vallora seth // d1 // fin

vallora seth // d1 // fin May 11, 2020 16:08:52 GMT -5

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Post by arx on May 11, 2020 16:08:52 GMT -5

My head is pounding, throbbing—"Shit."—forcing my stomach into a knot and sloshing its contents around recklessly. But I don't regret the party. No, it's not the party that's to blame, with its infinite row of kegs, beer soaked stacks of cards, and dozens of 'eligible bachelors'. It's the useless, sniveling whelps I'm meant to deal with before dawn.

I let my head fall against the cool, painted concrete of the "boxing gym" I've come to call home. I like it here. The sweat, the blood—oh, what a dream. Funny, right? Though I must admit, I'd much rather be following the guy across the room into his bed.

My uncle shouts and I can hear his demands ringing in my ears far after he's paused to catch his breath. The tie around his neck a noose, the expensive suit a straitjacket. I'm meant to waltz around in the same prison the moment I age out. Not that I'll mean much to him when I do—my sister and I are only tools of destruction in his eyes. We could never run a company, the brutes we are.

Our cousins will be in charge, dragging us around on our leashes and sending jolts of electricity through us until we learn to behave. I hate them. And I hate my uncle, too. But that doesn't stop me from listening as he barks orders and hurls threats. I know they aren't empty. I know better.

I flash a smile to the guy I'd been eyeing, wait until I've got his attention to toss him a wink and a salacious lick of the lips. The interest sparkling in his eyes gets me through the rest of the day. I hit harder than usual in an attempt to fell my opponents quicker—lowers the risk of getting hit in the face if they're sprawled out on the floor after all. My uncle calls me reckless, praises my sister for her technique.

I end up with a cheekbone red as a lacewing, butterflies holding together the cut above my brow. I'm useless. That's what he says as he sics my sister on me. I hear him curse our mother under his breath. The anger that flashes in Haisley's eyes reflects in my own as we turn to stare bullets through the back of his skull, curled fists twisting daggers in his back.

"Cockalorum," she mutters. I can't hold in my laughter. She hides a smile beneath her hand. My uncle forces us back into battle and doesn't let it end until long after the windows have gone dark.

My breathing is shallow as I run a shaking hand through sweat crusted hair that needed a shower even before the sun rose this morning. I stare at the ceiling, watching the caged lights flicker and buzz. My sister sprawls out beside me, watching silently beside me. We look like a pair of freckle-faced angels fallen from heaven, bruised and battered and broken. The dark joke about how we both look like mom now sits unspoken at the forefront of my mind.

"I was gonna get laid tonight."

Haisley scoffs and I can tell her exasperation is laced with amusement. "One night without it won't kill you."

I beg to differ, but I don't say as much. Instead I think about the days when we were younger and wore more make-up than scars. We'd sit with folded legs beneath the bathroom sink painting each others faces like we'd seen mom do a thousand times in complete silence—well, as completely silent as a pair of giggling seven year olds can get. The silence now that we're seventeen feels the same.

"Cockalorum?" The floor shakes against my shoulders as she starts a silent laugh. "Did you eat a dictionary for breakfast or what?"

I miss her. Even now. Even in these moments of familiarity and peace. But I'm still glad she's here, wishing upon light bulbs with me.