A/N: This is a bit experimental on my part but I wanted to try something new with my writing. Audrey's POV, hence the scattered voice.
Twin Peaks ain't mine, kids. Title and italics are from Marilyn Manson's "Coma White". Cool song, reminds me of Laura. Check it out.
Coma White
...
There's something cold and blank
behind her smile…
Snowbunnies, smile! We'd make snowangels but we're too cold and maybe too old for that now. Were we ever angels?
Girls, I said smile! Mr Palmer holds the camera up again and this time I feel her smile. Mine is a quirk of a thing, a brief candle holding a dying flame. I smell her perfume and know the power of it.
The flash makes white spots appear and she disappears from my side just after. I can tell her smile did too. We were never friends.
The Lodge up north is ours and when it snows it pours. Silky powder drowns the green of the slopes and I never liked skiing.
The day dies slowly but the sun never shows, it hides itself as the sky leaks white. Cocoa steams in clay in my hands and I watch the noise outside from inside. Johnny won't trade his feathers for a helmet.
She calms him, listens with cured patience to his cries and lays a hand on his shoulder. He lets her slide on the helmet.
Mother doesn't like skiing. She's home, alone. Or not. Daddy's here.
Mrs Palmer pats my shoulder. She smiles a wrong smile, crooked and unsure. I think she doesn't know how. But her eyes say I'm sorry and I want to ask what for. She doesn't ski either. She drinks whiskey from a coffee mug and smokes and I bum one.
Night comes with a storm. We support the doors and windows with furniture that's hard to move. A piano's keys drum into chaos when Mr Palmer begins a frenzied tune. Johnny sits on the floor riveted and we light candles when the lamps buzz out.
Daddy lights a cigar. I can see the grey smoke of it snake across the room towards her, and she looks over at him. He seems to smile.
She leaves the room. I follow.
She's by a bed and a candle lets me glimpse white lace.
I feel my face prick with colour. She turns as I fake a cough. I ask what she's doing. She says want some?
Fine white powder. Snow. No, thanks. You sure? Yes.
Her smile dares me to smile back. I don't.
Daddy's coming, she says. Which one?
She's in front of me and I feel her lips on mine softly. Yours.
I walk the corridor one side as Daddy comes up from the other. I hear the door close and my blood freezes it's that cold.
I smile. Isn't that the strangest thing?