Work Text:
Breathe in, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Breathe out.
Adaine’s breath dances in front of her in the winter air. Adaine buries her hands deeper into her pockets, trying to cling to any piece of warmth she can. There is often a thin line between healthy coping mechanisms and self-sabotage, and Adaine’s latest hobby is testing the boundaries.
In front of Adaine is the lot where her house used to stand. The foundation of the house is gone- the land has been wiped clean of any trace of a family home. There are a few blades of singed grass still standing, a testament to something having happened here, but other than that, there is only emptiness. It is a black hole in Adaine’s universe, taking history with it.
The houses on either side of the gap still stand. They are adorned with decorations for winter solstice. Through a curtained window, Adaine sees figures move through a living room. She hears faint sounds of a child's laughter and a mother’s voice. She stands and watches for a moment, letting herself lose herself in the scene. For a few seconds, there is only Adaine and the family who must love each other very much. Adaine blinks, and looks back at the space where her house used to be. She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a box of matches. She places them down in front of the empty lot, and walks away.
-
Adaine isn’t alone in the world. She knows this. She has evidence of this- her handful of friends currently lounge around Jawbone and Sandralynn’s home. They are loud and they are bustling and they are carefree. Adaine watches them, thinking that maybe if she closes her eyes, she can absorb some piece of that.
Here’s the thing: it is natural for different friendships to form within a group. There’s Fig and Gorgug, who are in the same band, and there’s Riz and Fabian, who have something going on, and then there is Kristen, who is never seen without Tracker by her side. Which is great. Adaine loves seeing her friends flourish, and come alive with each other- she just wonders where she stands in all of this. Adaine, in retrospect, should be used to this by now. Her upbringing was a lesson in being “other than”. And yet, while Adaine is well acquainted with being alone, she has not managed to make a friend out of loneliness.
“Hey, Adaine, you want some?” Fig asks. Fig is so at ease. Fig, who is beautiful and cool and could easily be popular if she wanted to. She is popular- there are thousands of people who would kill to be in Adaine’s position: adoring fans with posters of Fig’s face plastered to their walls, fans who would drop all their savings on tickets for a show, fans who scream Fig’s lyrics out in their rooms when they think nobody can hear. Adaine wonders what all of that is like- to have physical evidence that somebody is there, somebody is watching, somebody cares.
Adaine looks at the clove in Fig’s hand, gives a small smile, and shakes her head. Not her scene. No, Adaine is the kind of girl who doesn’t drink at parties and gives people lifts home and doesn’t smoke. She’s responsible- which feels like another word for skirting around the edges of fun, but never quite managing to break it’s barriers. She will settle for second hand enjoyment for the time being.
Fig stands up and walks over to Adaine anyway. She drops down beside her, and lays her head on Adaine’s shoulder. Her horns poke into Adaine slightly, but Adaine won’t say anything.
“I’ve been writing a song about you,” Fig says.
“Oh yeah? What’s it called?” Adaine asks.
“It’s a working title,” Fig says, and seems to be mulling over the words in her mouth, before coming out with, “I’m calling it Roll For Panic Attack.”
“Haha,” Adaine says dryly, “Very funny.”
“You don’t like it?” Fig says, and Adaine notices that Fig seems genuinely affronted.
“No, it’s just-”
“I’ll change it,” Fig decides, “How does, ‘I Have Two Fists And My Bitch Sister Has One Face, You Do The Maths’ sound?”
Adaine smiles, and it’s the kind of genuine smile that her mother would tell her off for, tell Adaine it made her face look quite garish and unladylike , but it’s always the smile that slips out around Fig. Smiling is easy if it’s Fig.
“Much better. I mean, you might want to think about making it a little more concise, but I think you get the message across quite well.”
“Great,” Fig grins, and then getting up, “Hey, Gorgug, about that song…”
Fig rejoins Gorgug on the other side of the room, and Adaine is alone again.
-
Adaine is nine and she watches as her mother fusses over Alewyn. Alewyn, who is already beautiful without even trying, who could have won child pageants, who has a smile that glints like the blade of a knife and a temper than can cut just as deep.
Adaine hates parties. Alewyn seems to relish in them. Alewyn was built for attention. Adaine sometimes wonders if Alewyn isn’t elven at all, if instead she is part machine, and compliments and adoration keeps her system running.
“And of course, they’ll all be asking about how your exam for staying on at Hudol went,” Adaine’s mother says, a clothing pin between her teeth as she stitches up a loose hem on Alewyn’s dress. Alewyn stands perfectly still as her mother bustles about her, like a perfect mannequin doll. Sometimes Adaine looks at Alewyn it hurts. It’s like there was a limited supply of perfection that could be passed down between the two of them, and Alewyn used it all up on the first try. There are parts of them that look similar, sure, but it just makes it all so much worse. Looking at Alewyn is like looking at what Adaine could have been, should have been, but never made the cut.
“I’ll just tell them how easy it was, mother,” And Alewyn’s eyes flicker over to Adaine, “Easy for some , at the very least.”
Adaine’s heart constricts in her chest. She grips at the sides of her jumper. She still has time left before her exam. Years, even. She’ll be fine. There’s still time, still time, still time, still time-
Adaine’s mother pauses to glance at Adaine. Her eyes travel painfully slowly over Adaine’s clothing.
“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Adaine’s mother says, “I buy you so many nice things , Adaine, darling. You’ve got to make an impression.”
“It’s comfortable,” Adaine says, and feels her voice barely break a whisper.
“You can wear that later, darling. Nobody’s going to respect you if you’re dressed like some hand-me-down wood-elf. You could put a little effort in? For me, hmm?”
Adaine makes the effort. She hates dresses. She hates how they hang on her, how her body doesn’t really feel built for skirts or pleats or pink. She stands in the corner at the family party. She smiles and bites her tongue and gives all the right answers. Alewyn sweeps around the guests, almost dancing, laughing and tossing her hair back like a show-pony. She makes it look so easy.
Halfway through the party Adaine watches as Alewyn plucks a tray of finger-food from one of the waiting staff and practically floats over to Adaine. Adaine feels a wave of relief wash over her- maybe Alewyn’s come over to talk to her, to alleviate her of this social circle of hell, maybe-
“Make yourself useful,” Alewyn hisses through a perfect smile, “And hand these out, will you? It’s getting embarrassing, watching you mope around.”
Alewyn pushes the tray into Adaine’s hand and saunters off. Adaine can feel her cheeks burn hot as people steal glances at her. There are too many people watching. There are too many eyes. What are they thinking? What must they be thinking ? Failure, failure, failure. The word rings out loud and clear in Adaine’s head until there isn’t room for any other thoughts. Embarrassment. Embarrassment. Failure. Good for nothing-
There’s something wrong with Adaine’s chest. Adaine clutches the edges of the tray. She must be having a heart attack. She’s going to die. Something’s wrong. She can’t breathe and her heart is too fast and the room is spinning and she’s going to die and her heart shouldn’t be doing this and-
Adaine drops the tray and flees.
-
Breathe out, six, seven, eight.
Recovery, as it turns out, isn’t a straight line pointing upwards. Adaine presses her pen into her notebook so hard the ink starts to blot. It’s frustrating. Adaine has the cure, has the medicine, has the breathing exercises. She has Boggy and she goes on walks and she’s even started trying to meditate- and yet. Her heart continues to beat out of control, or memories creep in, or thoughts get too loud. This shouldn’t be happening. She’s found the cure- so why isn’t it working?
“Hey,” There’s a voice from above Adaine, and she lifts the pen of the page. A cup is put down in front of her, and Adaine looks up. Fig smiles down at her, “You were like, studying for a really long time so I got you some coffee.”
Adaine looks at the cup, which has peppermint mocha, Adeyene , scribbled on the side. Adaine snorts.
“Is that not your order? I can go back,” Fig says, pausing half-way through drawing the chair out beside Adaine.
“No, no, it’s my order. It’s just that you gave them my name.”
“Well, it’s for you, isn’t it?” Fig says, and swings down next to Adaine, facing her instead of the table so that their knees touch.
“Thank you,” Adaine says through a smile, “I didn’t know you knew my coffee order.”
Fig looks momentarily confused, “Of course I do. It’s you.”
Adaine looks at Fig’s face for a moment- tries to figure out what she’s thinking, but there’s nothing but pure Fig in that expression, so she turns back to her notes and resumes studying. Fig brings out her own books, takes a few notes, and quickly gets distracted. She turns to Adaine’s notes, and begins to draw little doodles on them. Simple, at first- frogs and orbs and bass guitars, and then more elaborate ones: Porter being pulled from Adaine’s jacket of useful things (which Fig has renamed un-useful on the drawing), Gorgug dunking Riz through a basketball hoop, Fig and Adaine laying next to each other in a grassy field.
Adaine hates being distracted- but this doesn’t feel like a distraction. She watches Fig’s face, calm for once with concentration, picturesque. Adaine’s heart picks up, and she turns to look at her own notes. Breathe in, two, three, four.
-
Adaine is eleven.
She doesn’t know when, and she doesn’t know why, but suddenly her classmates are singing schoolyard chants about kissing in trees and cooties. The words boyfriend and girlfriend become commonplace, and it’s like the world has been flipped upside down, and Adaine has been left behind.
Looking at her male counterparts, Adaine doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. They’re grimy and they play too rough and they swear like champions. They’re loud, and Adaine hates noise.
Adaine is bombarded with the same question- who do you like? Who do you like? Who do you like? She brushes it off like an annoying insect, but it keeps buzzing around. Why would she like any of the boys in her class?
It’s okay . Adaine looks up. There is Samanthia Gindburg. High elf. Samanthia is the kind of girl who does not talk to Adaine. Samanthia has friends. Lots of them. Samanthia is the beacon of her class at Hudol. When she speaks people listen. She walks as though gravity thought she were too lovely to pay her any mind. She laughs like she has swapped her voice box for bells, and when she laughs, Adaine doesn’t want her to stop. She makes Adaine nervous, but Adaine doesn’t know why. If you tell me who you like, I won’t tell anyone.
Adaine shakes her head. She has nobody. Who she likes. She guesses.
Samanthia tilts her head and smiles. Do you want to hang out with me? I have a game that the other girls don’t want to play.
Adaine nods, and that’s how it starts. They play pirates. They play warriors and soldiers and adventurers. Adaine shows Samanthia how to cast one or two basic spells, and the wide look in her eyes fills Adaine with a sense of pride that she never gets to feel. Adaine is wanted.
Samanthia stays over one night. Adaine’s mother loves her, of course. Alewyn even raises an attentive eyebrow when Samanthia talks of shopping and dresses and books that she likes. Adaine feels herself beaming, as if her family's approval of Samanthia is approval of herself. She picked this friend. She has this wonderful friend- and by association, Adaine must have something wonderful about her, too.
Samanthia and Adaine stay up too late and they giggle and swap stories. They talk about the boys in their class. Adaine makes crude remarks about them and Samanthia laughs, tells her to not say such horrible things about them , but still laughs along anyway. And then Samanthia is facing Adaine, and her eyes are wide and her hair is falling over one cheek and her lips are pink. And for once, Adaine’s heart doesn’t pick up. It slows down.
Are you sure, Samanthia asks, you don’t have anyone you like?
Adaine looks at Samanthia. She wants to push her hair back. She wants Samanthia to laugh. She wants Samanthia to look at her and see her. And in that moment, there is only one answer.
I think - Adaine stumbles over her words, I think I like you.
Samanthia doesn’t say anything. She gives Adaine a tight smile, and suggests they go to sleep. Adaine’s heart starts thudding again.
Samanthia? But there’s no response. Samanthia? Did I do something wrong? Did I say the wrong answer? Samanthia, please. I wasn’t serious. I was joking. Just joking. Please believe me. Believe me. Please, please, please-
The next day at school Samanthia looks straight through Adaine. She does not sit next to Adaine, or play with her during their break. She does not swap notes or tap Adaine’s shoe with her own. It is if, overnight, Adaine has turned invisible.
Samanthia returns to the gaggle of popular girls who know how to tell jokes and how to hitch up the skirts of their school uniform and never stutter. Once again, the order of the food chain has been restored, and Adaine is at the bottom where she belongs.
Adaine is walking through the hallways of Hudol when she hears muffled sounds of laughter coming from round a corner up ahead of her. There is Samanthia’s laugh, only this time, there are no bells chiming. This laughter is filled with cruelty and mockery. Adaine begins to creep closer towards the corner, until a voice comes into focus.
Yeah, she was really weird. She was desperate to be my friend. I don’t know why she thought I liked her. I was just hanging out with her because I pitied her. But I guess there’s a reason she doesn’t have any friends.
Adaine pledges to be alone and stay that way.
-
“I don’t think you understad,” Adaine says, clutching her essay between her fists so hard that the paper crumples and begins to shake, “I need this to be an A. I really, really need this.”
Zeneer, the professor for applicational magic, sighs and sits back in his chair.
“Adaine, look. You got a B. A high B. In fact, you graded higher than anyone else in the class. You should be pleased with yourself,” he says.
Adaine shakes her head. Numbers swirl around in her mind- 78, 3 marks off of an A. A B that will pull her average down if she doesn’t ace the next exam. She’ll need at least a 91, or for a solid A she’ll need a 98. If she studies for 3 hours a day for the next 12 days maybe she can swing it-
“Look,” Adaine says, trying to keep her voice calm and steady, “I worked harder than any kid in this class. I spent hours on this. I have more sources than anyone else, and I actually read them instead of just tacking them on-”
“Hey, Adaine,” Zeneer interrupts, and leans forward to rest his chin on his hands, “You work hard, and I appreciate that. You’re intelligent too, and it shows in your work. Your essay was very logical, and clear. The issue here is that I think you’re so scared of getting the wrong answer that you’re too afraid to think outside the box.”
“If you’re going to critique me, critique my work, and not my character,” Adaine says, losing control over her voice, and she flinches at the cracks.
Zeneer’s face is immovable as he says, “That was a critique of your work.”
And Adaine has two choices now: to beg for a chance to rewrite the paper, to get down on her knees and grovel, to destroy herself and her dignity over three marks- or she can ditch the class and have a panic attack in the hallway. And while Adaine hates panicking, she hates begging more. Begging never seems to work, it only ever chips a small part of her soul away and crumbles it to ash, and she is left without results and feeling just a little bit more empty than she did before. So Adaine makes an executive decision to leave the essay on Zeneer’s desk and to walk out of the classroom.
Adaine slams the door behind her and crumples against the wall. She feels herself reach for her backpack- she needs her medication, needs to stop feeling all of this so intensely, and she knows she’s not having a heart attack and she knows she’s not about to die but it doesn’t stop her body from feeling that way. With a sinking feeling Adaine realises she’s left her backpack on her desk. Adaine’s legs buckle beneath her and she slides to the floor, shaking and sobbing and snotty.
Adaine loses track of time- it’s hard to know how many seconds have passed when she’s focusing all of her energy on remembering how to breathe- when Adaine feels a hand on her shoulder. Adaine looks up and there’s Fig’s face, wide-eyed but comforting in its familiarity.
“Hey, hey, Adaine, are you okay? What’s going on?” Fig asks.
Adaine opens her mouth to give an explanation, but all that comes out is a choked breath and then a sob.
“Do you have Boggy with you?” Fig asks. Adaine shakes her head. Fig blinks a few times, and runs a hand through her hair.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Uh. Look, I was- I was heading to the bathroom, do you think you could come with me? I’m sorry, I’m bad at this,” Fig says, and offers Adaine a hand.
Adaine sniffs, hastily wipes at the stream of tears on her face with a sleeve and then grabs Fig’s hand. With a surprising amount of strength, Fig hurls Adaine up. It’s weird, Adaine thinks through jumbled thoughts, Fig always seems to magically appear when she’s at her worst. Adaine doesn’t believe in fate or cosmic signs, but this is starting to feel like one. Adaine doesn’t mean to, but suddenly she’s thrown her arms around Fig’s shoulders and buried her face into the crook of her neck. Fig is strong and warm and comforting all at once, and after a beat Adaine feels Fig’s arms wrap around her back. Adaine can feel Fig’s heartbeat through her shirt, slow and steady, and slowly the rhythm seeps into her own chest. Fig stays with Adaine, wrapped up in her arms, until the sobbing stops, until her breath stops catching, and everything is quiet. Fig only lets go when Adaine does.
Fig puts her hands on Adaine’s shoulders and gives a small smile and says, “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?”
-
Fig has Adaine sat on the edge of the sink, and has placed herself in between Adaine’s legs. Fig has armed herself with tissues and half a sandwich that she found in her bag and jokes. Adaine’s eyes are sore from the crying and her brain feels mushy and clouded over, but she laughs when Fig makes her. Adaine can keep the anxiety at bay by focusing on Fig; her eyelashes, the tip of her nose, the freckle next to her mouth.
“Aren’t,” Adaine starts, and sniffs, before continuing, “Isn’t your teacher going to wonder where you are?”
Adaine looks down at the bathroom pass in her hand that she’s been fiddling with. Fig had discarded it as soon as they had walked into the bathroom, and Adaine had picked it up on instinct, knowing of the high probability that Fig would have forgotten it otherwise. It’s also keeping her hands busy, so Adaine can’t complain.
“Eh, they won’t care. I’m the best non-barbarian in that class, I’m doing fine,” Fig says and flashes a grin, “Hey, do you want me to do your eyeliner? I always feel like a badass with a bit of makeup on.”
Adaine shrugs, and Fig takes this as a yes, and starts rummaging through her bag.
“Real dick move on your teacher’s part,” Fig says, and then stands up with a flourish, holding a kohl eyeliner pencil in her hand, “I bet your essay was totally worth an A. You’re like, the smartest person I know.”
“Thanks,” Adaine says weakly. Fig steps forwards, putting a hand on Adaine’s thigh to shift it outwards as she moves in closer. The skin underneath Adaine’s jeans burns with electricity.
Fig stares at Adaine’s eyes, inches away from her face. Adaine feels her breath catch at the proximity. All her senses are locked onto Fig. Fig’s scent is suddenly overwhelming, and Adaine can feel the heat of Fig’s body. Fig takes Adaine’s jaw in one hand, and then uses the other to start tracing the edges of Adaine’s eyes with the eyeliner. Her tongue sticks out of her mouth slightly in concentration, and there is a deafening silence as Fig works.
“There,” Fig says quietly, so close that Adaine can feel her breath. There is a moment, a moment where there is electricity and expectation and an answer that would be yes if either of them asked- and then Fig steps back.
Fig admires her work, and then presses her lips together. A small snort escapes her, and Adaine feels horrified.
“What? What is it?” Adaine says, and turns to look at her own reflection.
Adaine looks like a sad raccoon. While Fig can pull off the look of thick, smudged eyeliner, Adaine looks like a little girl who’s been set loose in her mother’s vanity drawer.
“Oh my god!” Adaine exclaims.
“Listen, it’s not that bad,” Fig says, trying to keep her voice flat, but humour creeps it’s way in and suddenly she starts laughing. Adaine moves her eyes from her own horrified reflection to Fig’s. Adaine catches Fig’s eye and suddenly Adaine can’t help but think of how ridiculous this whole situation is, how ridiculous she looks, and how this is all Fig’s fault- and a bubble of laughter escapes from her throat. She laughs and she laughs and laughs until it takes her over completely, until every time she tries to calm herself down all it takes is one glance at Fig and she’s set off again. Adaine’s chest aches, and she struggles to breathe, but it’s different than usual- it feels good.
It takes a good few minutes for them to calm down.
“Hey, Adaine?” Fig says, her voice creeping back down to normality. Whatever Fig is about to ask, Adaine knows that she’ll say yes.
“Hmm?”
“Do you want to grab some ice-cream after school today?” Fig asks, and weirdly, Fig looks nervous. Adaine can’t remember the last time she’s seen Fig look nervous .
“Yeah, sure,” Adaine says, and then rubbing at one eye and having her hand come away streaked with black, “Now give me a makeup wipe so I can get this off.”
“Oh, I don’t bring makeup wipes to school,” Fig says, far too nonchalantly.
“You what?”
-
Adaine is fourteen and she’s sitting in a row of desks among all of her classmates, and a few extra people not clad in Hudol uniform.
Adaine waits for the entrance exam paper to be placed on her desk. She’s ready, she thinks. All the late night study sessions, all the cue cards that she stuck to every inch of her bedroom walls, every mind map has lead to this moment. She’s ready, she’s ready, she’s ready.
The student in front of her is incessantly tapping their foot up and down, their entire leg vibrating. It’s highly distracting, and Adaine can’t stop watching. Up, down, up, down, up down. Adaine’s throat constricts. It’s getting annoying. That student should really stop. Isn’t someone going to tell them to stop?
Adaine doesn’t remember the next few moments. She remembers a vague series of events. First her heart picking up, and then her breath feeling too thin, and too thick, until she can’t breathe, and oh god, this is what a heart attack feels like, this is too much, she has to get out, has to leave, has to-
And suddenly, Adaine is sitting in the nurse's office. It’s one ‘o’ clock, which can’t be right, because if it’s one, she should be sitting in the exam hall, halfway through her exam. But she’s not. She’s here.
“You had a panic attack love,” The nurse says, smiling sadly, and Adaine’s head begins to spin. Even if she raced back now, her mind thick with fog and her heart aching in her chest, there wouldn’t be enough time. She’s failed the exam. She’s failed the Hudol entrance exam.
How is she going to tell her parents?
-
Adaine and Fig sit in Basar’s ice cream parlour. Fig has an elaborate banana split, while Adaine nurses a milkshake. The blue neon lights illuminate Fig’s face, casting a glow of purple against her red skin. Adaine is not a stranger to admiring Fig. Fig is stylish and cool and born to be a rock-chick, but this feels different. She looks softer, somehow. Pretty. Really, really, pretty.
“No, listen,” Fig says, and waves her spoon around with such vigour that Adaine is worried that she’ll take someone’s eye out if it slips from her grasp, “I’ve been practicing and I’ve gotten really good. Trust me. Here, give me your hand.”
Adaine keeps her hand firmly on the table as she says, “I don’t believe that someone’s destiny is inscribed on their palm, Fig. There’s magic in this world, sure, but this is just a bunch of creases.”
“Trust me!” Fig says, and she reaches over and takes Adaine’s hand anyway and turns it over. Fig’s own hands are rough, her fingertips calloused, but her touch is soft and careful. Adaine watches Fig, who is staring down at her palm with an immense amount of concentration that’s unheard of for Fig.
“Okay, miss fortune teller. What does my future hold?” Adaine asks, allowing herself a little bit of sarcasm.
Fig looks up, and she smiles.
“The stars say,” Fig leans back, still holding onto Adaine’s hand, and with a dramatic flourish says, “That everything is going to be okay.”
“Hmm,” Adaine hums, “How can the stars be so sure?”
Fig considers this for a moment, and then: “Because I’m here. And I’ll wait with you until it is.”
And then, in Fig fashion, she leans forward and takes a big sip of Adaine’s milkshake through Adaine’s straw.
-
Parents day is... interesting.
Adaine had planned to spend the day with Kristen. Kristen understands what it’s like to be ditched by shitty parents, but Kristen also has a girlfriend with a pretty cool dad, and so Kristen had looked at Adaine with an apologetic smile and joined Tracker and Jawbone.
Adaine sits alone in her classes, trying to block out her surroundings. Rationally, Adaine knows she can’t be the only student alone, but it feels that way. She feels like a black hole, sucking the festivities out of the air around her.
She tries to find silver linings. At least she isn’t Gorgug, who flushes a dark green and sinks deeper into his seat each time his parents pipe up with “helpful” information during class. At least she isn’t Fabian, who, through his puffed chest and bravado, is looking at Hallariel with an expression that says lovemelovemelovemeloveme.
She can’t look at Riz, who looks at Sklonda with so much trust. It’s weird, seeing Sklonda here. She and Riz are so alike in their mannerisms and their phrasing. They look so similar, too. The archetypal mother and son. Adaine’s stomach churns.
Halfway through the day, during lunch, Adaine is considering ditching school and washing her hands of the whole ordeal. The classes are disrupted, anyway, it wouldn’t be like she was missing out on much. There’s a hollowness gnawing at her stomach and she really, really needs it to go away.
Adaine feels like she’s drifting as she stands up and walks out of the canteen. Reality swims around her, just out of reach.
“Adaine! Adaine, hey!”
Adaine turns towards the sound of her name. It’s Fig, running up to her, trying to catch her breath.
“Where are you going?” Fig asks.
“Not feeling well, I thought I’d go home,” Adaine mumbles. Fig pauses, and then gives her a toothy grin.
“You’re heading back to the house? I’ll come with then,” Fig says.
Adaine frowns.
“Really? I mean- it’s parents day. This is totally your thing,” Adaine says cautiously, but Fig just shrugs, “You don’t have to come with me. I’m fine. You should enjoy being with your mom and your- dads.”
Fig laughs and takes Adaine hand in her own, “It’s fine. I started to feel like I was showing off, y’know? Like, hey guys! Look how many dads I have! No, they’ll live. I’m coming with you.”
Adaine doesn’t have the energy to protest.
“Hold on,” Fig says, and she darts off into the canteen. Adaine watches as Fig has an animated conversation with Sandralynn and Gorthalax, gives each of them a brief hug, and then skips back over.
“You ready to go?” Fig asks, and Adaine nods. Fig wraps an arm around Adaine’s shoulder, pulls her closer, and they walk away, away, away from it all.
-
Adaine collapses on her bed as Fig walks around her room, poking at the few objects scattered around. Adaine watches as Fig picks up her orb, nearly drops it, and promptly places it back down. Eventually, Fig looks over to Adaine. There’s a flash of hesitation on her face before Fig walks over to the bed, and lies down next to Adaine.
“Hey,” Fig says gently, “You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” No.
“Do you just want to lie in silence for a bit? Or do you want me to distract you? Hey, do you want to see my Jawbone impression? I think I can disguise myself as him if you give me a minute,” Fig offers. Adaine smiles and turns her face to look at Fig. There’s that feeling again that comes with being close to Fig, and Adaine can’t place her finger on what it is. That feeling of a question hanging in the air, the feeling of being ready to jump.
“I don’t mind,” Adaine says, “I’m just feeling worn out from today.”
“I’m sorry,” Fig whispers.
“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s-” Adaine doesn’t like talking about her family in front of her friends, but in the quiet of her bedroom, in Fig’s company, she feels safe, “It’s my family who owe me an apology. I just know I’m never going to get one.”
“What’s the deal with your family?” Fig asks. Adaine resists the urge to laugh coldly and settles for a shrug instead.
“Where do I start?” Adaine sighs, “I don’t know. There’s a lot of things I could say, but in the end it boils down to this: they left me. They left me and they didn’t care where I’d end up, and they didn’t check if I was okay. And it’s really starting to feel like they don’t care at all. I shouldn’t care. They’ve given me no reason to care.”
Adaine feels her voice catch and a familiar heat begins to pool behind her eyes. Adaine squeezes her eyes shut, but a tear makes its way down her cheek. Adaine feels Fig take her hand and squeeze it. “But I do. I really do.”
“Hey, Adaine, it’s okay,” Fig says, “Hey, cry if you need to, okay? It’s okay if you cry. It’s just me.”
Adaine takes a breath and she feels her resolve crumble. Tears start to stream down her face, dampening the pillow next to her. They get in her nose and her mouth and her ear, and she must look a mess, but she can’t stop it. Adaine feels a small whimper escape from her, and Fig wipes at her face gently.
“I know I have a lot of people now,” Fig says, “But I… sometimes I get scared that they’re going to leave me. I think that comes with the territory of finding out that your dad isn’t your real dad, and your real dad left. And your real dad knew you existed, but he didn’t come to get you.”
Adaine nods, and Fig pushes a strand of Adaine’s hair out of her face before continuing, “Sometimes I have dreams where he leaves again and just doesn’t come back. But I’ve learnt to cling onto who I have. You can cling onto me, Adaine. Your family is really shitty and I’m sorry- but I’m not going anywhere. You can cling onto me.”
And Fig is ineloquent and stumbles over her words but Adaine knows that Fig feels every word that she says.
“It’s just,” Adaine sniffs, “I still feel so angry with them. I’m angry that they took the first opportunity to save Alewyn. I’m angry that even Fabian thinks Alewyn is worth saving. I’m mad that everyone else is tripping over themselves to save each other. I’m not making any sense, I’m sorry, but I just- when is it my turn? When are they coming back to save me, Fig?”
Fig opens her mouth to say something, and then seems to think better of it. There is a moment of silence, when Fig finally speaks up.
“You’re angry? Then get angry. You want to know why I got into rock? Because I had all this anger inside and I didn’t know how to deal with it,” Fig says, and sits up. Adaine wipes at her nose with her sleeve.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t really see myself as a rock-chick,” Adaine says.
Fig gives a half-smile, “You don’t know until you try. Do you trust me?”
Fig holds out her hand, and Adaine looks at it. There is a second where Adaine wonders what Fig is about to do, and then she takes it.
Fig leads Adaine to her room and sits her down on her bed. Fig walks over to a stereo that’s hooked up to two large speakers. Fig fiddles around on the stereo, and suddenly a whirlwind of electric guitar and bass and drums fills the room.
“Wait here!” Fig says, and she walks out.
Adaine sits with the music, the noise loud enough to drown out all of her thoughts. It’s not enjoyable, but there’s something cathartic in it.
Fig reappears with a handful of plate, and brandishes them at Adaine.
“Throw them!” Fig shouts over the music.
“What?” Adaine shouts back.
“Throw them! At the wall! Get the anger out!” Fig yells.
Adaine looks at the plates in Fig’s hands. She looks at the walls. Gingerly, she takes a plate. The bass is so loud that Adaine can feel it in her chest like a second heartbeat. It’s so overwhelming, and maybe this is what Adaine needs, to be so overwhelmed that everything else disappears. The music pumps through her veins, and Adaine takes a breath, and hurls the plate at the wall. It shatters against the wall with a crack . Adaine feels something in her chest. Something like exhiliteration.
Adaine takes another plate and throws it. It flies through the air, like a wingless bird, before breaking in two as it collides with its target. Adaine looks back at Fig, wild-eyed, who grins at her.
“Yeah! Get into it!”
Adaine takes another plate. She thinks of Alewyn’s face. Crack . The Hudol entrance exam. Crack . Samanthia. Crack. Her parents. The plate falters in her hand. Adaine looks over at Fig, who nods at her, as if she can read Adaine’s thoughts. Adaine gathers all the strength she can, takes a deep breath, and hurls the plate.
Crack .
Adaine goes for another plate, and then falters when she realises that she’s smashed all of them. Fig notices this, and turns to the rest of her room, scouring for something.
Fig grabs her bass guitar, and holds it out to Adaine. Adaine stares at her.
“Fig,” Adaine says, loud enough to be heard over the song that continues to wail in the background, “I can’t smash your bass.”
“Sure you can!” Fig says, “It’s no biggie. I’ll just get a new one.”
“But- that’s your bass . The one you took on tour. I’ve heard you threaten people over this bass,” Adaine says.
“Yeah,” Fig says, and then, quieter, but just audible, “But it’s you.”
Adaine takes the bass from Fig’s hand. She looks at it, it’s strings, and she looks at Fig. And then she places the bass down on Fig’s bed.
“I’m being serious,” Fig says, and suddenly Adaine’s grabbed Fig and pulled her towards herself. This time, there isn’t a question, there’s just an answer, and Adaine let’s herself look at Fig’s lips, looks up to see Fig looking at her own.
“So am I,” Adaine says, and she’s kissing Fig, and she’s got her hands in Fig’s hair and she can feel Fig’s hand on her lower back and there are Fig’s lips and the bass from the music is still rattling her bones and oh god, Fig’s lips.
When Fig breaks away, panting and flushed, Adaine doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful.
“Is that okay?” Adaine says, and Fig nods feverishly. Fig leans in again but Adaine places a finger on her mouth, stopping her, and Fig whines.
“Hey, Fig?” Adaine says, and suddenly Fig looks panicked, opens her mouth to say something, but Adaine cuts her off, “Door closed.”
Fig looks at open the door, back at Adaine, and grins.
“Yeah,” she says, “Door closed.”