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Courtney wants to break away.
By that, she means she wants to make the most drastic change she has possibly ever made in her whole nearly 19 years of life. She wants to cut off every remnant of negativity and suffering so she can have a fresh start. Say goodbye to the thirst for power, status, money that have only left her with less than she initially had and hello to the incessant chase for happiness. She wants to craft herself a new identity, basically.
She already cut ties with her parents after realizing they only ever viewed her as a trophy to parade around and not a person with needs and feelings. They left her only with her personal belongings and enough money to cover therapy for a couple months, agreeing to let her leave their house as long as she never publicly exposed their feud. She felt like spitting in her father's face when he said that, a cruel reminder of how much more important his image as a respectable and successful business man was to him than his own daughter. But she ultimately agreed, mostly because she couldn't afford having to face a defamation lawsuit when she had just gotten her BPD diagnosis.
It was a hard pillow to swallow. Courtney considered lying while getting tested, but there was a part of her that ached to finally make sense of what had been going on in her head for most of her teenage years, to have her pain be validated when suppressing it was no longer a viable option. She still isn't fully accepting of the fact that she has a mental disorder with a growing influence on her behavior that went undetected for so long and forced her to take shit like antidepressants to function more closely to the average human being, but like her therapist says, ‘one step at a time’.
She's now sitting in front of the fireplace with Heather by her side, watching as amber flames melt the colors of photographs and framed pictures and turn them into an ugly, ashy grey. She can't quite read the expression on the ravenhead's face as her memories of her family, albeit ones that cause her resentment, but she can't help feeling the neutrality in it is forced.
After that, she is surprised to see the girl pull a folded dress out from the box where the now burned pictures used to be, eyes darting between it and the fire.
“Are you…throwing that in as well?” Courtney asks, brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity.
Heather doesn't respond. She takes a big, deep breath, a pensive look on her face. A few seconds later, it morphs into a scowl and she grips the dress tightly in her hands before aggressively throwing it into the flames.
Courtney's eyes widen as she watches the dress burning. Heather seems to be slightly shocked by what she just did as well, but brushes it off pretty quickly, turning her attention to the brunette beside her.
“Your turn.” she tells her. Courtney feels her chest tighten. She almost forgot she also had her own box of memories to get rid of.
Swallowing dryly, she reaches for it. There isn't much in there, she had way less pictures with her family than Heather since her parents barely were around. Besides, both girls decided to keep the ones of contests they won, recitals and ballet dances, as well as the awards and prizes they had earned. Like Heather said when she suggested this, ‘Why would I get rid of shit I earned thanks to my own competence and hard work?’.
Courtney tries not to look at her pictures for too long, but once she catches a glance of them, she immediately notices how artificial the poses are. Her father isn't smiling in any of them, because he truly never even pretended to care. Always a cold, distant asshole, making his own daughter feel like she was carrying some sort of contagious disease. Her mother, despite being more present, always focused on how much she was winning rather than building a solid mother-daughter bond. She couldn't help but notice how most of the photos involved Courtney holding trophies and how her mother's hand would always be holding them with hers.
You failed me. You're the reason I'm like this.
She grabs a handful of pictures and begins to tear them up, tears cascading down her face as she does so. She then crumbles them up before dumping them into the fire. An old familiar switch clicks in her mind and she begins to frantically grab and throw more and more pictures, not even taking the time to note what was on them anymore or that she was practically shoving her hands in the fire.
“Courtney!” Heather calls out, firmly grabbing both of her arms and turning her towards herself. Courtney's face is now tear stricken, her chest heaving as she trembles. “You gotta relax, okay? Breathe. Just breathe…”
The brunette nods, squeezing her eyes shut as she channels all her focus into regulating her breathing and listening to Heather's words.
“That's it, breathe. You're doing good, Court. You're doing good. Don't let them get to your head again. Don't let them do more damage.”
Huh, that's the first time she has called her Court. She's not sure where they stand right now, if they're friends or not. Heather did take Courtney in after all. Said she felt compelled to help because she knows what it's like to have the whole world against you, relentlessly attacking you and praying for your downfall, to be abandoned by the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, to have no one to rely on. Either way, the uncharacteristically comforting words are having a positive effect.
“Listen, you're tough as hell. Maybe as tough as me. You're a beast. You may be going through a very rough time right now, but I have no doubt you'll bounce back and be better than you ever were. And you won't have your asshole parents or your stupid fucking punk ex holding you back.“
The last sentence brings the former CIT back to reality. She opens her eyes, seeing a photo on the floor that narrowly escaped from the fire. She picks it up. It's not a picture of her parents this time, no, it's a polaroid of her and Duncan kissing at a carnival fair.
“You can stop if you want.” Heather reassures her, looking at her with concern in her eyes. It's not as jarring as it was a few weeks ago.
“No.” Courtney shakes her head. “I'm getting rid of him too.”
With that, she tosses the polaroid into the flames, all the other pictures soon following after. She's not crying her heart out now. Instead, she's letting the memories slowly slip away, deleting every trace of him little by little. It's like she's standing on the edge of a cliff, being pulled down as he holds onto her hand and she's finally loosening her grip little by little. Once he falls, he'll be gone for good and she won’t ever worry about him dragging her down with him. For the first time since she gave in to her stupid feelings for him, she feels in control. She feels genuinely powerful.
Courtney thinks she’s done for a split second, but when she looks into the box to check if it’s really empty, she sees one final little relic resting against the corner, as if it’s trying to escape its fate. She picks it up as her mind projects a vivid flashback.
“Courtney, wait! I made this for you!”
His voice resonates loud and clear in her ears, cutting through the growing distance between them, through the roaring of the boat’s engine. Even with the wind resistance, the wooden skull he throws at her lands right in her hands, as if it has a mind of its own, a sense of belonging, and it knows it belongs with Courtney. It’s magical, almost fairytale-like and it melts away the fury she felt about her elimination.
“Duncan! Okay, this is really weird and creepy but…I love it! I’ll never forget you!”
I’ll never forget you.
I’ll never forget you…
I
Will
Never
Forget
You…
Oh yes I will.
She throws the little skull right into the fire, hatred and resentment flowing through her as she thinks of how it all ended. Who the hell do you think you are? You have no power here. You’re dead to me. You’re nothing. As she watches the handmade little gift she once used to cherish with all her heart, more tainted memories reverberate in her head:
“Morning, Sunshine.”
“You wanna make out?”
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Okay, look. I know you like me, he knows you like me, everyone knows it. So here’s a tip: if you wanna kiss me, I might let you.”
“But I’m in the fish cabin with you, aren’t I?”
“Fine. Enjoy a peanut-butter-less life.”
“I saw Duncan and Gwen kiss!”
All these little things, all these little moments would linger on her to this very day. Was it ever supposed to go this far? Obviously, she and Duncan would never work out in the long run. They were too different. Like water and oil. Still, she put so much faith into this. She wishes she could at least appreciate the good times, but everytime she tries, she remembers something that takes any remnant of joy out of it. She is incapable of seeing Duncan for the valuable lessons he may have taught her, his contribution to her personal growth and, indirectly, for kickstarting the end of her blind devotion to her parents, which would lead her to finally free herself of their toxic influence. Maybe she’ll be thankful for that one day, but right now he’s just the guy who cheated on her and humiliated her in front of the whole world with zero remorse. The guy who made her willingly fight a losing battle even if she could always sort of knew she’d only walk out of it with nothing. Nothing good came out of it because the bad poisoned the good. And he probably doesn’t even care. It makes her so fucking revolted that he doesn’t. That she’s probably just another ex on his list. It hurts, it hurts so bad.
She lets out a choked sob, more tears spilling out of her eyes. So much for feeling powerful. When she realizes that the reason her emotions are changing so quickly is her disorder, she cries harder. She’s still a mess. She cried after walking out of her parents’ house for the last time and she’s crying now at another moment that’s supposed to feel empowering. She’s so damn volatile, so fragile. It’s always all or nothing, too much or too little, black or white. No nuances, no in-betweens, no greys. She knows it’s only a matter of time until she’s completely fine and it’s like none of this is happening. She’ll probably think about how neither Duncan nor her parents deserve her pain, that it was a good riddance, that she’s better than them in every way, that Duncan is rotting in a cell because of his own stupidity and her parents lost their little trophy and she’ll soon relish in the sweet, smug satisfaction, courtesy of the narcissistic tendencies that accompany her BPD.
She feels a hand resting lightly on her upper back, rubbing it in slow, gentle up and down motions. She turns her face to see Heather giving her a sympathetic look and hesitantly pulling her into an embrace. Courtney doesn’t protest it.
“Give it time, Court.” her soft-of friend whispers into her ear. “You’ll get through this. I believe in you.”
Minutes pass and Courtney gradually calms down, her crying subsiding.
“Thanks.” she mutters through her final sob, relishing in the comfort of an unlikely ally.