Horizon
— O —
2009 February, Boston.
She got up from the table after finishing dinner; her every movement calculated, her every expression carefully managed and suppressed until only a ceramic façade of blank politeness was left sitting on her features like a second skin she had learnt to wear when in company of her parents.
They were the only ones at the table; Father, Mother, and her, little Sarah.
Reggie just grabbed his plate and went upstairs when the food was ready, dining in his bedroom as he had been for a little more than a year now.
She still saw something wrong with him, something stilted in his expression that shouldn't be there, an emotion that she couldn't decipher until it was washed away in the mask that both of them had hidden in their sleeves, always ready to be used.
She sometimes feared that facet of her life coming alive without a hint of a warning and strangling her in her sleep, the perfect little daughter slipping inside her skin and wearing her face for the world to see and her body to parade around as it wished.
She clamped down at the full shiver her body threatened with in the face of her existential dread, and managed to occlude it from her family, if barely.
After giving her proper goodbyes to Mother and Father and leaving them in the kitchen to talk about the stock market or which rich asshole managed to knock up what housemaid, she slipped away from the dining room and practically raced upstairs. She took a quick shower and some time to clean up and get comfy before bed, except she didn't go to sleep right away like her parents complained about – they said that going too early would mess with her schedule and performance in class, or something like that – instead, she opened the messaging app she had found some months ago. It was rudimentary, clunky and a little slow, but it worked both on phone and on computer which is what mattered to her anyway.
Ding.
TayTay: um. Are you there?
Sarah smiled and hid further beneath the cover of her blankets, the only source of light being the phone in her hand. She snickered softly at the nickname she had chosen for her.
«Yup. You didn't have to wait too long, did you?»
TayTay: No. Dad just went to sleep just as he got home. He. Um.
Her brow furrowed. Something was wrong.
«Yes? You can talk to me Taylor, you know that, just as I talk to you about idiots at school trying to get inside my pants or my parents grabbing the Idiot Ball and running with it because they can't admit a mistake unless they're too busy groveling at the moment.»
She hoped that it was enough to get the other girl to spill the beans on what was bothering her, knowing that mentions about people trying to seduce her and ingratiate themselves to the family always got her flustered.
Sometimes Taylor closed in on herself without meaning to, lost in her own spiral of grief. Lately she had been getting a little better, but talk about her parents always brought her down, even if they were only speaking about her father.
TayTay: He came home drunk. I tried to help him get to the bedroom but
The pause made something inside Sarah's chest coil in worry. She stilled her fingers and waited for another message.
TayTay: I almost ate the floor when he shoved me away. I don't know what I did wrong but
TayTay: I don't know. He looked so angry…
Sarah's heart jumped at her throat at that. A lone parent with his child, widowed and with an alcohol problem? She shivered.
«You did nothing wrong Tay. He's just… lost. He needs more time.»
TayTay: He got better for a little after aunt Zoe's intervention but he's drinking again and I don't know what I should do
Apparently, what the daughter had in backbone was inherited from the mother, go figure.
She tensed her jaw. She needed a change of topic, now, before Taylor sunk herself in another spiral of self loathing. Sarah knew that she blamed herself for the death of her mother, and thank god that she had managed to root away the stupidity her father had tried to worm in her mind about mobile phones and how they were evil.
Taylor's mother died because she was talking and driving, it wasn't the phone itself the thing that killed her.
Her own parents were assholes, but at least she had the stability they brought to the table, and money. Taylor had none of that.
«Like I said, you did nothing wrong sweetie»
Sarah's mind screeched to a halt, then revved to maximum speed. She hadn't sent that, had she?
TayTay: um.
She had.
Change of topic. She needed a change of topic immediately.
«What was your birthday again?»
Come on, bite, bite, bite…
TayTay: June 12th. Why?
Hook…
«Oh, nice to know it then.»
TayTay: Why do you ask?
Line…
«Nothing much, really. Just thinking of sending something cute your way.»
TayTay: xhdhendnjfjr
TayTay: Sarah no
Sinker.
Sarah smiled, a wide and sharp thing more fit in the face of a fox than that of a human being. Even with the crisis averted and Taylor distracted from her father, a twinge of worry still wormed its way into her chest and laid there in wait, coiled around her heart and poised to strike at a moment's notice.
She didn't like it, not one bit.
After some more verbal wrestling – where she came out the victor, of course – she managed to spoon away the address of the other girl and saved it in her personal notes, making a physical copy and at the same time trying to memorize it as fast as she could.
She had a present to think about.
— O —
2009 June 12th, Brockton Bay.
She skipped the rotten first step, landing on the second and doing a little jump inside the porch, trying to get inside her home quickly to leave her school bag, heavy with homework.
She had a ton of complaints pent up and Sarah was all too willing to whine on Taylor's teachers with her, a favourite pastime of them both – snitching on everyone they didn't like with the other. It helped them both vent and relax, and there always was a little piece of truth buried beneath all the gossip. Sarah was uncannily good at spotting those little tidbits.
She didn't know if it was because her parents were always jumping at the throat of the latest, juiciest piece of gossip or if it was genuinely a talent of hers.
So deep were her musings, that when she palmed her keys and went to open the door she almost tripped on a box, her somewhat quick reflexes saving her of the not at all pleasant experience that was kissing the ground in an intimate fashion.
Once recovered, she examined the box, shaking it slightly and noting that it made almost no sound.
Frowning, she opened the door and closed it behind her. She quickly ascended to her bedroom, hastily grabbing a knife from the kitchen on her way.
Once in her bedroom, she stared at the small thing, indecise about the whole thing now that the only next step possible was leaving the box in a forgotten corner – why had she grabbed it, anyway? – or open it.
Why was she doubting? It wasn't heavy, nor sounded clunky, so it wasn't a bomb – who would want to bomb her house anyway? They were a middling family, at best.
Slash slash sang the knife, and the contents were revealed.
The first thing she noticed was the big, yellow and black striped thing, with bulbous little eyes and a pair of soft wings.
It was a bee plushie. With a note attached to it in flowing, beautiful cursive.
For you, from your friend.
— P.S: Sorry, I didn't get your measurements so I went with the biggest size there was. Enjoy!
S.L.
Hugging the plushie with one arm she rummaged with the other inside the box until she touched something sinfully soft. Pulling it out, she saw something that had her mouth dropping open in appreciation.
It was a onesie. A full sized, moth onesie.
She did not squeal.
What she did that day though – even when her father forgot that it was her birthday – was sleep better than she had in years.
«Thanktyouthankyouthankyou!»
LittleEye: You're welcome :D