Elsa doesn't hear her parents when they call her down for dinner. Or rather, she deafens herself to their harsh, urgent voices. Her Macbook's propped open between stacks of Neil Gaiman novels and Shakespeare Cliff notes. An unfinished chapter stares back from the screen. The harsh light glows against her pale skin. And there's a world swirling behind those words she can't quite let go of yet.
"Elsa! For the last time, we're having dinner-"
She completes her story's sentence and smashes the period key as though it's teleporting her back to this reality. Away from one where love didn't so much matter as grades on a test or timings on a scoreboard. Where love only came from the purest of hearts. And the honesty of one's lips-
"Elsa!"
Her joints creak when she stretches out her muscles from sitting too long. As she plods down the carpeted steps of her Charleston home, Elsa wonders how the house she's lived in for the last eighteen years of her life can be less familiar than a fictional world she created mere hours ago. She contemplates her parents staring back at her over a hearty meal of meatballs and spaghetti - and wonders how she can feel less invested about them than the romances she's depicted. Her brain begins to tick. She shakes her head, fearful she's losing her grip on reality. Afraid it'd weaken her for the awaiting trial looming behind Agnarr's scowl.
Despite her lack of appetite, even with her favourite meal before her; Elsa eats quickly. Wanting to get away from the inevitable-
"How's your grades?"
Ah shit, there it is.
The slip of paper in her jeans pocket burns with the searing heat of a lit fuse. Timebomb waiting to detonate. She grapples with uncertainty before sliding the scrap across the mahogany table. Fingers betraying none of her trepidation. Yet. Agnarr stares down the row of As adorning her results. She looks away from him. Afraid that the slightest twitch would break her poker face. Instead, Elsa turns to Iduna, who promptly shifts away and pretends to be engrossed in squishing her meatballs to mush. Oh mom, you're no help at all. The pressure builds within her head. Her concentration falters. She looks up and her heart implodes at the bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, and his cheeks going red.
"You got an A- for AP Calc."
Elsa frowns, "It's a hard subject-"
"I didn't ask you if it was hard."
Iduna stops chewing entirely.
Elsa looks down at her dinner. The pride of making it half way through her food evaporates. Well, better than the last time at least. Agnarr tosses her results into the middle of the table like a discarded rag. Strewn away. Like her futile hope of a life away from this bullshit.
"Is this the part where I give you an explanation?" Elsa mumbles, avoiding his stare, "because I told you-"
"What I want to know is," Agnarr seethes through furrowed brows, "what on earth you're doing to get this right-"
A gurgling noise reverberates from within her throat. Her soul plummets when she recognises that sound as choking. Like the life is being strangled out of her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise all my other grades were so shit that you had to focus on the only A-"
He shoots a finger at her, "Don't you get snippy with us-"
"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry dad, I got an A-, I'll do better next time-"
She flinches when Agnarr pounds the table, the echo of his hollering booms across all two thousand square feet of their home.
"There is no next time! You're in your senior year! Your last chance to make it or lose out!"
There's nothing left within Elsa but silence. She ponders cramming the rest of the food down her throat and leaving. But a sickening fear shackles her feet to the chair. The same kind that leaves deers immobile before their predators.
"I think you've been wasting too much time in the library after school-"
Immediately, a harrowing thought creeps upon Elsa. That she might lose the privilege of studying at the library. The fear is suddenly replaced by disgust at herself for falling to a level where studying in a fucking library is the last vestige of free will she could possibly hope to enjoy. Goddamn has she been clutching at straws lately.
His veiled threat fails to break her stoic demeanour. But the blank stare she throws in his direction proves to be a mistake.
"We're taking away your phone."
The shackles around her feet snap. She rises. Matching the ferocity of his stare with her own. Slim fingers reach into the pocket of her skinny jeans and slips out an iPhone. Held aloft by an index finger and her thumb. Right before it plummets, clattering on the floor. Oh, she wishes it'd shatter into a million pieces. Create a ruckus just to prove how little this piece of technology meant to her anymore. But she doesn't stick around to find out, turning on her heels and marching upstairs.
"Don't you dare turn your back on us you prick-'' and she can hear feet thumping after her. The squeak of shifting furniture. Iduna with her pleas "no, leave her-"
The solitude of her room provides no relief. Cream-painted walls closing in on her head so fast she buries her face into her arm. It's warm. Muggy and stuffy like she's in a swamp. Then she catches herself in the mirror and realises why. Reddened face and eyes with tears threatening to spill. Matted blonde hair damp with perspiration. Disgust wells up within her at caving so easily to a mere five minute verbal beatdown. She used to go longer than this. She used to be stronger than this. You're fucking weak, Elsa, she seethes at her own reflection. The admission fails to heal her soul. She needs to get out. But the prospect of going downstairs for another beatdown is untenable.
The window refuses to budge. It's heavy. But not heavier than the burdens she's carried into her room. Sucking in lungfuls of the crisp, cool night air doesn't even come close to cleansing her soul of frustration. Elsa's lanky frame awkwardly clambers out of the window. Her breath catches as she eyes the two storey drop, but there're worse things in life to be afraid of, like Agnarr's muffled yelling behind her. She pays for her endeavour with scraped elbows and bruised shins. But soon she's on the tiled roof. Rewarded with the night breeze bathing her face. It feels like a giant spring has been unwound from her soul and the relief sends her slumping on the tiles. It's steep. But she hardly cares about falling off anymore; Converse sneakers digging into the gaps. As her head slumps back, her eyes catch sight of the star-strewn night sky. The expanse of galaxies looking like a whirlpool of diamonds stuck on pause in their eternal motion. The celestial opera frozen in the sky leaves Elsa with parted lips, and a sullen realisation of just how much she's missed out.
How have I not seen this before? Was I under this the whole time?
It's amazing how many things you miss up above when your head's always down in the books.
This time, Elsa wipes the last of her tears and whispers a promise to appreciate the sky more. Her eyes trace the expanse of the night, before falling upon a dim light in the distance. Another person perched on the rooftop across the suburban maze of homes and driveways. She squints at the figure, red hair just peeking beneath a dark hoodie. Face bathed in the glow of her phone. Head bobbing in time to the music. She's so impossibly far away. In another neighbourhood; one she recognises as the unsavoury part of town.
And it's so irrevocably silent.
Elsa lets out a sigh. A breath she'd been holding in the entire day.
I'm not going to let anyone take this away from me. Elsa thinks. From me or my night sky buddy.
The solitude. The calmness. The utter peace.
There's only one more thing that could make this any more perfect.
Elsa clambers down, and fishes her laptop through the open window. It's a bit of an awkward posture to type in; laptop propped against a bent knee. But she hardly cares anymore. One last glance at her night sky buddy. Before words leave her imagination.
"We're all humans, floating on this giant rock through infinite space, sleeping under the same diamond studded night sky."
Her phone's still on the kitchen's hardwood floor in the morning. Agnarr's gone. But his booming voice still pounds in her head when Iduna returns her phone. She's already dressed for work in her lawyer clothes. Elsa finds it hard to meet her eyes, looking down at the namecard in her outstretched hand.
"Listen, Elsa, I have to go to work but-"
The namecard reads: Heathridge Counselling and Psychiatry.
"Your father and I had a talk last night and we feel like we owe it to you to get some help, at least."
Her shoulders slump. She stares Iduna down, hoping she'd recognise the glimmering discontent in her eyes.
"Help? Help for what?"
Iduna sighs, "For whatever it is you're going through."
Iduna thrusts the card in her hand. And gives Elsa a stiff, cold kiss on the side of her head and a hug which doesn't so much as mean anything.
"You guys are not serious about this-"
"Just listen to what Dr Robinson has to say, she's a good woman," Iduna squeezes Elsa's elbow, "the appointment dates are in the card."
And Elsa's left slumping on the couch. Head in hands. Listening to her mother's Ford reversing from the driveway. She stares at the card with a menacing scowl, as though it's sucking the life out of her. There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me. Her brain plays on repeat. Wasn't she fine last night on the rooftop? Yet this tiny little off-white card with Helvetica lettering tells her otherwise. Seething contempt overwhelms Elsa. She considers ripping it up and hurling it at the wall. But she catches sight of a picture frame on the mantel. Of a time when she was little. Disneyland. Three smiling faces. Dad only worried about whether she was making friends at school and Mom was…well Mom was a different woman altogether.
The thought is enough for her to shove the card into her bag and stomp out the door. Unwilling to be manipulated further by her memories. Or her mother's voice.
She nearly drives her Lexus SUV into oncoming traffic on the way to West Ashley High. Twelve full minutes pass in the parking lot draped in numb silence. Staring at the other seniors giving each other high fives. This should be your best year of school. She flinches when a brunette girl bangs on her window.
"C'mon, let's go!" Rapunzel waves, pulling her from the car, "Are you alright? You look spaced out - not that it's anything new with you."
No I'm not alright. She thinks about her stellar grades. How little sympathy she'd get from her peers. How absurd it is that she's being sent to a counsellor.
"Track state championships are coming up," Elsa mutters under her breath, "not looking forward to training or competing or any of that-"
"Ah, shoot, I don't think I can make it to the semi meet - Eugene's in town," Rapunzel bemoans, "I don't get why you still put up with it."
"If I don't land a scholarship, my dad's going to disown me," Elsa grumbles, "you know how it is."
"Is he going to disown you if I invite you to the party Eugene's throwing next week?"
She opens her mouth to say yes, but her voice is cut off by a buzz of noise as they pass into the steel-glass school building. Wide-set tiled corridors crammed with students rushing for class. Elsa walks beneath a banner with bold yellow-on-purple letters screaming "GO WILDCATS - STATE TRACK CHAMPIONS '19" and immediately flinches away. She passes a framed photograph of last year's graduating class. All decked out in robes and tossing hats in the air - along with the Valedictorian's speech. The same strangling feeling clutches at her throat. Bright lights grate on her senses. Only Rapunzel's arm around her shoulder pulls her back to reality.
"I'm heading off for English, see you around!" before she throws a big hug around her, "Hang in there, whatever you're going through."
Rapunzel ducks into a classroom with a bounce clearly evident in her step.
Maybe there is something wrong with me.
Classes become a blurry struggle of notes and slides and endless monotonic droning. It's one thing to maintain barely passing grades; with your head just above the water. And another game entirely to keep straight As. Like flopping around above the waterline with cardboard wings. Even Elsa's favourite AP-Lit class barely holds any appeal anymore as they overthink and overanalyze all eight lines of a dead man's poem. Her head spins by the time she gets to track practice, and Coach Maui's strongman stance is ready to make her feign an injury just to get out of it.
She looks down past her track shorts at a pair of pale, slender legs. Marred only by a couple of bruises from clambering onto the roof last night. Silence. Serenity. The memory curls her lips into a smile. One that immediately fades at the screech of a whistle.
"Williams! Front-and-centre! Track intervals today!"
The team groans their disapproval.
Over the bleachers, Elsa's eyes are drawn to the oak trees blushing red with fall. The last trace of summer's glow beats down on them. And it lends a calmness into her soul. Right until Maui marches up to her with his broad shoulders blotting out the sun.
"I just spoke to the University of North Carolina and they're interested in you," he mentions in an urgent whisper, "if you ever want to be a part of the Wolfpack, here's your chance. Starting right now."
Somehow, the news blows right past her ears like she isn't even standing there. The prospect would've thrilled her a year ago. What changed?
Right, there's something wrong with you, remember?
The thought is lost on her as she takes her place on the starting line. There's going to be bleeding hearts and broken lungs today. The whistle blows. Elsa's legs pound the dense rubber track. Her braid flutters behind her as she strides through lap after lap. Calves burning from lactic acid. Maui chases down her lithe, sweaty frame with her timings.
"76! 76! 77! 78!"
Elsa runs the last set with gritted teeth. And right when she's on the verge of passing out, she imagines Agnarr's scowl. And his voice hunting after her. There's no next time. Make it or lose out.
There's something wrong with you.
"74!"
That gurgling noise is back, this time from retching her lungs out on the side of the track. Her teammates have collapsed in a pile of heaving, sweaty bodies. Once again, Maui's frame blots out the sun - and what little strength left within her deserts. She slumps on her back as his voice makes it past the pounding in her ears.
"Hell of a job today, Elsa."
His words scarcely bring any pride to her. Sputtery threads leave her throat, "I gave it my best, Coach."
He shrugs and walks away, right as his parting words leave yet another knife wound in her chest.
"I'd be damned if your best just isn't enough."
"Yo what, you gonna blow us off to go study again?" Rapunzel complains through Eugene's car window.
"I'm sorry but I really, really have to do well this term," Elsa says, arms flopping by her side, "I don't even know how long my dad's going to allow me to use the freakin' library if I don't keep things up."
The expression on Rapunzel's face softens, "Is this what it's about? Your dad?"
"-Sorry."
"No, no, don't apologise," Rapunzel opens the door, and draws Elsa into a hug, one she returns this time, "don't be too hard on yourself, alright?"
She savours the tightness of her embrace for a moment, resisting the urge to indulge in it more than she has to.
"I'll try."
"There is no try," Rapunzel mimics Yoda poorly, before she hops back into Eugene's Mustang, "Make it up to us! See you at the party!"
I wish.
Elsa holds her head low as she plods back to school. Her lungs still ache from the brutal track intervals, and there's nothing she wants to do more now than to sink into a depthless bed of infinite cotton wool and sleep away her worries. The algebra in her calculus textbook stares back at her like a foreign language. Test scores leading to her A- tucked away at the back. Darkness creeps within her soul when she remembers topping the class for that test. Outscoring everyone else only to receive an A-.
Your best just isn't enough.
Palms press against the ache in her temples. Her phone lights up. Elsa resists reading the message in case it's just Rapunzel mocking her with whatever she's eating at the moment. But a quick glance shows an email.
Comment on Fanfic - stars behind the night sky: Hey! I really liked this story, plzplz let me know if there's going to be another chapter because I'm hooked!
A grin breaks out on her face. It's just one comment out of hundreds, and her inbox is full of emails like this. She catches sight of her reflection in a windowpane. That genuine smile she'd forgot existed. Then again, how often do you smile anymore? She re-reads the comment again, poring over every single word. Realising that she really, sorely needed this today.
Fuck it, the studying can wait.
She pries open her Macbook. And pours every ounce of the day's brokenness into her words.
"And Cassandra's eyes betrayed all of the shattered dreams which plagued her since they met, 'Each night, beneath the star-studded sky. I look upon the Sirius stars. Forever intertwined in an eternal dance with each other. Oh my love, how I long to be in that timeless ballet with you through the centuries. Forever twinkling our place amongst the heavens' "