The morning didn't start off well. But last night didn't end well, so it wasn't a huge shock. It consisted of parental berating from her father, sibling banter with her brother - who was more annoying than she remembered, and feeling like a huge idiot for almost sleeping with a total loser.
Needless to say, Rebecca overslept half an hour through the phone alarm, spent another half hour putting on makeup, and was now going through a large heap of clothes to somehow put an outfit together.
Worrying about clothes this early in the morning was new. The uniforms at boarding school were cute and the girls wore the same thing everyday. No competition or envy involved.
Rebecca looked herself over carefully in the full length mirror and smoothed out the purple blouse and black mini skirt. The shoes weren't right. She fell onto the bed and swapped the flats for knee high boots. They're weren't in season, but looked amazing on her.
"Should I put an APB out on the rest of that skirt?"
That cop joke never got old. Not at all. Rebecca rolled her eyes and forced herself not to look at her father standing in the doorway. She was turning over a new leaf. Last night was a setback, but despite what he thought, she was attempting to stay out of trouble. "Were you always this funny or is it a new thing?" Easier said than done. Biggest flaw: being a smart ass.
"Seem to remember a conversation last night after Stiles - of all people - caught you stumbling out of some kid's car about losing the attitude."
Rebecca started shoving random things in her backpack to distract herself from his concerned eyes. "I didn't stumble out of anything. We were just talking."
"Must have been a great talk for you to wander around half dressed by yourself after. Wish I had more conversations like that."
"What did Stiles tell you?" Rebecca snapped.
"Enough to royally piss me off."
"Well, he should mind his own business."
"And he'll work on that. We all need to get used to living under the same roof again." He stared at his daughter for a long moment. The silence made her stop moving to finally look over at him. And there it was. The elephant in the room. "Think you can handle living with a couple of bachelors?"
Rebecca shrugged, even though that wasn't what was on her father's mind. Their whole relationship had become centered around playing along. "Sure. If you're nice I'll even throw something in the microwave and push start occasionally."
He chuckled under his breath, but still couldn't bring himself to look anywhere other than the floor. Rebecca slung the backpack over her shoulder and put a hand on his shoulder. She can't believe how much older he looks close up. Tired and ancient. Talking to ghosts who don't talk back. Playing along to avoid the inevitable.
"I'm trying." Rebecca said in a small voice and allowed him to pull her into a protective hug. As if she'd vanish at any moment. Like her.
He stoked the back of her hair slowly to make sure she's still there and kissed her forehead. "Just worry about you, sweetheart. You... I don't know... got this wild spirit and it gets in the way of rational thought. Want to make sure you stay safe. We need to keep you safe."
Safe. Safe. The word was foreign to her. A feeling that sounded nice, but was out of reach somehow.
She pressed her cheek against her father's shoulder, speaking into his bulky tan jacket. "Last time I checked I grew up. Not twelve anymore. I can handle myself." The last part needed to sound overly convincing. Please let it sound convincing enough to make the worry subside. "It won't be like it was. Promise."
He nodded and as usual used humor to lighten the still unresolved moment of tension. "Just to clarify, is this Greenberg going to be a permanent fixture around here or can I look forward to never meeting him."
"If he wants to keep his spleen and other appendages in tact the latter, Daddy."
Watching him walk back downstairs to start the coffee, she caught herself sniffing the soft skin on her tiny wrist, and wondered if every part smelled like her mother, or if the uncanny resemblance alone was enough to throw her father and brother off balance permanently.
A living dead girl/woman was the person who reached the bottom of the staircase with the backpack and too-short-skirt as the only pair of men in her life tried not to stare from the kitchen. The dead, the alien, the painful memory has snuck into their home once again.
Stiles feigned subtle and polite when the spoon in his hand almost dropped into the half eaten bowl of cereal in front of him. "You, um, ready to go?" He asked, dumping it into the sink.
No one gets used to the living dead.
