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legallyjesscross · 10 years ago

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There's a part I can't tell About the dark I know well. You say, "Time for bed now, child," Mom just smiles that smile- Just like she never saw me

Dear Lilian Cross,

How does your Eggplant Moussaka with Sheep’s Milk and a side of Spring Quinoa Salad taste tonight? Are you two drinking some expensive wine imported from the oldest lands of Italy? I bet your meat is so tender every slice you take a starving child falls dead to the ground, your wine so sweet every sip could fill their empty bellies with fresh water. Yet, there you two are, perched high on a mountain in the Cross mansion overlooking the poor and starving. I assume your chef had fun making your dinner; you and Howard were always ones for high-class meals, even when they’re family meals. Hah, family.

I can’t complain, I live off of your dirty money. I love tender meat just like the next person and would break arms for old, Italian wine. That’s the way you raised me—filthy rich. I have to be pretty, I have to be girly, I have to live the wealthy lifestyle.

Has Howard told you what I’ve been trying to do? I doubt he has, he’s a man full of many secrets… I’m trying to open my own business, one that will benefit many families in poor countries, most importantly children who need better lives—and yet when he found out, he punished me.

He punished me the only way Howard Cross knows how.

And when I tried to stop him, when I finally stood up for myself, he became violent.

All these years, all these years you’ve stood and watched from the shadows, Lilian, you’ve done nothing to help. I know you know what he does to me. I know you know he tried hurting Kyle. He’s a monster, and yet you allow it.

You allow him to abuse and use his children, your children, for his gain, to become a slimy politician. Who can blame you, right? He’s rich, he’s handsome, he gives you whatever you want as long as you keep your perky little mouth shut.

I know you’ve seen what he’s done to me, what he gets other men to do to me, and yet you turn a head away from the scene, ignore the blood on my sheets and the bruises around my body. You never questioned the strange men entering and leaving my room, the smell of cigars and scotch and the sound of glass breaking every now and then. You know, the first time he ever took advantage of me, I remember crying and screaming so loud in hopes of you hearing, so you could come and save me, but you didn’t. I remember that same night, once I washed myself and scrubbed my skin raw, I tried going to your room to tell you so I could cry and have you hold me, but your door was locked. You never lock your door.

But that night it was.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it, other nights I would go into your room without trouble, but on the nights those men would take me, your door was always locked. I stopped trying to go into your room after awhile. I soon realised this was something being done on purpose.

I can’t fathom ever doing this to my daughter, allowing her father to treat her like some fine, rich meat to be sold around to hungry, greedy men. Not any amount of money could keep me from ignoring my daughter, my son—my children.

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I get flashbacks of when I was a kid, how you always forced dresses on me and tied my hair back with a bow—I always hated it, but we had to look like the perfect family for the media. God forbid the Cross parents had a daughter that dressed less like a princess and more like a regular girl. Now that I think about it, it was apart of Howard’s plan. You two have been forcing the appearance of perfection and beauty on me since a young girl so when I finally grew up, there would be people waiting in line to get a piece of Miss Jessica Cross.

Five minutes with her gains Howard a vote. Ten minutes gains him a vote and donation money. Twenty minutes gains him the power to do whatever he pleases.

I wish I had a normal life, a life like that Riley girl you always forced me to have play dates with. I hated going over her house because I always saw her family and how much they loved each other. Her mother loved her so much, allowed her to dress however she wanted, allowed her to play with dollies and trucks and get dirty in the mud, but you always gave me specific instructions to not be destructive and dirty, so I never played with her. I just watched her, I watched her family be normal, I watched her mother love her unconditionally and I only wished you had done the same for Kyle and me.

Sometimes I don’t know who I hate more, your or Howard. But then when I think about, I realise that I hate both of your. You’re both monsters. You’re both disgusting.

#writing challenge #the dark i know well #darechallenge

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jfcricky-blog · 10 years ago

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writing challenge ;; number 2.

Dear little one,

So you’ve yet to be born but I already know you’re going to be the most important thing in my life, the one thing I will always look after and cherish. You already mean so much to me and I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to have a little child. By the time you read this, you’ll be a young man or woman, most likely aged 16 because I doubt you’ll really care about much up until then; I know I didn’t. I probably didn’t care about much until this year.

A lot is messed up in this world, my little pea pod. I know I probably don’t have to tell you that but I will. Me and your mother, we haven’t had good lives at all. I think maybe you are the first thing to be good. I love your mother, not like a normal mom and dad do but she is my best friend. She’s always been my best friend and that is why we work. Anyway, that is beside the point. I want you to know that even when things are fucked up, you can come to me or your mother. We will do everything we can because we know the extremes of things being messed up.

Families come in all sorts of packages with all sorts of baggage, like mine did. My parents were monster – not the ones that you’ll want me to get rid of from the closet, the real kind, the human kind. They did things to me as a child, ones that I’ll never forget and ones that I never hope you ever experience. My parents though, are also the reason why I have you in my life. It sounds messed up and it is but I know I’ll want to thank them for giving me you and for showing me to never end up like they did. They destroyed me for many years and left me with nightmares permanently and I want to fight off any nightmares you’ll have in the future, my pea pod. I want to be the father I never had, someone who will protect you at all costs.

I have always worried you know, about turning out like them. I have worried that I’ll enjoy being like them but I know I won’t now since I heard about you coming into the world. I have never felt the need to take care of something as much as I need to take care of you and your mother right now. I’m so excited to find out what you are going to be, I’m so excited to see you walk and bring you to all the places I never got to go to. My little pea pod, I’m so excited to meet you.

Lastly, I want to say that I’m so proud of you. I don’t need to say will here because I know you’ll make me a proud daddy especially when you’ve made it this far into the future. I am proud to call you my child, son or daughter, and I want you to know that no matter what happens, I will be proud of you. I’m proud of your mother too, she never once let me down and I’m honoured to have your mother as a friend. I know when you’re in my life, it will be a pleasure, it already is and you’re just a little pea inside a pod right now. Don’t ever forget I love you more than anything that walked the earth. You’re always going to be your daddy’s girl or boy, no matter what.

I love you my pea pod,

Always,

Your daddy,

Ricky.

#darechallenge #letter; future stevens.

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chasingmyers · 9 years ago

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Writing Challenge 001:

The carpet was uncomfortable, rubbing against his skin every time he moved. But Chase, at six years old, was to enveloped in the adventure he’d created, he hardly noticed. “Hold it right there!” Chase spoke. But it wasn’t really him, speaking. It was his action figure, of course. Chase just happened to be speaking for him. “You’ll never catch me!” the other laughed, jumping into the truck Chase had gotten last Christmas. He pushed it with all his might, watching as it crashed into the wall. But it was quickly drowned out by the sound of real glass shattering.

Chase sat up, instantly being pulled back to reality. There was muffled yelling from somewhere within the house, followed by footsteps stomping across the hardwood floors. And then a door slammed. Followed by more footsteps.

Chase was on his feet now, staring blankly at the stair case, just in time to watch his mother come down.

She’d worn that dress a million times before. Most recently, on his birthday, when they’d gone out to the zoo. They’d seen the lions and the bears, and most importantly, his favorite: the monkeys. They’d eaten burgers for lunch. They’d even gone around the gift shop. He’d been allowed to pick out a balloon. Of course, he picked out the red one. It was his favorite color. He was pretty sure she knew that, which is why she’d worn the red dress to begin with. But then again, she always seemed to wear it on special occasions. She wore it with a matching smile, in her signature red lipstick that left a mark behind whenever she kissed his cheek.

But this time, there was no smile. Instead, there was a sharp intake of breath as her eyes landed on him. She stopped two steps from the bottom. “Chase.” Her voice sounded surprised, as if she’d forgotten he was there.

“What’s going on?”

She just walked towards him, sniffling. As she got closer, Chase could see her eyes were swollen and puffy, like she’d been crying.

“Were you crying?”

“You’ve gotten so big,” she whispered, like she hadn’t even heard his question. She cupped his cheek in her hand, smiling down at him, and she smiled at him for a good minute. And then something snapped. She looked around frantically, like she was remembering her surroundings, before starting towards the door.

“Mom? Where are you going?”

She paused, hand on the door knob, looking back at him. “I’m– I’ll be back. Be good.”

And then door shut.

The door creaked open, ever so carefully. He had to be quiet. Any noise could wake his father, letting him know he was home. Inviting him in for a conversation. Chase had no interest in speaking to the man. Ever again.

He shut the door carefully behind him, creeping across the floor. He tip toed slowly, taking the time to evenly distribute his weight so that none of the floorboards would creak. He’d almost made it to the stairs, almost to the hallway, almost to his room where he could shut and lock the door and forget all about the man he lived with. This had been his routine for almost three months. Sneaking downstairs. Sneaking out. Sneaking back in. Avoiding his father at all costs. He knew it couldn’t go on forever.

“Chase.”

He just had hoped it could go on for a little longer.

A tidal wave of emotions (none of them good) crashing over at him all at once. His heart fell into his knotted up stomach while chills ran up his spine, and his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t even know his body was able to multitask like that. He turned to face the spot where his father’s voice had boomed from. The house was dark, as it should be at 2 in the morning, but the moonlight was seeping through the living room window. He recognized his father’s silhouette. He’d seen it hundreds of times growing up. Hunched over, one hand pressed against his forehead, the other clinging to a glass bottle. He watched his father raise the bottle to his lips before setting it back down on the ground. “Where’ve ya been?”

Even from the other room, Chase could smell the liquor on his breath.

“Out,” he answered shortly, not bothering to move from his location.

“That’s it?” came the response. There was a loud grunt as his father rose to his feet, slowly staggering across the room. “That’s all you’re gonna say? ‘Out’?”

“Why does it matter? Since when do you care?”

His father simply laughed in response, avoiding his question. Chase let out a sigh and turned to go back upstairs.“You won’t even talk to me, huh? She wouldn’t talk to me either…”

Chase froze again.“She used to, you know. We were in love once. And then…. ohhh then everything changed. You came along. You changed her. You realize that, right? Of course you do, how could you not?” Younger Chase would have listened. Younger Chase would have believed him. And maybe present Chase did, but present Chase was also tired of letting him talk.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah…” came the answer, no shame whatsoever.

“Were you drunk that day?” Chase pressed.

“What day. The day your mother left?”

“No. I was there that day. I’m talking about Faye.”

His father paused, taken aback by the abrupt subject change. They were two totally different subjects, but all of the events were intertwined. All of them added to the resentment stirring deep within Chase, brewing and bubbling and threatening to boil over at any moment.

“Faye….” He could practically hear the smirk dripping from his father’s voice. “Faye.. Faye… Faye….? That was your little slutty friend, right?”

That was enough to send Chase spiraling. The next thing he knew, his fist was smashing through the air, coming into contact with his father’s jaw. The man stumbled backwards before crashing onto the ground. “You little shit…” he gargled. But Chase was gone. Racing up the stairs. Already packing his bags.

“You ruined EVERYTHING! You hear me?!” the voice boomed from downstairs. Chase drowned it out, throwing clothes into bags. He’d spent a lifetime hearing how all of the bad things in his life were his fault. But over the years, it became more and more apparent that his father was the monster. He’d been the source of their misery all along.

“EVERYTHING.”

By the time Chase had finished packing and called himself a ride, his father was passed out on the floor. Pathetic. As usual.

This time, however, things would not go as usual. Chase wouldn’t be there to listen to his usual hungover bullshit in the morning.

Like his mother so many years before, Chase opened the front door. He stepped outside, and he never looked back.

At least, he’d planned to never look back.

And then his dad died.

#darechallenge #this is unproofread shIT #but showcasing the day chase's mom left and the day chase finally followed in her footsteps #hospital wifi is garbage #an attempt was made

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s-french · 9 years ago

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Note: Since Sean didn’t have an AU life, this is a collective monologue of his life after he’s sent back in time to live in Charles’ place. tw: beheading, abortion, murder, fire, tessa mcguire (aka she who shall not be named)

Tell my mother, Tell my father I've done the best I can To make them realize This is my life I hope they understand I'm not angry, I'm just saying... Sometimes goodbye is a second chance Please don't cry one tear for me I'm not afraid Of what I have to say This is my one and only voice So listen close, It's only for today

A mesmerising blue light had blinded him one moment and the next he was stepping through a door to a place he did not know.

A book fell from his hands dropping to the ground, a thud as words left his lips, “What on Earth is going on?”

There he was. Orson French. The man that hours ago Sean had thought he was. They were face to face, blood spilling cruelly from his lips causing Sean to grimace, hesitating in the doorway. For a single moment horror overtook him, complete despair that he had clearly been sent back and trapped in 1993, but who was he? This made no sense.

“Sean, our Father isn’t involved in any of this! Calm down!” Someone shouted. He turned to see the young Thomas French and his eyebrows furrowed further, glancing down at his empty hands.

Oh God. He was himself. He had wiped out Charles entirely. A lump rose in his throat but he swallowed, he would not feel sorry for himself. There were things to be done. He had to try and keep history the same, or at least this part. His mission erased the overwhelming sadness he had spent twenty one years promising himself didn’t exist.

His voice was cold when he spoke next to the eight siblings that had once been Uncle’s and Aunt’s, “This must be done,” his hand travelled to his waist band but his gun was gone. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he despaired, his gaze travelling to the axe on the wall, before any of them could say anything his elbow was shattering a layer of glass.

“Don’t you see this can--” Orson was saying but Sean did not care for even one second of his monologue. Unlike Charles he did not want to know a thing at all, it would change nothing. He had already lived the future and as the axe split through air, severing Orson’s head, he had no regret. It was clear now, this was not who he was.

“Brother,” Sylvia cried as she dropped to her knees, holding their Father’s head in a way that made even Sean cringe, “What have you done?”

“What needed to be,” Sean dropped the axe to the ground, a splatter of blood dotting his white shirt, grey eyes stormy, he turned to one of his brothers, his tone cold, “Now you must leave Whittemore or I guarantee you will regret it. This is my burden alone. Go.”

And so they did.

His gaze rested on her stomach, a child growing inside that simply could not be. Both Ricky and Hazel had to be erased, at any cost, she was not made for this world. “Emily, I will not have it,” his words were cold and cruel but necessary, he had been too late to stop this but now it must be undone.

“Sean, I don’t want to do this. I just want to have my baby, I’ll be good, I can do it,” tears childishly streaked her face, her fingers clutched his jacket as they stood outside the old building. The clinic.

“I will not have it,” he repeated and for the first time his voice faltered, his eyes almost stinging with tears. He did not want to do this. He could not kill Emily and live with it, he could only do this, force her hand. She had the mind of a child, “You will do this Emily, or so help me God, I promise you this life will be far worse than necessary for all of us.”

She nodded, tears streaking her cheeks, "Okay.”

--- // ---

She stood in front of him, her pyjamas buttoned, her face paler than it had ever been, blonde hair piled on top of her head in a bun, her hand resting on a stomach that would now never be the home of a child. It made him sick. The hot water bottle pressed into his hand seemed to be the last thing burning in that moment. Her eyes were bright and green, they never left his, wide and worried, “I’m scared.”

“I know, Em,” he tried to keep himself composed, his feet bringing him to stand in front of her, he dropped the hot water bottle, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her body to his were it didn’t quite fit. Her tears dampened his shirt and he couldn’t help but think about how he had done this. He had chosen to erase Ricky. He had forced her hand. He had ruined her dreams. Just as the world had before. He sighed into her hair, shutting his eyes, “It was for the best,” not that she would ever know.

The woman cried for hours, Sean held her as if he was not the source of her pain, as if it had not been his choice at all. He told himself it wasn’t.

Finally he crept from the bed and went to the bathroom, the door locking behind him. He fell to his knees, pulling back the cover, his stomach emptying itself immediately, throwing up everything inside of him in disgust of what he had done. Tears prickled his eyes, acid rising in his throat, “Oh God,” he whispered, “Where does this end?”

It was only the beginning and yet that was the worst thing Sean French would ever do.

The next Morning Emily would be led out by men in white jackets, her eyes filled with betrayal and sadness. Neither him nor James would ever see her again. Ricky and Hazel were never born.

He waited for the blonde haired girl he loved to be born. He kept track of the Valances over the years preceding the date of her birth but nothing happened. He found there was no interlude, no pregnancy, no hospital records. In fact, one day Kitty simply existed as if she had been born from thin air, a beautiful creation but an illogical one all the same.

“Mrs. Cricks, I am not one for debate,” he turned, his gaze falling to the baby in her arms. A few hours old. “Your husband will become a maniac, he will believe he is a God. Your son will fall to a greater evil than you understand, lose him to me today or lose him in eighteen years when he falls to darkness. Believe me now, this is not the life you want to give.”

The woman stared at him in wide eyed horror, tucking the edge of the blanket beneath the baby, her hand unsteady, “Why should I believe you?”

Sean’s gaze never faltered, he did not even look at the boy that lay now in a small Moses basket, he simply stepped towards the woman, his eyes full of understanding, “If I am wrong, if your husband does not become who I say, it will not be too late for you to get him back, but you fear as well as I do that I am correct and that is why you will do as I say.”

The woman didn’t reply. Her arms dipped to collect the child and she spent a few long moments staring at him before nodding, her arms relinquishing as she passed the baby over to Sean, her eyes untelling of her true feelings as she sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, wrapping her blanket emptily around herself. Perhaps she already knew he was right. “Take him.”

And so he did.

“Howard, what are you doing?” He was out of breath himself, his eyes tired and irritated, a hint of concern.

Howard Cross stood, wide eyed, light hair pushed back, a horrified expression on his face as he held a newborn baby, his normally well kept appearance completely ruined by the blood that drenched his shirt. Sean did not know if this was from the baby or a woman, he did not need to, he had long since realised he did not like the answers, “I-- I don’t know what to do... My campaign,” the man burst into tears, his hand hovering over the lid of a bin, crippled by an emotion that was foreign to Sean.

He stepped forwards, “Give her to me,” he took the baby from Howard’s arms, wrapping his jacket protectively around her, his eyes sadder than ever as he looked to Howard, “Get out of here, Howard. Go home to your wife, I will not speak of this.”

Howard nodded, his gaze lingering, eyes wide and horrified for a moment before he began to run away.

Sean shut his eyes for a moment, the cries of the baby in his arms shooting through his head. He looked down and his eyes met hers, so much life in them left to live that he did not know, “Sh, it’s okay, Zoe,” he smiled, “We will be alright. Won’t we?”

A small hand pulled him back, “Daddy, can you tell us a story?” Jonah begged.

Zoe sat up, “Please, Daddy,” her eyes wide, hair wild despite how many times he had brushed it.

He rolled his eyes, exasperated he stopped, “You do not want to hear my stories,” but a small smile tugged upon his lips, his eyes softer than they had been in the twenty years he had lived an entirely different life, he rested his hand on a dresser, “Once upon a time there was a man who lived a very awful life, he did not know that there was somewhere else he was meant to be until he arrived there, until he found a little Prince and a little Princess and he took them home so they could grow into far better rulers than they would of otherwise,” his tale made him cringe but he would put up with it from time to time to appease them. Zoe’s eyes were closed, she fell asleep easily, he thought that Jonah’s were too, his finger pressing the light switch off.

“Daddy,” the voice caused him to turn, “Does the story have a happily ever after?”

In the darkness Jonah would not see him wince, his heart squeezed by the hand of fate that kept it’s firm grasp on his life, a tightrope, “Sometimes we do not know the ending until we arrive.”

The night Texas White died was one that would haunt him.Sean knew he had to save her, he had ran through the list of churches in London, each door knocked down in his violent rage. He had to get to her, it was imperative to his story.

He had failed. Each one a dead end, until he had eventually pulled up his car on the outskirts of London, flames danced in the dark night sky, a church alight. His stomach turned.

He ran to the sight and when he arrived he found Bethany White on her knees in the damp winters grass, he turned to see the immune seven standing around, their eyes wide and sad, their hands damp with blood. He closed his eyes to stop himself tearing them to shreds, his heart breaking in his chest, “What have you done?”

They did not answer, they fled. All but Bethany who remained sobbing hysterically into the ground, “Just make it stop. Make it stop.”

Had it been a plea? He did not care. In the darkness he pulled his gun, the silence icy as he pushed it to her head, pulling the trigger before she could argue against his actions. She had killed her daughter, he did not know how, but as his stormy eyes watched the flames rise, he knew this was one death that had been necessary.

She spun tirelessly in circles around his feet. Her smile was wide. Her dress flowing. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen that smile, perhaps it had been. Her innocence had been lost in his true world a long time ago. His niece, his sister. Whichever came first, he knew that this was a love that had not been undone with time.

“Come and play with me, Uncle Sean!” she pleaded, her eyes full of joy as she shook a present from the table beside them.

“Come here,” he gestured, dropping to a crouch, “Can I tell you a secret?” His eyes were cool, his hand gently resting beneath her chin but his grip quickly relinquished.

“You can tell me anything, I’m great at keeping secrets.” He already knew that.

He leaned in and his voice was even when he spoke next, “I don’t like children very much.”

She stepped back, eyebrows furrowing, “That’s not very nice.”

“My dear,” he winked, a thing that she would now hate because of him, “Neither am I.”

Just like Charles, she would grow to hate him, the only difference was, for Sean, this had been a conscious choice. He would not allow her to lose him twice.

"Aiden," his voice was calm, he turned the pages of a notebook in his hands that was unfamiliar, gaze meeting the boys, taking in deep blue and blonde hair, "A time will come in your life when you will understand your greatness. You will come to my school and I will be proud of you, for you will do many wonderful things, things that right now you cannot imagine. You must not allow indignation to destroy you," a small smile lit his eyes, "Trust me. Your Father will be proud."

The young girl collided with his legs and he glanced down, his eyebrows furrowing, “Lily?”

She looked up and a woman grabbed her by the shoulders, “I’m so sorry,” Penny gushed, her eyes fleetingly panicked, a case by her side.

“Where are you going?” Sean queried. He did not know this story. He had never cared for it but in the dead of night he could not contain himself.

“I’m... Me and my husband, I have to get out of here, for my daughter,” her words were cryptic, her eyes crying of a story that she wished to tell.

He did not care for stories any longer, the time had passed him quite literally a lifetime ago for these things, but the last shreds of humanity that remained inside of him caused him to nod, “Tell me your story, I will help you.”

And so she did.

Penny Kent never ran away.

Lily never remembered.

He sat in his study, the lights dim as he poured over notes he had made. A method of reversal for something he had began.

The presence of a figure did not startle him until he looked up, the shadow of a man transforming into the body of Harrison French who stood, his hands dampened with blood, his eyes full of tears, "Sean, I have done something terrible."

Whether this man was his Father or his Brother, he rose, his own expression untelling, "My God, tell me your daughter is safe," he pressed. His only concern.

"She is," Harrison choked, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, "I need to leave. I need to get out of here."

"You do," Sean agreed, but behind his back his finger pressed the barrel of a gun.

Harrison French went missing. Charlotte French did not.

Kitty stood, a guitar in her hand, her eyes brighter than they had been in the world that he remembered her during the last days of their dying love. Her hands were gentle upon the instrument and he stood, for the first time, he knew that she was not a magical creature, she was not beyond the world of realism. He had made her into something she was not and in the end, they had both paid the price. Now he paid a greater one but at least he would never be allowed to hurt her again. Without him, she had remained in tact.

“Oh, sorry,” she smiled at him. The same smile. “I didn’t know you needed to be in here. Do you want me to get out of your way?”

He watched her for a few long seconds and then he shook his head, his hands pushed into his pockets, “You do not fear me, do you?”

Kitty looked at him, her eyes filled with recognition. Or maybe he was hoping, for a moment later it was gone, puzzlement replacing it, a confused laugh leaving her lips, “Why would I be? You’re just a man.”

He laughed. He had to. Otherwise he would of cried, “Indeed.”

He sat beside Millie’s body, the beeping of the machines that kept her chained to life all too loud. It had been a week. He knew that Mr Hastings would never make the call to kill his daughter, he was too weak to understand that his love was only prolonging inevitable pain.

Grief had a way of clinging to you and he still had not quite gotten over the death that had been left in his wake, Tyson King had died in the flames because he had not been able to carry both girls, his arm still in a sling strapped to his shoulder from a violent encounter with his niece, or rather, his sister, Daisy during the outbreak of insanity. He would never stop thinking of the lives that had not been spared but perhaps it was a necessary loss, a price that must be paid.

“How ironic,” he thought aloud, “That I only tried to save you and now I must be the one to let you go. You did not deserve this,” he told the girl as if she may hear him, perhaps she would. He leaned forwards, switching the machine off, the nurses turning a blind eye. He did not know how they would explain this, it was not his problem. He watched as the screen flatlined and for the first time, “Neither did I,” he admitted.

Whittemore went up in flames before his eyes.

For the second time.

He looked to Zoe, sadness in his eyes, "You will go away and your brother will be changed. But it will be alright."

He looked at Jonah, the wedding band falling to the table. Even in this life the name had sent a shudder down his spine but Sean was fair, he would not argue, "This is not the right choice, Jonah. I will tell you only once, this woman is a curse. You will not believe me, I know this already but I warn you anyway. I know things you do not."

“A reunion. I must rebuild Whittemore,” he spoke on the phone, “It will be wonderful.” It will be the end.

"Have some wine, Father, I got it especially for tonight.”

“No thank you,” he politely declined, brushing past his son. It was not the correct time for him to die, although, he wondered, if it really mattered.

This was the third time that Jonah had attempted to kill him.

It would not be the last.

He was cut off mid-sentence by blood rising in his throat, his gaze meeting Elizabeth’s. The reunion dinner set out, the starter had not even began, just as it had with Charles, the world was claiming him, blood gushed from his lips and poured down his shirt, his chest clenched uneasily, his fingers clutching the tablecloth as he fell to the ground.

The cries around him faded out, the look in Zoe’s eyes, the last piece of his heart broken physically and metaphorically. Blood splashed the floor, he couldn’t breathe, he was entirely choking on it, his fingers releasing the tablecloth entirely.

“You must know something else!” Daisy cried, Jonah too, in the background, an angry scream leaving his lips, “This was not how it was meant to go! This isn’t right!” a harmony of hysterics, Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears, Zoe grabbing onto his arms as if they could save him. He could not be saved. He had been born into this world to die and so he had. Gracefully.

Aiden was sobbing, Jade was trying to help Zoe, Chase was saying a prayer. This reality was nothing like his. It was worse and yet better, they had lived without so much pain. He would not have that luxury.

Zoe’s hands wrapped around his shirt and in his dying moments his eyes flickered to her, a strange loss of storm in his eyes, as if finally his fight was coming to an end, his hand gently rested on her cheek leaving a bloody trail behind, “One day, tell your brother, this is the start of your happily ever after,” he choked on his last laugh.

He found then, as his eyes closed, maybe this was relief. Finally, after two lifetimes of pain, he would know peace.

#darechallenge #paras #para: one day #:)#memory #au: deliver us from evil

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zachkent-blog · 9 years ago

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writing challenge no.1

Zach had just gotten back from a small party with his friends, he was the only sober one of the group as he typically was the designated driver. He got back to his quaint room, showering after he put his dead phone in the charger. He had expected this to be another simple day, he never expected to get out of the shower and have his life change forever.

He got dressed, got ready for bed, and checked his phone one last time. There were dozens and dozens of missed calls from his father and step mother. His heart was racing, worry filling him, as he frantically called his father back with shaky hands. He hoped it was nothing to bad, but that night he learned hope was useless. “Hazel’s dead, Zachary. She killed herself, I’m so sorry. Please come home, we need yo-...”

He hung up before his father could continue, dropping his phone and letting the shock hit him. Hazel was dead, she committed suicide. He could feel his eyes watering, and it was like everything was playing in rewind. All the memories he had, everything was hitting him again. Losing his sister, getting a new one, adopting Hazel, playing silly games, getting in fights, having fun, family night, it was all playing in his head but the end imagine was always one of Hazel’s dead body.

He wondered how this had happened, how the popular, funny, happy girl he called his sister had just killed herself. She was always so happy, he heard her stories from Whittemore, she was popular too. What about her life could make her want to kill herself? He didn’t understand, and he had to add another thing on the list of something he didn’t understand.

It was all still processing in his mind, and his eyes continued to water until he couldn’t hold it back before. His tears began to fall and it was like he couldn’t breathe, he was grabbing his chest for breathe as he sobbed over the loss of his sister. He’d never see her again, he’d never get to catch up with her at the Holidays, he’d never get silly texts from her begging to come visit.

He fell to the ground, sobbing harder than he ever has, trying his hardest to breathe. This family was supposed to fix his issues, they were all band aids stuck together for the best reasons. Now one was gone and there was a hole, another hole he doesn’t think he’d be able to fill. He can’t get another sibling, not one he’d connect to, and now he was stuck with two holes in his heart. One for Lily, one for Hazel, and he knew more holes would appear in that sad heart of his.

The worst part of this story is that everything went down from there, and he still doesn’t know if there will ever be a resolve.

#THIS IS SO BAD #IM DYING BUT I HAD TO GET IT DONE BY TODAY #I DIDNT EVEN EDIT IT #darechallenge

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darechaptertwo · 9 years ago

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WRITING CHALLENGE 002: LESSONS LEARNED

This challenge will be a little different to what you are used to but it is equally as important. For this writing challenge you are asked to explore not just your own characters mind but the journey of other people in this roleplay. If you have multiple characters you need only to complete this one one unless you feel strong about it as this is completely ooc. You are going to be asked to explain a lesson that three different dare characters of your choice have taught you through the progression of this roleplay. This can be from the past, the present or just the biography. You can write a simple sentence or a paragraph, it’s not a huge task, just a nice collection of thoughts. Try and think about things that you have learned and if you are new, things that you have started to notice about other characters. You can base it on ic interaction or just what you have seen. You do have the option to explain what your own character has taught you and I would suggest if you are struggling to just write a lesson that your own muse has taught you thus far! You can choose absolutely anyone for any reason, even characters that are either NPC or no longer alive, including characters parents/family. The deadline for this challenge is Friday 22nd of April. Please remember to tag all entries as darechallenge. Like when you have read this!

#darechallenge #dareadmin #:)#plz don't choose charles tho that would break me in half

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faybiandavis · 9 years ago

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WRITING CHALLENGE ONE: ITS ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN.

tw: graphic description of rape.

21st July, 2011. Sixteen years old.

It was the hottest July of the year and she had worn nothing but her cotton white dress, socks to just below her knees, slightly torn by the pedal of a bike she had mounted a little too fast without noticing. Heat had caused sweat to bead on her forehead, hair piled on top of her head in a wave of messy curls from the night before, a birthday dinner with her family where her Dad had bought her new oil paints that she had used to paint a picture of a sunflower that they had said was more beautiful than any commended famous artist. She knew it was a lie but she had laughed anyway, there was hardly a day when she did not laugh. There had only been one thing missing from a birthday full of glee and that had been Chase. He had promised her that he would provide her birthday present the next day and that was why, at 11am in the Morning, Faybian threw her bike to the ground outside of his house hoping that he hadn’t forgotten. He had always been forgetful.

“Hi, Mr Myers!” she had chimed as the door opened, backpack hanging off her back, grin wide. She did not know the man well, actually, she had found him quite strange at times, always simply staring at the kids as they hung around, never attending a school play but she was sure he had his reasons, everyone had their reasons. Chase had never spoken badly of him, she had no reason to dislike him, “Is Chase in?” she had attempted to peer around him, blue eyes blaring with hope and excitement.

“No,” and the door had started to close, until he caught her eyes. She had thought that maybe he had seen that she was excited, that she was willing to wait, that she was patient, because slowly he seemed to change his mind, “He’s out, actually, he’ll be back soon, you can come in if you want... wait in his room,” the man had offered.

“Really?!” she had exclaimed but she was already pushing past him, kicking off white converse that she had gotten the day before, an entire white outfit for a sixteen year old girls birthday, it had been fitting in her opinion even if her parents had rolled their eyes claiming it would be dirty in no time. She spun around on her heels almost bumping straight back into the man, a smile still on her face, “He’s giving me my birthday present, maybe I can find it upstairs,” and then, as rude as it had been, she had simply ran upstairs to a room she had been in a hundred times before, attempting to root through Chase’s belongings, draws pulled out, washing kicked out of the way, convinced she would find whatever enigmatic thing he had hidden from her all this time.

It had been a solid twenty minutes before the voice interrupted, “Can I talk to you?” he had asked. It was the first time that he had ever spoken to her in such a way and startled she had looked up, mortified to find that he had caught her in the middle of rifling through a trunk of Chase’s oldest possessions, an old photograph album in her hand, pictures spilling over the floor. How sad, she had thought, at the time, that both Chase and his Father had lived without a woman in their life something she could never imagine, “Come sit down,” he had patted the spot beside him on Chase’s bed and she did not want to be rude so she had gone, instinctively shuffling the pictures back away before she did.

“I’m sorry, I was just...” she had attempted to explain, “looking for the gift,” but she was mortified. He must have thought she was an idiot. Her cheeks were tinged with pink but she attempted to push it down in order to listen to whatever he had to say, not picking up on anything particularly weird. Innocently she could not perceive a negative ending.

“It’s okay, Faye,” it was the first time he had ever called her by her nickname and for a second it had caused her to brighten up again, “I’m just... I’m really struggling with Chase, I think that he’s really lacking a Mother figure in his life. Sometimes I think he just doesn’t like me, that maybe he thinks that I did something to drive his Mother away,” he had looked so sad, bowing his head, tears touching eyes that she had never looked at before and she had not known what to do, “I loved her so much and she just walked out. It broke my heart and his too, I always thought she’d come back but... Do you think he hates me?”

A lump had risen in her throat. No. Of course she hadn’t thought Chase hated the sad man that was sat in front of her and instinctively she had reached out, her small hand laying itself over his, a gentle squeeze, “Definitely not,” she had protested, her voice small but firm, soft but definite, “I just think that he might not understand that these things happen, he probably just misses her, but I’m sure he lo--” and then his hand had came to rest on the bare skin of her thigh and she had gulped, eyes flickering to the misplaced touch, confusion detailed on her face, “What are you doing?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want this,” and that phrase had only caused her to feel more confused as she rose one leg in an attempt to shuffle back on the bed, still not afraid, still hoping that this was some strange misunderstanding. Childish hope clung to her but it did not cling to the hands that yanked her back by the knees, pushing to overpower her. She was a little girl, shaky arms were unable to remove him and her lips were against hers. He tasted bad. She would never be able to remember the taste of his lips, only that it was bad. She didn’t remember if she said no, she didn’t remember if she had said anything, she was too shocked, too confused as his hands grappled, harsh against untainted skin as they tore the Thursday pants she had put on that Morning down past her knees, his body forcing her legs open. She was still fighting, attempting to close her knees when the pain washed over her and she let out a cry, tears burning her cheeks but they were not of sadness or loss, simply out of shame. A point came where the fighting stopped. She lay don and accepted that she was helpless and in a way, as he entered her so did darkness. Darkness she would never be able to get rid of, inside of her for good. And that alone, would of been bad enough but things would only get worse.

“Dad?”

That was when she she snapped out of it. The man was off of her in a second and that was worse. Because now she lay there with a slightly torn dress a horrified expression on her face and no idea what to say. In fact, as the man who had taken everything from her stood he began to reel off excuses that made her head spin and she was slow to jump up, her own eyes filled with tears of shame that were starting to fade into simple emptiness, the last piece of herself falling at her feet as she looked into Chase’s eyes and saw pure, burning, disgust. Disgust that she could only mirror as she felt her breath taken away, realisation hitting her as she tore her pants back up over her body, running down the stairs in a flood of tears as if she had been caught doing something dirty as the older man had claimed, she shoved on her shoes, jumping on her bike and ignoring the pain that echoed through her lower body. Nothing mattered. She needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. Somewhere safe. Julian.

The bike clattered to the ground outside his house and she did not hesitate, running flat out through the unlocked front door and up the stairs. It was only as his door closed behind her that she stared at him, blue eyes wide, dress seeping with fresh red blood that slid in trails down the inside of her thighs, one sock down and the other reddened from the bottom. Even her white shoes were tainted by the faintest drips and suddenly she let out a horrified scream dropping to her knees. Everything had been taken.

“Faye?! Faye! Look at me,” Julian had demanded tears filling his own eyes as he crouched beside her, ignoring the blood that stained her clothes, tearing her hands from her own face until eventually she buckled into him, sobbing, sobbing her little heart out, “You can tell me,” he had promised. But, she couldn’t.

Breathing was hard. Everything hurt. It felt like the whole world had turned to darkness that was inside of her own body, like it had wriggled inside of her with the man and now she would never wash it away and slowly as she managed to catch a single breath, her body still crashing against his like some terrible collision, tears drenching everything she touched, “Chase,” she had choked but that was all. That was all she would say about it for another year.

Faybian went home that night cold and empty, tearing every picture from her wall, she swore she would never paint another sunflower. She could no longer see the light.

1st May, 2014. Eighteen years old.

"Faye, there’s something wrong with Emma, she won’t come out of her room. She went to that party... Down at St Andrews,” the girl stuttered as Faye stood angrily trying to use the hot chocolate machine. The damn buttons were stuck again and although, of course, deep down she felt a little sparkle of concern for the girl in question, she had told them not to go to that stupid party. The boys at St Andrews were idiots she would know, some of the ex-students of Whittemore had obviously ended up there. Catholic school didn’t make you any more religious, St Anne’s hadn’t changed her. “Faye?”

Annoyance was clear in her expression as she turned, hot cup now in her hand as she shot the girls a dead look, “What did I tell you about those parties?” she raised the cup to her lips hair tied up on her head, pyjamas barely comparing to the ridiculous lack of clothing of her classmates. She pointedly shot them each the same blank look, “Why are you telling me?”

The girls had looked at each other, their eyes wide and scared. They were all afraid of her. Since she had began there she had single handedly conquered them all, ran for class president, school council and headed every club worth heading. They wouldn’t dare approach her half the time, especially since her cold break up from Chase, something that had seen her almost head butt another girl for absolutely no reason, “We don’t know what to do.” And that was the magic phrase because it caused her to let out a dramatic sigh.

She didn’t even comment on the situation as she shoved the boiling hot drink into one of the girls hands, ignoring the yelp as a little bit of it spilled over them both, “Jeez, it’s just a bit of heat,” she didn’t stop to see the reaction, knowing they would most likely follow her. She was used to having an audience of idiots who had been trapped inside St Anne’s for long enough to forget that worse things did exist outside -- maybe they should of tried a term at Whittemore. Not that even Faye would wish that on some poor unsuspecting girl.

When she finally reached the door she did not hesitate to try simply pushing it and much to her bemusement it swung open with one foul kick, nothing and nobody to be seen but a discarded party dress and shoes on the surface of Emma’s bed, the sound of sobbing audible even through the walls of the bathroom that adjoined, “Emma?” Faye called to find no response, stepping closer, she picked up the dress to fold it and her gaze dropped to a red stain on the dark material and immediately she understood, knew, some abnormal possibility clicking in her mind and her jaw tensed. Turning to the girls that crowded in the doorway, “Get out.” They stared at her in confusion, “I said get the fuck out,” she repeated and now it felt like a threat as the material of the dress was crushed beneath her grip, anger taking her over, some compassion that had been lost for many years sweeping right through her.

“Please let me in,” the handle didn’t budge. Pushing down on it she shouldered lightly, “Emma, open the god damn door before I use my tiny body to break it down and end up breaking us both, I don’t want to be an episode of Casualty for a party I didn’t even go to,” but she had to catch herself. She knew that this was not the time for her anger, even if she did feel like it was what had gotten her through it, “Emma,” her voice softened now, “Listen to me, just let me in. Let me help you. Talk to me, I’ll wait here all night if I have to, there’s no way out of this situation. I’m stubborn as hell and I’m not walking away from this. I’m serious,” it was almost a promise, her hand staying on the handle.

The door did not open. Faye sat. For one hour and twenty three painful minutes of her life she sat with her back literally against a door, waiting hoping that the sobbing girl beyond it would let her in and she wondered faintly if this had been exactly how everyone she had loved and pushed away had felt while waiting for her. Her nails dug into her palm, this was not the time to think about herself.

Click.

Just as she had given up the door opened, almost causing her to fall backwards into it, catching herself quickly, she stood up, edging the door the rest of the way to look at the girl a flurry of blonde hair and wide eyes, pale as a ghost sitting beside the toilet bowl, one hand pressed against her tear stained face as if she was only just managing to catch her breath. Faye knew that feeling. “Just leave me alone,” Emma croaked, her voice dry and raspy, almost empty.

For a moment Faye had considered it, almost as if she did not want to see this level of weakness, didn’t want to see the bloody wadded tissues that littered the floor beneath both their feet but with a slow gulp and eyes that did not fill with tears she felt they might have “No.” She moved forwards and now she knelt in front of the other girl, reaching out and placing one hand on her face, “No,” she repeated, pulling off a square of tissue paper as she reached out and wiped the remnants of vomit from the side of her mouth, putting it in the toilet, “I can’t do that. But you can’t do this,” her words were gentle, standing up she grabbed the dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door, draping it around Emma’s shoulders, “Don’t let this destroy you, don’t tell people to leave. Don’t,” she told her, a knowing look in her eyes, wishing she could take away a tiny degree of the pain she must have been feeling.

“What do you know?” Emma croaked, clearly attempting to steady her voice, not even moving to tie the dressing gown or slide her arms into the holes that hung limply at either of her sides, “Since when do you know about this, Faye. I’m not strong enough,” and then she burst into tears again, body racking, as she bowed over the toilet throwing up again, Faye only just managing to lean forwards to hold her blonde hair out of the way.

The words echoed in her head, what did she know? Everything. She’d just never said it before.

As the throwing up stopped and drowned out to only sobbing, gentle but horrific, heart felt pain, Faye finally spoke, “You don’t have to be,” she whispered, “Because I am.” She pulled the girl gently now into her arms, one hand moving to stroke blonde hair, her own breath almost catching in her throat, “I’ve been where you are now but I wasn’t alone. Neither are you. You’re never going to be alone, I promise, whatever bad that’s been left behind we’ll get it out, it always comes out,” she closed her eyes momentarily, “I’m here. It’s not your fault.”

And in that moment for the first time in three years Faye realised she had been waiting for someone to tell her that it wasn’t her fault either.

The darkness had not stayed, it hadn’t destroy her and it wouldn’t destroyed Emma.

In one final breath as she held a broken girl in her arms and remembered the place she had been all those years ago, she finally let it go.

#darechallenge #:) this gave me such inner peace :)#self para #paras #para: it's always darkest before the dawn

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beatriceryder · 9 years ago

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Her tears were black, soiled with mascara, the back of her hand smudging the remaining eyeliner that had been applied by a professional makeup artist eight hours ago, touched up every time the man had a chance. Everything about her was continuously touched up -- people messed with her hair, brushing every last strand, curling it, straightening it, dyeing it, coating it in hairspray until it couldn’t move. Five different shades of lipstick applied to a painted on smile. Eye shadow, blush, concealer, covering every bump, every blemish, every freckle on her face, everything that wasn’t beautiful enough.

His lips were hard against hers, hands resting on her hips, a little too low for comfort but she didn’t tell him that. She kissed back, arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, pulling him against the wall.

It didn’t matter that she was only fifteen, that he was four years older than her and they’d met less than an hour ago. He had chose her, not any of the other girls there but her, it made her feel wanted, it made her feel special and because of that, she let him kiss her, let him touch her. “You okay?” He asked as he pulled away, she didn’t know his name but he had eyes the color of chocolate and dark hair that fell in his face and against her better judgement, she nodded, part of her thinking that if she said no, he would still remove her shirt.

He was her first time.

Her reflection stared back at her, her eyes looked empty and dull -- not like her at all. There was a time when she had been a happy little girl, always wearing a smile, holding open doors for strangers and doing her chores without being asked. Picking the petals off of flowers when it came to elementary school crushes. Waiting up for Santa to come through the chimney, hoping he would find her at her new house. Where had that little girl gone?

Her hair bouncing as she ran off the bus, Beatrice couldn’t get through the front door fast enough. Just month earlier, for her eighth birthday, her parents had gotten her the best gift of all -- a puppy. He was always there to greet her. He would come running, his tail wagging, practically jumping into her arms. It didn’t matter what had happened at school, she could always come home happy knowing that he was waiting for her -- until the one time that he wasn’t.

Her mum stood in the room instead.

“Mama?” A frown appeared on her face, her backpack tossed by the door. It didn’t matter how many times she had been told to hang it up instead, she would never remember. “Where’s Cooper?”

She didn’t get an answer, not at first, but she could tell by the look on her mother’s face that it wasn’t good news.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she was pulled into her arms, her hair brushed aside, a gentle kiss left on her forehead. She always felt safe when her mother hugged her, her arms were the only home she knew. “I came straight home after work. The fence was pushed open and he just-- he wasn’t there. We’ll find him, though. I called your daddy, he’s going to check the pound as soon as he can to make sure someone hasn’t turned him in.” She leaned away to catch her expression, her smile wavering seeing the tears glistening in her daughter’s eyes. “Hey, baby, listen. If we don’t find Cooper, we’ll get you another puppy. Any puppy you want.”

“I don’t want another puppy.” She sniffled, her thoughts on the dog she had been trying so hard to train. He had almost got the hang of sitting down, but getting him to play dead was an impossible task. Her voice was small when she spoke again, quiet and timid. “I just want Cooper.”

“I know, baby.” Another kiss to her head, she pulled her back to her. She was so gentle, she held her like she was going to break and it made the tears slip from Beatrice’s eyes. “We’ll find him, okay? We’ll find him. I promise.”

They never did.

“-- Beatrice?”

It took her a moment to register the voice; she couldn’t put a name to the woman but she knew who she was, just another person waiting to touch her up. It shouldn’t matter how she looked, the shoot was over. But it always seemed to matter how she looked.

“Yeah?” She turned to the door, half expecting it to open but it stayed in place. She waited for the question to come, she waited for the worried tone, the extra taps on the door, and for once, maybe she would answer truthfully. No, she wasn’t okay. She had never truly been okay.

“Hunt me down as soon as you can,” she said instead. The question never came.

Her eyes turned back to the mirror.

“Yeah.”

Her feet felt heavy as she took a step, her heels threw her off balance and she stumbled as she reached for her coat, tossed over the back of the couch.

“What is this?” She was caught, balance regained, eyes lifting to meet those of a boy she had been hanging out with more and more lately. They didn’t go to school together, they ran around with some of the same people, went to the same parties. They would sneak away and hide all of the toilet paper in the house or jump into the neighbor’s pool. It was always fun when he was around. “You’re drunk again.”

“People drink at parties, Derrick.”

“And how many of these people did you hook up with?” His tone was mean, she didn’t understand where it was coming from. He had always been so nice to her. They had fun. “I bet you don’t even remember their names.”

He was worried about her. He’d told her that before. She would take any pill that she was given, drink anything, kiss anyone. But she didn’t have a problem. She was just having fun. She’d stopped having fun a long time ago.

“You’re just a slut. A whore.” The words were hurtful but it wasn’t like she hadn’t heard them before, it was the person saying them that left her stomach feeling uneasy. He didn’t mean it. She tried to make her way around him only to be stopped, stumbling again, his fingers wrapping around her wrists. “No one is ever going to want you for more than one night -- you know that, don’t you?”

“You’re just jealous because I’ve never slept with you.”

His grip tightened, she could feel her skin bruising but she didn’t make a sound, she stared back at him like she wasn’t afraid but the truth was: she was terrified. She’d never seen this side of him before. And then, all at once, he released her. “Fine, Beatrice. Fine.” The anger in his eyes was gone, she saw something else instead, something she wish she hadn’t. Disappointment. “I give up. I’m done. Don’t expect me to be here when you end up pregnant or with some kind of fucking STD. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’m not your fucking damsel in distress.” She slid her coat on over her shoulders, she would need it, it was raining and the walk home was over ten minutes long. He moved to let her by. She didn’t meet his eyes, only shouted over her shoulder. “I don’t need saving.”

She wanted him to stop her.

He let her walk away.

She could hear the footsteps retreating, disappearing down the hallway. She didn’t know what the woman wanted and she didn’t care, Beatrice would be lucky if she didn’t lose her job. Her contract was running out and she doubted she would be signed again, not after what had just happened.

She may be beautiful, but they didn’t need her. No one ever did.

“Your phone goes off literally every five seconds.” Annoyance weighed in on her voice, Bea shot the other model a glare. “Can’t you at least silence the damn thing?”

“I’ll silence my phone,” brown eyes flickered to meet her blue. “When it doesn’t have to drown out your bitching every five seconds.”

Her fingers curled into a fist, eyes narrowed. “I hope you realize you won’t look quite so pretty with a broken nose.” It probably wasn’t a great idea to threaten someone that she had to work with, but that would never stop her. She wasn’t actually going to do anything.

“Do it. Go on. I dare you.” Her accent was heavy, she watched her fist lower to her side, shoulders relaxing before she shrugged, her words so casual and cruel when she spoke again. “That’s what I thought. It’s not my fault that you don’t have anyone to care about you.”

She hadn’t meant to, she really hadn’t meant to punch her, but her fist was colliding with her jaw before she could stop herself. She heard people running, approaching, she heard people saying her name and questioning her but it was all a blur and as she stared at her fist, aching from the impact, dark hair falling into her face, similar moments rushing through her mind, she knew.

It didn’t matter how hard she tried, she was always going to be a lost cause.

Fingers moving, she was sure that they weren’t broken now, though she had no idea how the other model was. She must have broken a bone, it must have been hers. It was what she was best at. Breaking things. Ruining things.

The room was a mess -- she was surrounded by glass, broken picture frames and figurines; every clothing item she owned lay on the carpet; the map that hung on her wall had been ripped in half; her pillows were torn open, feathers everywhere; her books had been thrown at the wall, left untouched on the floor where they landed.

“What happened?” Her mother’s voice was full of shock, confusion, and her expression matched as Beatrice turned to face her, she must have looked as messy as the room because she could remember the exact moment everything changed, her eyes widened, a mixture of fear and realization in them. She knew, finally. She understood what she had been trying to tell her for years. “Did-- did you do this?”

“I didn’t mean to.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It sounded far away. She hadn’t meant to, she hadn’t-- something inside of her had snapped. She didn’t remember making the mess, throwing things around, ripping her curtains from the window. She didn’t remember kicking her chair over, punching the wall until her knuckles bruised and bled but as she stared down at them, it was clear that it had been her, no one else. “I didn’t want to.”

Following her gaze, she heard the gasp fall from her mother’s lips, she felt her touch her arm, pulling her to the doorway. Anger flared inside of her, she was yanking away as soon as she took her first step. “Don’t touch me.”

Her mother stared at her, blinked at her. She didn’t know the girl in front of her. She wasn’t the child that she had raised. “Baby,” she spoke, softly still, but there was worry in her voice, a worry that was foreign to Bea. Her parents didn’t worry, not about her, not about what she wanted. “Baby, look at your hands. We have to clean them up.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“No, not the hospital,” she promised, and her voice was so soft, so comforting that she found herself nodding, forgetting why she was angry to begin with, though she had never known at all. “Just to the bathroom. We need to make sure they don’t get infected.”

She didn’t feel the pain from her hands but she let her pull her along anyway, swallowing thickly as she took a seat on the edge of the bathtub. It felt like being drunk, like being in a daze. Taking the wet cloth she was offered, she expected it to burn against her knuckles but they remained numb to the touch. “I want to go back,” she whispered but her mother didn’t hear her or she didn’t acknowledge it and that was fine, she would ask where she wanted to go back to and Beatrice didn’t have an answer. Back to the school that no longer stood, back in time. Back. She didn’t know.

“Okay baby, you wash them up,” she mumbled, placing a kiss to her daughter’s head. It was such a familiar movement, she had brushed her hair aside every time that she cried, every time that she had fallen off of her bike or gotten stung by a bee, she pulled her into a hug and left a kiss on her forehead, but this time there was no hug, she rushed off instead. “And I’ll be back to wrap them. I’ll be right outside. Alright?”

She nodded. It wasn’t alright, nothing was alright but she nodded, staring down at her left hand as her mother slipped out of the bathroom, cloth tightly grasped in her right, the woman’s voice not quiet enough to avoid being heard as she whispered her husband’s name.

“Stephen,” it was spoken in a way that Beatrice had never heard before and she didn’t have to guess to know what was coming next, closing her eyes as her mother finally believed what she’d wanted her to all along. Relief was the first thing that she felt and then fear, fear that they would now see, just as everyone else had, just as she had, that she wasn’t worth saving. “Stephen, something’s wrong.”

It wasn’t that her parents didn’t care about her. It wasn’t that her parents wouldn’t be calling if she hadn’t dodged every single one of their calls for the past three weeks. It was her own doing. It was a good thing.

Staring down at her hands again, Beatrice smiled to herself. It wasn’t a happy smile, but it wasn’t a sad smile either. It was a smile of... pride. There were two people out there that loved her still, that would have never let her leave if they didn’t truly believe that she was okay, and after twenty years, she had let them go.

She had convinced them that she had to leave with ease, she’d claimed that she had to catch a flight for a photoshoot in Cancún, that this job was important to her. She hadn’t told them that the shoot wasn’t for another two weeks, that she didn’t care about being a model. They would have made her stay and if she stayed – she would change her mind. She had to leave while she had the strength, she had to leave before she could think about how much she would miss the people that had raised her, brought her into the world, that had never, ever turned their backs on her or let her down. Even when they saw what she saw. Even when her facade fell apart. As she waved from the backseat of her cab, kept a smile on her face until they were out of sight, tears stinging her eyes when she turned in her seat, she remembered the way she had felt, warm inside, a kind of warmth she’d never felt before. Maybe she wasn’t a bad person at all. Maybe she was more than a slut, more than the misunderstood only child.

She had made a selfless decision. She had fooled them into thinking that she was going to be alright, she had removed herself from their lives and that, at the very least, was something.

#darechallenge #this is... it's long #the moments don't really have a time frame but i organized them how i wanted them #it's hard to write about triumphant moments for bea... bad moments i can do but #i know my blog makes things kinda hard to read so just add /mobile to the end of the url and the text will get bigger

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