Author's Note: This is a sequel to Heart On My Sleeve, though I think it can standalone. Okay, your reviews and number of alerts were just too damn amazing to not at least try for another three shot. I'll see where it goes, can be either shorter or longer, depending on where I think I'm going and how long it takes to get there. I feel like I get some sadomasochistic pleasure from the things I put Shelby through. If you read my other stories, and all awesome people do, you would totally agree. I decided to restrict it to a Shelby/Rachel story, it started off about them and I think it needs to end on them. But there may be some characters later, they're just not pivotal. Also, I feel bad for not finishing my other story before posting this (this was supposed to be a one-shot but the ideas and all the favourites it got are inspiring!) but I will finish it soon!
So, this story was kind of inspired by Alice Ripley's song She Keeps Her Love Away and I felt like that was worth mentioning and she's worth pimping out. She plays Diana Goodman in Next To Normal for any non-theatre fans, who probably wouldn't know N2N anyway. Anyhow, she's amazing and you should check out this song and her new album Daily Practice. I'd pimp out Idina, but really, she needs no pimping. She's her own pimp. I've used the word pimp too much now, I should stop.
SHE KEEPS HER LOVE AWAY
She doesn't like to show you her tears
She doesn't want feelings to get in the way
Somebody hurt her a long time ago
She's sealed up her heart and that's how it'll stay
The daughter lies in her mother's bed, a body pillow tucked under her arm and beneath her cheek. The mattress is comfortable, and more than that, the feel of the entire room is comfortable. Perhaps it's the subtle musical decor or the simple fact that everything just smells like her mother. It may seem strange to some, but the defining aroma of a person is important. And to Rachel, it's an endless comfort. She doesn't know if it's biological or simply her sense of longing, but it's there.
She hasn't been able to sleep for the past few hours. So she just lies there, blanket pulled up to her chin and stares at the ceiling. The room, she notices, isn't anything special. It's simple, neutral colours, some plaques and a sole family photo on the bedside table beside a copy of some obscure, ancient book that even Rachel has never heard of before. It's pretty in its simplicity, but it lacks soul; something is missing. Regardless of the empty baby crib a mere metre away.
Earlier, she passed by the nursery and playroom, which is clearly still under development. Rachel notes that the homey atmosphere void from this and the living room is being poured into every frame of wood in the space across the hall. And now, everything she'd worked for, the baby, the room, the future, all of it, was just ripped away from her. It's a demoralizing thought.
It's easy to see how much her mother has invested in raising this baby. More than that, she understands why. Her life is empty and she's grown tired of telling everyone she's happy, so instead, she's making it happen. But the fates have never been kind to Shelby Corcoran. It's something Rachel respects of her parent, she never complains about her life. Regardless of how hard she's worked, how passionate she is and how nothing ever goes her way, she takes it, buries it away and keeps her head held high.
But everyone has a breaking point.
She's got better things to do than share it with you
She lives alone and she says that she's happy
She's so afraid someone will knock on her door
Look in her window and now what will they see?
Her eyes flutter open, a deep throbbing of pain and numbness plaguing the depths of her brain. There's a sense of panic as she wakes up to surroundings that are not her bedroom, in fact, they are nothing of the sort. She is lying within a pile of pillows and blankets, a makeshift bed upon the floor of her living room. She's disoriented by this, though she can assume alcohol was involved.
She pulls off two layers of blankets that had been tucked up to her chest, and slowly but surely lifts herself onto her own two feet. Making her way into the kitchen, Shelby turns on the tap and fills the electric kettle with water before setting it on its stand. It's a morning routine that she's all too used to. Then she makes her way through the hallway towards her bedroom when she hears running water from the bathroom. With intrigue, she changes direction to towards the noise when the water shuts off. At best, she assumes to find a half naked man she doesn't remember sleeping with, hop out of the shower. What she's met with instead, is her daughter wiping her face with a towel, fully-clothed.
Shelby doesn't say anything, but there's questioning upon her face. Rachel looks up at her, and her face suddenly brightens. Her mother's does not. "You're awake!" she says joyfully. "You slept for a long time, it's almost lunch time already. I was going to wake you up but I thought you might have needed to sleep it off." Shelby rustles her hair, still not saying anything as she pieces small things together in her head.
Discomforted by the silence, Rachel starts her way towards Shelby's room and uncertainly, Shelby follows. "I slept in your bed, I hope that's okay..." she starts off tediously. "Your guest room was just full of boxes and the couch looked really uncomfortable," she makes a shrug with her lips and shoulder synchronously. "I'm very hygienic!" she adds on just in case. "I took a shower before I went to bed and then you called me and-"
Shelby puts a hand up to silence her and squeezes her eyes shut with pain. "You're very loud right now," she tells her groggily. "And my head hurts. It's okay that you slept in my bed. Haven't slept in it in a few days anyway." She hasn't even entered her room, doesn't plan on doing it any time soon either, especially not with that empty crib beside the dresser. Right now, Rachel stands within the threshold and Shelby refuses to even peer inside.
"Oh, okay," Rachel replies simply, dropping all her possible apologies for invading personal space. "I'd have moved you to the bed," she tells her, gesturing towards the queen sized wooden framed setup behind her, "but you were kind of heavy. So I got as many blankets and pillows as I could, but you didn't have a whole lot."
After a moment of just staring at her, Shelby realizes Rachel expects a response; notably praise. She can tell she thrives on recognition for her achievements. "Thank you," Shelby says, her disgruntled tone still evident, and gets a grin in response. She smiles back as best she can. If she can play off whatever might have happened, whatever she might have told her, then maybe Rachel will leave.
"You're welcome," she answers, and starts off again towards the kitchen. Reluctantly, her mother follows. "I'm going to make us lunch, what would you like?" Shelby's eyebrows furrow at how easily Rachel can accompany herself with, virtually, a stranger's home. She rarely cooks for herself, why would she possibly have her daughter do it for her?
"Actually, thank you, Rachel. But I still feel quite crappy, I think I'm just going to go back to sleep," she tells her, wondering if the girl will get the hint and leave. Honestly, she'll probably clean up the mess that's been made and sit at the piano for a few hours. Passing out from a drink is the only way her brain is ever going to be able to shut down and drift into the bliss that is sleep.
Rachel stops what she's doing and grimaces at this response. "You have to eat," she says and turns back to continue her search of the cupboards for a pancake mix. Shelby shrugs, and normally, she would stress her point, but she's in pain and she's exhausted.
There's a click of the electric kettle, signalling boiled water and Shelby goes to take out a coffee mug and a small plastic bottle. Like clockwork, she drops the proper amount of crushed coffee and formula into each and pours the steaming liquid into both. She barely notices Rachel is watching her until the baby bottle is half full and Shelby comes to realization.
Her gaze turns to her daughter who looks back at her with pity, and the bottle overflows, the hot water running across the counter and onto the floor where Shelby leaps back to avoid the heat. Placing the kettle back on its stand, she seems horrified with herself then abruptly turns and runs into the sitting room. Her hands push against the kitchen door before she pulls them up to shield her face and falls onto the couch, sucking in air.
A minute passes as she tries to collect herself when she feels a hand upon her shoulder. Swiftly, she recoils and shifts her body away. "Mom..." Rachel says softly, not sure how to handle a sober, distraught Shelby. "I put all the baby stuff away, you don't have to worry about. I want you to stay sitting here and I'll just make us some food-"
"I don't want food, Rachel!" Shelby says suddenly, looking up from her hands. She doesn't want to do this, but she's tired and she's hurting and she doesn't like people. "I don't know why you're here, but you should leave. I've told you that we need distance. This," she gestures to the lack of space between them, "is not distance. This is my home and you have intruded. You may leave now."
Rachel is noticeably hurt, and she looks down for a moment, blinking before composing herself in her signature melodramatic way. "I think I'll stay," she tells her mother nonchalantly. She isn't going down without a fight.
"I didn't give a choice," her words sound harsh, more so than she means them to be. Standing up, she grasps onto Rachel's arm and pulls her towards the foyer. "Put your shoes on," she orders, relinquishing the grip on her bicep then standing between her and the way back into the house. Rachel refuses to comply, and she grows frustrated. "Just put your shoes on and get the hell out!"
The teenager's eyes begin to water, but she doesn't make a single movement to do as she's told. "Now you're just being mean," she says, a struggling texture to her voice. She attempts to push her mother out of the way, every intention of making her way into the bedroom and planting herself there for hours if need be. The woman doesn't budge though, sturdily holding her ground.
"Yeah, well, I'm a mean person. Be lucky you don't have to get used it," she tells her, and there's almost malice in her tone. Rachel tells herself there's just so much anger built up and she's the only one around for her to unleash it on, but knowing that can't stop how she feels. "Leave before I make you," Shelby orders her again through gritted teeth.
"You're already making me!" she yells back. "I'm trying to help you, and you can't stop me from doing it! You're my mother and I love you so you're just going to have to deal with it!" She watches as Shelby's aggressive stance softens, and pulls her into a hug that isn't returned, her body is more limp than anything.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" she pleads, heartache stuck in her throat, leaving a stabbing pain where her vocal chords should be. She stares at the door as Rachel's smaller form has her head against her shoulder. Her mother's anger isn't going to be easy to handle, she knows, but it's a sacrifice she's willing to make. She'll take the rage as it comes.
She's scared if she doesn't, Shelby will take it out on herself.
Her life and death will seem so peaceful
She's never been touched, no scars to show
But as they're passing the lid on her coffin
Here lies a woman nobody knows
Sitting on the couch, knees tucked up to her chest, Shelby watches the television blankly. It's on; there's music, sound, picture but she barely registers what's happening. From the kitchen doorway, her daughter watches, unsure how to help her mother with her grief. So instead, she takes out a bowl of strawberries with a melted chocolate dip, praying it's not milk chocolate and heads into the living room.
"I love strawberries," she says, holding the bowl out to her mother who looks at the contents for a moment then polite shakes her head. Sighing, she sits down beside her, close enough that they're just about touching and Shelby shifts her body an inch away. And just being her adamant self, she gets up, moves to the other side of her and sits down so that she's leans back against her mother's arm.
"What are you doing?"
"Finally!" Rachel says, turning her head around to face her. "I've been waiting for you to speak for an hour!" She smiles at the woman, trying to balance out her negative energy.
Shelby purses her lips at this, solemnly frowning. "I'm not in a talking mood," she says, raising her arm onto the back of the couch, an action of which her child immediately takes advantage and snuggles into the opening. At this, Shelby can't help but let out a soft chuckle.
"Eat a strawberry," Rachel insists, picking one up by its leaves and holding it up to her. Again, she shakes her head and the girl's eyebrows narrow. "Eat it or I'll feed it to you," she tells her, as though speaking to a child. The order, though, receives a hard glare and the girl softens up, just the slightest amount of fear from her mother's tough attitude. "Please? You need to eat something. Just to make me happy? You do want me to be happy, right?"
Resigning, she lets out a breath and reaches out to bite half the berry straight from her daughter's fingertips. "Happy?" she asks apprehensively, slowly chewing the fruit within her mouth.
"Very!" she replies cheerily, then reaches forward to grab the remote and starts flipping through the channels.
"Hey, I was watching that," Shelby protests, pretending to be outraged but truthfully too jaded to pull it off.
"Really? So what was it about?" Rachel challenges, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, stopping for a maximum of four seconds before switching to the successive channel.
Pausing at the fact her bluff was called, Shelby straightens her neck out. "It was about people who do... stuff," is the only answer she can provide, sounding so dastardly inelegant, then shrugging in defeat.
"Oh, I know that show," Rachel retaliates, feeling rather clever. "Isn't it called Shelby Saving Face?" She offers a toothy grin with raised eyebrows at her own comment.
"You know, I think that's it." At that, Shelby shook her head and laughed softly, placing a hand to her daughter's head, tilting it toward her and blessing a whisper of a kiss within her dark hair. Rachel's smile becomes exponentially brighter, completely taken aback with surprise. Seeing her daughter's expression, Shelby looks at her with questioning eyes. "What?"
"It's just- you don't seem touchy-feely at all. I don't know, you surprise me," she explains earnestly, not sure how to tell her mother, in the nicest way possible, that she has a natural ability to put off an aura of coldness.
Shelby doesn't react to the comment though, instead, smiles calmly back. "I'm glad you got to spend this time with me, Rachel."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What?"
"I don't know, the way you said it. What does that mean?"
Seemingly confused, Shelby tilts her head to the side. "It doesn't mean anything," she replies with addled eyes.
"Oh," Rachel says finitely, not arguing the point. "Can we watch Funny Girl? It's my favourite, and I'll bet anything it's yours too." She's sitting up completely straight now, a pleading hand on her mother's arm, a smile so big she's almost hurting herself.
"Sure. How about we watch it in my room?" she suggests. "I'm tired, so we can just lie on the bed, okay?" Nodding eagerly, the remove themselves from the living room, switching the television and lights completely off and heading into the bedroom.
Shelby pops the DVD in and gets under the covers beside her daughter. Together, they watch the film, singing along to "People", as they would. After all, they both know every line of both the lyrics and dialogue. But somewhere along the way, they stop singing. With neither having gotten very much steady sleep the night before, fatigue overtakes the young woman, falling asleep cradled up to her mother's side.
She watches her daughter sleep, arms and legs spread across the bed. She seems so peaceful, so unlike her conscious, neurotic self. She studies her breathing, so light, with the blanket hanging halfway down her torso. Shelby grabs onto it and tucks it back up to her chest, a shimmer of a smile as she does so. There's a flutter of movement from the girl's eyes and her mother fears she's woken her already. When she turns over, tucking the blanket up to her chin and sifts back into sleep, there's a miniscule sigh of relief.
She slowly lifts herself from the bed, turning the volume up on the TV slightly, just to inhibit enough white noise to fill the room. Leaving a small kiss on the girl's forehead, she lingers upon the sight of her before making her way into the adjoining bathroom. From the cabinet, she retrieves four different bottles, pouring the contents out into her hand and filling up the glass of water she uses when brushing her teeth.
For a moment, she looks herself in the mirror; her hair has become greasy from the lack of a shower, her cheeks are hollowed, her eyes gaunt and she recognizes herself as someone she swore she'd never become. But life decided to kick her in the ass and prove her wrong. So she looks at the assortment of capsules in her hand and swiftly pulls them up to her mouth, throwing them back and swallowing with water. She feels the urge to gag, it's insufferable as her stomach turns. She swears she can feel the pills lodge in her throat.
But there's no more anxiety left, and she pours what remains of the pill bottles into her hand again; repeating the process. Her hands grip the sides of the sink, and a tiredness, a numbness, overtakes her. As gracefully as she can, she lowers herself to the floor, making as little noise as possible.
There's no panic, no fear, just a drowsiness that drags at her entire body, pulling her down towards the floor. Gravity has nothing compared to what she's just done. Her head lolls to the side, her spine can no longer hold her upright, and she falls sideways to the cold, porcelain floor. It's an oddly, and ironically, a refreshing sensation against her heated skin. Her mind doesn't race, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't regret. It's a blank slate.
Within moments, she drifts off into an austere sleep.
Author's Note: If you've read any of my stories, you must think I hate Shelby or something. I honestly love her... I'm just so torturous to characters in every story. An update may take a while, just because it may be difficult for me to write. Still, reviews would be nice, my lovely readers. :)