I do not own Gallagher Girls.
I do not own this song, Brick By Boring Brick: Paramore, or its artist.
.Brick By Boring Brick.
She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she's left behind
"Rebecca Baxter."
She walked up onto the stage fluidly, graceful even in her glimmering heels. Ms. Morgan smiled at her, eyes faintly glassy, and slipped her the mandatory graduation form through her classmate's thin cheers. The brunette shook her headmistress's hand politely, flashed the gathered audience a fake smile, and continued to stride offstage.
Dull.
How dull, she thought.
Her graduation ceremony from Gallagher Academy was over: the hours of preparation -- glossing, plucking, spraying, buttoning, strapping. The hugs, smiles, squeals, sniffles and barely-concealed tears. All for that split second of cool paper and burning gazes. How unbelievably useless.
Of course it would be.
Of course…why wouldn't it be?
Without them, Gallagher was dull.
It's all about the exposure the lens I told her
The angles were all wrong now
She's ripping wings off of butterflies
Bex sits alone.
The back of the chamber, with a glass in her hand but no desire to drink. Her pristine heels have been discarded underneath the chair, and the music lulls her into a sort of trance where the whispers go away and she sits alone. She never sits alone.
Few people risk approaching her: the lean Brit with a reputation the size of Texas. She understands. No one wants to talk to her; the wild card, the black sheep.
They don't understand her.
How could they possibly fathom?
Her best friends are dead.
With her feet on the ground
And her head in the clouds
The exotic alumni slipped outside.
Bex wanders down the dark, dismal hallways like a ghostly shadow. She runs a hand over the freezing sleek walls with glazed-over eyes and a little grin. The memories hurt like knives, but she welcomes them with gusto. Let them come. She deserves to remember, she deserves so much more…
She never heard the footsteps, but it was terribly predictable for someone to have followed her.
"Hello," she breathed, and turned. His eyes were ink on parchment, storm clouds over snow. In this light, his hair looked as if he brushed it down with a handful of ash. Her head stayed high as they regarded each other in the dimly lit corridor.
"Oh, Bex…."
They can't know.
When would they think?
The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered.
Well go get your shovel
And we'll dig a deep hole
To bury the castle, bury the castle
The glass tinkled and danced around Bex's feet.
He steps toward her, one hand outstretched. She will never know what he intended. because she knocked it away with a well-placed kick and had bolted, fleeing in her dress, from the scene. Moisture threatens to overcome her sight, but she blinks it away.
She's in disbelief. Why isn't she dead? Why -- even now, as her feet pound traitorously loud against the floors of secret passageways -- haven't they killed her?
They wouldn't spare her.
Who could want her alive?
She killed her best friends.
So one day he found her crying
Coiled up on the dirty ground
Her prince finally came to save her
And the rest you can figure out
Bex finally skids to a stop.
She was miles away from Gallagher Academy, and the tears had started streaking down her face ages ago. The dress, the beautiful dress, was torn and ripped and splattered with mud. Tan fingers shook as she fumbled with the phone in her purse. Contact. Tell them. They could save her, right?
When she dialed his number and sat back against the abandoned warehouse's wall, another tear leaked out as she gasped for breath, chest heaving pitifully. The moon highlighted the path in front of her. Did they follow?
I'm sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. To m--
"It's too late for that, sweetie." He was beside her, all inky eyes and ash-filled hair.
They couldn't save her.
What would they gain?
The Circle of Cavan had deserted their double agent.
But it was a trick
And the clock struck 12
Well make sure to build your house brick by boring brick
or the wolf's gonna blow it down
The phone slips from her hand.
It thudded onto the ground, but Bex didn't pick it back up. Instead, she rose to her feet and turned to face him -- God, why him? -- with shaky hands and darting mocha eyes. He was staring right at her…not past her, or through her, like most people did after the "accident." The knowledge was painful.
"Grant," she murmured, but her voice broke. She swallowed and tried again, her voice strong and fierce this time. "Grant, you have to understand--"
"Understand what?" He cut her off violently, stepping closer in the moonlight, hands clenched into fists. No one else had appeared from the trees, and she realized for the first time that he had come alone. "Understand why exactly we found your name in Ioseph Cavan's records? Why you murdered your three best friends in cold blood because a delusional mass murderer wanted you to?"
Her tears splashed onto the dirt.
She wasn't allowed to tell him.
Didn't she hate rules?
"I did it for you."
With her feet on the ground
And her head in the clouds
Bex closed her eyes.
Grant's shoulders slumped, and she took this opportunity to pray that he was off-guard enough. She flitted past him, desperately straining toward the trees. She could slip away and quite easily melt into the night. Escape.
Her plans were foiled as he grabbed her arm, jerking her back to him roughly. She let out a huff as her breath hitched and a sob clawed its way out her throat. His fingers wrapped around her shoulders so she was forced to look him in the eye, and she blinked away tears and bit her lip.
"What?" He growled.
"They threatened to kill you, you and your entire family if I didn't." She explained, words rushed and harsh. He stepped back, eyes thick and wide and glued to her tear-stained face with dawning horror. It was then that she saw the exceedingly well-concealed gun in his pocket -- he'd been sent to kill her, to shoot her dead. The last Circle of Cavan agent. Traitor.
He couldn't possibly kill her.
But didn't she deserve to die?
She stepped back.
Well you built up a world of magic
Because your real life is tragic
Yeah you built up a world of magic
Bex let her hands fall to her sides.
"Grant?" she mumbled. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please…" her throat closed, but her glimmering cocoa eyes stayed glued on the gun, and he understood. He understood. Of course he did. So he slowly reached for it, pulled it out, and she did nothing but breathe.
His fingers shook, and he ogled her. The gun was cocked and pointing at her chest, and that beautiful dress was concealing her trembling, barefoot frame as she gritted her teeth and raised her chin.
They would never meet again.
How could they?
He kissed her as she died.