Horizon
— O —
Beta'ed by;
Bms111
My most heartfelt thanks.
TW: Suicide, depression.
2009 September, Boston.
The thunk of padded feet on lacquered wood was the only sound above background noise nearby. That, and the tip-tap of fingers on a crystal screen.
Sarah snorted at the lastest cape gossip and memes Taylor had sent her way, trying not to snicker and wake up someone she rather preferred stayed slumbering.
It was a late hour. Not incredibly late, but late nonetheless. Taylor had had a nightmare she couldn't remember, so she had messaged Sarah to assuage her fears, even if she wasn't online at the moment. Luckily for Taylor, Sarah had imbibed an unholy amount of energy drink that afternoon thanks to a stupid bet, so she wasn't tired in the slightest and was able to answer Taylor's message, even if it was inane babbling about the capes in her town.
Which, okay, wow.
They had a ton – one of the cities with the most capes per ten thousand people in the country, if she remembered correctly – and most of them were A-Listers too. A rage dragon? A ten ton Murderwolf? Christ, no wonder the Protectorate there couldn't do jack squat about them. She doubted anything short of the Triumvirate could clean that city completely. She felt quite sorry that someone as nice as Taylor had to live in such a shithole.
Something caught her attention while she was traveling towards the kitchen. She could see the light of one of the bathrooms, but the unusual thing was that the door was open. Not by much, but just enough to hear that there was water dripping and see dull, yellow light spilling into the gentle silver of the moonlit hall.
Sarah frowned and pocketed her phone, approaching with curious steps. Who had left the faucet open?
She approached and gently nudged open the door, tarnished hinges creaking with a shrill sound that sent her teeth on edge, and what she saw filled her chest with a ball of lead, constricting her chest and stealing the air from her lungs.
Reggie was in the tub, clothed. That's odd, Sarah thought to herself numbly. He wasn't moving.
The knife's edge she already felt pressing on her brain turned into a roiling ball of fear, but she plowed on nonetheless, her body tensing up ready to flee at a moments notice.
Tap. Tap. Two more steps.
She could clearly see the water of the tub, now. It was red. Completely red, as if someone had dropped a whole gallon of color in there.
"R-Rex?"
The ball in her stomach did a somersault into her throat, lodging itself there and preventing her from breathing.
Reggie had a knife.
The water was still.
Reggie wasn't moving.
The water was red.
Sarah screamed.
— O —
2009 October, Boston.
Sarah stared at her phone. The screen was turned off, and she hadn't used it for the last couple of weeks, at all.
In the aftermath of her brother's 'passing' as their neighbors called it, the pressure on her to become the perfect heiress had become greater and more insistent, grinding her under its heel and stripping away parts of her, leaving only the vitriol and sarcasm, the schadenfreude and low, simmering anger for the world to see.
Complaints started coming from school about her attitude, too confrontational they said.
Complaints came from her parents, she just had to have known that there was something wrong. She had known that this would happen because, of course, she wanted their fortune for herself and the thought of sharing with Rex was too much of a chore. Everything said in snide comments and subtle talk, everything wrapped in double meanings – maybe occult to someone who hadn't grown up in her environment, but clear as day to her, and her parents knew that perfectly.
What kind of screwed up people were they, to think that of her?
What kind of screwed up parents were they, to put every ounce of blame on their sole child?
Functional sociopaths, apparently.
She almost expected complaints from Taylor for leaving her without a chatting buddy, not that she had opened the app in the last couple of weeks, too busy hating everything and everyone around her, herself included.
Taylor.
She almost felt irrationally angry – she had, in the early days – at the thought of her.
Maybe if she hadn't talked too much with her, she would have noticed something. Maybe if her attention hadn't been so absorbed in feeling good because she had a real friend, she could have helped Reggie. Maybe if she hadn't been such a fucking idiot, she could have seen what was wrong with her brother.
The spark of anger puttered out into nothingness.
The blame here wasn't on Taylor, it was on her. On Sarah. Self centered, self serving, egotistically stupid Sarah. Always thinking about herself, always speaking about herself, always doing things for her and her pleasure and amusement only.
Sarah stared at her phone. The last couple of days it had sounded almost non stop when she knew Taylor would be connected, trying to reach out to her, speak to her. She tried to muster the same anger that had sparked before, and she found herself incapable of doing so, in its place there was a yawning pit of self loathing laced with enough vitriol to drown the world twice over.
Sarah did something stupid. She grabbed her phone, turned it on, and opened the messaging app. It was in the middle of the afternoon, so it surprised her to see that Taylor wasn't online.
She started to read, and her anger turned to ash, her venom into ice that crawled across her veins, leaving nothing untouched, unsullied.
The first message had an edge of concern to it. It was half an hour after Rex died.
The ones that followed turned that concern into panic, constantly asking if she was okay, if she needed something, if she had fallen and needed help or for someone to call an ambulance.
Sarah started to feel sick, guilt worming its way from the deepest pits of her stomach and coiling itself there.
The days thereafter were plagued with more messages asking for her, concern clear in every letter and every spelling mistake made in the middle of a panicked bout of writing.
The guilt turned caustic.
Days later, it turned from concern into confusion, asking if she had done something wrong, if she had offended her in some way she didn't know about.
She felt her insides roiling.
The last messages were an almost unbroken chain of apologies and questions about how she could make it up to her, how could she get Sarah to talk to her again and regain what friendship they had.
She felt bile crawling up her throat.
The messages near the end were from a couple of days ago after a strange bout of silence that lasted some three days. She seemed more… subdued, after that. More desperate. More depressed.
She didn't even sound like Taylor anymore, that cheerful ray of hope.
The absolute worst were the last ones.
TayTay: Why?
TayTay: I don't want to lose you too.
TayTay: I know im asking a lot i jsut.
TayTay: I don't want to be alone.
TayTay: Im sorry, Im being selfish. I just keep asking and asking
TayTay: I should have taken a hint.
TayTay: I shouldn't be demanding anything from you.
TayTay: You are amazing and I do not deserve anything from you.
TayTay: I'm sorry. I'm rambling and it doesn't interest you. I'm sorry.
TayTay: You can block me, or ignore me, or do whatever you want. I'm sorry.
TayTay: Whatever I did, I'm so so so sorry.
TayTay: Don't listen to me, you deserve better than me.
TayTay: I hope you find a better friend than me.
She couldn't hold it in any longer.
Sarah ran to her bathroom – not that bathroom never that bathroom she would never go in that bathroom again – and emptied her stomach violently, the guilt stripping away at who she was and leaving only the thing underneath, the crawling, oily hate she felt clawing at her chest, tearing apart her ribcage and swallowing her whole.
Sarah fucking Livsey, expert extraordinare in destroying everything good in her life.
She let out a bitter, high pitched laugh before the disgust had her barfing her guts out once again.
— O —
Sarah stared at her phone, this time from beneath her blankets. She felt that she had been doing that a lot. Staring, without doing anything. She had to stop that habit from forming before it became problematic, so she started typing before her brain could catch up with what she was doing.
«I'm sorry.»
' Sorry' didn't begin to cut it.
The ping that signaled Taylor instantly going online after she sent her message felt like a death knell.
«I shouldn't have left you alone.»
TayTay: No, im. im just happy that you're talking to me again, really, don't worry
TayTay: really its
TayTay: its okay dont worry
TayTay: you have nothing to ask me
TayTay: for forgiveness I mean
Sarah felt the guilt scratch against her ribs and reach her heart, burying itself inch by inch, her breath shallow.
«It wasn't your fault. I'm just an idiot, and»
Should she? No, no she shouldn't. Taylor still read as… vulnerable, fragile. She didn't like it. She didn't want to throw news of-
«Something bad happened and I'm, was, being an idiot about it. Don't worry. You didnt deserve to feel like that»
TayTay: …did I interrupt something? Of course you had more important things to do than letting me chat your ear off. i didnt think about that. im an idiot
TayTay: god your phone must have been buzzing and buzzing oh god I sent my stupid thoughts at 3 am fuck I must have woken you up im sorry
«Hey now, you're not stupid. You're one of the more intelligent people I know, don't sell yourself short, you deserve better»
TayTay: ok.
And that was it. That was it? Taylor saw her praise, and sends back "ok"? That… wasn't right. It wasn't the Taylor that constantly helped her keep up with whatever cape news there was, or that got flustered when she talked about people trying to parade in front of her at school, or that helped her brighten up her day in just a couple of phrases and a goofball joke.
But of course she wasn't. She had been going out of her way to ignore Taylor for two weeks straight, of course she wasn't as peppy or chatty or bright or exactly how she remembered her.
The question is, does she deserve that Taylor back?
No. No, what the hell is wrong with you, Sarah asked herself.
Why was she asking if she deserved Taylor back? The real question, the thing she should be asking is whether it was okay to leave Taylor feeling like this; abandoned, unwanted.
The answer was a resounding no.
And if she was being honest to herself, she wants Taylor back, she wants that ray of sunshine to cut away all of the muck and wrong and hate that was her life right now. It was selfish, it was self-centered, it fit perfectly with who she was.
And if it got Taylor back, back to the way she should be, she could live with being selfish. Even if Sarah didn't deserve to have that friend back, that friend didn't deserve what Sarah had done to her already.
She sighed, the exhaustion of the day attacking anew and with a vengeance, the quick boost of the energy drinks of the afternoon all but snuffed out completely. Sarah felt her thoughts slowing down, and got her goodbyes out before she could fall asleep without meaning to.
«Sleep well. I'll talk to you in the morning, alright?»
TayTay: okay. sleep well too.
Sarah was already closing an eye when her phone pinged again.
TayTay: um. It's
TayTay: it's okay if I message you first or do I wait?
TayTay: i don't want to bother you
«You're not a bother, never a bother. Message me whenever you want Tay, don't worry.»
TayTay: okay. thanks, sleep well
Sarah turned off the screen of her phone and plugged it in.
See, this is how you left Rex alone, left him till-
Her sleep was plagued with amorphous, bleeding nightmares and half-formed thoughts that drowned her in red .