In The Clear: Introductions VIII
Dominique "Dom" Briones, 17, Hamilton ON
Dom stands quietly at the corner of the kitchen. From here, it's easy enough to pretend that she's little more than a seat in a movie theatre or a bench on the sidelines. She doesn't need to be involved in the same conversation that happens near-weekly in this very room. She's heard it before and nothing ever changes.
"Let's just order pizza," Lea shrugs.
Solene tilts her head to one side and sighs. "Oh, are you paying then?"
"It was just an idea," the youngest sister retorts. Lea's given the same suggestion at least twice a week since she could talk. Given that Solene is the only one working right now, it's not much of a helpful one. "I don't see you coming up with one."
Solene releases a calming breath and turns around. They've already searched through the cupboards, but this seems to be the only way she's keeping her cool. Dom's older sister has always been the voice of reason, she's had to be. She practically raised her siblings. "I'll duck out and pick something up."
"So suddenly there's money?" Lea asks.
Solene shoots her a look. "For instant noodles, yes."
The pair continue to bicker as Dom moves her gaze around the room. It's messier than when she left for school this morning, but that's not at all surprising. Their parents never made it home last night, so figures they would trash the place when they finally found their way back. Dom's come to expect nothing less.
Her sisters don't need Dom to point it out. None of them have mentioned it beyond Solene doing a pass with the broom to check for broken glass. It's easier that way. Dom doesn't want to think about her parents. Coincidentally, they don't seem to want to think about her either.
The last time she saw them, her father was already passed out on the sofa. Her mother was stumbling around the kitchen as if searching for something. Solene had been the one to gently guide her to bed as Lea closed the cupboard doors she'd thrown open. Dom had done nothing but watch.
It's all she ever does. She despises the dance her family performs every time the oldest Briones make it home. If she doesn't just stand there in stupid, uneasy silence, she doesn't know what she'd do. Dom's well past crying, well past begging them to just try, all the girls are.
She's not one for tears. She isn't some pitiful street urchin; she has a roof over her head and usually something solid in her stomach. Dom doesn't have it near as bad as others. She isn't going to cry about how unfair life is because what would be the point in that?
Lea absentmindedly taps her fingers against the house phone. It's on all of their minds, even if none of them are going to admit it this time. It's been months since their last semi-annual call to Child Protective Services. Lea has only just stopped ending each night saying it would be their last one in this house.
Dom steps forward from her corner just as her sister starts to lift the phone from its receiver. Lea looks up hopefully but Dom just shakes her head. "Nothing's gonna change."
Nothing ever does.
Dom absentmindedly shakes her last remaining can of spray paint. The inside clicks but, when she taps the plunger, only the tiniest bits of paint hit the sidewalk. She half-considers tossing it, but instead sets it down at her feet. It's not going to be easy getting more and Dom knows it. She nabbed this one from her school's art department, but who knows if she'll get that lucky again.
This is the part Dom hates the most. It's the come down from her high of pretending anything she does will ever matter. It's the realization that she's still headed back to the same run-down house she has to call home and the same people who never change.
She isn't just talking about her parents anymore. She means Lea who, no matter the thirteen years of experience, still believes there's some smidge of good in the world. She means Solene who dutifully takes care of everything despite being old enough to run.
She means herself.
Dom picks up the empty can and throws it as hard as she can into the sidewalk. It bounces twice before rolling under a nearby parked car. She huffs and slams her head down into her hands, half expecting tears to come but of course they don't. Dom can't remember the last time she cried. She doesn't want to either.
It's stupid and it doesn't change anything. Emotions don't fix the parts of life that arrive so deeply broken. Dom likes to believe she got rid of the annoying things a while ago. Sometimes that feels a little too true.
She scrambles back as a pair of police officers exit the cafe they'd been seated inside. Her dark clothing means Dom practically disappears against the building's shadows. She watches with the vaguest hint of a smile as they approach their vehicles. Her eyes shift to where her paint can landed, but thankfully it's no longer visible.
"These kids work quickly." Dom watches the first officer shake his head as he takes in her handiwork. She sprayed three lines down the body of the car, straight through the city symbol. She's still working on this new font, but thinks he should be able to make out the scrawled words.
The second officer nudges him sharply in the gut. "Let's get these back then, the night guys can clean them up."
Dom watches silently as they hop in their respective cars and drive off. She can feel her hands start to shake, but it's not nearly cold enough to shiver. She squeezes them into tight fists but that doesn't stop the trembling. Dom stares with clenched teeth until both cars are well out of sight, but the sensation doesn't fade.
They don't care. She shouldn't have expected any differently. No one with any authority has ever cared about anything Dom's done. She's invisible at best and a nuisance at worst. Nearly every tag she's put up around the city has been scrubbed clean overnight or been painted over by the weekend. She's been doing this for years but this fact has only become infuriating over the last few months.
Nothing ever changes.
These are the same people who ignored the phone calls when her sisters' practically begged for help. It was police who escorted the social workers inside the Brione house as they conducted their interviews. They saw what the inside looked like, saw how skinny Lea was the first time they came. Dom hadn't spoken to them, but Solene had. Somebody could've saved them, they'd had so many chances.
She catches the single tear with her sleeve before the cold air can see it. Dom's teeth clench together so tightly that it hurts yet she can't tell herself to let go. They probably laughed off her siblings just like they did the graffiti on their cruisers, leaving it to be someone else's problem. Dom's cheeks heat up until she has to loosen her hoodie and even still she's practically boiling.
They had so many chances.
Dom stares at her hands on the table, both of them still for the first time in hours. Each time she tilts her head it feels like she's on a moving freight train, so she keeps it deathly still. She doesn't know if there's still someone in here with her. That feels like something she should remember.
She closes her eyes for hardly a second and the room disappears. Dom gasps them open and the street's gone again, the blood disintegrates from the concrete, and the walls close in on her once more. Her fingers start to tremble again but Dom can't think long enough to stop them.
"Help! Help her!"
Dom stands in the shadows. Her hoodie is draped like a noose, every breath winding it more tightly around her throat. The wirecutters from shop class sat heavy in her pocket, practically pulling her into the street but her feet wouldn't move. She heard the screams for help. It's the only thing she heard.
The air was otherwise still, as uncaring as it had always felt to Dom. It took ages just to move her gaze. First she saw the police cruiser where a silhouette folded limply over the steering wheel. Dom was close enough. She could see the window in front of him had been shattered by the officer's skull.
"Help!"
"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Dom looks up through bleary eyes. There's a stern-looking man frowning from the adjacent chair. She doesn't remember him being there before. She doesn't know for certain that he wasn't.
Dom can't answer. She stares at him, then back to her hands. The shaking has only gotten worse, but her skin is too numb to feel it.
"What were you doing outside of Gore Park this evening?"
He knows. The officer's glare is enough to turn her stomach, but still Dom finds her throat too dry to speak. She can still hear the desperate pleas for help. She can still see the street, the stillness that centered around a tiny silhouette. Despite the shouts, the mother didn't move from her child's side. Dom learned hours ago that was because her own femur had been shattered during the crash.
The crash that I caused. Dom searches for the familiar heaviness in her pocket but of course the wire cutters are gone. The officer that booked her in took them along with her wallet and backpack.
She looks down to find photographs splayed out across the table. If she extends her hand she'd be able to touch the nearest one, a school picture of a child no older than eight. No one needs to tell her. Dom knows who it is. As she heard the mothers' shouts, Dom's eyes could go nowhere else.
She saw the child laying in the street, her lifeless body pinned between the police cruiser and a street lamp. The dark curls are the same no matter that Dom never saw her face. This is the child who's death she caused.
"I-" Dom starts but in a single breath the trembling travels from her hands up to her lips. She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to tear the picture from her thoughts. She'd wanted to do something more than just vandalize. She wanted to hurt the officer just as his inaction had hurt her family. She'd considered that cutting the cruiser's brakes might kill him. She didn't care. She hated him.
But, she didn't want to hurt anyone else.
"What?" The officer in front of her spits. It's a different man, his eyes darker and moustache thicker than the one before. His eyes are rimmed with red as if he's been awake a while.
Dom cowers as he raises his voice. Her entire body is shaking now. She can't see if it's the same man this time. She can't see anything through the thick gloss of tears. "I didn't-"
Bridget Francis, 18, Victoria BC
Bridget fidgets with the first thing her fingers touch. She can feel the conversation slowly coming to its natural end, but in fact that's the last thing she wants. Her sister, Anne, has only been away at college for a few months but already Bridget can see the change. Anne simply doesn't have as much time for her younger sister as she used to.
It makes sense. She's a freshman at Western University, practically on the other side of the country from where they grew up. Not only that but she's been accepted into one of the most prestigious business schools in Canada.
Bridget's heard all about it. She's proud of her sister and everything that she's been able to accomplish already. She just wishes their weekly video calls would last a little bit longer.
She wishes she hadn't been left behind.
She smiles as her sister finishes talking about her latest assignment. It sounds like she's adjusting really well, and Anne looks happier than she's ever seen. The dimple on her right side is only visible when the smile is genuine. Bridget has a matching one, but it's invisible in the screen's reflection.
"I have to get going, I have-" Anne begins.
Bridget cuts her off, her tone harsher than she'd meant it to be. "I know, you have things to do."
Silence. Bridget turns away from her laptop and clutches the object more tightly in her fist. She didn't mean to snap at her; she knows Anne has a lot on her plate these days. She's trying so hard not to resent every bit of it.
"I'll call again next week, Bridge," Anne says gently. When Bridget looks up, her sister is watching her carefully through the screen. She wants to believe that their mom isn't telling Anne about her difficulties in school. Bridget is trying to adjust, really she is. She's just not used to feeling so… alone.
Her sister is the only person she can say she's ever genuinely missed. Their mom often works long shifts and extra hours at the hospital, but that's never bothered Bridget. She's never been one of the popular kids or even really had close friends, but that wasn't an issue. She had her sister who was both more of a friend and more of a parent than anyone else. Anne's been there since the day she was born and never left.
Well, until she did - three months, one week, and four days ago.
"I love you," Anne says when there's no answer.
Bridget glances down at her hands, uncoiling them just enough to see what she's holding. It's the only remaining lighter in her collection, a tiny white one with haphazard sharpie marks. Her mom took the rest of them away last month.
She can feel Anne's disappointment through the screen, but can't bring herself to look up. Bridget's neck is already burning up and the next thing to come will be tears. Her sister shouldn't have to see them; she hasn't done anything wrong. This is just how things have to be.
Just before the call disconnects, Bridget manages to pull the words from her lips.
"I miss you."
Her numb fingertips ache as Bridget slams them against the bus shelter. She isn't sure that she meant to do it, but the pain is better than the frigid tears still wet on her cheeks. The pain is better than the mountain of thoughts she can't seem to get over. It's better than looking down at herself - at the same clothes she's been wearing for three straight nights - and wondering what the fuck she's doing.
Bridget collapses beside the bench, not bothering to sit down because what's the point. Her clothes are filthy from the hours she's spent outside. Her skin is frozen from the October chill and the lack of wind is doing little to remedy that. She's wandering with no hope of finding where she wants to be because that place no longer exists.
Her sister's gone.
It's been three days since the officer showed up on their doorstep. Three days since her mom held her close and sobbed meanwhile Bridget couldn't even breathe. It's been three whole days since she walked out her back door, not knowing where she was going because the neighborhood felt as comforting as a concrete maze.
She hasn't been back since. She feels disgusting, her hair filled with more grease than blonde and her clothes stuck rigidly to her skin. Bridget can't remember the last time she ate anything. She doesn't have any money to buy food or stay anywhere.
She knows she should go home. She knows that not only is her mom probably sick with grief, but now her remaining daughter has been gone for days. Bridget knows all of this but the only thing she can do is sit here and cry into her shaking hands.
Bridget pulls the white lighter out of her pocket, but her fingers are too numb to bring it to life. She throws it down beside her before scrambling to retrieve it moments later. She can't lose this. It's the only thing she has.
It's the only way to show them. When Bridget's words fail, when she can't fathom explaining the searing agony in her chest that her sister left behind, she has this. She can show them. She can watch the world burn and force everyone to bear witness.
Bridget stood back as the scent of burning plastic rose along the back alley. She didn't know where she was. She didn't recognize the apartment building or the street in front of it. It didn't matter. She watched as flames flowed over the dumpster walls. It only took seconds, but it looked just as she felt.
Out of control.
If the people inside would've just looked out their windows they would see it.
They would see her when it felt like no one could.
It's been two years and seven months since the accident.
Bridget marks another day off her calendar before running a hand along the pile on her desk. They act like a time capsule, one that she opens every single day. She can flip through the dates proving how long it's been, but that doesn't quell the burning. She can't hear Anne's voice in the pages of these calendars. She can't look forward to school breaks when her sister should be back in town.
It's hard to believe that it's been so long, yet at the same time she feels the distance. It's a tray of embers that haven't gone away, but they've somewhat faded. Bridget still feels the loss every day, but it's not all she thinks about.
That doesn't mean she's forgotten, not like everyone else seems to want to. She knows her mom misses Anne, but they don't talk about her. Bridget's school counsellor decided that was best, but what does she know? Her sister doesn't deserve to just stop existing. She was everything to Bridget, and her being gone doesn't instantly make her nothing. She's still my sister.
Bridget's met with a counsellor at school once a month since mere weeks after Anne's passing. Her mom insisted after a few runaway stints, but they haven't helped. According to her counsellor, Bridget's well-adjusted but mourning. She's no danger to herself, nor to anyone else. She just needs time and patience. Bridget can't keep track of how many times she's heard that same phrasing, first from the counsellor and later from her mom.
Bridget can't understand how they don't see it. She's come to the conclusion that they don't want to. Everyone wants the part of the world they inhabit to be perfect, for everyone to be content in whatever life they've been given. They don't want to see pain. They'd rather pretend it doesn't exist.
Bridget won't let them.
No one knows it's her. They don't realize who's agony they're watching as their perfect view goes up in flames. Bridget doesn't mind, it's enough that they see it. It's enough for them to know that nothing is perfect.
They'll see her grief whether they want to or not. They'll see Bridget because she refuses to let this rot her from the inside out. If the only other option is igniting herself for the world to see, she'll take it.
"It's time to go!"
Bridget takes one final look at the calendar before hooking her backpack over her shoulder. When her mom suggested they grab dinner tonight, she couldn't think of a reason to say no. Despite it being just the two of them for years now, it's been a while since they had real one-on-one time.
She's actually looking forward to it. Last week's flames still lick at the back of her eyelids. Bridget's as calm as she gets these days, the memory of fire enough to almost bring a smile to her lips. No one's been able to ignore the fire that spread through her high school gymnasium. It's been all over the news since the morning after.
Bridget jumps into the front passenger seat and closes the door behind her. "Where to?"
"Golden City?"
She shrugs. It's been years since they've been there. "Sounds good."
They drive most of the way with the radio as their only background noise. Bridget plays with the channel for a few minutes but it's all ads at this time of day anyways. She's content enough to lean back and close her eyes until they pull into the parking lot several minutes later.
When she opens her eyes, she's not looking at the familiar Golden City logo. In front of her, all she can see are parked police cruisers. The sign above their car welcomes them to the Victoria Police Department. "Mom?"
Immediately, her mom bursts into tears. "Mom, what's going on?"
She reaches back and pulls a rectangular box from the backseat. Bridget's heart is beating so quickly it's all she can hear, but when she recognizes the box it seems to stop completely. She doesn't have to open it to know what's inside. It's the one she keeps under her bed along with her growing collection of lighters.
It's full of every newspaper article Bridget's found about her crimes. It dates back to the very first, the dumpster she set alight at fifteen behind an apartment complex. She's been adding to it every morning this week after her mom was finished with the paper.
"I'm sorry," her mom sobs.
Bridget can't help herself. "No you're not!"
"Bridget."
She thinks about running, but how far would she actually get? She could deny it, the contents of this box are hardly proof, but what is she going to say? Bridget turns to her mom, to the one person that should understand that people need to remember. She sees tears but not regret. She doesn't see her mom's hands back on the steering wheel ready to drive her away from this place.
"You always wanted to forget," Bridget says flatly as she opens the passenger door herself. "I guess now no one's stopping you."
A/N: Hello again! Nothing much to say here but hope you're still enjoying these quick updates. If you have time, let me know what you think of Dom & Bridget!
Up next (and last) will be Bowen & Shane!
~ Olive