Chapter Text
"Help me or get out of the way!"
I flatten my back against the wall as my sister charges past, wincing at the shrillness of her voice that seems to pierce straight through my eardrums.
"Okay, Trina, geez. Why are you doing this anyway?" I trot down the last flight of stairs, turning pointedly to face her.
"It's gonna be the first party of the second semester, so it has to be awesome. And as a sophomore, I'm almost one of the upperclassmen, meaning I have to establish my popularity from the start," she declares proudly, tossing a golden curl over her shoulder, then grunting as she squeezes between the piano and the window, sending a picture frame clattering to the ground.
"My bad!"
"You know, saying "my bad" doesn't make it all better," I grump as I pick up the frame, pausing for a moment to glance at the picture of my family. Before my parents decided to practically ignore my sister and me and go on "business trips" every few weeks.
"I'm just trying to set up all the cool stuff for tonight."
"Yeah, and do you need to trash our house for this?"
"Sis, Tori, calm down," she saunters to me, a lofty glint brightening her countenance, "Mom and Dad are not here the entire weekend, and it's only Friday, so we'll get this cleaned up by the time they get back," she assures me.
"We'll?" I scoff, "I'm not helping."
"But Tori," she whines, and I plop down on my bright red couch, rolling my eyes, "You have to."
"Have to?"
"I'll give you ten bucks."
"Not enough. Fifty."
"Fine!" she pouts, standing with her arms akimbo, "Fifty."
"Okay then," I purse my lips, holding my hand out.
"Now?"
"Yes now," I scoff again, rolling my eyes so hard they practically roll into my skull, "I don't trust you."
"But I'm responsible."
"And you call forgetting the due date of three projects in a row responsible."
She stomps over to me, a scowl twitching on her lips, "In my defense-"
I stand up, slapping a hand over her mouth, "I'm going to my room."
"You're not gonna help me set up?"
"Nah, I'm good," I shake my head, eyeing the light bar that's already pulsing with colorful lights. "I don't go to Hollywood Arts. I don't think I'm invited. I'm not even old enough."
"But there'll be people your age there. Hollywood Arts does have a decent assortment of freshmen."
"I'm not interested in attending a party where a bunch of talented Hollywood high schoolers destined to be famous are going to crush the last of my self-esteem."
Before she can get another word out, I dart back up the stairs, taking two steps at once until I reach my room at the other end of the hallway. With a resigned sigh, I shut the door behind me and slump into my swivel chair, wincing at a distant crash followed by an ear-shattering shriek.
I'm so not taking responsibility for the mess.
I pull out my geometry homework, groaning at the numerous proofs that litter the textbook pages. Great.
I'm muttering theorems and postulates under my breath as I scribble them down when my sister barges in, "AAS Theorem, there should be an Angle-Side-Side Theorem because geometry is an as-"
"Tori!" Trina whisper-shouts, letting the doorknob bang into the wall like she usually does, chipping of more of the white paint that's already nonexistent.
"I thought I told you to knock!"
"Yeah, I know. But people are here!"
"And what do you want me to do about it?"
"Look, why don't you get changed and come downstairs so you don't go around looking like... that? It'll be fun!"
"Did you actually invite freshmen?"
"Well, like, two."
"Really?"
"Well, only cause her boyfriend is hot," she shrugs nonchalantly.
"Trina!" I snap.
"What?"
"I'm not going to change or go down there," I interrupt, as she opens her mouth again, "And you can tell everyone my room is off-limits, so I don't embarrass you."
She shuts her mouth with a snap, and nods, "Okay, bye!"
She turns around and sprints away.
"Close the door!" I scream, still slouched lazily in my chair.
"You close it!" she shrieks back, and I groan, dragging my feet to the door, which I proceed to deftly slam.
I'd say I hate her, but she's my sister, and I guess she keeps me from embarrassing myself because she's convinced she has talent, which is... highly debatable.
"Hey everyone!" I hear the shrill shout of Trina Vega, and I sigh, "THE LAST ROOM UPSTAIRS DOWN THE HALLWAY IS OFF-LIMITS, OKAY?"
And then the music turns on.
I recognize the song, and hum along to the first verse, probably more in key than my sister ever will be.
I really don't understand how she got into an Arts high school in the first place, but I'm not going to waste time pondering that, having wasted enough of my life.
After a couple of hours, I'm already hungry, which means I have to go down to fetch food. Great. That was something I overthought when locking myself in my room.
I open my door quietly, tiptoeing downstairs although I'm sure the music easily drowns out my footsteps.
Before long I'm at the refrigerator, and I pull it open, wincing at the light that glares in the dark room. I grab a wrapped sandwich I forgot to bring to school this morning, and I shut the fridge quickly.
I scan the party, looking for a way to sneak back to my room without being spotted. I slip behind the island counter and towards the back corner, where the staircase wraps around the wall. I'm rushing quickly to the first step only to slam into someone, who promptly stumbles backward and collapses.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry," I gasp, reaching out a hand, which the girl ignores. The room is dim but I can tell her skin is almost porcelain compared to my half-Latina bronze, and in the weak lights that filter from the light bar, it only glows. Her hazel hair falls in front of her eyes, obscuring the dazzling color that meets my gaze a second later.
Her eyes are almost a jay blue in the distorted lighting, and for a second, I just stand there, stunned into silence.
But she tears her gaze away from mine, and I shake my head. I reach down and place a hand on her shoulder, which she flings off with a hiss.
"Never touch me," she growls, slapping my hand away, and a inhale sharply when something shoots up my arm. I shrug it off as the fact that she hit me and retract my hand in resignation.
"Look, I'm sorr-"
She staggers to her feet and almost collapses, and when she looks at me again, I can see her face is a whitish pale, almost green, and her eyes swim with tears that drip slowly down her cheeks with an agony that practically bleeds from her eyes.
Lacking proper lighting, the tears, at first glance, resemble scarlet blood, but at a closer glance, it's excess mascara, which has caked on her cheeks.
Her knees buckle as she pushes herself up too fast, and I hook an arm under hers so she doesn't hit her head.
"Don't touch me," she slurs slightly, shoving me away weakly, and I notice a pink streak that highlights her brunette hair. Is she drunk? Isn't she a little young for that?
"Look-"
"Do you know where the bathroom is?" she grunts, and by the way she's swallowing rapidly with her eyes shut tight, I can tell she's going to vomit.
"Follow me," I lead her upstairs slowly, respecting the fact she doesn't want me to touch her. She takes one step at a time, slowly, gripping the railing so tight her knuckles are white.
"You okay?" I ask tentatively, but she doesn't answer, only dragging herself up a few more steps in a silence that rivals the party raging below.
When we finally traverse the stairs, I lead her as quickly as she can walk to my room, showing her to my personal bathroom. It's probably better than whatever bathroom they've probably already contaminated downstairs.
What? I'm not letting her vomit in a bathroom where they've made soup in the toilet bowl!
She stumbles in, collapsing in front of the toilet and vomits, expelling whatever she's consumed in the past hour or so. I rush in, flicking the lights on, grabbing her hair that almost falls to her waist, and pull it into a loose ponytail behind her head. I grip her hair lightly, but can't help but notice that despite the partying, it's still like silk, almost slipping through my fingers, and I have to refrain from stroking it.
She dry heaves over the bowl, clutching it to her chest like it's her lifeline, gagging as more tears streak from her eyes, perspiration beading along her forehead and neck.
"Can you... leave?" she chokes out, and I nod respectfully, handing her some of my make-up remover wipes and a wet towel, and quickly tucking her long hair into a ponytail with a scrunchie I have on my wrist.
She doesn't thank me, she doesn't utter another word, by I see the gratitude in her ocean eyes.
I back out almost awkwardly and shut the door, realizing I left my sandwich downstairs while helping this mystery girl up. And it hits me I don't know her name or anything about her.
She looks about my age, but her face is more mature, her eyes slightly smoky with makeup. She's dressed in a simple unbuttoned flannel and jeans, not exactly party attire, but then, by the way she treated me downstairs, I take it that she isn't typically a very cooperative or compassionate person.
I sit on my bed, frowning at this weird high that bubbles inside of me. I've never felt anything like it before, but I brush it off as having just seen a high school party.
I frown slightly. If she really is my age, meaning she's in ninth grade, does that mean she's one of the freshmen Trina invited? Because her boyfriend was attractive?
Something about that statement causes my blood to boil, and I fidget, crossing my ankles and twiddling my thumbs.
I stand to shut the door, effectively muffling the sounds of music and yells that reach me from the lower floor of my house, only to realize this girl has been in my bathroom for a while.
I step lightly over to the wooden door and push my ear against it, stiffening when I hear her almost panting. The breaths on the other side of the door are quick and ragged, so shallow I can't help opening the door to peek inside.
What I see has my heart jumping out of my throat, and she turns, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights.
Her breaths come quick and broken, her chest heaving and convulsing as she fights for air through the tears she’s drowning in. I meet her pained gaze, feeling an ice pick pierce my heart for this girl I don’t even know.
I step in, my gaze flickering over her body curled up against the cabinet, “Do you need anything?”
She winces, and my heart breaks for her, “Just, I don’t know, talk to me,” she manages, her voice weak but pleading, feeling something crumble inside of me at the sound of her agony.
“Hey,” I breathe, sitting down on the edge of my tub, laying her arm across my lap, “Whatever just happened down there, it’s all going to be fine sooner than you know. I’m aware I don’t know you, but I see you’re someone who holds grudges pretty easily. Just… you have to let it go,” I murmur.
“I can’t,” she admits, her breathing slowing down slightly.
“It’s easier that way,” I tell her, “Don’t keep it all inside. You’re going to blow up sooner or later, and it won’t be pretty. Trust me.”
She eyes me, her eyes flickering from head to toe, “How would you know?”
“I- I take medication for depression and anxiety,” I confess, and I’m not exactly sure why I’m telling a stranger things I’ve never told my closest friends, “I know how you feel.” But then, my friends aren’t the type to care.
She just looks at me, shaking her head as she voices my thoughts, “You don’t even know me. Why are you telling me this?”
I trust you , I want to say, but seeing that I’ve only known her for a few minutes, I find that a terrible idea. But oddly enough, I do. I trust a girl I don’t know the name of. Even then, I doubt she trusts a random girl she just met.
Instead, I sigh, “I’m only trying to help. And… maybe it’s the fact that I don’t know you that makes it easier to say it. And… it feels better having told someone… who sorta gets me, at least. Wanna talk about it?”
She shakes her head, shutting her eyes, breathing slowly through her nose.
"Hey, hey, hey," I whisper softly, swiping my thumb across her cheekbone to catch the singular tear that falls. She flinches at the sudden touch, and I yank my hand back, muttering a quick apology.
"No, uh, it's I've been raised to be wary of people, and just that anyone can betray me at any second, and I just can't deal with people, because I've been raised to— well not be scared of them, I guess, but to despise them, and never let anyone in, and God, I don't know why I'm telling you this. I shouldn't be telling anyone this. I don't want to tell you this-" she rambles, her hands slamming on the tiled floor as a sob squeezes out of her chest.
"Feels good to talk, doesn't it?"
She shrugs, already cautious again after her slip-up. "Sure."
"Think of five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing that you can taste," you say when she doesn't say anything else. "You're here. You're here and you're safe, and everything is- will be okay."
“Thank you,” she mumbles after a long stretch of near-silence in which her breathing becomes inaudible, and I prop my elbows onto my knees, chin in the palm of my hands.
I can tell she’s not someone who is thankful or remorseful easily, but I give her a small smile, and I feel something stir inside of me when she smiles hesitantly back.
I hold out my hand, and this time she takes it, pulling herself to her feet, “Really, thanks.”
“You don’t seem like someone who’d thank people,” I muse.
She laughs, and something drops in me at the sound of her husky chuckle, but I shake it off, as we sit down on my bed.
What is wrong with me?
“Can you turn off the light?” she requests, almost timidly, “It’s giving me a headache.”
I nod, standing up to hit both the bathroom and room light switches so we’re bathed in darkness, the only source of light the moon outside the window.
I wish I could see the stars. The light pollution in Southern California makes it impossible, though. But if I’m lucky, I get to catch a glimpse of Orion’s belt or the gentle glow of Jupiter or Venus in the distance once in a while.
"That's normal," I shrug, curling and uncurling my toes, because suddenly I'm hyperaware of the little distance between us despite the fact we're not touching, and that I've just met her— and God, something is wrong with me because something flutters— no, more than freaking flutters, something flaps in my stomach, and I fight the urge to grab it and wonder if I have food poisoning.
"Speaking of the fact I don't know you," I reach out my right hand, palm sideways, "I'm... Victoria," I tell her my full name, something I tell no one, but I tell her nevertheless because my mouth is moving without my consent, "but you can call me Vic."
For an unknown reason, something inside me doesn't want me to tell her what everyone else knows me as.
She takes my hand with her unbandaged one, grasping my hand firmly to shake it like we're meeting formally, "Call me... Lyn."
"As in... Carolyn?"
"Kinda."
I tip my head, just looking into her moonlit eyes like they're the only thing left in the world.
And in this instant, although the stars are overwhelmed by the light that radiates from the city, I can see an entire galaxy in those eyes. They're more than just blue, and I can tell now, they are vaguely green too. There is pain in them, thrashing and swirling and writhing and storming like the ocean this cerulean color so deeply resembles. And they reflect the sky full of stars, the whole universe that I cannot see.
She looks down, and I avert my gaze, suddenly aware my cheeks are burning.
She exhales sharply, finally looking back at me, "My boyfriend broke up with me. And my dad... he's never approved of him. And I don't want to admit he's right, because he's never been a father to me. He just... orders me around like I'm a slave. And..." her bottom lip quivers, and I bite my own to refrain from the word vomit that might just explode from me, "he hits me."
And if possible, I only feel my spirit fragment more, "Oh."
"I know the age of fourteen is probably too young to have a boyfriend, and too young to date or whatever. But I'm kind of a rebel, and I don't even know why," she looks at her lap, where her palms are facing up, almost like they are ready to catch the pain that swims in her eyes, catching the points of light, the stars, that are yet to fall from them.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, closing my eyes as I feel my entire body being seized by a chill that shoots up my spine.
She sighs, "Don't be. I liked him too much. But maybe... maybe I just needed someone, I guess. Like my entire life, no one's been It's why I don't trust people."
"Well, you're telling me," I point out, and she gives me a smile that reaches her eyes. Not only her eyes but my heart. Although I can only see her through the gentle moonlight that filters through the frigid glass, I can still see that she's breathtakingly beautiful.
I guess that's why she doesn't trust. She's probably easily taken advantage of. Or at least she was.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't know you, though. Makes it easier. I'll probably never see you again."
I don't know why that makes me disappointed.
The silence that sits between us is punctuated by the soft rumble of my stomach, and I flush, "Er... sorry... I'm just kinda hungry."
"Sorry I made you drop your sandwich," she pursed her lips, her teeth glinting as her lips parted in another smile.
"You said sorry," I notice.
"And?"
"You don't seem like a person who apologizes," I observe.
"I'm not," she says, almost matter-of-factly, "So don't take it for granted."
"I won't," I grin, feeling comfortable in this dimness.
"Good," I don't realize what's happening until I feel her hair tickle my face.
My heart stutters when I feel her head drop lightly on my shoulder.
"Hope you don't mind," she mumbles, and I smile to myself, letting my own head rest on hers slightly.
"I don't," I promise, her voice, which is slightly deeper than mine seeming to resonate into my bones.
"Good," she husks, "'Cause I'm not moving." I shiver at that, and I think she notices. "Cold?"
I shake my head, "Nah."
It's silent for a good few minutes and dammit, the silence is almost deafening because I long to hear the sound of her voice again, which is almost sultry when she talks softly.
"Thank you," she finally says again, "Really," and I hear her swallow.
"Don't worry about it," I reply, almost gasping out loud when her arm snakes around my waist.
She only wraps another arm around me, almost shaking as she pulls herself close. She definitely still has some alcohol in her system, and I get an inkling that if she were entirely sober, she would not be even letting me touch her.
We stay like this for a while, and although I feel that only minutes have passed, by the clock glaring on my nightstand, I know it's been hours. The silence that settles is only shattered by the occasional yowl from downstairs, and maybe a little hiccup from Lyn as her lungs finally relax. A periodic word or two slips from our tongues, and another few in reply, but the silence breaks through it until one of us has more to say.
"I have to go," she says, almost remorsefully, and I nod, lifting my head from hers, "He's probably waiting for me."
"He?"
"Boyfriend," she whispered, "Or ex. Whatever. He's walking me home."
"Thought you guys broke up?"
Am I jealous?
"Well, we've decided to be friends," she says dubiously, "For now. We're in the same friend group. And stuff."
"Oh."
She stands up, pulling out her phone, and I see that it's already a quarter after eleven.
"You don't go to Hollywood Arts, do you?"
I shake my head, "Sherwood High."
"Ah."
Without warning she embraces me, wrapping her arms around my torso. She's slightly taller than me, which makes it awkward for me to hug her back, but I do anyway, slipping my hands over her shoulders.
She clears her throat, stepping away, "I, er, I-I don't do that often. Uhm, not often being... never."
"No worries," I manage, her ocean eyes still breathtaking even after having seen them multiple times.
"What about your scrunchie?" she wonders, reaching behind her to pull it out of her hair, which falls over her shoulder in a silky waterfall.
"Keep it," I chew my bottom lip, gauging her reaction, inwardly delighted when she slips it over her wrist.
"Don't miss me," her eyes flicker to my face, and she leans forward to kiss me lightly on the cheek, but I turn my head slightly so the corner of her mouth grazes mine.
What did I just do?
She pulls back and studies me for a moment, her gaze lingering on my eyes for a second before she turns away with a wink I almost miss.
She opens the door, her hand hesitant on the doorknob, but she pulls it open as if it's the thing she's sure about most in this world, and she steps through the threshold.
She doesn't look back as the door swings shut behind her.
It's like she was never here.