All The Small Things
Summary: "It's killing me Sam, I don't know how I can live with it..." Addition/prequel to "The Girl That Wasn't".
You remember the small things the most.
You remember the way her hair used to smell of coconut after you'd been to the beach, visiting your grandparents on the West Coast, playing in the warm ocean with the sun beating down onto your pale skin. Your mind can still conjure the image of her dancing in front of you like a Hawaiin girl, her blonde locks bobbing in the sunlight and how her scent would drift to your nose, reminding you of tropical sunsets and palm trees. Those mere thoughts can cause a lifetime of grief to pour out of you in tears, expression of your feelings can happen no other way. Your body is racked with sobs as you think of her, and sometimes, in the darkest of hours, before him, you could see the reasoning behind her actions.
You can remember her laugh, the innocent cackle that emanated from her lips, usually in response to a smart-alec quip you or Mark had thought of, her face lighting with a glee that words could not define. Every moment with her was like a photographic opportunity; the way she would roll her eyes at Josh Jordan, the jock-type boy from next door who used to have a crush on you, the smiles that would suddenly appear out of nowhere as she watched Mark and your father talk to each other, even reverting back to their loving old ways; she was always the protector of the family, always making sure everything was running like clockwork. You hadn't noticed it for years, until her fourteenth birthday, the last she'd ever have, when you saw her flicking through a rare art book your father had bought her. Her eyes indistinguishably had flicked from the pages towards Mark, sitting next to your father, congratulating him on his find, and a contented smile grew on her lips. At the time you had thought it was because she was merely pleased at their unusual interaction; in reflection you can see that she was feeling satisfied that your family would cope without her. But you didn't.
You remember her favourite colours, the yells as Mark stole her favourite Jimi Hendrix LP, the bangs of the bathroom door to let you know that she needed the bathroom.
You remember the bigger, harder things too. You remember hearing her cry in the middle of the night as you crept to watch an old movie on the television, inadvertently discovering your little sister's pain, sitting outside her door until she'd fell into a fitful sleep. You remember how she'd overwork herself, spreading herself thinly between school and helping your father. Sometimes her teachers would ask you if she was ill, you'd stumble in your answer before blushing and lying, telling them that she had come down with a sudden fever, when in reality she was getting the groceries and ironing your father's Air Force uniform for his dinner that night.
You can understand why Mark still hates the Air Force.
You never told anyone about what she said to you, a week before she turned on the engine, playing that music and drifting off into eternal sleep;
The TV blared, nameless faces jumping onto the screen as you watched in silence, occasionally playing "Toe Wars" with Lizzie to see who ended up with more of the couch than the other. Unfortunately for you, she was winnning. "Sam?" She asked, her voice quiet and mindful of her sleeping father above her head, his frustrated snores occasionally drifting downstairs.
"Mm?" You replied, your mind focused on the television as an advert for a new documentary about the moon landings begins to show.
"I love you." She said simply, her eyes not leaving the television screen as your own jumped to look at her, a crease forming in your forehead in confusion. Your family was Air Force; you didn't talk about emotions and love, but of pragmatism and practicality. The room dulls back into silence, the only sound is the drone of the television but your eyes refuse to leave her face.
"Why did you say that?" You ask after a minute, your tone accusing and defensive. Your mind is racing upon the possibilities that this conversation brings up; one of them is your mother. You are still not ready.
She finally turns her face towards yours, tears springing from her blue eyes that match your own, "Because I want you to know that," She pauses, the second of silence feeling like an hour, "Just in case something happens to me." You don't need to hear the rest of her explanation to know what she's going to say, "In case something happens to me, like it did to mom." She pauses, taking a deep breath, "It's killing me Sam. I don't know how I can live with it," She tells you a lone tear falling on her cheek, poignant sadness like one of those paintings she adores, "It's killing me...."
"Beth-" You interrupt, wishing you hadn't sat down, wishing you hadn't responded to Elizabeth's words, wishing you'd gone with Mark to that rave on the other side of town and left this conversation behind.
"I don't want to die..." She swallowed uncomfortably, "And not have you know how much you mean to me."
"Nothing's going to happen to you," You dismiss her claims, your heart pounding as you come to terms with the horrifying thought that something would.
"One day, something will." She replies; in her darkening pupils you can almost see fire raging inside of her mind, you can almost taste the sadness and grief inside of her. So instead of rebutting her with a sarcastic comment or rough brush-off, you just say;
"I love you too."
Now you wonder if you should have realised, should have know what she was planning. You never told your father or Mark; you can picture the looks on their faces as though you could have stopped her, that you should have known her well enough to see. But you relied on the easy option to not discuss what was so evidently troubling her, to not talk of how you missed your mother so much it hurt you in the pit of your stomach. You took the easy way out.
You promised yourself since never to rely on the easy option, if not for yourself but for Lizzie. She deserved more and so do you. So you joined the Air Force, chose a demanding specialism in science and fell in love with the man that you weren't supposed to.
You remember the small things about her the most.
You hope that they will be enough.
The End. For Now.