Demeter was in Jemima's clothes, her hair was freshly washed and looked less lank, her eyes were pink but not bloodshot and dilated in fear, she didn't smell like dried blood and whiskey any more. So for all intents and purposes, she looked better. At least, better enough so that Victoria could leave the flat with as little guilt as possible. When the ballet dancer left, Demeter was sat on the sofa, sipping tentatively at a cup of tea and offering weak smiles. Jemima and Munkustrap were making breakfast, she'd made Victoria a turkey salad sandwich and packed carrot sticks in a leftover takeaway container to apologise for the noise the night before, the noise of a rumbling kettle was the soundtrack to the two's very domestic pas de deux and they had perfect stage smiles on their face. Jemima used her thumb to wipe away a mascara smudge that decorated the corner of Victoria's eye, and jokingly kissed her button nose before winking and turning back to the kitchen counter, preparing a breakfast of dreams for the three of them. So while she was uneasy, Victoria could leave the flat and assume everything would be okay as it could possibly be.
She didn't dance as well as she could have that day; her toes could have been more pointed, her arms straighter, she was a beat behind everyone. George noticed, he asked about her pink eyes and slumped shoulders and she almost cried, immediately apologising, saying that she couldn't sleep because of noisy neighbours. He probably saw her well up, because he pushed back a stray piece of hair and chuckled.
"You're still miles better than most here, don't you panic, ballet girl."
She blushed furiously and she supposed she danced a little better after that. He called after her when she was leaving to make sure she got some good sleep and nice food, he couldn't have his ballet flower wilting.
When she came out of rehearsals, Plato was waiting for her with plastic bags full of ready meals and a grin. So Victoria could grin right back and throw her arms around him without a second thought about the night before, because her boyfriend was stood in front of her and he was so handsome and considerate and they'd never be like Demeter and Macavity. She'd never have to worry about showing up at Quaxo's doorstep in a nightie, covered in purple and blue. He was safe and he was strong and lovely, and she almost cried again when he held his arm out for her to cling to. While they walked, Plato talked her ear off about teenage boys in the gym, and she wanted to dance to the rhythm of his voice, the slight pant behind his words. They got on the bus together, and Victoria checked her phone to see that her brother had called, leaving a panicked voice mail asking her not to go back to the flat because he was worried and she rolled her eyes and put her phone back in her pocket, but then had the roles been reversed, she knew she'd be calling him up as soon as possible too. Plato suggested that they go back to his house for a while, for some privacy and some downtime, before returning to the chaos in the evening. He was fidgeting and she was suspicious, but she still text Jemima to ask if she'd be okay if Victoria spent a few hours out of the flat and she got a response almost instantly.
"What's the conspiracy?" she asked half-jokingly, nudging her boyfriend.
"What?"
"I've spoken to three people since coming out of dance and each of them seem hell-bent on keeping me out of my flat, what's going on?"
He laughed a little and ran a hand through his hair, "Jemima called me earlier."
"Is she okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, she's great. Honestly, don't worry. She just suggested that perhaps you wanted some space to, you know, decompress. I think she felt bad for keeping you up."
"Sneaky buggers," Victoria giggled, he smiled a little and she burrowed further into his side, he put his arm around her and kissed her hair and the bus drove past her stop. At worse, she supposed, Demeter cried and made people uncomfortable, at best, they were all sat around the table and Demeter's bruises faded instantly as Jemima force-fed her mashed potato to fill out her scrawny frame and Macavity was behind bars. While she hoped for the latter, she knew it was impossible, and anxiety slowly pressed down her chest when she considered why everyone was so worried about her going back to the flat. Were the police there, with serious faces and lots of papers, grilling Demeter until she cried? Worse, was Macavity there? Ransacking their house, upturning their armchairs and ripping their pictures from the walls, hurting Demeter, hurting Jemima.
"They're all fine," Plato whispered into her hair, and the words seeped in from her scalp into her brain, and images of Demeter smiling like she did in all of the photos Jemima showed her, Munkustrap holding the two sisters in his big arms, Jemima drinking tea flooded her head. So Victoria went to Plato's house, and they ate and watched films and spoke and she couldn't shake being ever so slightly nervous but Jemima said she was fine, so if Jemima was fine, Victoria was fine.
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Jemima was hunched over her phone in her bedroom, whispering and crying down the phone to her oldest sister as her other sister slept with her head on her lap. When Victoria had left in the morning, they had a few hours of inanely watching morning talk shows and nibbling at honey on toast. Munkustrap had fidgeted the entire morning, every so often he'd catch Jemima's eye and she smiled robotically, offering him something else to eat or drink. Demeter was in unnervingly good spirits, laughing at the television when Tugger's obnoxious grin appeared to gossip about celebrities, thanking Jemima brightly as she handed her a glass of water. Her eyes rolled back in pure satisfaction as she brought a tomato-soup sodden bit of bread to her lips, and giggled as Jemima wiped away a dribble of orange from the corner of her lips. Still, she'd wince every now and again, and her eyes would well up but she shake her head to dismiss the forming tears. She shook her head feverently when she overheard Munkustrap whisper to Jemima that they really should call the police now.
"Wait for Rina," she said, holding onto Jemima's hand, "Please wait for Rina."
Jemima had called Bombalurina already, it was the first thing she did when she woke up but she didn't get an answer. She didn't even think of the time difference, couldn't even remember where Bombalurina was off gallivanting but she smiled and stroked Demeter's hand comfortingly and agreed as Munkustrap sighed. Jemima wasn't the best person to talk to the police anyway, she was nervous and small and girly, Bombalurina could make them take her seriously.
Then at approximately two in the afternoon, a pounding came at the door. Munkustrap rushed to stand in front of the girls, bumping into Jemima who ran on tip toes to the door, brandishing her mug as though it was a machete, Demeter held out her arm to try and reach her youngest sister and they stood in silence. The door knocked again and Demeter spluttered, covering her ears and pulling her knees to her chest before crying out.
"Who is it?" Jemima called, evoking a wide-eyed stare from Munkustrap who signalled madly for her to come back and stand by him, each of their minds jumping to the worst case scenario. Demeter could see her boyfriend snarling like a dog, hands cut from a broken whiskey bottle, Jemima saw piercing blue eyes and red hair and twisted smile with empty promises laying there and hands full of paper and glass flowers, Munkustrap saw his oldest brother.
"Jemima? Are you okay? Is Demeter there?" whoever was behind the door was nervous and it was catching, Munkustrap stood rigid and Jemima's breath shallowed. He whispered for her to get away, to call the police, to get behind him so that he could look after her. He tried to help Demeter off the floor, she asked him to not touch her.
"Who's there?" she called again.
"Jemima, please, it's Tugger."
Jemima opened the door slowly and Tugger thought she looked awful, he didn't know that she could physically look smaller than she already was, that her pixie cheekbones could be more prominent. He was still in the suit shirt he'd worn on the television, and he smelled of hairspray. She gave him a half-smile, and his brother's voice came from the back asking if Demeter minded if Tugger came in, and he heard her shallow breaths. Jemima could see his brown eyes, they were very much different from both of his brothers, and they darted around, unsure if he should be peering into her face or trying to get a look into her flat.
"She looks different," Jemima whispered, "Don't get upset, but, she looks different."
Then the door opened and Jemima stepped to the side so that he could step in. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, the teenage girl's obnoxiously decorated living room filled to the brink with knick-knacks and memories engulfed her and she looked tiny and he almost laughed at himself for thinking Jemima looked rough when she was on the floor and shaking as though a bomb had just hit and she was cowering from potential shrapnel. She was wearing Jemima's clothes, when the hell did she get so small that she could fit into her little sister's clothes? She was covered in bruises, one had risen on her forehead and looked like she had a single horn on the left side of her head, she was bloody and his big brother had done that to her. He fell back in shock and Jemima was right behind him, little hand on his back to steady him.
"Hey chick," he had to cough out the words. Demeter tried to smile a little, wiping her tears and standing slowly to her feet. He took a step forward and she flinched, because he was wearing a shirt and tie and for a minute she forgot that it was still Tugger who had held her hair back when she got drunk for the first time.
"I watched you on telly this morning," she replied, forcing a grin. She couldn't falter in front of Tugger, because not only was he vain and her least favourite of her favourite brothers, he was also the youngest and he was also close to tears. He was smiling his television smile, all teeth and lies, but she could see the water gathering in the corner of his eyes. She wanted to punch him, her fist clenching and unclenching and she hated herself for being so angry at him.
But Macavity was his favourite older brother, he'd given him a swig of whiskey before his GCSE maths exam, he'd brought him a fake ID, he'd taught him how to make one great pasta dish that he could show off to all of the ladies he'd bring back to his house when he was older. Tugger was the one to introduce Demeter to Macavity, because he and Bombalurina had gotten close and she'd told him in secrecy that her younger sister had a soft spot for the oldest of his brothers and his pretty red hair. Tugger had thrown a party with the sole purpose of introducing the two, had told Macavity to dress sharp, to work his magic on her and it had worked. She'd been with the same awful boy since she was nineteen and it was Tugger's fault.
"Are you okay?" Munkustrap murmured and she turned to see his God awful pained eyes and she wanted to punch him too. He was the calm middle brother all over again, brushing her hair with his fingers when she'd cried to him that his older brother had cheated on her, mumbling that Macavity had screwed up and treated her in the worst way, but that he truly loved her. Why didn't he tell her to run? Munkustrap loved her, she knew that, everyone knew, and he had the perfect opportunity to tell her to run away with him. Perhaps she didn't love him as much as he loved her, but he was strong and handsome and safe, the worst way he could hurt her was through his pitiful stares when he eventually found out she'd never love him the same way. But he didn't, he gave her his blessing and a smile when she told him that she'd spoken to his brother and they were back in love. He let her go back and have Macavity show that he hadn't treated her in the worst way just yet.
"Why did you two come?" Demeter said, her voice cracking. She hadn't noticed that she was crying, she could see her hands shaking and Jemima stepped out from behind Tugger, rubbing his shoulder sweetly, always so obnoxiously kind in the worst of situations. She didn't need Munkustrap or Tugger near her, she just needed them in front of her and the door and potential threats. She needed Jemima's hands and her voice and her tea. She needed Bombalurina's arms and her quick tongue and her warmth.
"Did you come to see what he'd done? Will you tell Daddy on him?" Demeter's voice was getting louder. Tugger at least had the decency to hold his head in shame, Munkustrap was stoic and at alert, the only thing giving his discomfort away being his puckered brows.
"Demeter, please" Jemima said softly, because of course she did, everything she did was soft. She just needed her sisters around her, the boys could stand between her and the door and whatever threats lurked outside there but otherwise she didn't need them. Demeter's face crumpled, and she looked pathetic again. Jemima walked briskly over, holding her sister's shaking hands in her own.
"I'm tired," Demeter whispered, Jemima nodded and excused them, bringing them into her room. She sat on the bed and let Demeter lay her strawberry blonde waves on her lap.
"What are you doing?" Demeter asked, whilst Jemima fiddled with her phone.
"We need 'Rina. I'm calling 'Rina." Demeter smiled up at her softly, seeing her spiderleg eyelashes clump together with tears, her teeth bite at chapped lips, before closing her eyes and letting Jemima's panicked whispers lull her to sleep.
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Victoria's hair was damp and in a long plait down her back clothed in Plato's shirt, her stomach bulged a little with snack food, her eyes bright with a nap on Plato's bed. She sat on his kitchen counter as he tried his hardest to make sure he didn't make the pasta too soggy, because she'd taken one look at the ingredients and calories at the ready meals he'd brought and he could tell from her face that she'd probably shovel it around her plate for a little while before announcing she was full before gorging herself on honey and toast when she got home.
Etcetera came downstairs, wearing a dress that smelt like it had been sprayed with at least five whole bottles of perfume mingled with stale alcohol, her hair was sopping wet and twisted into a bun and her makeup was hastily applied. She was tailed by two of Plato's younger brothers, and it wasn't odd for Victoria to see her there. It was a shock at first, to see each other on the corridor both wearing shirts that didn't belong to them, trying to get to the bathroom to wipe off last night's makeup from under their eyes before the boys woke up. Now she liked it, she had someone to roll her eyes at when Plato had managed to dye his pristine white gym polo shirts an off-grey by balling a black pair of boxers in with his white wash, she had someone to ask for moisturiser if she forgot to bring her own. Etcetera smiled at her and perched up beside her.
"What's cooking, good lookin'?" she teased, winking at Plato who smirked and continued to fluster over his boiling pan.
"He's attempting pasta today," Victoria replied, smiling and unconsciously shuffling closer to her freckled friend, almost resting her head on her exposed shoulder. Etcetera giggled, and it was infectious, nudging Plato's back with her half-heartedly pedicured toes.
"Exotic. You're a lucky girl, Vicky."
The youngest of Plato's brothers crowded into the cramped kitchen, standing on his tip-toes to peer over into the pot. Victoria liked him, although she could never remember his name, he was sweet with a little beauty mark and a goofy smile. He shook her hand and passed over a condom to her in the same motion when she first met him, and Plato had gone bright red, but his massive grin was enough to make Victoria peel over in fits of laughter.
"What do you want?" Plato murmured, elbowing his smaller brother before turning the hob off and taking the pot off of the flame to drain the pasta.
"To be fed before I drop off Etcetera to work, please."
Victoria looked over at Etcetera, her patchy foundation acting as a shoddy attempt to hide the green tinge to her freckles, her dripping wheat hair, clumpy mascara. She didn't look like she was ready to work, she looked like she was about to do a more dignified version of a walk of shame. Victoria could swear that she saw the smaller girl's neck shudder slightly when she heard 'work.' She did her best to look comforting, but she'd heard enough of Jemima's anecdotes about her nights working with a tipsy Etcetera to find it more funny than anything to picture a very much hungover Etcetera trying to entertain the desperate men and spotty new drinkers.
"You're working tonight, Etcetera?" Plato called over his shoulder, "I thought you had tonight off, I thought that was why you got so slaughtered last night."
"I was meant to but Jemima called in and she won't be in again tonight. Oh! Vic, how is she? Exotica wouldn't tell me what was wrong, see, and I've been a little worried. It's not like her to miss two days in a row."
Before Victoria could answer, Plato's youngest brother turned to look at her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.
"You know Jemima?" he asked.
"She's my flatmate," she answered and nodded at him first, before turning her attention to Etcetera, "She said she was okay, just nasty family stuff has cropped up, you know? She's doing great though."
"So she's okay?" Plato's brother said, stepping a little closer, "I mean, I texted her earlier but she hasn't said anything."
"Pouncival was worried," Etcetera cooed. Victoria smiled a little, an eyebrow raised. How did Jemima know everyone? Did she just stand in the street smiling until people fell in love with her grin and pretty eyes? Offer to make them cups of tea with her heavily ringed fingers until they wanted to be her best friend? It made Victoria panic a little, because if Jemima was so well-known, she was also so vulnerable. A man with clenched fists and a suave grin, looking perhaps for a certain sister of Jemima, could just ask for her address and it seemed as though the odds were in his favour because she had made herself so accessible. Everyone, man, woman or vegetable was welcome to their flat for a cup of tea because Jemima was so kind. It was scary, and the way that Plato's brother – Pouncival – was staring with big, expectant eyes, unnerved her.
"She was okay when I left this morning," Victoria replied, "But perhaps I should go home and check soon."
"That's a good idea," Pouncival said almost instantly, "I can drive you, I'm taking Etcetera to work anyway."
"You're staying here," Plato was almost stern, stirring in pesto and cheese, "You need a good night's sleep, a proper rest, Jemima said so herself. She's fine, sweetheart."
"I need to look after her," Victoria replied indignantly, "She looks after me, I need to look after her."
"You need to look after yourself, and so does Jemima. Listen, you could call her and make sure she's fine after food, then you can curl up on the sofa and watch a film with your doting housewife of a boyfriend and then you can get a full eight hours of sleep. You can wake up early and Pouncival can drop you off at your flat before dance so he can see his ladylove himself."
Victoria was about to argue, but Plato turned his back on the pasta so that he could look at her and smile gently, and a wave of safety crashed over her. If she stayed, he'd carry her up the stairs and kiss her hair, no one would scream when she tried to sleep, she wouldn't be getting panicked texts from her older brother all night. So she called Jemima, who was obviously spouting artificial happiness, and she listened for crying but all she could hear was the soft buzz of Breakfast at Tiffany's coming from the television. Her eyes focused on Plato and Pouncival, Plato's soft reassuring smile, Pouncival's slightly furrowed brows, and she allowed herself to be coaxed into staying there, with her hair in braids in a shirt that wasn't hers, eating overcooked pasta with someone who would never hurt her.
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Bombalurina packed feverently as the girl she'd brought home from the shoot to wine and dine watched with pretty wide eyes.
"Bombie, are you okay?" she asked gently. Bombalurina stopped and sighed, wrapping her satin dressing gown tighter around her waist. She asked the pretty little thing to leave gently, she gave her a courtesy peck on the corner of her lips before dismissing her. When the footsteps disappeared down the hotel corridor, she continued on her rampage.
Her open suitcase gaped at her as she chucked things in with little regard to their expense. Diamond necklace she'd brought as retail therapy for being homesick? In it went with the socks without its case, gorgeous silk lingerie balled up next to her opened tube of toothpaste, designer pantsuit next to the sleepshirt she'd stolen from Tugger a few years back and kept since.
Jemima had sounded so scared on the phone, she choked on tears when she described what Demeter looked like. Oh Demeter, what had he done to her? Jemima spoke about her being swallowed up by her crap leather sofa, dressed in clothes that Demeter formerly wouldn't have been able to fit over her one leg, split lip crying out for help. Before her youngest sister hung up to start cooking supper, she'd asked Jemima to send her a photo, so that she could prepare herself and she cried out in the privacy of her ensuite bathroom when she saw it, no longer caring if her girlfriend for the night heard her. Sleeping, sallow, scarred Demeter with a risen bump on her forehead would plague her mind for the entirety of the plane journey from New York to London. It would probably be up there in the most traumatising things Bombalurina had seen in her life, right next to her Mother's drool stained, waxy yellow, dead face. Demeter was small, and suffering, and Bombalurina felt ready to walk across the world so that she could hold her tight to her chest.
She explained all this to her manager as she clocked out of the hotel, leaving a hefty tip to perhaps make up for the fact her room was dishevelled, pulling her suitcase behind her and ignoring people point at her in the hotel lobby.
Demeter was small, and suffering, and Bombalurina was on her way to make it all better.
((A/N: Its been a ridiculously long time and I have no excuse whatsoever, but I feel like I'm on a roll! Expect some chapters before I disappear off the face of the Earth! Please don't hate me forever.))