Everybody has those kind of days.
Where their grades slip below the margin required for Ivy League acceptance, or their tumultous relationships crash to an end, or even to go to the extremity of a death. Life goes on, someone said, and these people recoop from the deaths, never openly sinking into a depression or committing acts of violence against each other, at least not in a town such as this.
Candy Chiu has these days everyday — she can't remember a moment where her life was perfect after the blooming age of six, where everything tends to go downhill.
She perches upon a cotton couch, eyes widened as her attention is caught by the moving pictures, blurs of a better reality, hands moving in a circular motion, entranced by the shouts and screams, the symphony of it all, whether it is a harsh sound of cacophony or the harsher realm, the calling of reality.
For a moment, Candy is five years old again and she watches herself become absorbed by the imagination of it all, the romantic montages of a happy ending fading into dreams and wonders with a call.
After a long while, Candy had learned that her mother hadn't come back into the house only for her children, instead for the lure of being the perfect family; they were anything but that.
Candy hates a lot of things — literal candy, bittersweet cherries; roses, Pacifica Northwest.
But she soon learns that hate is kind of like a toothache minus novacain; you can't help but remind yourself that it's still there. It'll always be there, no matter how many wishes you attempt to send it away with.
There's been some times where blood flows freely, a clot never to form, where it is only stopped by the time it is absorbed into carpets and soft folds of cellulite and other skin; there are other times when the blood doesn't come, and she must spend time, hours and hours, in her bedroom to get it to start flowing again, maniac laughter floating from a high pedestal, because it's her secret remedy. It's the only way that Candy is able to escape everything, and engrave herself into beauty.
She lets out a simper weeks later, a simpering grimace or grin, and the never-ending fluttering of the eyelashes in order to win herself back into the good graces of her parents, into their good books, and then Candy subsequently remembers that she was never there in the first place, so how could she get back into something she was only just infiltrating?
There's these voids in time, almost as if they are cracks, and for a moment, all she's ever wanted to do is disappear. When the blood was flowing freely, when nothing could be stopped and when Candy was in control of herself; that's when she felt at peace.
But then she finds, and like every single thing that brings her joy, that they just motherfucking take it all away.
author's note— Alright, so I am honestly really perplexed about this, considering my intentions for developing this in the first place. Said intentions involved me being absolutely baffled at the lack of Candy-centric fanfictions out here, not to mention me being pathetically irritant of the fact that in the majority of stories, Candy is barely acknowledged or mentioned unless it involves her being paired with Dipper. Especially considering that alongside Pacifica and Wendy, in that particular order, Candy is one of my favourite characters. Returning to the story itself, I deeply apologise for the middle, which is where things started to venture a tad haphazard.