Work Text:
It was raining. It was Scotland, it always rained. But it was raining on that day. The day her world fell apart. Her life ended at twelve years old in that muddy field with clay covering her bare legs and pouring rain sticking the hair to her face. She sobbed louder than she ever had on that day, screaming at the misty distance hoping someone would hear her. No one did. Still no one hears her. There was something quite tragic about her survival. The final chapter of her life ended on that February day when she was twelve, the rest of her existence up until now was just the epilogue. What was happening now was not life, it hasn’t felt like life since then. It was simply existence. A long limbo until her body dies with her soul. Moving through time as an empty husk was easy if you could forget that you weren’t alive. If it wasn’t raining.
The thin window panes were rattling with the force of the downpour. Each time the glass thrashed against the frame it made her flinch. The noises were too similar. Oh, too similar to the sound she heard that day. That loud noise. The sharp crack that made her ears ring for hours afterward. Sometimes she still hears that ringing in the dead of night when she’s trying to sleep. She never gets to sleep.
She could count on one hand the number of hours she has slept in the eleven years since that day. It wasn’t true, she knew that. But she would be damned if she said it didn’t feel like it. She was never fully rested, always on the edge of teetering into hysteria. Day-by-day she tried to exist, managing her mania and depression as they came and went. But it was always in the back of her head. Lingering, looming. The dark figure of that event stood behind her at all times, invariably taller than her. The strong claws of that day grasped her shoulders, tight enough to bruise, intense enough to bleed.
Some days she couldn’t stand the sight of blood, other days she craved it.
On the days she couldn’t look at blood without heaving, it reminded her of the rain beating against her face in that field. On the days she needed to see blood, it reminded her that she had a body. Everything was black and white now, not the array of greys that her world was before that day. Now it seemed like everything was final, there was no nuance anymore.
Ada flinched again. Why did it have to sound so similar? Why couldn’t she just forget about it? That single moment replayed in her mind all too often. The running. The shot. The silence. Then, just her screaming. The air was so cold that day that Ada could see her breath as sobs racked through her entire body. As Ada sat there in her room (as far away from the window as possible) she could see her breath again. It felt like she was back in that field.
The window rattled louder. She let out an involuntary yell, much louder than she would have liked. Her hands frantically raked through her hair, getting caught on the tangles and knots that she couldn’t care less to brush. The rain made more noise. Ada flung her hands over her ears. God, it sounded just like it. The rain just didn’t stop. She tightened her grip on her ears, pressing as hard as possible. The noise didn’t stop.
Ada uttered a low scream that slowly turned into a quiet whine as all energy drained out of her body. She couldn’t even fight it anymore. The window ceased to be the loudest noise as another knocking started up. Slowly at first, but it got more frantic.
“Shut up!” She cried out in her most threatening tone, but it just sounded pathetic. Nothing sounded right anymore.
The knocking abruptly stopped, and her hands lowered hesitantly from her ears. The silence felt worse. “Open the door, please.” A beat. “Ada.”
The tears fell then. Fast and heavy, making tracks through her foundation and black smudges around the eyes. They wouldn’t stop now. Nor would she try to stop them. Ada was just too fucking tired. A few moments passed of just the quite frankly pathetic sound of her crying on the floor before the door flung open. The hallway breeze bristled the loose hair from her braids.
There were words spoken to her, but she couldn’t hear them over the rain. Hands gently touched her shoulders, cupped her cheek softly, a thumb wiped her tears. She felt loved, cared for. It was Mollie.
Mollie was the younger sister but she had always been the older soul of the two, always the one to balance out the existence of chaos that Ada found herself in. When they were three and eight years old respectively Mollie always insisted on holding Ada’s hand when they crossed the road, not for her own safety but for her sisters’. She always gave Ada what their father never gave either of them.
She pulled Ada closer to her chest, stroking her hair softly and whispering a Hindi lullaby that she vaguely recognised. It reminded Ada of their mother. Gods, why did everything lead back to her?
“You sound like mum.” Ada whispered, muffled into Mollie’s shoulder. Her voice was hoarse and cracked but Mollie heard it well enough. Mollie hummed quietly, pausing her singing momentarily. She smiled softly to herself, but Ada didn’t see that.