Author's Note: All right, thanks reviewers. And that's basically it. I have a headache.
Disclaimer: For the love of God, don't sue me! In other words, I don't own FOP.
Chapter Seven: Truly, Badly, Deeply
For the first hour, all she did was bury her head in her pillow and cry. All right, so her hand was still wedged inside the trash can, she could clearly care less. The only thing that mattered was the loss of Timmy, who, as far as she was concerned, sold out.
She wanted to act as though this didn't matter, that her beloved had just 'hooked up' with the girl who had managed to make her life miserable inside school and vie with Vicky for just a miserable existence. She wanted to, badly, and she would, if she could, but she wasn't strong enough. Instead, she bawled her eyes out, punching pillows and generally despising everything she came in contact with.
Unfortunately, predictably, this included Vicky. Enraged for no apparent reason (Tootie suspected PMS, but, then again, she could be suffering from it everyday and she wouldn't know it), she lunged at the doorknob, only to find it locked. A chainsaw sounded from behind it and Tootie jumped off her bed and rushed to hide into the closet. She was petrified Vicky would use it on her, even if she had no proof.
Shielding her eyes, she buried her head in her pillow again, only for a more practical purpose. If Vicky was sawing down her door, where were the chips going to go? Right in her eyes if she didn't watch it. You didn't grow up with Vicky without learning a thing or two.
Tossing the saw aside carelessly (it cascaded into a stack of stuffed animals, all cut up because the saw hadn't stopped running until it sliced through half of them), Vicky crossed quickly over to Tootie's bed and lorded above her. Oh, no, this was no good. If she was hesitating before attacking, she was up to something. God, she hated being on the defensive all the time.
When Vicky tapped her on the shoulder, she half expected her to have a knife in her hands, to chop her to ribbons. Instead, she was unpleasantly surprised to see her older sister beam at her, in her hands another relic of the past, a rope made painstakingly when she'd sought a way to get out without attracting her sister's notice. So maybe she was wrong, she wasn't going to gut her, she was going to strangle her.
"I heard the twerp traded up," Vicky snickered, settling down on her bed. Her fingers lovingly traced the outline of the rope, making Tootie shudder.
"That's none of your business," Tootie snapped back, unconsciously folding her arms across her chest protectively. You never know, this time Vicky might go for the heart.
"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," Vicky crooned, flexing the rope. She could tell she itched to stretch it around her neck.
Eyes sparkling dangerous, Vicky strode over to the basket and tore it off her sister's hand. Tootie yelped in pain, but the redhead ignored her. The prize was within her hand.
All but breaking her fingers, she extracted the Timmy doll and pretended to scrutinize it anew, when she knew damn well she'd seen it at least once before. God, and that once had been enough for a lifetime…
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(Five years ago, February 14th, 4:45 p.m.)
Tootie thinks she's safe because Vicky's off terrorizing, she means, babysitting. In her hands is her hard wrought prize, the Timmy doll. She strokes his hair absently, pangs of guilt wracking her for tearing his hair out of his head. Then again, what was she supposed to? She wasn't taught any better.
For a brief second, she pictures sitting in Timmy's lap and he stroking her hair just as she's doing to the doll. The thought fills her with delight, and she grins to herself.
Momentarily, she sits in the middle of the living room, watching Tiny Toon Adventures but not really paying much attention to the antics of Babs, Buster, and Plucky. Although this is her favorite show, thoughts of Timmy and her recent actions compel her to inattentiveness.
Her mother works cheerily in the kitchen, both she and the house glad for the brief respite from her terrible daughter. Every once in a while, she pops her head in to check on Tootie, whom she's neglected recently. As soon as her housework is done, she swears she's going to show the poor girl some affection. After all, it's she who bares the brunt of Vicky's hatred, and everyone knows it.
Finishing with a hum, her mother walks out to the living room and beams at the only daughter she has who isn't life threatening to be around. Tootie spins around, surprised but not displeased to see her there. She yearns for any type of affection, be it from Timmy or her parents.
"What are you watching, sweetie?" Her mother queries, sitting down next to her on the floor. Her eyes fall upon the doll, whose hair looks strikingly familiar. She didn't…she couldn't have…
"Jus' a cartoon," Tootie murmurs, glancing up at her. Her eyes are full of regret and remorse, two things her mother never wanted to see in them. She must have done what she thinks she did.
Hugging her tightly, she strokes her hair. Her baby…
However, just as Tootie is on the verge of confessing, Vicky bursts in, throwing her bag right at Tootie's head. Her mother holds up her hand, just barely halting it. Apparently, it's gotten to the point where she doesn't care who gets hurt, as long as she can strike out.
Sensing possible hostility, her meek mother releases her and vanishes up the stairs, to her room. Grand, she's alone again, just like before. She can always trust her mother…to flee the scene.
"Move over, shrimp, and get out of my way," Vicky growls, picking up her bag only to dump its contents on her. Tootie falls over, weighted down by her texts, notebooks, and some odd weapons.
"No." She doesn't know what compels her to repudiate her sibling's authority like that with such haughtiness, but she does. Casting the volumes to the side, she glowers at her, building herself up with all her terrible five year old might.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" The imperious girl asked, bending down to retrieve her books and hold them threatening above her head.
"I…I mean…shove off, Vicky!" Anger she never knew bubbles to the surface, resentment for driving the only possible affection she might get for a long time and ruining her otherwise enjoyable afternoon. She's sick of being ordered around, especially when her mother doesn't even stick up for her.
"Wrong answer!" Glowering at her, she draws her leg back and kicks her into the cabinet. Tootie slams into it hard and winces at the pain shooting up and down her back.
Unfortunately, when she kicked her, she dropped the Timmy doll, an oddity Vicky soon picks up. In her sibling's greedy eyes, she can see malice sparkling. No…the worst thing in the world right now is for her sister to procure that doll!
"What's this, I wonder?" She croons, twisting in her hand. God, she'd love to rip its head off right in front of her, throw it in her face. But she has to set the mood first.
"Please…don't…" Tootie whimpers, knowing damn well she will. She can't help but protest, in the desperate hopes she'll relent.
Grinning widely, she examines the hair on the doll's head. She too notices its striking resemblance to Timmy's hair. So her little sister is a psycho. No surprise there.
Vicky sniggers, placing a foot on her chest. Tootie, who was about to rise, struggles to free herself.
"You tore this off his head! And now, I'll tear it off the doll's head, along with his legs, arms, and silly pink hat!"
Breath caught in her throat, Tootie's eyes widen in fear and she makes one desperate attempt to free herself and the doll. Every time she moves upwards, though, her foot grows steadily closer to her throat. The idea here would be to stop struggling…or else.
However, just as she's about to decapitate her doll, her father walks into the house. Tootie almost cries in relief, but she can't. She can't breathe.
"Tootie!" For a brief second, Tootie's father is more concerned with his younger daughter's well-being than the fear he holds for his eldest. And, in this moment, Vicky draws back, startled and caught off guard.
Tootie chokes, oxygen rushing to her lungs too quickly for her to properly receive. Vicky glowers at both of them, ripping the head off her doll and flinging it in her sibling's open mouth. Her father bends deftly, preventing it from clogging her windpipe.
From the stairs, Vicky glares. Her arms are folded across her chest; she radiates malevolence and hatred. Once again, she's been foiled and her sister's death prevented. Okay, she doesn't want her dead; she just doesn't want her living anymore.
Kneeling, he pats her on the back to ensure she intakes her air correctly and then hugs her. By now, she can do little more than cling to him.
"You'll pay for this, you bastard," Vicky spits, throwing the rest of the doll her way. "I'll get both of you, especially you, you little brat!"
With those words, she darts up the stairs and into her room. There is utter silence, broken only by the sound of Tootie's rasping. The world spins around her.
"Are you all right?" Her father inquires, still cradling her. All she can do is nod, surprised he stuck up for her and even more surprised he cares for her. Of course, she knows he does, but it's hard to tell sometimes.
"The doll…" She breathes, biting her lip.
"Can be repaired. You cannot." Smiling, he releases her and her face falls. She feels protected in his arms, safe from Vicky.
Shaking his head at nothing in particular, he strides up the stairs, to check on his wife. He tiptoes past Vicky's room, terrified of what she'll do to him. The fear has returned.
Gathering up the pieces, Tootie cradles them to her chest and walks up the stairs, but, unfortunately, she has not yet learned how to do so silently. Vicky hears her and sticks her head out her door.
"I'll kill you."
These three words petrify Tootie and she runs to her room, her face blanched. From a distance, she hears Vicky cackle and shudders. Although she's been told many times that Vicky will kill her, she knows Vicky couldn't do that. She isn't that evil, is she?
Is she?
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(Present day)
Vicky left her room after a few more threats. Every word reminded her of the death threats she heard when she was little, words that terrified her still. No matter how hard Timmy worked against her, Tootie could never abandon her fear long enough to fight. She just wasn't strong enough.
But she had to do something to get her Timmy back. Would apologizing for everything she did work? What about throwing herself at his mercy? Could that make the difference?
Shutting her eyes tightly, she recalled his lips on hers and wished to whomever might be up there, for it to happen again.