***Aria 1.7***
Taylor sat in the passenger seat of the car, her expression resembling that of someone standing over a dead body, bloody knife in hand. Mr. Mustain and her dad were still in the convenience store discussing god knows what. Well, the roof's owner was talking at least. All she could see through the window was her hapless father looking increasingly confused as the landlord, or whatever he was, let loose.
She felt terrible. She'd never wanted to do this to him: forcing him up so early in the morning and dealing with all of this. There was work waiting for him when the sun finally rose to the west and it wasn't like she could explain her actions in a way that wouldn't risk delving into anything she didn't want to talk about. What could she say? That she was practicing to go out late at night to try and get pictures of people that could shoot lasers from their eyes? What would placate him without making the overworked man feel like he was a bad parent? She needed a silver bullet. One sentence that could let them both feel some sort of ease. Like the issue was resolved.
Taylor had already taken the first steps towards deceiving her dad, the same way mother had a long time ago. How was hiding her reasons any different than simply not mentioning Emma or her abuses though? She didn't like the idea, she never liked it. It was for both their own good, though! If he knew, he'd be angry he couldn't do anything about it. There was no way it wouldn't end with Dad beat himself up. Sadly, the knot in her stomach refused to uncurl in the face of this logic. Why couldn't she have taken from her mother and had a weaker conscience?
She listed the pros and cons of telling the whole story in her head right up until her father stepped out of the store. Mr. Mustain never left, merely shuffling off into some unseen corner out of view of the window before reappearing with three huge bottles holding a golden liquid within each and bearing a blue 45 on their labels.
She sank back into her seat, arms curled around the camera in her sweatshirt protectively as though it were a child when her father stepped inside the vehicle, leaning back in his seat. No doubt still trying to parse through all the strange and wondrous new uses of the words 'bitch',' fuck' and 'shittwister' that had just been demonstrated to him.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose before pulling his hand away, sparing a few seconds to blink away any confusion before sighing. "I'm friends with sailors that have cleaner mouths," he muttered before looking over at her, worry carved across the creases of his forehead.
"Are you alright? Did he do anything to you? Did he hurt you? When I got the call- When he said your name- Why were you on his roof at one in the morning?" he asked, speaking fast and swelling in concern.
She silently mulled the words over for a few seconds, looking out the windshield as they passed rundown buildings and several cars with various combinations of parts that were bent, missing, or held in place by duct tape.
"I just went for a walk. Needed some fresh air." It wasn't a complete lie, more a half-truth. Taylor thought she sounded calm — she hoped she sounded calm. It was all to put him at ease; any misstep was just gonna put the pressure on him. Make him be hard on himself when there was nothing he could do about what was going on.
"In the middle of the night?"
"Yeah."
"Taylor…"
"I couldn't get to sleep. Figured it would help me organize my thoughts."
"I'm not stupid. If you were just down the block I might be able to believe that. Christ, it took me an hour to find where he wanted me to pick you up."
"That's what I was doing. I just wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Got stuck in my own head. I wasn't going to sleep until I worked them out or exhausted myself," Taylor muttered back, trying to hold back her irritation. Restraining it enough that it wouldn't leak into her voice while she stared at the mascot on the breast of his shirt.
The Brockton University Starving Coyote looked back at her with its large, hungry cartoon eyes; an alternative to her father's exhausted ones peeking at her through his glasses.
"Again, I'm not stupid. Is it a boy? Some new friends of yours? Are you a..." his voice petered out before he finished the sentence. He didn't need to. Who else wandered around Brockton in the middle of the night besides capes, criminals, and victims?
"No. Like I said, just needed some air, figured I could take some pictures while I was out too. Thought it might help me get my mind off things."
"Oh? So that camera has you running around at night? I'm liable to take it off your hands then." He didn't sound too serious, but she still held her Kodak a bit tighter. "Taylor, I love you. I just don't want to see you get hurt. This town is dangerous, especially at night."
"I know. You never let me forget," she muttered back. The girl knew first hand; it's why she was careful. Practically losing herself to paranoia everyday. Who was he to question how dangerous she thought this town was?
"I'm sorry, it's just that I worry. If anything happened to you...I don't know what either I or your mother would do." Taylor had a few possibilities in mind, few of which she liked.
"I didn't mean to scare you. I'm fine though."
"This time. What if he did more than just swear at you? What if he was part of a gang or just didn't feel like going through that whole process of calling me? He might've hurt you! "
"But he didn't."
"That's not the point! Something really bad could've happened. You could've been abducted, or killed, or beaten, or something even worse!"
"Dad…"
He pulled the car to the curb, too flustered to drive, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were pale. He took another deep breath, air leaving his mouth in a defeated sigh. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the tip of the steering wheel. Neither of them spoke until her father's voice broke the silence. He didn't shout. He didn't get angry. He just seemed...weary.
"I can't lose anyone else. Your mom is in prison and we see her, but it's not the same. Things, they haven't been the same. I wake up every day wishing she was home. Without her...right now you're all I have Taylor."
The girl leaned over onto his shoulder, hugging him in the hopes the gesture would leech away some of the burden weighing him down. "I didn't mean to. I was also thinking about mom, and her not being around. I wasn't paying attention."
"It's fine," he said softly. Her dad rose from the wheel, Taylor pulling away and looking back at the window. It was as if even looking at each other would be the catalyst for a new eruption of emotions.
"I didn't mean to get so upset...please. Don't scare me like that again." He took the chance to wrap her in an embrace of his own.
"I promise I won't," Taylor said, her voice creaky. There was a spirit to his request. Don't risk her life, don't sneak out like this. She was going to have to settle for following the letter. She didn't talk the whole way home, her eyes shut tight as she tried her best to look like she was falling asleep, It gleaned her a few minutes with her own thoughts.
When the engine finally died the illusion was on the edge of becoming reality. Her eyes took much more effort than they should've to open, an extra five minutes and she would've been singing a sonata of snores alongside the radio.
She finally opened her eyes to give him a quick, eyes half open glance when she caught ear of the tiny metallic click of his seatbelt coming unclipped. "I'm sorry about getting so bent out of shape. I need you to understand, you're the most important thing on my mind, and I guarantee your mother's mind. I...no, we...just want to keep you safe and sound. Even the idea that you could be in trouble... it sets off sirens in my head." He gave her a weak, not quite smile as he took a step out of the sedan.
"Still, it's late, tater-tot, and we both need to get to bed," he said quietly, looking as tired as she felt, albeit relieved.
She followed suit, opening her own door, perturbed more by the nickname than losing the seat's headrest, which was acting as a cushion to her descent into sleep. At least emotions weren't running as high anymore. "It's fine. Though please don't use that one, I haven't liked that nickname since I was nine."
"I know. I get two, well, one more use out of it for waking me up so late. I'm suspending the official veto. I was a little disappointed when you wanted me to stop calling you that. Though it made your Mom happy."
"I think it was the best day of her life when she finally heard I didn't like it anymore. I also remember you tried bribing me with a later bed-time to be able to use it again." Even back then she still hadn't thought about taking him up on that offer, as tempting as a chance to experience the world of late night Ten PM television was, when you were in elementary school and had the choice between being called a bird or a fried potato when your parents dropped you off there was no contest.
"That would've worked too if your mom didn't threaten to use the living room to showcase her art Monday nights. I would've had to watch football at Kurt and Lacey's."
"That's a bad thing?"
"He's from New York remember? We wouldn't go five minutes without a fistfight." He father chuckled.
"I thought you guys went to middle school together?"
"Kurt moved here a bit into Eighth grade. By that point he'd followed the wrong team for so long it was a lost cause. That was a while ago though."
"Ah."
"Yeah, you shoulda seen the arguments we got into when sports were involved."Her father punctuated the sentence with a yawn, holding a hand to his mouth as the contagious sound spurred one from Taylor. Was she really this tired? She'd pulled all-nighters before. Usually when she lost herself on PHO or was making a last ditch effort to save her homework after Emma's cronies had wrecked her the original copy. She shoulda been used to it by now.
"Time for bed. I swear I'm gonna just fall over and snooze out here on the pavement if we keep going. Just try to get some sleep and unlearn every curse you learned from Mas...muh...mustard? I don't think I caught his last name."
"Mr. Mustain."
"Right."
They stumbled into the house. Anybody on the street that was experiencing a bout of insomnia could've taken a look out the window and watched their neighbor and his daughter go inside. They'd have been left with the momentary question of why Daniel was dressed in his pajamas and returning home with his daughter at such an ungodly hour before shaking away their idle curiosity as just that, an idle curiosity.
Taylor didn't remember falling flat onto her sheets. She didn't remember dragging her laptop into bed and she especially didn't remember sending Kolchak the pics she took last night either. Couldn't delete them: they'd already been messaged over to her friend, who'd no doubt be so impressed, some glowing dots and a stray, astounding.
Exhausted Taylor had apparently thought so. Enough to jump the gun without being nice enough to leave a note.
Dear me, Made a fool of ourselves to our one and only friend. Signed, The person with your best interests at heart, Taylor A. Hebert P.S. you're welcome.
It felt arrogant even seeing that she'd sent them out; like she was showing off a microwave dinner to a food critic and claiming to be ready for Iron Chef. First impressions were a bitch and she'd just made a pretty shitty one.
Taylor could at least give herself some commendation though. If she did all that half asleep then imagine what she could pull if she put the effort forth with some semblance of cogency. Maybe she might actually have a picture worth showing people one day. She spent forty minutes laying in bed, every now and again opening her eyes to make a few idle clicks, completely forgetting whatever it was she was browsing through as soon as she let her eyes rest.
"Taylor, I made us some breakfast!" her dad hollered from downstairs.
Getting something to eat carried the prerequisite that she get outta bed. Her warm, comfortable bed. Truly, having to choose between the two was suffering on par with a Greek tragedy. It wasn't until her father called a second time that she finally managed to call forth some font of energy hidden deep within herself. The blanket resisted being dragged away from her body, tired limbs pulling with what was certainly no lack of lethargy. Still clad in the clothes that shielded her on last night's expedition, she walked downstairs. The call of breakfast was too loud to let something as simple as a morning routine get in her way.
The scent of turkey sausage and eggs, a staple in their household, hit her nose, stirring up old memories that died when she spotted only her dad sitting at the table with his back to the fridge, idly munching on a slice of toast.
"Hey," she said, her stomach empty and focus divided. The sausages and toast sat on a plate in the center of the kitchen table alongside a few fried eggs, taunting Taylor while her stomach begged. It never really occurred to her just how hungry she was until she'd finally gotten a good look at the small feast laid out before her.
"Hey." He took a few more bites. "How'd you sleep?"
"Alright."
"Good to see. You hungry?" She gave him a gentle nod before meekly filling her plate and taking the seat across from him, trying to keep her attention zeroed in on the morsels in front of her. She cut a sausage in half with her fork and gave it a quick nibble, a hint of maple finishing the savory delight, coating her tongue in grease as she swallowed. Home cooking to its core. Something she couldn't not appreciate. It had been a while since they'd eaten breakfast together. Her father often left early to work, trying to make a difference despite how little it seemed anyone else cared.
"More where that came from."
She obliged him, quickly demolishing the meal while her father picked at his own plate. Every now and again he'd let out an 'um' or 'hm', seemingly unsure of what to say. She'd pause in turn, lifting her glasses to meet his, only for him to just retreat back to his breakfast. It wasn't until she had a few bits of egg and a half-slice of toast left that the conversation picked back up. Sadly, there was nothing lighthearted about the words that left her father's mouth.
"We need to talk about what Happened," he said, wearing the same face he did in last night: Eyebrows raised slightly and mouth dipped into a sad frown. She hated looking at it, hated the way it put her on the verge of choking from the guilt it managed to elicit. Her mind flailed in slow motion, trying to find any combination of words she could spit out of her mouth, but taking far longer than she would've liked.
"I...I thought that's what we did? When we were in the car."
" I wasn't in a good state of mind. We need to have an actual conversation about this. Not just me losing my wits."
"It was fine dad, I'm not-"
"Taylor, please...Listen. You've been doing your own thing for a while now. I've been okay with it and have even been giving you your space. This is because I know you're still reeling from mom, and high school, and any number of other things. That doesn't mean you can just wander around the city at night. Yesterday...It could've ended badly. It didn't. But I don't want you risking your life like that again. No more late night strolls okay. "
"No more late night strolls," she repeated sheepishly. It hurt twice as much as last night. Telling another lie. Now every time she snuck out that door, she'd hear him whispering weakly at the back of her mind. Asking her not to do it. To stay home, where it was safe. She very much agreed, but this place would also become her tomb if she didn't break away, not just from here, but from everything.
"Not just that. I hate being a hardass. Especially after all this, but I need to drive the point home. Taylor, you're grounded." The sentence resonated in her head, alongside it was that universal word following it up. Fuck!