It was Taraâs fault, anyway. She fell asleep in the ditch, curling into the dry weeds and dewy grass. Because of her deep slumber, she didnât attend school the next day, sending her friend group into a frenzied panic. She doesnât remember falling asleep until Deputy Hicks shakes her awake.
Blinking, Tara sat up, rubbing her eyes. Behind the concerned officer were her friends, all in various states of concern. She remembers Chadâs red face, the face he caught before he cried, his eyebrows knit together in a troubled frown. Mindy was beside him, her arms crossed tightly, her lips in a tight, stressed line. Wes was crying, his nose cherry red, his cheeks slick and shining with tears. Liv just looks relieved, her face white as a sheet of paper.
And then there was Amber. Once Tara saw her best friend, she couldnât take her eyes off her. As all her friends started to help her up, dust her off, and hug her, Tara didnât blink.
âIâm glad youâre okay, but we canât do this anymore. You need to get it together,â Mindy whispered sternly, hugging Tara tightly.
âJesus, Tara. I thought- you know, that- God. Iâm glad youâre okay,â Chad mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
âGod. Donât do that again, okay?â Wes cried, hugging her so tight she thought her ribs would break.
But none of their words registered in her mind. All she could see was Amber, the girl staring her down, her eyes glowering in silent rage. She knew that look well. It was Amber's expression upon learning Sam left or the night Christina punched Tara. It was the look of egregious hostility, the simmering intensity of someone about to tear her apart.
Sam used to have that look. Her big sister saved it for their parents, the bullies at school, or the eyes of the townspeople. But she never directed it at Tara.
Yet Amber wasnât Sam, which was why Tara was so afraid of her now.
Once all her friends left, Amber stayed, as she volunteered to take Tara home. The two stood there, watching each other, waiting for the other to start. As always, Amber took the lead.
The girl shoved Tara down, watching as she fell into the weedy grass. There, she kneeled down, getting close to Taraâs face, whispering, her voice penetrating all the paper-thin walls Tara had up.
âListen, you better come to your senses. Youâre not the only one with pain and hunger. People love youâpeople here who stayed. You donât get to wander the world looking for someone to love you as if your waking life is a prison. Get it together,â she hissed, shaking Tara by the shoulders.
Amber stood up, her face full of disgust.
âYou donât get to just smash up all our lives because youâre trying a new treatment to forget your big sister leaving you, Tara.â
The girl turned around and walked to her car, not waiting for Tara to follow. She didnât have to wait, as she knew her words would be the thing to shake Tara awake.
From then on, Tara stopped taking chances. She stopped getting up at night and stopped chasing cars. It didnât matter whether or not she walked alone. All she had was isolation. All she would be is alone.
It was time she came to her senses anyway.
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decided to try something a little new. lawyer sam x defendant tara, anyone?
how to get away with murder x scream
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Wounded
it doesnât matter where, i just donât wanna be alone
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Sam was twenty-four years old when she decided to stop sitting at the edge of bridges.
There wasnât a clear explanation, which was the most frustrating part. She had this, this thing that lived within her, a virus of some sort. No, maybe a tumor. It lived beneath her ribs, tucked next to her heart, eating away at it. No matter how much she tried to clean herself out from the outside in, it stayed. It lingered, swallowing every drop of peace she could ever have.
She could feel it there in the middle of the night, thrumming against her ribs, a second heartbeat that overtook the first all too quickly. It was starving, desiring the flesh that encased and held it in place. All it wanted was to be free, be alive, to live.
But Sam couldnât allow it to grow, so she did what she could to kill it alone. Cheap vodka and weed worked at first, numbing the sting.
It wasnât enough. It wasnât ever enough to stop the pain, stop the bleeding. No matter how much she tried to clean out the body she sinned so profoundly with, the pain was always lingering.
Fuck, there was so much pain, and she just couldnât stop noticing it.
So she tried to drown it out. She had to; it was the only way she would be able to fucking breathe.
Most nights, if not all, she found herself on the bridges around Woodsboro, staring at the streams and rivers that gurgled through the town.
She shouldâve gone to New York with Tara. She shouldnât have stayed back, in this godforsaken town.
All she did was punish herself, anyway. Why couldnât she do that with her reconciled sister at her side?
It was too painful to be open, raw, exposed. It was far too much to inflict more pain because she couldnât handle her ownâ especially on the person she had just got back.
But Sam was selfish. She couldnât help but share the pain that lived within her.
Most nights, if not all, Sam would stand on the edge of the bridges and imagine what it would be like to jump off and become one with the water. What peace it must be to be able to disappear forever. No bills, expectations, serial killer fathers, or cruel intentions to bother her anymore.
Freedom. Complete and honest freedom.
Yet, before she could jump, she always made a phone call, just in case. Most of her friends didnât answer- knowing that Sam was a headcase and bound to slip up anyway. It was easier to pretend that Sam was okay if it meant they could still live their lives.
But she tried anyway.
Just with someone she couldnât afford to lose.
It took Tara three rings to answer, three long, lonely rings. Sam knew her little sister saw her name and sighed, knowing it was never a good call. Sam never called with good news.
Only with reminders of how fucked-up she was.
Once she heard Tara say hello, she burst into conversation.
âThere isnât, ah, there isnât anyone left to call. Iâve burnt a lot of, um, bridges, I guess,â she said, wincing at her poor choice of words.
Tara sat on the other side, silent. Sam could feel her face flush uncomfortably, her throat starting to ache as well. Shit. She was too open, wasnât she? Scaring away everyone who ever loved her, cared about her. It was better to be silent. It was easier to be quiet.
Why couldnât she just choose the easy route and just jump already?
âWhy should I stay?â
Sam paused her train of suicidal thoughts, her heart squeezing uncomfortably. Her little sister, always asking the questions Sam preferred to avoidâ because deep down, she knew the answer.
There was no reason for Tara to stay.
But she tried anyway.
âI think, I think this pain has a purpose. That maybe, in a fucked up way, itâs worth it, you know? If I hurt myself just enough, itâll all make sense. Fuck, Iâll make sense, yeah?â
âSam,â Tara softly chided, her voice laced with impatienceâa warning.
âJust wait, okay? I take chances. I hold the gun to my head and never pull the trigger, but I never turn the safety on. It just feels good knowing I am in control, even if I never really was. Ever. It hurts to feel good and feel in control. But lately,â Sam paused, taking a deep breath.
âLately, since we started talking again, it hurts less. I donât know why. It just slows down, and I realize I canât keep standing on the edge, hoping a gust of wind will relieve me of the damage I've caused. In some sick way, hearing from you helps me figure it out. It helps it hurt less.â
Sucking in a deep breath, Sam breathed out, shaking. This was nowhere near quick, easy, or fair. But she had to expel all the words within her mind and make them come to fruition. Tara needed to hear them, and Sam needed to let them go.
Sam knows she should let Tara go, or herself, at the very least. She should free Tara of her dirt poor health and allow her sister to thrive without knowing what a royal fuck-up her big sister is. It was better when nobody was worried about Sam.
It was better when she was balancing on bridges in the midnight glow, her impending death a blissful experience.
Swallowing hard, Sam winced, knowing the more she talked, the more the feeling of regret taints her mouth.
She also knows that Tara is everything she wants, even if itâs so goddamn wrong; but Sam was everything Tara regretted.
But she couldnât stop the pain that forced her to keep talking.
âI should've never let myself leave. I shouldâve stayed in this town, shouldâve stayed with you. And I know this isnât fair, and this is a bad ideaâ and I know Iâm only making it worse. But you make it hurt less. You make me hurt less.â
Silence.
She cupped her mouth by the receiver, her following few words barely above a whisper. She didnât need the world around her to hear her beg. It was a fruitless plea they knew all too well. âJust donât go. Stay. Please, stay.â
Swallowing hard, Sam looked up at the midnight sky, the starless night staring back at her. âI donât want to be alone anymore,â she whispered, her words stilled in the night air.
A beat passed. Then two. Until all Sam could hear was the crickets in the grass and the rushing water beneath her feetâall cruel reminders of the person who didnât die at eighteen like she was supposed to.
It hurt less when Tara was on the other line, but now, Sam wasnât sure anymore. Everything was the same, identical, unwavering. Her reality wasnât hers but one owned by everyone who wanted to buy in.
She must have been fun to watch as she lost her mind. Who wouldnât want to see a fuck-up kiss the shadow of death each night? It must be a real circus show, watching the mirrorball spin and morph into whatever anyone wanted to see.
Sticking out her foot, Sam wobbled a bit, testing out her balance. Two steps, and she could be free, tossed in literal waves, letting her body be thrown against the wet rocks and become one with the river. Blood may be thicker than water, but it all looked the same through a rushing stream.
Until she heard it.
âI wish you didnât go. I wish you had come with me,â Tara softly said, sniffling a bit.
Tears. She hadnât heard that crying voice in a while. Naturally, Sam had to cause them to listen to them againâ a malicious attempt to get what she wanted.
She hated that she succeeded, but she was so goddamn relieved that Tara was talking. Maybe this would work. Perhaps she would live through the night.
âYou know, itâs never too late. To come here. We could share a room. Like when we were young. We could make it that easy, we could make it hurt less together, yeah?â
Despite herself, Sam smiled, her teeth bared to the starless sky. All she really wanted was somebody to want her, someone who wouldnât disappoint her and would stay when Sam was determined to end her life there and then.
It was almost too much, knowing that someone was there. Maybe her pain was all for nothing; it was just futile acts of superficial self-sacrifice. Perhaps she was just a bitch, always crying wolf for the attention she was receiving anyways.
Why was she so goddamn selfish?
Sam squinted at the sky, blaming her tears away. It hurt less, but goddamn, it still hurt. âWhy do you want me to stay? All Iâve done is found ways, creative, sick ways, to hurt you. Hurt us.â
âHurt Yourself. You hurt yourself more than you could ever hurt me, Sam. Itâs hard to know that no matter how much pain I feel, youâll always feel one hundred times worse. And that reminds me how human you are and how youâre still my big sister. And I still love my big sister,â Tara gently said, her voice wobbling.
Tears. Tara was crying. So was Sam. Was it raining in New York, too?
âWhy do you still do it? Itâs rotten work, you know. Iâm always going to be two steps from death, even on my good days. Iâm nothing but a ticking time bomb,â Sam said, her tone husky with tears.
Her little sister hummed, sniffling a bit. âIt was never rotten work. It would never be rotten work. Not if itâs you, not if itâs us.â
Sam cleared her throat, her chest aching with tears she said wouldnât let fall. All she could say was one word, afraid that if she tried for a novel, she would fall short. âYeah?â
Without hesitation, Tara was there.
âYeah. Get off that bridge, Sam. Donât burn it down. Come home. Come to New York. Come to me,â Tara urged, her raw voice softened with love.
Above her, the starless night sky was unforgiving, cold, and lonely, but it wasnât completely alone. If she looked hard enough, she could see the moon hidden behind a few clouds. It was as if the moon was waiting to be seen, to be acknowledged.
How could Sam ever deny the beauty she neglected?
âSam?â Tara said, her voice tinged with concern.
Tilting her head, Sam took in the moon, watching as it began peering from behind the clouds. It didnât look like it would come out ultimately, but just enough to be seen, to be heard.
To be noticed enough to make the loneliness hurt less.
âIâll come home.â
Taking a deep breath out, Sam stepped off the lip of the bridge, away from the edge.
Away from her cruel intentions.
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Thirst
be not afraid
(scream x midnight mass)
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
They werenât supposed to see. It was supposed to happen quickly, in the dead of night. Tara was supposed to have it all wrapped up within fifteen minutes, maybe ten, tops. They werenât supposed to find out like this.
It was unfortunate that this time, there was so much blood. Truthfully, it made the situation appear worse than it was. The sisters were better than this typically; thisâthis was just a messy accident.
Thatâs what Tara had to convince them anyway.
Mindy took another shuddering breath, her face turning a sickly green color. Behind her was a white-faced Chad, his fingers clutching his stomach. Both siblings looked absolutely horrified.
Not for long. Tara was once afraid, too. But she remembers well what Sam had whispered the night she found out what was going on.
Be not afraid, Tara. Iâm still here. Iâm still me. Be not afraid.
Finally collecting herself, Mindy raised a shaky finger, pointing at the body on the floor. Tara could feel her hackles raising a bit at the gestureâ as she could feel it was an accusatory expression. Almost as if Sam and Tara were in the wrong.
Darting forward, Tara laid her hands on Mindyâs, gently squeezing them. The girl flinched at the touch, her mouth agape, her eyes wide in disbelief. Ignoring the expression on the girlâs face, Tara pushed forward.
âBe not afraid, Mindy. All is well. We are all okay. In fact, weâre all alive. Do you know why we are alive?â she gently whispered, brushing a lock of hair behind Mindyâs ear.
Mindy pulled back a bit, her lips forming into a snarl. âChad and I are here by accident. We are not getting wrapped up into whatever little freakshow you have going on here!â she shrilly yelped.
Tara fought the urge to roll her eyes. Pathetic. The twins were always so meek and pathetic. They could never understand the sacrifices and the blood the sisters gave to make this all happenâ to save them. All their hard work was squandered away just because two nonbelievers couldnât see past their rose-tinted glasses.
Be not afraid.
Holding more firmly to Mindyâs hands, Tara gently pressed her nails into the girlâs skin, relishing how she flinched at the pain. Good. They all must be ready for when it was their turn to give.
âMindy. Do you understand the miracle that you are witnessing today? Do you not see with your own eyes what has happened here today?â
âSam killed that guy. Heâs dead,â Chad whispered, her eyes as wide as saucers.
Tara turned back to the miracle behind her. True, the man was dead, no longer living, no longer breathing their air. But why did it matter so much? The man wasnât a loved person or a cherished one at that. Sam was opportunistic, but she wasnât cruel. It was better to pick those who wouldnât be missedâ nobody would look for them anyway.
The man lay dead on the ground, dried blood staining the floorboards beneath him. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and arms outâ as if he was welcoming the sisters.
They welcomed him indeed.
Her eyes slowly followed the trail of blood to the body in the corner, her mouth betraying her. She just couldnât help but smile at the woman before her. In the corner, huddled up, was her big sister. How could Tara ever forget what Sam looked like?
Even with the streaks of dried blood running down her chin or the sweaty hair that clung to her foreheadâ and the eyes, oh, the eyes. Those eyes that Tara had looked for all her life, deep brown and warm, now tinted with a disc of silver in them. Even now, as they looked upon Tara with fright, Tara knew those eyes. Those were Samâs eyes.
Who was she to betray them?
âSo the killing bothers you now?â Tara said quietly, turning back to the twins before her.
Both Mindy and Chad looked at Tara as if she had gone mad.
âAre you fucking crazy?â Mindy whispered, her voice cracking with⌠fear.
Why were they still afraid?
Tara stepped forward, noticing how both people flinched and leaned their bodies back. She fought the urge to sigh. Changing the minds of the nonbelievers would be trickier than she anticipated.
But Sam was counting on her, and Tara would never let her big sister down.
Breathing out, Tara found her balance. Sammy needed her. Her big sister needed her.
She bent down, falling to her knees. She could feel three pairs of eyes on her, following her every move. All she cared about was the pair she was drifting to.
Sam lay up against a wall, her eyes dark, her mouth and throat coated in crimson blood. The dingy lighting illuminated her big sisterâs face, lighting her sister from within.
Sam had never looked better.
Slowly, deliberately, and without any particular reason, Tara got down on her hands and knees and started to crawl toward her big sister.
Her palms scraped against the unforgiving floorboards, splinters intermixing with the trails of blood already seeped into the wood. The blood she stepped in was still warm, the viscous liquid sticking to her skin, coating her. She kept her eyes on Sam, letting her big sister watch her crawl towards her.
I am all yours. Consume me.
Tara sidled up to Sam, resting her blood-stained hands on her pants. Sam watched her every movement, eyes zeroing in on the handprints Tara left behind. The two stayed there for a moment, existing just for each otherâ as if there were no other beings in the room.
Quietly, almost noiselessly, Tara spoke, keeping her voice just above a whisper. She didnât want to scare Sam away, not like this, never like this.
âIâm here, baby. Iâm here. I love you, Sammy. I love you so fucking much,â she gently muttered, her hands twitching against her jeans.
God, she just wanted to envelop her big sister in a hug, hold her, and never let her go. She was so proud of Sam, so fucking proud. This is who her big sister was meant to be. Ruthless, protective, and loyal. All the things that made Sam who she was.
And Sam was here now.
âTara,â Chad whispered from behind her, his voice laced with worry.
Tara ignored the question and rested her hand on Samâs shoulder. Her big sister didnât flinch, but her eyes widened like saucers. The blood on Taraâs hands seeped onto Samâs shirt, and her big sister twitched beneath her touch. Good. Sam was alive.
She squeezed Samâs shoulder, letting her big sister feel her prescience. âWe can do this. We can fucking do this.â
âTara.â
âItâs you and I. Iâm not afraid. Do you hear me? Iâm not afraid,â she said forcefully, shaking Sam slightly.
Her big sister tilted her head, her eyes glowing in the dim room. Tara shuffled closer, almost sitting on Samâs lap, and held onto her big sisterâs face with her bloody palms. Sam blinked at the touch but leaned in, letting her forehead touch Taraâs. The two breathed in the metallic scent of blood, tasting the copper that intertwined them forever.
Sam had never looked so good.
âTARA!â
Pausing, Tara gripped her sisterâs face in her hand, smearing blood off the chin she loved so dearly. Sam didnât take her eyes off of her, not even through the yelling or the suffocating room.
Tara nodded once, staring intensely into Samâs eyes.
And Sam nodded back, opening her mouth to smile wide.
Both girls shivered at the sight of the glint of the white, sharp canines that poked out of Samâs mouth.
Be not afraid.
Tara stood up, staring down at the blood on her hands. Sam watched her every move, almost goading Tara to do what she was thinking.
Taste it.
Who was Tara to deny Sam that pleasure?
Without breaking eye contact, Tara held her hand up to her mouth, licking the blood from her wrist all the way up to her fingertips. The warm blood coated her tongue, stained her teeth, and seeped into her gums. It was a strange feeling, the copper taste of someone elseâs blood now in her body.
But it was the most divine thing Tara had ever tasted.
Once she finished with one hand, she moved to the other, the glint of Samâs teeth flashing in the air.
As she started to taste the blood on her arms, Mindy reached forward and grabbed Tara by the shoulder, forcing her to turn around.
âAre you fucking insane?â Mindy yelled, her ironclad grip on Taraâs shoulder aching.
The girl shoved Tara forward, forcing her to look at the dead body on the floor. âThat person is DEAD!â
Behind them, Sam growled, a warning shot. Tara held a hand up, forcing Sam to stand down. She could handle this; she could protect them.
Shaking Mindyâs grip off her, Tara bared her teeth, the blood dripping off her canines, pooling in her mouth. The twins stepped back, stunned, almost disgusted at the sightâ as if Tara was the dirty one in this situation.
She would show them.
âLetâs not pick and choose the endless deaths that she saved our lives from to tarnish!â she shouted, pointing at the dead body on the floor. âSam saved us tonight; that man was nothing! He was a selfish, cruel, and evil man! She saved us!â
âSaved us from what, Tara? A drunk fool walking around town?â Chad sneered, crossing his arms in defiance.
Tara bristled, her hands balling into fists at her side.
âDo not question the word of God!â she yelled, her voice thundering through the room.
The twins stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. Chad just looked disgusted and afraid, while Mindy found her voice first.
âGod? You mean Sam?â the girl said incredulously, her voice going up an octave.
She was afraid.
Tilting her head, Tara crossed her arms, smiling sweetly. âYou know what I meant.â
Clearing her throat, Tara walked towards the dead body, looking down at it. Without warning, she stepped on his face, smiling as she felt his nose crunch beneath her foot. The twins flinched at the action, their bodies pressing against the door.
Reaching down, she wiped some of the blood off of her boot and tasted it. It wasnât quite as warm anymore, but it would do.
As she played with the blood on her fingers, she spoke carefully. A warning shotâ a test of some sort, to see if her former friends were worthy of giving them their love.
âSheâs protected us before, sheâs protected us then, and now here she is, doing what is made to do. How dare you insult her like that?â Tara paused, staring down at the twins.
She stepped forward, noticing how Chad gripped the doorknob and how Mindyâs hands went to her pocketâ no doubt to grab the pocketknife she kept handy there. It was almost laughable, their attempts to avoid their fate; as if Tara hadnât already padlocked the door and blocked off all their exits. The twins shouldnât be here tonight; they shouldnât have barged in. What happened next was only fate itself.
Besides, the Carpenter sisters were not known for their mercy, and the twins, of all people, should know that well. It was a pity they would know their wrath tonightâ what a waste of a friendship.
Be not afraid.
âSam protects you, me,â Tara murmured, turning to look down at her big sister.
There was some glint in Samâs eye, a hint of some sort. Tara realized it was a challenge, a challenge to show Sam what she was made of.
Who was Tara to deny her big sister of that?
Tara grinned, turning back to the twins. âAnd we don't have to be afraid ever again.â
And there Tara lunged, her white canines flashing in the dark, her silver ringed eyes the last thing both twins saw before they hit the floorboards.
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iâm going to say something that might make me seem ungrateful, but i think itâs true of many fic writers:
we want you to leave comments ON ao3.
weâre not angry or disappointed or anything like that when you leave qrts or lots of tags on our fic posts, not at all. we donât NOT want you to message us to tell us how a fic touched you. but in addition to that, please consider just copying those words and posting them on ao3 as a comment.
why?
the reason is simple: leaving commentary in other places is ephemeral. story posts get pushed down. chats get pushed down in the list of chats, or worse, pushed up in lists of messages as the conversation continues. but comments on ao3 are easily accessible. and this is important because writers read and reread these comments regularly.
writing, especially writing longfics, is exhausting and drains your confidence over time. having a collection of people who enjoyed your past work at your fingertips is an excellent way to build yourself up when youâre feeling down. fic writers need this a lot.
i know over the past few years thereâs this trend to be very descriptive with what is an âacceptableâ comment. thatâs all nonsense, as long as youâre not being an asshole, just say whatâs on your heart.
but post it on ao3. please.
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Omg i was watching scrram 5 and i just had an idea for a prompt.
So what if in that hospital scene when judy tells sam that "when the sun comes up, she should leave", sam actually does that? Because she thinks she's only causing tara more trouble but tara stops her.
âLeaveâ
she said âlove meâ so i loved her, she said âleave meâ so i left
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
âLike weâve been so far?â
Sam knew the moment the words tumbled out of her mouth she made a mistake. But she couldnât help it. How could she? She had just been attacked in the hospital where her injured sister lay after being stabbed by the same asshole in the mask. It was a ridiculous notion that one fucking cop would keep them sake.
Hell, give Sam a gun. She could lock this down.
But Officer Judy, well, Hicks now, didnât love that answer.
Smiling tight-lipped, Officer Hicks spoke firmly. âSamantha, letâs step outside.â
Fuck.
As she stepped outside, Sam gave herself an internal pep talk. She wasnât going to back down from the shitty cop that arrested her too many times. Sam wasnât afraid of Deputy Hicks- she was just a cop. Sam was older now and clean. She knew better, and she wasnât going to stand down.
Sam straightened up, glaring at the woman. âNice to see you, Deputy Hicks. So many fun memories,â she lamented, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
The woman smiled sickly, her face confronting into a pained smile. âItâs Sheriff Hicks. I remember you, too. And all the trouble you used to cause your family,â Hicks sniped, looking Sam up and down.
And damn it to hell, Sam stiffened at that. She fucking loathed that the woman wasnât wrong. Sam was a menace to the Carpenter name, a shitstain across that family history. A monster to a family that she wasnât actually a part of.
Sam was Loomis. And like Loomisâ did best, they destroyed everything in their path.
Judy smirked at the look on Samâs face, smugly knowing she had her beat. âYour presence here is not helping. So maybe, when the sun comes up, you and your boyfriend can hit the road and leave it to people who actually care about this community.â
With that, Offi- Deputy- Hicks walked off, leaving Sam and the other shithead cop to stare at each other. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. Fuck. She couldnât let this go on any longer.
Sam had to tell Tara who she was and what she had done to their family.
ââ
Naturally, Sam fucked it up.
âI just couldnât be around you, Tara,â she whispered, her heart tearing in two at the way Tara froze.
Fuck.
She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice level. âNot only because I destroyed our family that night, but because those diaries told me who my real father was.â
The two sat there, staring at each other. Sam could see in Taraâs eyes the little girl she once broke and who she was about to fail again. Itâs funny. Sam always thought she would be able to visit home years into the future, and Tara would be older, and they could reunite once again. Like it should be.
But she would never get the chance again once she uttered the name that tainted her heart and plagued her life from the age of thirteen and on.
She might as well rip the bandaid off now.
âIt was Billy Loomis,â she blurted out, tears blurring her vision. âAnd somebody knows, and Iâm so fucking sorry that I never told you and that I ran away. Iâm so-â
âGet out,â Tara softly spat out, her voice cold and eyes vacant.
Sam froze; her mouth hung open, almost cartoonishly. Her little sister stared Sam down, her eyes darkening with rage, her lips curling in disdain.
Tara spoke quietly, her voice tight. âFive years. Five whole years, and then I get stabbed, and then you want to dump all this shit on me?â
Swallowing hard, Sam gasped, shaking her head violently. âNo, no, I swear, I was trying to protect you-â
â-Protect me from what?â Tara whispered, her face painted with disbelief. âThe truth?â
âNo, no, I- Please, Tara,â she begged, her hands shaking.
But it was too late. It was always too late for Sam. She was so good at destroying everything, demolishing any perfect thing she had ever held. All she could do was beg on deaf ears.
âSam, I need you to get the fuck out.â
Sam shook her head, reaching out for Taraâs hand. âNo, please-â
âGET THE FUCK OUT!â
Sam froze at her sisterâs tone, faltering at the tear-filled eyes she had seen far too often. Fuck. She was so good at fucking it all up. So good at ruining everything she touched. And here she was again, burning down the relationship that was already a pile of broken twigs.
She had seen the film before. She knew the ending, and she didnât like it. This was the part where she was exiled from the love she knew and left forever.
Maybe if she left, Tara would be safe.
So she got up and collected her things, beelining for the door. As she pushed through it, she could feel her sisterâs eyes on her back, those eyes adding insult to injury.
The door shut behind her with a soft click, and Sam rested her forehead against it, focusing on swallowing her tears. There was no amount of crying that Sam could do for this. She ruined it all. It was all her fault, and fears were futile. They wouldnât fix this.
Fuck, Sam couldnât even fix this if she tried. All she did was fuck up.
Sam wiped away the few tears that escaped, sniffling softly. She turned on her heel and walked towards the exit, her jacket in one hand and her keys in the other.
The soft jangle of keys was the only thing keeping her stable as she death marched to the elevator.
âSam!â
Shaking her head, Sam gripped her keys a little tighter, letting the cold teeth sink into her skin. Stupid. Sheâs so stupid. Sheâs just hearing things. It was a matter of time before her brain would twist itself back up again. What a fucking idiot she was.
âSam!â
She paused, her finger hovering over the buttons. That couldnât be⌠no. Tara wouldnât. It was Samâs fault. She was just hearing things. Her meds were just fucking with her head. Yeah, that was it.
The yelling didnât stop.
âSam! Samantha Carpenter!â
Sam turned around, peeing down the hallway. The shouting was coming from the room she was just in. Taraâs room. That didnât sound right. Fuck, that couldnât be right. She wasnât worth fighting for. Sam was the reason their family was so fucked-up in the first place.
But still, the voice yelled.
âSammy,â the voice hoarsely screamed, slightly muffled by the door it hid behind.
What the hell.
She fled down the hallway, trying to control her body. Her limbs felt foreign, her movements jerky and uncontrolled. It took everything in her not to sprint down the hallway, throw open that door, and collapse into the arms that she loved.
But that would be ridiculous and much too soon. So, instead, she sped-walked and slowly made her way to the door. She paused in front of it, trying to control her breathing. Tara didnât deserve her tears, her blubbering. This was Samâs fuck up. She had to pull it together.
Opening the door slowly, Sam kept her eyes averted, her head down. She could feel her little sisterâs eyes on her, burning holes in her skin. Righteous holes.
âSam,â Tara breathed, her voice filled with wonder.
As if Sam wouldnât do anything for her.
Sam nodded jerkily, her cheeks blushing. âYeah?â
Her little sister spoke softly, her voice wavering with choked-up fear. âPlease donât go.â
Sam was sure the sky was purple, and the year was 3024. This wasnât right. This wasnât what she deserved. She was a fucking Loomis. This wasnât the end of the storyline she deserved.
This wasnât what a sinner like her deserved.
She paused, her mouth dry. âYou want me to stay?â she said, her voice strangled.
Donât show emotion. Donât be weak. Be strong. Your sister needs strength. Not your pathetic tears.
Tara nodded, closing her eyes as if she couldnât handle another one of Samâs rejections. âPlease.â
Sam closed the door behind her, the soft click forcing Tara to open her eyes. Unbridled relief and brief flashes of joy flickered through her little sisterâs eyes, all because Sam was standing right before her.
She didnât deserve this. She never would. But here she was, all for her sisterâs taking.
Tara motioned to the chair next to her, eyes glassyâthose beautiful brown eyes. They had haunted Sam for years, and here they were, still warm.
Forcing her legs to move, Sam quickly made her way across the floor and sat down in the chair next to her little sister. Tara just observed her quietly, taking in her sisterâs every move. Sam bowed her head in admission, refusing to make eye contact with her little sisterâ like a stray dog, Sam didnât know how to love when all she knew was loneliness.
But her little sister did.
âJust, stay. I canât watch you leave again. I canât do that again. Please, just stay,â Tara cried softly, her voice thick with tears.
So many words swirled through Samâs head. Iâm sorry, for one. I love you, and I didnât mean to hurt you, was another. I have always loved you, and I thought of you every single day, was the best one that sat on her tongue.
Yet, she couldnât get herself to say it. She couldnât get the courage to let it all out. It was too early. It was all too early to say the things she shouldâve said years ago. She just got Tara back in her life, and their relationship was hanging on by a thread.
Despite her chest aching and her heart tearing at the seams, Sam said three words, three words she had been dying to tell since the day she left all those years ago.
âOkay. Iâll stay.â
And so she did.
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OKAY SO let's suppose sam went to rehab in those years she wasn't with tara, what if years later tara also finds comfort in alcohol and drugs and there's a moment where she realises how big of a problem this is becoming and sam is the only one that understands her
âStrangerâ
and it echoes when i breathe, till all you see is my ghost
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Sandpaper.
Thatâs all Tara could taste the moment she woke up. She was lying flat on her back, her eyes fixated on the ceiling above her. Popcorn ceiling. Today, it was white, but last night, it was an array of colorsâ like a rainbow.
Tara felt more like the storm that came before the rainbow.
She couldnât quite remember the night before or even the day before that. In fact, she wasnât really sure whether or not she was alive right now.
All she could do was stare at the ceiling and count the white popcorn puffs. Her mouth was so dryâ sandpaper. The pillow beneath her head was stiff. She moved her hand behind her head, only to find out that it was a crumpled t-shirt that supported her head.
Groaning, she propped herself up, blinking hard. Her vision was blurry and doubled, and her head swam with nausea. She was pretty sure five people were in the room with her, all in various sleeping positions on the floor and dirty mattress.
This wasnât a home. It couldâve been one a long time ago. But now it was just a house with a dirty mattress and too many addicts sprawled across it.
Tara got up, swinging her legs onto the floor. If she leaned forward too far, she would crash into the person curled up next to the radiator. Fuck. Her head was pounding. Was there water anywhere? She surveyed the room, only seeing empty liquor bottles and various needles and joints littered across the floor.
Never mind that. She needed out. The walls were closing in, and she couldnât breathe. The more she looked around, the more she realized she shouldnât be here.
She shouldnât fucking be here.
Pushing herself to her feet, she winced, her head pounding. Fuck.
Carefully, Tara made her way out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. As she pushed through the front door, she squinted as the sun hit her face first, blinding her. She stumbled back, her hand covering the sun, blinking rapidly. Shit. Was it always that bright? How long has she missed the sunlight?
She averted her eyes, noticing her shoes were sprawled across the dirty welcome mat. She bent down quickly, ignoring the wave of nausea that ran through her body. Mind over matter. Mind over fucking matter.
After she put her shoes on, Tara perched herself on the porch railing, her legs dangling above the ground. She looked across the yard, watching cars passing by. Kids were walking with their mothers, people were walking their dogs, and runners were jogging. She was always surprised that the world kept turning even if it stopped for her.
Looking down, she dug her nails into her thighs. If she looked closely, she would see under the half-mooned crescents all of her sins that she tried to hide. There was a scar across her left thighâ she believes it was the time she attempted to heat the spoon with a faulty lighter. Or maybe it was when she tried to see how many rings she could make with one lit cigarette.
Time was a fickle thing. She canât remember what she did last week, but she still remembers how excruciatingly visceral it was to watch Sam go. Nothing had been the same since then. Tara hadnât been the same since then.
She knows she made terrible choices. The moment she held the joint to her lips, she knew it was over. Seven years ago, she watched Sam light her first joint on their porch, coughing and gagging as it worked its way through her lungs.
Sitting on the porch railing next to Sam, Tara remembered that she smiled as Sam coughed and damn near threw up. Good. Thatâs what Sam deserved for trying to disappear on Tara.
But Sam did anywayâ and like every little sister, she followed her big sister down the same path.
Here she was again, on a porch rail of a home that she didnât recognize or know, wishing she was someone elseâ feeling sorry for herself.
Yet this was all her fault. Tara knew the risks; she knew her fate. Fuck, she saw it with her own damn eyes. She remembers very well seeing Sam lose hair, come home in the early hours, and the bruises. God, she remembers the bruises. It was as if Sam didnât care for herself or her well-being at all, as if she was asking for the pain.
Tara didnât understand then. But she does now, and god damn it, was it fucking agony.
She always wanted to be just like Sam, and now she was. She was just like Sam.
Laughing a bit, Tara hiccuped, wincing as her ribs flared in pain. Fuck. She doesnât remember where that pain came from. She doesnât remember where any of this pain came from.
All this pain, all this pain that she was so goddamn afraid of, still a part of her. She tried to run, she tried to hide, but it found her. It found her on the sunniest days, the quietest of nights, the most tranquil mornings. No matter how far she ran or how many times she hid, it found her, and it infected her.
If someone opened up her chest, she was sure they would find nothing but decayed organs and bones broken to dust. There would be a heart that no longer beat- black and molding. Around her chest cavity would be littered needles, vials, and blood that no longer were needed.
She was so sick of being tired and so tired of being sick.
Without thinking, Tara pulled her phone out, wiping dust off the cracked screen. She mindlessly scrolled through her contacts for a moment, wondering who would respond, wondering who was there.
One name stood out to herâ the one she hadnât heard from in years.
What the hell? Tara couldnât remember her own last name at this point.
Clicking on it, she pressed the speaker and let it ring. She expected it to ring for one, two, maybe even seven times.
She didnât expect it to pick up on the first ring.
âHello, this is Sam.â
Samâs voice was clear, clearer than Tara had expected. She doesnât remember the last time she heard Sam so level, so calm. It had been years. Fuck, it had been nearly a decade.
Her big sister was always her rock, love, and safe place. She hadnât heard that voice so clear in so long. Sam was back.
But now Tara is gone.
Time was a fickle thing.
âSam,â Tara breathed, her voice cracking. She answered. Her big sister really answered.
Her big sister paused, putting together the pieces. Sam spoke slowly, calmly, as if not to spook her little sister. âTara? Whatâs wrong? Are you okay?â
Tara swallowed hard, looking down at her feet. She was missing a sock. Where was the lace on her left shoe? Has it always been like that? When did she last have a shoelace?
Fuck. She canât remember. She just canât remember.
Running a hand through her hair, Tara laughed a bit. This was all so fucked-up. She shouldnât be here. She should be in the second period, learning about chemistry. Sam should be finishing college, planning to stay home for the summer, maybe stay for the rest of their lives. They wouldâve been so happy.
They shouldâve been happy.
âSam, I, I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I donât know, fuck,â she choked out, her chest twisting.
Hot, shameful tears started to run down Taraâs face, coating her sinful lips and hands. She was so pathetic for becoming this monster. So fucking pathetic.
There were no words she could say, no phrase that could fix this. She couldnât even find the words to say I Need Help.
But she tried anyway.
âSammy,â she cried, ducking her head in shame.
It took all of five seconds for Sam to respond.
âIâm on my way. Send me your location, and donât move. Got it?â Sam said levelly, her voice stoic.
How could Tara ever deny her big sister?
Tara let her tears flow freely, coughing a bit as she listened to her big sister get into her car and pull away. Wherever she was, whatever time of day it was, Sam would find her.
Sam would save Tara from herself.
Just like it was always supposed to be.
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Prompt: tara going to her first party (amber's party) and sam finding out and not liking this idea at all and indeed, things go wrong
âSwimmingâ
(au where sam never left woodsboro)
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
The first drink wasnât bad.
So Tara had another.
And another.
Now, she was hammered in a sea of bodies with no one to rescue her.
It wasnât entirely her fault. It was her first party, after all-, and she had promised her friends that she would get fucked-up.
Chad had said several times that Itâs high school! You gotta get fucked up once before college!
So, in all fairness, this was everybodyâs fault. Tara stood by the speaker, listening to the tracks change (were they repeating? she couldnât tell), and then, lo and behold came the devil herself.
âWhatcha doing, babe?â purred Amber, wrapping her arm around Taraâs neck, squeezing a bit too tight.
Tara shrugged, clutching her half-full solo cup. Alcohol tastes bad. It stung her nose and made her stomach rumble uncomfortably. Sam told her she would hate it. Why didnât she listen to Sam?
Why? Right. Tara was a big seventeen-year-old now. She didnât need a babysitter.
Oh, how she wished Sam was here now.
But it was too late. Amber was holding a bottle in her hand, grinning wickedly. Tara gulped, clutching her cup a little tighter. She knew what this meant.
Amber chuckled, kissing the side of her girlfriendâs face. She not so slyly peeked at Taraâs cup, sighing. âOh honey, if you want to get fucked up, you canât just drink that much. You need more. Let me do the honors.â
Her girlfriend batted her eyes at Tara, those dark, slightly terrifying, intoxicating eyes, and Tara knew she was fucked. Who was she to deny those brown eyes that would give her everything?
So Tara held her cup up and allowed her devil to fill it.
Somewhere around her fifth cup of tequila (maybe vodka, she couldnât remember), Tara was having a much better time. Suddenly, the same pop hit sounded like Mozart, and her lips loosened into a lazy grin. Everything was easier while drunk.
She was starting to feel alive.
Waltzing her way to the dance floor, she allowed Amber to press up against her, and the two danced. The dirty, horny teenager style of dancing that was technically jerky, dry-humping, but who cares? Tara was drunk and alive. That was all she needed.
Just as she was about to capture Amberâs lips with her own, the rainbow LEDs turned off and were replaced with the harsh fluorescent lights that everybody hated. Everyone stopped dancing and started groaning, swearing, and alcohol-filled cups tossed around the room.
âAm, the lights. Mâm you gotta get âem off,â Tara slurred, gently batting at her girlfriendâs chest.
Amber, oblivious to the change in ambiance, still pulled Tara in, her usually sharp eyes glazed over. âDonât worry, baby, weâre still here,â she growled softly, tugging Tara.
Tara allowed herself to be pulled in, her eyes closing, her lips closing on Amberâs.
And then she was unceremoniously picked up and tossed over somebodyâs shoulder.
Blinking, Tara could feel the blood rushing to her face, and her eyes crossed at the sudden change of direction. She was upside down, her stomach resting against the shoulder of someone much taller than her, her nose tickled by long black hair growing from said strangerâs head.
âSam?â she gurgled, blowing hair out of her mouth.
Her big sister grunted back, snagging a fleeing Amber by the neck. With her catch in tow, Sam turned, giving Tara whiplash.
Surveying the gawking high schoolers, Sam glared at all of them, satisfied with how they recoiled from her glare. âWell? What are you looking at? Parties over!â she barked.
âActually, itâs not-â Amber retorted before Sam squeezed the back of her neck a little too hard, the girl squealing in response.
Sam began to drag her catch to the porch, where she had the other culprits waiting, watching the underage kids scramble out of the house.
âHey, you!â she called to the kid nearest to the speakers.
The kid, probably fifteen, with a mop of orange hair on his head, froze. âMe?â he timidly said, pointing at himself.
She nodded, trying not to roll her eyes. âYes, you. Turn that music off, and get the hell out of my sight!â she growled, ignoring how Tara groaned at her sudden yelling.
He nodded and scrambled to unplug the phone. The minute he did, he ran, letting the phone clatter to the ground.
âMy phone,â Amber moaned, watching her new device hit the ground with a dull thud.
âDonât care,â Sam sniped back.
With the music stopped and the kids out of the way, Sam sighed in contentment. Good. Now, she could conduct her business.
Dragging Amber by the scruff of her neck, Sam made her way to the porch.
âCome on, Freeman, judgment day.â.
ââ
âWhat the hell were you all thinking? Seriously! A party? On a school night? Are you fucking insane?â
Six high school kids sat on the stoop, all in various shades of drunk. Chad, by far the drunkest, was leaning against Wes, both boys still having the decency to look guilty. Mindy and Liv looked bored, but both had the fear of Sam Carpenter shining in their eyes. Amber just looked pissed, her arms crossed, but her movements were jerky and robotic.
And Tara. Her sweet, gentle little Tara. Propped up against Amber, her eyes half closed, dozing off a little in her seat.
Sam was so going to kill these kids.
Wes tentatively raised his hands, his eyes looking away from Samâs. âSam, can I just say this was Amberâs idea?â
The girl threw her hands up in frustration. âSnitch!â
Mindy looked at Amber, frowning. âDonât call him that! Itâs not our fault you canât follow basic homeowner guidelines!â she hissed.
Chad just grinned blissfully. âSheâs got good drinks, though. Can I get it?â he crowed, holding a hand out for a high-five from Tara.
âQuiet!â Sam barked, all six kids freezing.
Despite the order, Tara clumsily gave Chad a high-five, ungracefully falling into Amberâs lap. Four kids giggled at the action, Amber huffing as she pushed Tara back into a sitting position.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sam sighed in annoyance. âOkay. Hereâs whatâs going to happen. Youâre all grounded-â
Predictably, she was cut off by several pubescent voices.
â-What? Youâre not my mom!â Wes complained.
â-No fucking way. This is my house!â Amber shrieked.
â-Okay, whatever you say,â Chad said glumly, pouting.
Mindy reached over and slapped the back of her brotherâs head. âSheâs not our mom!â
âQUIET!â Sam hollered, her voice echoing off the now-empty Freeman home.
All six kids quieted, shocked eyes staring up at Samâs.
Sam bent down, her hands on her knees, getting to eye level with the kids. All of them, even Amber, stayed quiet, their eyes on the angry grown-up before them.
Even her little sister, while heavily intoxicated, kept her attention on Sam, big brown (dazed) eyes following her big sister.
âLike I said, youâre all grounded until I say so. And no, no more parties. If I hear or see anything that has to do with a party, I will hang all of you up by your underwear at the high school flagpole and let you stay there! Am I clear?â
Six kids just stared back at her, gulping in fear.
Sam rolled her eyes. âI said, AM I CLEAR?â she half-shouted, relishing how the kids jumped.
âYes, Sam!â they all shouted back in drunken unison.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. âOkay. Twins, go pick up the floor. Wes, get a mop and broom for glass and spills. Liv, get trash bags. Go!â
Four kids got up, scrambling back into the house. Chad slipped on a half-crushed cup, nearly taking Wes out with him. Mindy just kept shoving the kids forward, Liv at her side.
As soon as the four kids took off, Sam turned back to the pissed-off girl holding up her little sister.
âAmber,â she said softly, pausing to find the words.
The teenage girl looked up at her, hatred in her eyes. Hate didnât matter to Sam. She didnât like the girl very much either. But Tara did. So she had to try.
âYes?â the girl said through clenched teeth.
Sam bent back down, getting right in the girlâs face. âDonât you ever, ever, get my little sister hammered like this again. I will make your life very painful and very short. Am I clear?â
Before the girl could retort, Tara opened her mouth and vomited all over her lap. Though it was gross, Sam couldnât help but grin.
âWell, you better go change. Then come find me. Itâs time to clean up the mess you made,â Sam chirped, carefully peeling Tara off the disgusted girl.
Amber got up with a huff, running to her room to change her clothes. Tara melted into Samâs side, her eyes watering.
âSam? I donât like parties,â Tara whispered, sniffling.
Sam bit back a smile. Thatâs what she wanted to hear.
âI know, baby. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?â she soothed, rubbing Taraâs shoulder.
Tara burped in response.
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taking a break from tumblr & posting. might be active on ao3. weâll see.
happy holidays.
dreamers
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Icarus
itâs okay if you fall. you may be up by the sun, but iâm the sea
(merry christmas to my @krikeymate )
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Christmas was always Taraâs favorite holiday. Her little sister loved the lights, the cheesy music, and the stupid little holiday pajamas. If there was anything that the pair could do that involved the holiday, they were first in line. Last week, they stood in line for two hours to get a picture with Santa, and yesterday, December 23rd, they made seven batches of Christmas cookies.
It was everything to see Tara light up like that, especially after the last two years of hell they went through.
Sam just wishes she could light up like her little girl. It was so easy to make Tara smile and feel loved- as Tara was her world. Her whole fucking world.
But it was never easy for Samâ nothing ever was. She was an enigma to all around her, but especially herself. It was so fucking stupid. Everything she ever wanted was in her arms, in the palm of her hand- but she couldnât accept it.
Sam Carpenter couldnât accept that good things could happen to her and that she was worthy of it.
Yet, her little sister always saw through her. And she always would.
â
She honestly thought the dark cover of the night would mask her zoo-like thoughts, but she always thought too loud. It was constantly like a construction zone, always tearing apart herself and putting it back together.
In hindsight, she shouldâve known Tara would hear it all. Her little sister always knew more about Sam than she did herself.
âHey, whatâs on your mind?â
Sam popped her head up at her sisterâs raspy voice. Shit. Tara should be sleeping. âMhm? What? Oh, nothing. Just thinking.â
She reached over, clumsily pressing her lips to Taraâs temple. âGo back to bed, baby. Itâs all good.â
But Tara always knew better. Tara sat up, reaching over to turn the bedside lamp on. Sam squinted as the light flooded her face, scrunching her nose. God. She had no sense of timingâ dropping heavy topics on Christmas Eve. Pathetic. She was so miserable.
Her little sister turned back to Sam, looking at her with such gentle concernâ like Sam deserved kindness. âI know that look, Sam. I know you. Thatâs your âIâm having a crisisâ look. Your eyes are stormy; your jaw is clenched. Plus, I can practically hear the static in your head. Itâs loud. If itâs keeping me up, I donât know how you ever could sleep. So, talk to me, whatâs up?â Tara croaked, her voice still raspy.
Sam cocked her head. âI think you know me,â she softly said, her heart twisting in sympathy.
There were so many apologies she had to give to those who truly knew her. What a burden they must feel.
Tara shook her head in disbelief, grinning despite herself. âSammy, How could I not? Youâre my big sister. I love you.â
Her little sister said it like it was easyâ like loving her was as simple as breathing. It didnât make sense.
She ducked her head, suppressing the grin that threatened her face. âI love you too. You know me.â
Rolling her eyes, Tara crossed her arms. âWhy do you keep saying that? Of course, I know you.â
Sam shrugged, averting her eyes. She knew Tara would pick up on the small detail, so she pushed on. âI guess I donât know. I always feel like too much. How could anyone know or want someone too much?â
God. That was too much. It was a damn holiday. Why couldnât she shut her mouth? Idiot. So stupid. So weak.
As she got the urge to turn around and pull away, Tara grasped her wrist, forcing Sam to stay.
âWell, first of all, thatâs not true. Youâre not too much. Youâre everything to me. Why do you say that, Sam? Whatâs wrong?â she asked softly, her eyes crinkling in sympathy.
Sam shook her head, running a hand through her hair. âI donât know. I feel like I say too much all the time. I canât shut my mouth and forget how to talk. All I do is talk. And itâs empty, empty words. Words with no meaning or thought. I just talk to talk.â
Her little sister paused for a moment and then scooted closer to her. âIâm here. Iâm not going anywhere. Talk to me.â
Licking her lips, Sam averted her eyes, staring at the pile of clothes on the bedroom floor. âIâm afraid youâll leave me if I donât tell you how much I love you. If I donât give away everything for you, youâll leave me because Iâm not enough.â
Because Iâll never be enough.
Tara shook her head and pulled herself closer to Sam, forcing her big sister to hold her. Sam took her in, kissing her hair. The two sat silently momentarily, taking in each otherâs presence. She could feel Taraâs steady heartbeat against her unruly one, soothing each other without words.
Eventually, Tara broke the silence, her voice soft and careful. âSam, I would never leave you. Never. I canât imagine a world where I would,â Tara said, pausing. âYou are everything to me. Do you not see that?â
âI canât see it,â Sam blurted, swallowing the sour taste on her tongue. âI feel like Icarus, you know?â
Humming, Tara kissed Samâs collarbone, her lips brushing against various scars that marred her big sisterâs skin. Little wounds that followed them forever, reminders of what they have been through.
Together. Always together.
âExplain, Sammy. Iâm here.â
Sam chuckled, her voice watery. Damn it to hell. Even her tears betrayed her. She was a lousy liar with a martyr complex, always too little for those around her but always giving too much of herself away for others.
She gently pushed Tara off of her, letting her little sister hit the various pillows and blankets. Standing up, Sam pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping the pain would ground her. Fuck. She needed to thinkâ everything needed to become more apparent. Why was she like this? Why couldnât she just be normal?
But Tara didnât move, even as Sam paced their bedroom floor. Her little sister just sat up in bed, watching her sister wear holes in their carpet. All that mattered was her big sister being okayâ so she stayed. She stayed like she always promised to.
And Sam noticed.
Breathing out, Sam started talking, the words tumbling out of her mouth. âI'm always flying too close to the sun. My wings are singed, the feathers are burning, and I can barely reach the sunâs rays. It burns, god, does it burn. Everything in me and around me is on fire, and instead of flying away or putting it out, I just let myself die like that. A martyr with no wings.â
âSam, if youâre Icarus, Iâm the sea,â Tara instantly replied, her tone full of love.
Love for Sam that she didnât know was there.
âWhat, you gonna drown me?â Sam teased half-heartedly, trying to joke the gentleness away.
It didnât work.
Tara hummed. âNo, Iâm going to catch you. Iâm always going to catch you and save you from your demise. Iâll swallow you whole and take you in. Iâll patch up your wounds, kiss your scars, and hold you close,â she said simply, holding her hand out for her big sister to take.
Sam opened and closed her mouth in shock, all the words taken from her grasp. âWhy are you so nice to me?â
Tara rolled her eyes, her hand starting to shake. âBecause I love you. Because you make my life better, brighter, and more tolerable. I have a future now because youâre here. God, Sam, itâs so warm because youâre here. Iâve never known love and light like this ever in my life. And I donât want to let it go.â she paused, her eyes narrowing. âSo, please take my fucking hand and donât make me let go.â
She grasped her sisterâs hand, clearing her throat. âYouâll catch me?â she whispered, blinking away the tears in her eyes.
Her little sister tugged her close, letting Sam crash into her arms. The two held onto each other, Taraâs lips brushing against the husk of Samâs ear, making Sam shiver in happiness.
âYeah. Iâll catch you. I know you would for me. Iâll always do the same for you,â Tara whispered back, squeezing her big sister.
Sam chuckled, rolling her eyes. âI love you, Tara,â she said softly, pulling her arms around her little sister.
As the two embraced, Sam got a glimpse of the clock. 12:04 am. It was finally Christmas.
She pulled back, kissing Taraâs forehead. âMerry Christmas, my love.â
Tara smiled, her cheeks rosy, her eyes crinkled in joy and exhaustion. âMerry Christmas, Sammy,â
The two drifted off to sleep, clinging onto each other, swallowing each other wholeâ just as they promised.
Just like they always would.
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