Trigger warning for suicide in this chapter.
There never was an imaginable future where Neil did not live an incredibly lavish life.
Neil's inner city skyscraper apartment was adorned with not only expensive appliances courtesy of his life as a model and influencer - companies were forever mailing him the newest product, if only to make it into the corner of one of his viral instagram posts - but was regularly adorned with high flying guests of the city whose expensive attires seemed to mirror the apartment's status.
Neil never missed an opportunity to throw a party in his penthouse apartment. Whenever Theresa pointed out the alarmingly packed nature of Neil's social calendar, he would declare: Theresa, I'm the living inheritor of Narcissus' beauty, AND the student of the Goddess of pleasure, passion and procreation, Aphrodite. It would be truly selfish to keep such gifts to myself, wouldn't it?
Truthfully, the parties and the beautiful guests that flitted in and out of Neil's apartment were a welcome reprieve for Theresa. The guests would twitter on about their botox concerns, influencer deals, the latest diet trends and recent scandals in the fashion industry, and Theresa could just nod and smile and say "My gosh, I can't believe that". These people asked little of Theresa; they did not truly care whether or not Theresa's smile reached her eyes - it had not in years - nor that her gaze was glazed over, as if she couldn't really be bothered looking more than a few metres in front of her. Atlanta would have loathed it here, but Theresa loved the numbness Neil's parties offered.
Tonight's party was yet another of Neil's high flying events, except that Neil had decided to theme it "Greek Gods and Goddesses". It's the 10 year anniversary of us defeating Cronus… well, when YOU beat him, really anyway, Neil had admitted as he did his make up, Either way, it's a perfect theme!
Theresa had tried to protest, but Neil was very preoccupied with his contouring at the time, and Theresa knew better than to interrupt such a critical step in his preparations.
Theresa stood on the balcony, clad in a white dress that Persephone herself had given her as a parting gift. Theresa's mentor had pressed the dress into Theresa's hands, saying It'll look stunning on you, Theresa. Please, for me, keep it. In Persephone's voice, Theresa could hear hints of begging, as if this dress was part of an apology for pushing Theresa to breaking point. It was, of course, far too late.
As Theresa stood on the balcony, listening to Neil's high pitched squeals of excitement as each new guest arrived, a couple came out, clearly looking for somewhere private.
"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to bother you." The woman said - she was clearly annoyed that Theresa should dare take this space. But Theresa didn't mind. As Theresa watched the pair skulk back inside, hands on one another's hips, she thought back to one of her last conversations with Jay.
It had been only a few weeks after the beach incident, which Theresa now thought of in terms of "before" and "after": before, when she was one, whole, held together, and after, when she was not. The thing about falling apart, Theresa had realised after that day, was that you never quite went back together the same way you once were.
Jay had been sitting on Theresa's bed, reading over college applications. Theresa's suitcase was open, and she was stacking textbooks into it. They'd been discussing something idle, like parties or exams, when Jay finally said it.
"Theresa… are you okay?"
"Huh?" Theresa had asked, not bothering to turn around, "Of course I am."
"You've been different since your aura… you know…"
Theresa had paused only infinitesimally, before she shrugged and smiled blandly at Jay.
"Maybe. It's been busy."
Jay had pursed his lips and sighed. He put down his papers and reached for Theresa's hand, squeezing it.
"We should talk about it. It-it doesn't have to be with me, but you should talk to someone about it all," he told her.
"There's nothing to talk about." Theresa had answered firmly, green eyes staring straight ahead. Realising how cold she must have sounded, she turned back to Jay, putting on the first of those smiles that never reached her eyes for him.
"It's fine, really," She'd added firmly.
Back then, Jay had wanted to answer, No, this isn't normal. This isn't you.
Back then, he'd wanted to hold Theresa, squeeze her shoulders and stare directly into her eyes and say please, talk to me, tell me whatever it is that happened since you lost control of it all.
Jay had wished he could understand why, since her aura had gone wild, Theresa's answers became short and practiced when he asked how her day was. He yearned to know why Theresa's bright green eyes had simmered to a dull glow, the bounce in her step reduced to a quiet, soft trudge. Above all, he wished he could ask why he had this sense that something deep within Theresa had collapsed and crumpled, like a paper crane folding in on itself.
But on that day, Jay's skills as a leader failed him, and he pocketed his concerns with a smile that had the same quality as Theresa's now. It was with the same simmering acceptance that Jay had so easily accepted Theresa breaking up with him only days later.
Theresa never told Jay, but the beach incident had taught her a painful truth about herself. Losing control of her aura was a warning: should Theresa delve into herself too deeply, let her emotions and memories surface too frequently, she would lose control altogether. It was better, safer, to close yourself off to the rivers of personal history that coursed through her. And so Theresa rescinded into herself, a flower that had once bloomed and now retracted, tucking its petals back into the bud in a cruelly unnatural process.
This was not the first time Theresa had rescinded and closed a part of herself out of fear. When she was first recruited to join the heroes all those years ago, Theresa already carried a tiny box deep within her. This box carried a memory she dared not broach; it invoked a sharp, explosive grief that Theresa knew she could not handle. And so she carried the box instead, refusing to acknowledge the memory it carried, refusing to confront this part of her history.
Theresa was thorough in burying herself after the beach incident because she knew that one mine, that little sealed box, was still ticking within her. If just the pressure of defeating Cronus could bring her to breaking point, Theresa knew then that memory, the one she had guarded since long before she met Jay or any of the heroes, was even more dangerous again.
The next few years of Theresa's life had slipped by in a fog of calculated decisions following the break up. Theresa withdrew her applications to study to become a psychologist and instead followed her father into business. Her ascent in the corporate world had been the quiet success story most graduates dreamt of; being able to predict stocks with unsettling accuracy or influence a boardroom meeting were advantages in this world. And there were benefits to having no emotions; Theresa was capable of working overtime for weeks on end, just like her father, and, also just like her father, had the capacity to make calm, calculated, somewhat ruthless decisions. Losing her humanistic qualities had only advantages in this field.
Sometimes it niggled at her, the side of herself she had so carefully tucked away. It would hiss in her ear, do you really think you can run from yourself forever? She thought it would grow quieter with time, but as the ten year anniversary creeping up, its claws only sunk deeper. Over the past months, as Theresa lay in bed at night, relentlessly sleepless, it harassed her, demanding: you have to come to terms with it. You will suffer until you do. Theresa would toss and turn at night, and finally snapped when it whispered: Jay knew you better. He knew you're hiding from it. He's waiting for you to confront it too.
The voice had been especially loud tonight. As she watched the couple's backs retreating, it told her tiredly: There are parts of yourself that deserve to be unearthed. You must seek closure.
Something cracked in Theresa. Her hands squeezed the railing, and she bit her lip as she stared out at the city. The ever glistening, ignorant city. Car horns beeped, people prattled along with drunken conversations, music pulsed from inside Neil's apartment. The city buzzed on, but it was suddenly so vivid, so close and real to Theresa, as if she'd just emerged from a dream back into reality.
Before she could stop herself, Theresa pulled out her phone and texted a number she had not touched for years. She should have deleted his number, but every time she had tried, the voice got in the way.
Miss you. Hope you're doing well.
Theresa waited, then added a line.
Maybe it's ten years too late, but…
Theresa paused for a moment.
…I think I'm ready to confront everything.
Looking at the sent message, Theresa's stomach churned. Something rose up in her throat, squeezing it, bringing a tiny, sad smile to her face as she sent one more line.
But I don't know if I can do it alone.
Jay did not reply for hours. Perhaps he was on a shift. Theresa didn't even know what work Jay did any more - he'd been interested in paramedics when they last spoke, but that was years ago. For all Theresa knew, he was currently flying on a private jet with a fabulously rich girlfriend.
But his reply came through, during some ridiculously early hour of morning. Not that it mattered; Theresa was never asleep anyway.
Of course. What do you need?
Somehow, Theresa had known for years that she had to send this message. That Jay would be the person to follow her on this inevitable pilgrimage.
Could you come with me when I talk to Dad about Mum?
It was only a few days later that Theresa and Jay sat in the car outside Theresa's father's house. The sun was beating down - it was an unrelenting summer's day. Heat rose off the winding cement driveway and the rolling, grassy hills looked parched.
"Want me to come in with you?" Jay asked. Theresa shook her head.
"It's probably better to do this alone. Plus, it might be weird explaining you being here."
Jay smiled.
"Fair. I'll be waiting, then."
Theresa nodded, staring ahead. Her gut twinged and ached, and a cold hand squeezed tightly around her heart. Theresa took a deep breath, but it rattled with anxiety as she let it out. Her hand reached for the door handle, and stopped.
"W-what if this makes me lose control again?" She asked suddenly.
Jay shook his head. His hand found hers and squeezed it.
"You can't live in fear of this forever."
The car door opened and closed, shoes scratched on the cement footpath, her key turned in the lock, and too soon, Theresa was standing in her father's office. Theresa felt like she was 12 again as she stood staring at his checkered blazer as he sat hunched over his desk.
"Hey, Dad…" Theresa began. He swivelled around, smiling gently.
"Theresa, wonderful. I just have to sort out these letters, and then make a few calls, and…"
Theresa sliced through his monologue. She had practiced the words, chewed them in her mouth over and over again before today, but it still hurt like a searing blade through her chest when Theresa finally spoke them to her father:
"We need to talk about Mum. How she died."
Her father did not crumple as Theresa had feared. He did not blow up, or yell, or cry or simply say perhaps when you're older, Theresa, as he always used to. Instead, Theresa's father just smiled sadly, as if he had known this was coming.
Instead of talking, Theresa's father reached into the lowest drawer of his desk. It creaked as if it had not been opened for years. He pulled out a yellowed note in handwriting all too similar to Theresa's - she had always wondered if she had inherited her mother's hand writing. Now she knew for sure. Their curly lettering was almost identical.
"She loved you. Truly." Her father told Theresa quietly, as he handed her the folded paper. Theresa weighed the letter in her hands before opening it. To open this letter was to begin to open the tiny, sealed box Theresa had carried with her long before she met any of the heroes.
This is a journey you always had to take, the voice promised Theresa. You cannot live in fear of yourself any longer.
And so for the first time, now almost two decades after it was penned, Theresa read her mother's suicide letter.
Thank you to everyone who has supported my writing! I aways say it but thank you so, so, so much. Every single comment left brings me so much joy. I wouldn't have completed this chapter without it. I don't think I have ever spent so long on a single chapter... there are probably another 3000 words of discarded scenes and content because I re-drafted it so many times.
This chapter definitely blurs the line between how much of myself is appropriate to bring into my interpretation of someone else's character. I struggled writing it because I knew I was probably deviating too far from canon, projecting too much of my own history and experiences onto Theresa.
But I've always seen this backstory to Theresa. It's the side of her I have wanted to write for years. And I suppose that's what I bring to fanfiction, and what every author brings to fanfiction; an element of themselves, and therefore, a unique understanding of the characters. If nothing else, I guess this chapter tells you a bit more about me.
I think fanfiction is about finding enough of yourself in characters to bring them to life. Every time I write a character in fanfiction, I think a part of myself is reflected in the way I represent them. In Atlanta, for example, I see a lot of my approach to sport; in Archie, I see my own difficulty with vulnerability. In Odie, I see the experience of academic pressures, and in Neil... well, honestly, I don't find much at all. Perhaps a shared love of beauty products and kale. I would love to know what you guys have in common with the heroes. [no seriously, please, tell me in the comments. I feel like it would be a cool insight into my readers!]
This is probably the last I will write for fanfiction. It's been fun to return to this and see how much has changed, and I hope my writing has brought you as much joy as it did for me to produce it. I know this chapter was heavy, and probably not a lot like what I usually produce when it comes to fanfiction, but it's probably the most honest chapter I have ever written. I hope I have left you with something that you enjoyed reading and that has somehow made your day or week better.
Much love xx
