Chapter Text
It was early, around seven, which is when Bea started to get ready for school. Her mum usually woke her up, but she hadn’t today. It was only the two of them—and it had been that way for a few years.
Gabriel Lopez left when his daughter was five; he hadn’t been kind enough to leave a note, but he left divorce papers on the table. The girls' mom signed them up; to the five-year-old girl, she didn’t seem too upset about it. Her mom was possibly more upset about being stuck with a five-year-old and no co-parent to help.
Right then Bea was padding towards her mother’s room to check if she was awake. Instead of getting the bus like most people, her mom drove her to school, and then she drove to work. Her mom was not in bed, nor was she walking around the house. There was no sound of floorboards creaking.
The young girl's voice carries through the cold-floored house, “Mom?” It echoed, hitting against the plain walls which in her friend’s houses would’ve been lined with portraits. “Mom?” Her voice quivered as she noticed a note on her mom’s side table.
Reluctantly her feet strolled towards it; the note was messy. It looked rushed too, like she had quickly remembered to add something to the shopping list. Bea read it out in her head.
‘Beatrice,
I can no longer do this. I’ve been struggling for a while now, and you aren’t making this any easier. Do not try to find me. Get someone you love to help you, and take care of yourself.
— Mom'
The young girl's lip shook, her teeth biting against the weakening skin. The skin on her lips cracked and pierced as tears fled out her eyes. She couldn’t help but feel as the tears dripped to the floor.
An eleven-year-old girl should never be left alone.
It was her fault too, though. That’s what it said. ‘You’re not making this any easier.’ The words echoed through her mind, causing a sore pain to erupt through her head.
Bea had no clue what to do.
Tired sobs exited her mouth as she walked towards the old landline that came in handy occasionally. Small clicks came from the buttons as she dialled her aunt Angela’s number.
It rang twice before she picked up, immediately noticing the small sobs that were slowly turning into hiccups.
“Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong? Where's your mom?” Angela’s voice was soft; if you saw Angela at work, you wouldn’t have imagined it was the same woman who was comforting her niece.
Bea shrugged even though she knew her aunt couldn’t see; she couldn’t help but feel the tears well up again.
“She’s gone.” The girl cried, “Can you come over?” Her voice was young again, with the same hint it had when she broke her mom’s favourite vase. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, I’m coming over.” That was it; she could hear keys from the other end of the phone.
She hung up the phone as Angela climbed into her car. The young girl wasn’t sure what to do with herself as she waited—does she get ready for school? Pretend nothing happened. Should she make her aunt a drink?
Her foot tapped against the floor, her leg shaking violently. Bea was scared. Bea was guilty. To be honest, she didn’t know why she was guilty, but her mom had said she played a part in the decision.
Angela unlocked the door, using her spare key. Bea couldn’t help but watch her frantic face; she assumed Angela already saw Bea's face upon entering the door because her nose was red and her eyes looked sad.
The older woman’s arms wrapped around the young girl, her cries returning again. “Auntie Angela, I don’t know where she went.” Bea cried, a painful ache in her throat. This scene felt similar to the one that would be permanently etched in her mind from when her dad left.
Her small fists climbed into balls at her side; she wanted—no, she needed to punch something. Her mind slowed as Angela’s taller frame wrapped around her, one hand resting on her back and the other on the back of her head. Bea's hands gripped Angela’s blazer, scared to let go. The way the older woman was dressed suggested she was working; Angela noticed the way the girl's face dropped when she realised.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Angela hushed, her hand running down the girl's brunette hair that echoed her own. Beas curls were currently wild and untamed, clearly paying no attention to them after she woke up. “Can I see the note?”
After a small nod, Bea passed the note towards her aunt, whose hand was already out, ready to collect it.
Small mumbles left her aunt's mouth as she read it. Her aunt, who usually knew the and and we to everything, didn’t know how to respond to this.
She wished she knew how to fix it.
“When you woke up she was just gone?" Angela questioned, her voice calm yet curious.
“Yeah.”
“Did anything happen last night?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, we had an argument?”
“Yeah? About what?”
“I told her she didn’t make good food.” Bea spoke, taking a deep shuddering breath. “She then told me I could make my own food; we ate in silence before we both went to bed.”
Angela watched the younger girl's face, watched as a hint of sadness and fear etched her features.
Slowly Bea was pulled back into Angela’s arms. She felt slightly embarrassed and guilty. This was her fault. Her mom left because of her, and if that’s how it went with her mom, that’s what happened with her dad.
Her soft brown eyes were filled with tears, barely refraining from falling down her cheeks. Luckily her aunt pulled her thumb below the girl's eyes, catching a couple tears as they tried to fall.
“Mija, I’ve got work, and Wesley does too. Do you want to get dressed and come in? I’ll figure out what to do, I promise.” She says, grabbing Bea's hand and giving it a soft squeeze. The girl nods in return and walks slowly towards her bedroom.
Regularly the heat in LA was unbearable during springtime, but Bea was feeling quite cold today. The sun was shining, but she felt cold and empty. She shoved on a pair of leggings and a hoodie.
Brushing her teeth, she thought about everything; to tell the truth, she was very scared to go to Angela’s work.
She had met a few of them before, but that didn't soothe her nerves much. She was frightened the cops would also believe it was her fault her mom left. Roughly she spat out her toothpaste and made her way towards her aunt's car.