Femslash February 2020 Day 16: Lace.
Baneful Reminders
"Oh, you don't like this, do you? Is that what you think? Well, I'll just get rid of it! I don't need it anymore! Not anymore!"
Sheegor flinches as Gloria's shrill voice rings out into the night. She rubs her mittened hands together, Gloria continuing to rant and rave to herself in her section of the courtyard. Looking over her shoulder, she ignores the glare of her father and listens, straining her ears to pick up on the breathy quality of Gloria's voice.
"Oh! Oh, oh, oh, not this one? Well, what about this? You don't like it? But you do! I know you do! So, take it! Take it, take it, take it! Take it already! That's what you wanted all along! It's not that you didn't like any of it! It's that you wanted all of it, right?"
Something rips, and she realizes it's fabric. Sheegor notices the wind carrying scraps of cloth off to the lake, the dark blue night almost concealing them. The harsh sounds echo from Gloria's private gallery, punctuated by grunts, as Sheegor watches crumpled up balls of yellow cotton and pink silk roll across the dead brown grass.
She fidgets in place, wondering if it would be fine for her to leave her post to check on Gloria. But she knows she's supposed to stay glued by the gate for any "packages" to arrive from General Oleander. She would then guide them through the asylum and present them to Dr. Loboto, who would marvel at them before ordering her back down the treacherous steps to wait for the next one. Any mistake on her part, like missing the arrival of a package, would signal the end for Mr. Pokeylope with Loboto gleefully boiling him into soup if he suspected errors on her part.
She hears Boyd mumbling to himself just outside the gate, but it's quickly overpowered by a harsh sob. She nibbles on her chapped lip, Gloria's wails thundering throughout the asylum grounds. Something crashes and shatters, and then something hauls across the ground, a duller sound compared to the torn fabric.
"You just loved what I had! That's all you ever cared about! Why couldn't you love me for me? I never asked to be famous! I never asked for the limelight! You know I only wanted you to love me!"
Guilt seizes her neck and refuses to let go. She bows her head, and her forehead presses against the gate. Boyd flinches on the other side but continues to write his maddening mantra about the Milkman. He casts her a glance, pausing to scrutinize the terror in her expression, and he scribbles her image next to his drawing of a man in a long trench coat holding a plunger.
"You didn't love me! You hated me! Hated me! That's all you ever did! You only wanted me to suffer like you did because my star shined brighter than yours! Well, we both went supernova, but I suffered more than you ever did! And it's all because of you!"
Sheegor gasps and clutches the hem of her dress. Mr. Pokeylope wouldn't sit still while someone suffered. Whenever she cried, he had always consoled her and told her what she needed to do. Right now, she's certain that he would tell her that she needed to help Gloria. It wouldn't be right for her to stay idle and wait for the packages while Gloria agonized alone in her corner surrounded by dead flowers and clay pots.
Shuffling away from her post, she tries ignoring the crows squawking overhead and ambles across the overturned cobblestone onto the dead grass. She gazes down the long stretch of darkness and inches her way forward, each step quieter than the last. She spots the flickering light above Gloria's rotted garden, the roses having wilted long ago, left with only brown, shriveled petals and thorns.
Even in the darkness, she notices the scraps of fabric. Dust clings to the threads. The colors are faded, possibly due to years of being sequestered in boxes. But they still shine, their textures glossy. As she steps over a handful of buttons, she notices a shredded cardboard box discarded near the entrance. Inside are several dresses, each of them now caked in dirt and smattered with old wine stains. The seams are undone, and patches are missing, which Sheegor realizes are the ones she had just passed.
Her eyes fall back to Gloria crouched over another cardboard box. She holds a long white petticoat with lacy frills adorning the waist. It seems like it wouldn't fit her now, the garment clearly made for a twenty-five-year-old starlet in mind. She keeps tracing her fingers across the seams, shuddery sobs escaping her until she buries her face into the petticoat, breathing in the musty scent and stifling her sniveling.
"Gloria?" Sheegor calls, wringing her hands together.
Gloria snaps to attention, her neck making a sickening crack as she whips her head around. Sheegor yelps and quickly covers her mouth. They stare at each other, their eyes wide, one filled with surprise and the other with terror.
"Sheegor?" Gloria drawls out, her brows furrowing.
"Um, um, yes, I-" Sheegor gulps. "-I heard you, um, I heard you crying."
"That should be obvious," she snarls, hurrying to her feet and pressing the petticoat to her chest.
Sheegor winces and steps back. Gloria isn't under her spotlight. Instead, she's just to the side of it with broken pots clinging to the roots of her dress. Sheegor steps to the right, hoping Gloria will imitate her to get her underneath the spotlight. She forces herself to smile at the seething starlet, knowing she could be the next target of her explosive temper like the poor potted plants surrounding her.
"I was, uh, I was just, oh, you know…." Sheegor awkwardly raises her hand and then sets it to her own shoulder. "...in the neighborhood! Yeah, yeah, and I wanted to see if-to see if you were okay."
"Do I look okay to you? What, am I supposed to be happy all the damn time?" Gloria barked down at her, her grimy fingernails gouging through the petticoat.
"No, no, no, no! You can, um, you can do whatever you want!" She wishes she didn't say that as a sneer stretches into Gloria's cheek and wrinkles her face.
"Oh, that's what they all said! Hollywood loves a good wild story, but they only love it for so long!" Gloria flapped the petticoat in the wind and marched in place. "Then, they hate you! And that's the only thing that hag was right about! They'll all drop you dead the moment your-! The moment your star fizzles out!"
She pauses as she steps underneath the spotlight. Sheegor's breath catches in her throat as realization brightens Gloria's dim eyes. Gloria glances around, appearing confused only to drop her head. She clutches the petticoat to her chest, her hands bonier than usual. Gloria quivers from head to toe, her knees buckling, but she doesn't fall, and to Sheegor, she resembles a fallen angel with her feathery wings clipped.
"Oh, Mom, oh, your petticoat still feels like you," she whispers, rubbing it to her cheek. She sinks to her knees and comes to Sheegor's level, her hiccups choking her.
Sheegor hobbles forward and brings her broader arms around Gloria's slender frame. Gloria remains quiet in her embrace, her fingers fidgeting with the lace hanging loose and threatening to fall off. Sheegor massages her back and feels ribs press against her mittens. She tries her best not to grimace when she feels how thin Gloria has gotten when the other woman leans into her, her long eyelashes fluttering, and Sheegor can see how Gloria once shined.
"She gave this to me for my first Hollywood event. She said it looked perfect on me," Gloria whispers, her arms trembling.
"And I'm-and I'm sure she was right," she says, nodding, the squeak in her voice replaced with solemnity.
Gloria doesn't reply. She sucks in a breath and nestles into Sheegor's soft shoulder. Closing her eyes, she thinks she can feel her mother's arms around her as well.
Sheegor knows she'll have to leave soon. As soon as she does, perhaps Gloria will shred through the petticoat or she'll hide it from herself before she can. But for now, she pats Gloria's back and looks at the the stars dotting the sky, wondering if there could have been any escape for them from a place filled with nothing but bad memories.