"Once upon a time, this worked for me. You snap the band on your wrist when your thoughts and feelings overwhelm you."
Silence fills the air; nothing to be heard but the steady strumming of an elastic band, snapping violently against a wrist again and again. Then a sniffle, the sound of a hand desperately scrubbing at a face, before returning ruthlessly to the band. She sits quietly, her blonde hair thrown over one shoulder carelessly, her legs crossed. Beneath her, a single mussed sheet on an otherwise bare mattress. Her fingers continuously pluck at the band, snapping it against her pallid wrist. Nestled in an overlarge button down shirt, she stares absently at the blank wall in front of her, her eyes devoid of emotion but filled with tears.
"Stella! Are you dressed yet?"
Her uncle's call shatters the silence she's so enjoying. Sniffling quietly to herself, Stella scrubs underneath her eyes once more for good measure before standing to slam her bedroom door. Returning to her post on the bed, Stella awaits her uncle's usual reaction. He doesn't disappoint. Thunderous footsteps storm up the stairs, and Stella barely flinches as her uncle barges into her room. After the first hundred times, the action loses its gravity – loses its effect on her.
"Stella!" her uncle calls loudly, his head whipping around. "Oh- there you are," he drawls, as he catches sight of his niece, clad only in her father's cotton shirt. He takes a moment to stare her up and down nonchalantly before recommencing with whatever it was he'd stormed in to say. "Come now, Stella, you've got to go back to school today – it's what your dad would've wanted." Her uncle's voice is quiet, attempting reassurance, but falling flat at coercion. It's not the first time he's come barging in on her, only half dressed. It's also not the first time he's attempted this argument. There's an undercurrent of disdain somewhere there, as though he wants to believe that Stella is still grieving her father, but also thinks that, as a teenager, she should have already gotten over the death. He just wants Stella out of the house – away from his own, younger children who don't need a moody older cousin casting a dark shadow on their ignorant 'play-time'.
Stella remains silent, glaring at her uncle's legs as she continues to snap the band – again and again. She hadn't wanted to come back – had even been told by Trish that she wouldn't have to. But in the end, her aunt's (her mother's sister) next of kin status won out, and Stella hadn't been able to stay away.
Snap the band and control the pain. Snap the band, again and again. She moans quietly – that last snap had hurt her more than she'd intended. She looks down at the angry red mark blistering her white wrist. It seems to be surrounded by its brethren – other red marks of her creation. Even her pain is not alone. Even her pain has company, unlike her.
She continues to snap the band against her wrist, meditating the fact that she only has two more years of living with her aunt and uncle (but especially her uncle) before she's considered an adult. Until then, Stella is learning to deal with everything that has happened (and continues to happen) to her. Since her rescue by Trish a couple of months ago, she's been seeing a therapist – without the knowledge of her aunt and uncle. At first, it had been difficult to open up – she hadn't wanted to talk any more than she'd wanted to go initially. Her therapist still doesn't know exactly what her uncle does – but Stella's come to realise that she is the victim, and the word leaves a nasty taste in her mouth. It reeks of vulnerability, of brokenness. Which is why she has to be the best. No weakness, no vulnerability, just pure, feminine strength.
"Stella, I'm not going to say it again. You're going to be downstairs and dressed in half an hour, alright?" warns her uncle, a threatening growl entering his voice.
Stella narrows her eyes peevishly. Her uncle doesn't understand. How can he know what he would've wanted? How can anyone? How can her uncle demand anything from her?! How can he know that her father would've wanted her to continue with her education? How can he think that he wanted anything? I mean, he had just left her – abandoned her without a second thought!
Snap.
Snap the band to control the pain. Snap the band, again and again.
Turning on his heel, her uncle leaves Stella's room, allowing her to continue her silent vigil with a grunt. Sighing, Stella realises that, while she doesn't know what her father would've wanted – snap! – she knows what she wants. She wants out of her uncle's grasp as quickly and neatly as possible. No muss, no fuss. Snap. While she's in pain right now, and her mind is still foggy with grief, she knows that she still wants to be the best. Only now, she wants it for no one but herself.
Removing the band from her wrist, Stella deftly ties her hair up before wriggling into a skirt that she tucks her father's shirt into. Gazing at herself in the bedroom mirror, Stella steels her features, knowing what her day will bring. She barely affords a glance towards the duvet and pillow that lie scattered on the bedroom floor, mingling with the mussed sheet that hangs from a single corner of the mattress. They are just evidence of the night she's had – an altogether shit night that will probably be followed by a shittier day. But, she still needs to look like she's okay, if she's to be the best.
She repeats a mantra to herself: Stella Gibson is strong. Stella Gibson doesn't care. Stella Gibson lets nothing faze her.
Snap! The band falls from her hair – a consequence of overstretching. Perhaps it would be better if she left her hair down, after all. It's not like she particularly minds what she looks like, but her hair had always been…he'd always liked her hair. A soft smile lights her lips – a minute quirk that seems to set her eyes ablaze. Reaching for the dresser, she pulls a band from her wooden box that sits beside her brand new leather-bound journal and snaps it firmly onto her wrist.
'No one else need know what the band is for,' she reminds herself. She can carry it with her while she's at school – can still project calm and collected while she snaps away whenever something eats at her.
She is Stella Gibson, and she can fight this.
Hi! This is my first foray into the world of The Fall - I hope I've done it justice. Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed it (and think it worth continuing), please leave a review!