Chapter Text
“That pit will never be for you, my love. Never." The soft pattering of droplets echoed through that room. The white lights bleached everything in their glow, paling everything in its wake. Cleaners and alcohol paired with it to make a sharp, nauseating feeling. It was empty (but is it?), but the history was there. Its stains would always be there, and the shadows had places to hide.
She, Mama that is, kept repeating that.
'We'll have a better life than that.'
'I refuse to let that house take me back.'
'Never for you.'
I never quite understood it (yes, we did), but the doctors said that this came with the territory. I shifted in my chair, moving closer to her. I looked over her. The IV was still properly placed (thank god for that), no bruises (or at least new ones), and her eyes were open (they always were).
Blue. Not that vivid blue that poets write about, but the dull, lifeless kind that compares only with copses. I had always wondered if they ever were that vivid, but based on the way she described her childhood…
I turned back to my knitting; it was the only thing to do. That or wait, and waiting was painful (but that's a choice you never truly had).
The silence stretched. Piece by piece. Stitch by stitch.
"Cassandra?" I looked up again. Those eyes (will they still haunt your dreams) bore into me. Heat rose to my chest. Not the angry kind (But you were, weren't you), that uncomfortable kind that you get when you were a kid after a scolding. But I hadn't done anything wrong (at least not yet).
"Yes, mama." I felt her hands wrap around mine. They were warm, and her smile was soft, and the world blurred together.
"Promise me something, alright, baby." Her grip tightened.
I leaned forward. My fingers brushed the spindles of hair that came loose from her braid. "I am already feeding Hades actual chicken, so…."
Her grip tightened. "No, promise me."
The world tilted (Or was that you). Her fingers dug into my flesh. I could see the soft pinks fade, showing the horrible white underneath. (you couldn't leave, could you?)
"Mama?"
"Promise me that you'll never go back."
The heat turned to cold dread. The air felt so heavy, so thick. I turned, I had to (but did you?).
"Let's talk about this later." (but you knew there would never be a later. You could see that. Quite a cruel girl, hmm?)
"Will I even live until then, my love?" I closed my eyes. The lights were now blinding. My skin felt the chill of death. Their hands were clawing at her sleeves. Dragging her soul from her body (as we have seen before, so, so many times).
"I won't, and you see it." Her fingers felt like hot ice, making my skin bubble and crack with the strain of her grip. (just look at her.)
I closed my eyes tighter. (Look at her.)
"Promise me."
Tighter (Look at her!)
"Cassandra!" Her voice smothered me.
Tighter (LOOK AT HER!)
"CASSANDRA! PROMISE ME!" That's not Mama anymore.
Tighter (LOOK!)
"I CAN'T LET THEM HAVE YOU! IT HAVE YOU!"
I can't. (Liar!)
"PLEASE!"
I… I…
I looked up. Mama was crying. When was the last time she cried? (You couldn't.)
I lifted her hand to my lips. They were warmer than they were a moment ago. Their soft pinkish hue returned. And those blue eyes wouldn't let me go.
"I promise."
I looked up again and smiled as much as I could. And she smiled back.
(But that's not what happened. Not for a liar like you, at least. No amount of wishing would change that. We both know that. You never looked at her again. You never made that promise. Nor would you ever be able to again.)
(To the depths of despair, we bear witness.)
A sharp pain rattles through my head. I looked over at the window that my head decided to ram into moments ago. There goes my nap. I look over. The warm October light shone down into the bus. Rubbing my head, I begin to gather my thoughts.
Where am I? On a bus. Why? Funeral for an estranged aunt who mama compared to sour milk and a few other choice phrases. (Okay, but why?) No comment. Who? That's more complicated. Perlanne is the deceased, and her daughter, Tabitha, was the one who invited me. (Why?) I don't know.
(But you do.)
"So anyway, as I was saying…"
I turned to my left. Oh, great, he’s still here. He's been sitting next to me for about five hours now. Blabber on and on while I slowly try to merge with the chair. Even moving seats didn't help; if anything, it made him more aggressive. Thank god I made sure to sit in full view of the bus's camera. (he won't harm you.) Debatable.
"I was up in Maryland, looking for work," I really don't care, "but mostly messing around because I was a dumb teen," and a creepy adult.
Shifting, he leaned on an arm. "Me and my buddies were doing our usual prank stuff—" (would taking a wheelchair be considered a prank anymore?) Clearly not, "you know, pushing joggers into the harbor, that sort of thing."
I paused. Was that better than the other things that he said, or equally as bad?
"So this girl," nope.
And on he went. I sank back into my seat. The smell of stale perfume and mildew hung in the air. (memories of those before.) I rummage through my bag. I needed something to distract me from this conversation. Soft string threaded through my fingers. I pull out a bundle of gentle yellows and tans. Good, it was mostly done. I wasn't quite sure if this was a good idea, but it couldn't hurt. Not to mention, I was good at this. I pull the yarn over to my side, situate my hands, and start to knit. It came easily. Mama was surprised at how good I was.
"I guess it makes sense. Fate is often campared weaving, knitting can't be far off."
I smiled at the memory. It was warm, comforting. Better than those after the starileness in her final days.
"—KILL somebody." That grabbed my attention. I causiouly turn, hoping I heard wrong. Nope. He was stiff. All jovial humor gone. (He's shifted, but still, you are safe.) And still, debatable. I think back to the conversation. Something, something, 'break up with me', something, mad enough.
"No, not really." Actually, I had never been dumped before. Granted, I have also never actually gone on a date. After a while, beauty doesn't really help. (not with us here.)
The stranger shrugs before starting in again. I started to knit again, only this time I made sure to pay more attention.
"Anyway, she's giving birth to our son right now, so I am trying to get up to Virginia to be there for it." I hope he doesn't, for both the mother and child's sake. "But I don't know if I'm like, into that stuff, so I might just wind up on a bus to New York or something instead. I've always wanted to go there."
I stay silent and pray that he stays there. Better yet, go to Florida instead. Makes it easier to avoid him there.
"Anyways. Where'd you say you were headed?"
I was quiet for a moment. That was a harder question. (tell the truth. not for him, but for you.) I looked out the window. I could see the strings pull.
"Home, I think." I pushed the yarn further, allowing me to catch it. "I've never been, but I've felt it like a call at the back of my mind for as long as I could remember." I loop and pull through. "Some things can only be put off for so long," I finished the last stitch in the row with a soft click of my needles. Sixty more to go.
I turned my work, picking up the yarn and looping it between my fingers. I slipped my needle into the first stitch, then I noticed the quiet. I glance over to the stranger. Frozen, staring. Huh? Did I do something wrong?
Before I could say another word, he shifted, clearly trying to recompose himself. It didn't take long. Before I knew it, he was his usual, unsettling self.
"OH, you must be talking about Scarlet Hollow, right? Or 'The Holler' as they call it in the mountains." I nodded, but the waver in his voice told me that he was being more cautious of me than before. "That's the only other stop until this bus turns around, so if you aren't getting off at my stop," hell no, "you must be headed up that way."
And on he went. His buddies, the mines (those poor souls), and whatever came through his head. But I could feel it. The hands, the eyes, the cords tightening. (soon it will have you back.)
Finally, the bus began to slow. Thank god. The stranger begins to rummage through his bag before thrusting a bag of wet, dripping nuts at me. All I could hear was 'Boiled Peanuts' before I felt the salty brine drip down onto my leg. Huh. I gingerly grab them from his hands. He lets go, pleased with my decision.
"And with that, I leave you. Safe travels, friend."
True to his word, he gets up and leaves. I lean back, maybe I should get some more rest, actual rest, before it reaches town.
"Next stop, Scarlet Hollow. End of the line."
Almost there. (almost home.)