So this happened, And...There is bound to be some grammar mishaps.
Night Changes: Admissions
"Jade—Jade!"
She would commend the exceptional ability to never allow mundane occurrences to startle her. Maybe it was the absolution of her dreary child-hood that had made her an exception to the universe and all its suave deceit. Or truly her nimble evasion towards anything remotely near the point to perturb her were among the stars and all their ability to evade the darkness that never plagued them despite being swaddled in the cold bleakness. Be it either way one can excuse her and her destiny to be one that may be hard to alarm, destiny may have its way with her sometime.
And it does have its filthy way with her; amidst her conversation with Andre. It comes in an anatomy of an: optimistic, euphoric, and lively teen—or rather she should not be astonished by the revelation. Yet the radiant shouts are the sole purpose for the distinctive anticipation forming in the pit of her stomach, however mundane that trepidation truly is.
Her eyebrows hardly have a millisecond to dip low with perplexity, as her leg maneuvers frantically towards the source of all the commotion, eyes harshly unable to keep pace with the sudden blur of brown tresses and discarded bag—Jade startles at the armful of buoyancy. Hardly able to catch the excited bundle that is Tori Vega (if the peaceful laughter is any indication.) Jade stumbles into an unsteady back-peddle as the quaking giddiness continues to wrap seamlessly against her body. Jade is simply perturbed that she's even able to find mutual ground with gravity upon the newfound body weight. Her face is placed directly in the line of fire—her cheeks bloom with a certain hue of crimson once she notices the distinctive plush of breast, and however mortified she is, she's being held captive by a pair of arms encased around her head. Jade sputters incomprehensible protest, but the flailing monkey in her arms merely holds on for dear life.
(She's profoundly in debt to dates timing. Who knows whether or not her healing leg would have withstood the brutal force if she had not finished physical therapy two weeks prior.)
"She needs to breathe Tori!" The bewildered shout comes from Andre, and Jade groans in muffled agreement.
And a draft of air comes with her momentarily inhaling as much oxygen as she's capable of. Her cheeks are a flush of red with embarrassment and deprivation. Her comedic moment of her life soaring across her eyes is interrupted by her curiosity and mild frustration at the squeals emitting from her attacker.
"I did it Dre! It—oh my—En mi Dios—I can't—"
It's spoken in a flurry of inscrutable excitement, and Jade still flushed and all is at the end of her wits.
"Vega will you tell us what the hell you're talking about," Jade decisively cuts in.
She really should expect the squeal she gets in response. And she really should expect the sudden exhilaration of that irksome warmth that blooms upon the cheesy smile the brunette throws her way.
"Julliard. I got in!"
At the revelation comes a silence, however stunned, a perturbed silence nonetheless.
Jade frowns: then smiles, then her face contorts into confusion, and then suddenly the announcement dawns on her in a purely proud manner. Sill the shock cannot pass.
"You—wha..." Jade stutters vocally and with a blink.
Her stunted words do not seem to affect Tori one bit. It seems to spur the teen on even more. To which the brunette begins to bounce excitedly.
"Julliard Jade! I got accepted into Julliard!"
And the repeated statement does not fall def to the teens ears.
All she can offer the exuberant teen is a stifled blink, and a stupid step back from the brunette hopping vertically with so much energy that she believes the floor intends to cave underneath the excitement. Before Jade can attempt another startled reply, Andre is already lifting Tori into a massive embrace and an enthusiasm that may even be able to rival the doll he's wildly spinning. The manner in which her mind cannot fathom any word, nor direct her limbs to celebrate with the pair, is nearly comparable to a dreamlike unconsciousness. Certainly, the announcement the dreaded haired boy shouts into the halls—or the resounding cheers and ovation in commendation—does not help her break the barrier. She sees Cat and Robbie join in on the avid rave; then Beck comes and stands to her left and merely eyes the clamor in curiosity and perplexity.
Maybe it is the way that Tori plows into Beck with a perpetual clinch that reminds her of the moment the pair had celebrated the brunette attain her spot in the Platinum Music Awards—that vile creature seething to claw out her chest never truly did vanish. Or maybe it is the fact that the two have not even been able to maintain a full conversation since her accident; at the very least even fake pleasantries. That very well may be the pelt that shatters her spell. Yet that does not garner the attention of the brunette still cuddled into a confounded Beck.
"Holy shit." Maybe her addled mind was not entirely clear.
It does not express the entirety of her awe; not in the proper manner. And before her mind can create a more developed reaction to the admittance a bell resounds it's deterrent to the lively halls. The inconvenience did not deter her inner turmoil.
(Rather it was the moment in which her extended hand merely captures the wind of the brunette as Andre stealthily intervenes her intentions and leads the teen to class. Maybe the trepidation and scene of Tori vibrantly walking further from her is the perpetrators.)
Or maybe—if her memory is kind to her, she can identify the moment as the one of which that correlates to the one that many deem as the time frame in which they felt the one they deemed dear slip from their hold. It was trivial, yet it exposed even more piddling inquiries. She was once more stifled. In the silence of the desolate halls she could only stand near her locker, eyes wide, pupils dilated, lips parted, breath completely stolen; alone and in quandary.
Her chest felt inevitably heavy. The pain steadily elevated.
...
("I didn't know you had this much talent in you Vega." She had muttered, easily low and heartfelt, into the ear of the 'silently' crying teen, swathed within a competitive embrace—both daring the other to relinquish their fierce hold. And it was the reluctance of will that pestered her into removing her arms from their position on the brunette's hips, but the desperate weariness in Tori's hesitation to let her go made her hands deftly slide down slim shoulders and clasp their hands together. Even despite the absolute silence about the room, and all eyes heavily resting on them, Jade smiled. She had too. Only because doe brown eyes were staring at her wondrously, earnestly supplicate. Irises stained with painted flecks of adoration and stare very fond in its most simple form. She had too.
Because this beautiful individual before her achieved it all. Jade could not dare to defy the pair of lips placed in delicacy, surly, and still quivering in mild exhilaration of the entirety of the celebration.)
Now the wind swept across her cheeks wonderfully: the tender drone of the pool splayed beyond her, scented chlorine trickling into the air, the beautiful radiance of the moon overhead while the stars kindly touched every darkened crevice space had to offer; she finds peace in this moment. Her tumultuous mind concerned about her tentative future and the pending issues she had with the currently rapturous teen, or maybe if her did not precede in an oddly manner then she would admit that fear rather than issue; embarking in a romantic relation.
On this celebrative nightfall, she had come to fathom herself, if not wholly, then admittedly more than previously comprehended. Tori—exuberant, innocently beautiful, and placidly pertinacious—did not intend to become her discovery. One that was rather intent to motivate a sense of urgent greatness in every form conceivable, but did not purposefully create this heavy emotion operational in her every vein. That unearthed worth had been activated. She was more willing to allow one into her life, still reluctant, yet willful. Her frustrations were more mellow in the company of her inspiration, more disastrous, but even controlled. Her capacity to care was fated upon the second she had begun to protect every fiber that made Victoria Vega. Often, she waited in trepidation on that care. And she did just that. Waited and lived in an anxious manner. She delved into that quaking fear dubiously.
Only currently she was entirely conscious.
Tori was, better yet, is a revelation. Dared to stealthily force her to inquire about more than the present and less than the future, but still influencing her to question on where she was exactly living off of. The present or the tremulous future. Both entirely centered around the one human that has only ever managed to have her breathing in anxiety. Soft and welcomed anxiety that decides on whether she can or will have the ability to maintain this 'whatever' they had. Of which she knew exactly what this is. A hesitance of her own. Possibly a passive aggressive war built upon inactivity and silence. Their inability to create rather than tread amid dreary waters. Tori makes her concede to taunts of her mind, while sacrificing her the allotted time to decide whether or not that future is theirs.
If that fury of memories anticipated deserves to be handled by them both.
The click of the door affects her heavily. A few unhurried, certain, almost dreamy footfalls remind her of the little time she has left, of all the moments that tend to have been in vain. She does not permit her eyes the rest they need from attentively observing the stars inquisitively when a shoulder knocks into her own clumsily, neither when the bump last much longer than necessary, before the arm is removed from her space, entirely. She can still feel the body heat.
Actually, she can feel that sure uplift of her visitor's lips.
It's silence between them—something that seems to always plague their interactions. This is a pleasant moment instead of the usual expectancy.
"You've been out here awhile."
While the inquiry isn't intrusive or wistful, it certainly is warm.
It's just that the fact has her lips curving and her body turning around so she can lean easily on the wooden rail. She can hear the laughter from inside and a fondness creeps into her chest at the vision of friends whom she deems family and the low, maybe stifled, but trying conversation between two divorced parents. Divorced and a bitter end to their marriage, but they held this honest respect for their children and wanted to be on better terms in order for that reverence to be intact.
"I knew if you wanted my company. Then you would find me eventually."
Jade watches the movements from her peripherals, instinctively resting her hands atop the wooden surface so that the brunette may lean into her more comfortably. They don't speak when her arm slithers over to pull a willing body closer. In fact, they remain as such once Tori clasp both of her hands to seal the circle her arms have made around the goths waist.
They sort of relish in the moment where this is certain and oddly amiable. While their shoulders may be heavy, they have a second of tranquility from their hectic minds.
"Your company isn't as bad as everyone else makes it out to be." Tori teases softly.
Jade does not have to look in order to picture the habitual crinkle appearing adorably on the girl's nose.
"I think that maybe your opinion isn't exactly unbiased." Her timbre is equally as cordial.
(Some inane deception absurdly slithers into her mind. That indeed this is an intimate moment, above one that may be perceived as just friendly—but she could value this and its superiority as a tender time between them. Only the truth is far too candid. This was a vulnerable, fickle, time between them. One that did not have the sufficient simplicity to prevail under the vitality of its intricate creation.)
Inevitably the vile entertainment of the thought has her ruefully luring Tori closer into her; the contented breath from the teen tells her the action is not minded one bit.
"Can you blame me," Her body quivers with the sound laughter. "You are kind of a mystery. A little cynical, but still, you're just so hard to figure out. But it's fun to try and decode your mind."
Then they're both in a fit of laughter at the absurdity of the comment, lips parted, diaphragm inflating and deflating, and just effortless. Her chest is still in a soft rumble once she has the capability to reply. Only she extends her laughter until it's a childish chuckle, and then fades into the air—until silence comes. Easy: warm, airy and trickling into her veins so profoundly deliberate it calms her.
"The letter came three days before I opened it."
The admission startles her.
"I wanted to open it but the first day I couldn't stop shaking. Then the next day I figured I wanted to wait and have someone," Tori flinches and Jade inclines her head. "Uh, someone to open it with me. I really wanted to do it with everyone there but—then I remembered Beck and I aren't exactly on speaking terms and Robbie was out of town. And then I had to go with Cat to take her brother parrot to the vet. So, on the third day I just sort of ripped it open in the bathroom."
Jade smiles at the admittance, because it's such a particular sequence that completely makes sense because it's Tori. Most of all her mind counters the tale with the vision of the letter in the hands of a lost brunette desperately seeking the proper action to take.
"And then you stood up from your seat on the toilet and let out a sound I am sure irritated the others in the bathroom. After that you proceeded to run around the entire school like a complete lunatic—"
The hard elbow to her ribs does nothing to derail her entertained mood; the pout spurs it to further in radiance.
"I was looking for you jerk."
The detail was one already preconceived by her.
(Still the warmth thrives in such a fond manner. Her heart, with its tendency to flutter, simply stays intact. It's merely the fury of the emotion that kindly overcomes her. So tender and mundane.)
Internally she can feel the heat affectionally active, but once that same warmth slithers up her neck and onto her face, she turns away from the brunette. It's not embarrassment. It is never that plain when the other teen is involved. She would define it more as impertinent relevance. A traitorous oddity that prevails more often than her favor.
"You should have waited. That, is, something you should have told your family first." Jade mumbles awkwardly.
She's mentally desirous when the brunette eases from their position to stand ahead of her; peculiarly antsy when arms come to sidle around her middle, and she is lead astray when a head settles onto her chest. For a muddled moment, her hands are limp at her sides. There is this torrent wave akin to everything delicate—humanly affectionate, it daftly devastates her. And now her heart feels far too heavy, veins much too torrid. She has every intention to shove the source. Only her body reacts contrary to her brain and curls around the shoulders she meant to drive away.
(Chin resting atop the soft tresses: a deliberate pull into her, tremulous exhalation, fluttered eyelashes, contracted hold, florid faced, vulnerability in all its calamity.)
"You've been here for me this entire year. And we're in complicated dilemma because this, whatever we feel for each other won't simply vanish and it's causing so much—"
Jade pulls the teen ridiculously closer, hands bunching the fabric of her sweater together.
"We'll," She settles for a flimsy reply. "You deserve this chance. Julliard will be so much better for you. You earned this Tori."
("New York will be so much better for you, because I don't think I can ever be as good for you here." She wants to say.)
Opportunity wasted—It's her weakness, and it's always been there. She believes it reveals so much.
Later; in the captivity of her backyard, house eerily silent, she relays her inability free. Or dives into the pool, entirely clothed, and screams; waits until her lungs plead for air and remains only once she's clawing at the surface, perilously. Devouring the liberation to breath avidly—desperately wanting her insides to implode in favor that the pain will trickle into her mind, and somehow saturate it until she may no longer feel this hurt. She duplicates the pain four times over. She finds that it's still not equivalent to the ache deep in her heart. So instead she stoically drifts across the pool, an ominous silence about the darkened skies.
Her laptop lays atop her bed, open, the screen bleak for over four days—she think that maybe she should have told her. Maybe then it would have done more to settle all the melodramatic issues between them. She should have told Tori. Only then her mind flicks towards the admittance letter from UCLA.
"Dear Jade West," It's either tears or the chlorine falling into her eyes. "You fucking got into the Tisch School of the Arts. What are you going to do? A: Accept the fact that you're in love with the one you swore off three or so years ago. Or B: Be the shithead you are and break both your hearts and never tell her you even applied to your dream school." It's such a bitter affair that.
And ironically she's the source of her own misery.
There's two chapters left, or maybe one. It depends on if I want to shove everything into one. They're still not getting any better, but Tori seems like she's really embracing whatever it is they have, or at least she's acknowledging it. Maybe she'll do something about it?
Write Ya Later ;)