shine on me like silver. — caelum
Sept 8, 2020 0:15:20 GMT -5
Post by calla on Sept 8, 2020 0:15:20 GMT -5
85th
C A E L U M
M A E
C A E L U M
M A E
Fuck, I don't even remember falling asleep.
I blink the sleep out of my eyes and can see the sun rising, kind of horizontally from this angle - that's a bit weird. And I know you shouldn't always believe everything you see, but damn? Sure does look like the sun to me. As far as I know, there's only one giant glowy thing in the sky.
You know, I fell asleep on the roof of Magnolia's once. Told myself I was just keeping an eye on the place for a few extra hours because Wisteria was working late, and then poof. Woke up absolutely baked the next morning, stumbling down the fire escape with the ugliest tan-lines of my life.
So fuck the sun.
Except it's a lot harder to get my bearings this time, because I'm not really sure where I am. That'd involve me lifting my head, and my limbs still feel heavy and sluggish, all warm and cozy lying in the morning light.
Honestly, I consider just closing my eyes and falling back asleep until the room suddenly gets a million times brighter. It almost burns, and when I reflexively close my eyes, I can still make out the splotches of sun spots from behind my eyelids. God, it's fuckin bright and intrusive and now I'm noticing that there's a spot in between my shoulders that hurts like a bitch. Everything goes south as I start to wake up a little more. I shift and there's a series of pinpricks that come slowly, all over my arms and legs, and then they come all at once and it feels like my skin is suddenly on fire.
It's enough that I shoot up from the ground, fast enough to make the room spin and my head throbs and I groan at the way my vision gets a little fuzzy around the edges. I wince and don't even want to look, but there's a bunch of little red marks on my arms, and I suddenly notice all the broken glass scattered on the ground where I was lying. Bits of a smashed coffee table, looks like. Wonder who was stupid enough to do that. The glass bits crunch under my legs when I move, and then under my feet when I stretch out. Ripred, even my shoes are gone. My eyes fall shut again immediately and I fall back to rest against the side of what feels like a sofa.
There's a laugh then, an ugly snorting sound, and it grates against my skull in a way that makes my jaw lock. I crack my eyes back open enough to see a figure backlit by a wall of windows, holding the curtains back.
"Morning, your majesty." The figure says and I grab a piece of the broken coffee table to throw at it.
The glass falls about a foot too short, clattering against linoleum and that funny snorting sound comes again.
"Fuck off, Dante." I spit at his shadow as it moves across my face, squinting at the ceiling and forcing my eyes to adjust to the morning. There's two sets of ceiling fans up there and I can't tell if it's because this place is extra fancy or if I'm just seeing double. "Where the hell are we?"
Because I gotta say, wherever we ended up for the night - it's nice as hell. There's these huge floor to ceiling windows that look out over the square, and there's something important about that, I think. But I can feel the beginnings of a migraine setting in, and staring out at the day only makes it worse. When I get my own place I want these kind of windows. The kind that are so big, it feels like you're outside all the time. I'm gonna throw the best parties every night and the doors to the place will always be open, so people can come and go as they please, and no one's gonna be forced to stay inside.
Fuck yeah. I'll get the whole squad together and we can party 'til we pass out on the cabinets. It'll be great. Swear.
I'm going to have to hire a maid or something though. Maybe I can bribe Bambi into cleaning for me, she's naive enough, she'll just want flowers or something probably, and I'm sure I can swing something with Wis. Maybe sooner than later. Because this whole place stinks like vomit and cheap liquor, or maybe that's just me.
"Coffee?" Dante's saying from beside me, all too suddenly, and it makes me jump but he's already pushing the mug into my hands, huffing when I almost drop it and he opens his stupid mouth again before I can even remember that I asked him a question in the first place.
"Brooo," He says as I sip at the mess he brought me, too strong and way too bitter, spiked probably, "How fucked up did you get last night?"
I can tell it's a rhetorical question.
He uses his hand to sweep away the glass and an empty pill bottle and sits on the ground beside me, spreading his arms out all grandiose, "This is your kingdom. Your abode. Your casa."
I look at him like he's stupid, because he is, obviously, and after a second of staring he adds on with a wink, "Or, at least it will be after ten easy payments."
Suddenly I'm struck with a memory of raising a glass, sprinting down an alley, hijacking an elevator, skinny-dipping in a pool. There was a rich old codger in here before us, I can picture his moustache now, all grey and groomed and very very distracting. The place is quiet now though, and I have a feeling we're the only ones in here. I wonder where the bastard went.
"You'd make a terrible realtor." I deadpan, looking out at the view, "There's no way I could afford this place."
Dad could probably, but he keeps the funds under lock and key, and even though I'm the favourite, that still doesn't seem to mean jack shit when it comes to the business side of things.
"Whatever, you said your sister could pay for it."
He slumps down onto the floor and raises his arms above his head.
It feels like there's a dozen little hammers banging away at my skull and it would be very helpful if he would shut up. I consider telling him that, but then he I doubt he'll let me bum a cig off of him again. Instead, I sip at the sludge he calls coffee again and scoff, "I doubt Sutton will be footing my bills any time soon."
She's probably still being a petty bitch and ignoring me. But then again, I dunno, it's been a while since I've seen her. It's not that I avoid my siblings, it's just that it's better if they stay out of my way. I think it was a few days ago I brought Wolf to the clinic, no particular reason, just a checkup. Things get a little hazy again after that. All I know is Lysander is dead and Sutton is pretending I don't exist and Wolf is still being a little bitch as usual.
Ripred, I don't even know what day it is. There's probably a calendar in here, right? Rich people love calendars.
But Dante waves his hand, "Nah, not that one." He says easily, "The hot one."
And ok gross? He's way too old for Bambi or Sterling so I might just have to knock his lights out for a comment like that. I might've missed him with that glass the first time, but he's a whole lot closer now. Right within stabbing distance.
But he could theoretically mean Hazel, and he's kinda-sorta my friend, and like I said, a good choice to bum off of, so I give him the benefit of the doubt. "Didn't know you had a thing for dead girls." I tell him and punch his shoulder hard enough to hear him yelp, "Kinky."
Dante rubs his shoulder a little ruefully and makes a face that might come across as a pout on anyone else, it just looks pathetic on him, "I don't think it counts if they aren't dead anymore."
And now I think my head is just messing with me, or he is, and I shake it back and forth a couple times, "The fuck are you talking about?" Ok, sure, this isn't my first time blacking out, but it's definitely the weirdest. "Got a zombie girlfriend I don't know about?"
Now it's his turn to look confused. We stare at each other for a minute, long enough for me to half forget what we were talking about and focus on swishing the last gulp of coffee around in my mouth to get rid of last night's taste. It's like there's sand under my tongue and my teeth all ache a little, with a hollow sort of pain. I really can't remember what the fuck I did to cause that, and usually I don't worry too much about trespassing, the Maes are too powerful for something like that, but the more I look at this place with it's leather upholstery and it's crown moulding, the more I notice how expensive the damage is.
I hope that coffee table wasn't an antique. Those are always a bitch to replace.
"Hey, what happened to Mister Moustache last night? Don't tell me we gave the old fart a heart attack and now we're hiding out here."
I think half the shit that comes out of my mouth is garbage anyways. Sometimes I swear I don't know I'm talking until I'm already three sentences deep and by then there's no turning back. This kinda feels like one of those times. Because Dante's face changes then, and he looks at me a little funny, the same look I used to get from Adeline when she caught me doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, and it makes my hair stand on edge.
"Dante." I drawl, waving my hand in front of his face like he has to reboot or something. He grabs my wrist midair and I immediately recoil, ready with a barb because he fuckin' knows not to touch me, but he doesn't let go.
He frowns and his grip tightens a little against my struggle, "You mean Polonius right? Us and the guys might've, uh, accidentally, broken into his apartment after we head him bragging about it, but then you said you were there to make him an offer for it." He squints at me and I'm three seconds away from just reaching over and snapping his pinkie finger before he says "You're the one that told him Lysander's gonna pay for it when she gets back with all her dough."
I don't break his finger then. I don't say anything, just look at him. Because Lysander's dead. She's not coming back with dough. She's not coming back with anything but a casket. She's dead. I saw it. Ok, fine, I heard about it, but still. I was busy. Word travels fast though, and I know that it was that little fucker from Two that got her in the end. And, shit, the district wouldn't shut up about it. I dunno why they were so broken up about it though - it's what she wanted. Lys wanted to die.
So, "When she gets back." I echo dumbly.
I must still look blank as shit because Dante lets go of me and starts laughing, a real one this time, not just that stuffed up pig sound he makes, "Man," he wheezes, "Whatever you took last night, you gotta share next time."
He slaps my back and my hands wrap around the mug so hard I think I can hear it creak. "Can't believe you don't remember Polonius, dude, he was a baller. Handed out all sorts of shit during the finale party."
I don't tell him that I can remember Polonius just fine now. I can picture the crushed velvet of his waistcoat, and the little yellow pill he pushed into my palm, and the cheers of the crowd when- something happened, I guess. It was just a mob mentality, I didn't know. They were cheering so we cheered too and then we washed it down with free booze.
The past few days have been a mess of fog and lamp oil and I didn't hear a single whisper of Lysander after someone told me she got shanked, not one.
Dante's still laughing but I feel a little like I'm going to throw up again, because I didn't even think it was weird that Five was throwing a finale party at the time. I didn't even consider it. We were out having fun, trying to find somewhere to crash and just happened to stumble on one of the only hole in the wall places that avoided the public viewing in the square.
They must've known who I was, especially if Lysander was one of the ones on the screen and jesus fucking mary.
Because if Lys- fuck, if Lys does comes back then Dad'll be all over it, like flies on shit, and there goes my chance at heir. It's Wolf all over again. Someone stepping in all over again because little broken Caelum was too weak and too fragile to do anything about it. I was finally so close, so fucking close to proving them wrong and she's about to ruin it all.
She wanted to die - why couldn't she just have stayed dead?
"I gotta go." I mumble abruptly, ignoring the glass digging into my palms as I push myself up. I had dropped the mug at some point, but neither one of us noticed, and it lays there chipped on the floor, but I can't bring myself to care. There's an ache in my bones that's starting to settle in, I can't remember the last time I was home or the last time I took my meds, and it should probably worry me but it doesn't. My mind is just on a constant loop of no no no fuck no because it isn't fair.
Dante wipes at his eyes, "Aight, man. Put in a good word for me, yeah?" Then he reaches up and shakes my shoulder so hard that it dislodges a piece of last night. Because I can suddenly picture myself standing in front of that stupid fucking screen in front of my stupid fucking sister with Dante's stupid fucking hand on my shoulder and I remember know that when Lys won I threw my hands up and stumbled over to the bar, tripping over my own feet and screaming DRINKS ON ME!! because in that moment, I belonged to a victor family, and it felt like the right thing to do.
I wish I had passed out before then, maybe taken a handful of whatever Polonius gave us except all at once, because then at least I could keep on pretending that I don't know what's going to happen now. My legs almost buckle when I cross the room and my hands shake against the doorknob when I reach it. I know I need to take something before I go see Dad because I've suddenly never felt this sober before and it does something funny to my chest.
"I'll hold down the fort." I can hear Dante call from behind me, "Bring back take-out!"
But I'm already letting the door swing shut and practically running down the hall. I need to get home before Lysander does, before she can ruin the little niche I've carved out for myself in her absence, and it's a paranoid thought, I know. She still has all the ceremonies and the parties and the tour to do. Some distant part of my brain registers that. But I know myself well enough to know that I can't always trust my brain. I could've been passed out in that penthouse for a day or for a week. Lysander could already be sitting on the throne, my throne, kicking her feet up and watching everything I've worked for burn.
She'll probably have Wolf take my place.
I stop in the lobby to empty my stomach into one of the potted plants.
I blink the sleep out of my eyes and can see the sun rising, kind of horizontally from this angle - that's a bit weird. And I know you shouldn't always believe everything you see, but damn? Sure does look like the sun to me. As far as I know, there's only one giant glowy thing in the sky.
You know, I fell asleep on the roof of Magnolia's once. Told myself I was just keeping an eye on the place for a few extra hours because Wisteria was working late, and then poof. Woke up absolutely baked the next morning, stumbling down the fire escape with the ugliest tan-lines of my life.
So fuck the sun.
Except it's a lot harder to get my bearings this time, because I'm not really sure where I am. That'd involve me lifting my head, and my limbs still feel heavy and sluggish, all warm and cozy lying in the morning light.
Honestly, I consider just closing my eyes and falling back asleep until the room suddenly gets a million times brighter. It almost burns, and when I reflexively close my eyes, I can still make out the splotches of sun spots from behind my eyelids. God, it's fuckin bright and intrusive and now I'm noticing that there's a spot in between my shoulders that hurts like a bitch. Everything goes south as I start to wake up a little more. I shift and there's a series of pinpricks that come slowly, all over my arms and legs, and then they come all at once and it feels like my skin is suddenly on fire.
It's enough that I shoot up from the ground, fast enough to make the room spin and my head throbs and I groan at the way my vision gets a little fuzzy around the edges. I wince and don't even want to look, but there's a bunch of little red marks on my arms, and I suddenly notice all the broken glass scattered on the ground where I was lying. Bits of a smashed coffee table, looks like. Wonder who was stupid enough to do that. The glass bits crunch under my legs when I move, and then under my feet when I stretch out. Ripred, even my shoes are gone. My eyes fall shut again immediately and I fall back to rest against the side of what feels like a sofa.
There's a laugh then, an ugly snorting sound, and it grates against my skull in a way that makes my jaw lock. I crack my eyes back open enough to see a figure backlit by a wall of windows, holding the curtains back.
"Morning, your majesty." The figure says and I grab a piece of the broken coffee table to throw at it.
The glass falls about a foot too short, clattering against linoleum and that funny snorting sound comes again.
"Fuck off, Dante." I spit at his shadow as it moves across my face, squinting at the ceiling and forcing my eyes to adjust to the morning. There's two sets of ceiling fans up there and I can't tell if it's because this place is extra fancy or if I'm just seeing double. "Where the hell are we?"
Because I gotta say, wherever we ended up for the night - it's nice as hell. There's these huge floor to ceiling windows that look out over the square, and there's something important about that, I think. But I can feel the beginnings of a migraine setting in, and staring out at the day only makes it worse. When I get my own place I want these kind of windows. The kind that are so big, it feels like you're outside all the time. I'm gonna throw the best parties every night and the doors to the place will always be open, so people can come and go as they please, and no one's gonna be forced to stay inside.
Fuck yeah. I'll get the whole squad together and we can party 'til we pass out on the cabinets. It'll be great. Swear.
I'm going to have to hire a maid or something though. Maybe I can bribe Bambi into cleaning for me, she's naive enough, she'll just want flowers or something probably, and I'm sure I can swing something with Wis. Maybe sooner than later. Because this whole place stinks like vomit and cheap liquor, or maybe that's just me.
"Coffee?" Dante's saying from beside me, all too suddenly, and it makes me jump but he's already pushing the mug into my hands, huffing when I almost drop it and he opens his stupid mouth again before I can even remember that I asked him a question in the first place.
"Brooo," He says as I sip at the mess he brought me, too strong and way too bitter, spiked probably, "How fucked up did you get last night?"
I can tell it's a rhetorical question.
He uses his hand to sweep away the glass and an empty pill bottle and sits on the ground beside me, spreading his arms out all grandiose, "This is your kingdom. Your abode. Your casa."
I look at him like he's stupid, because he is, obviously, and after a second of staring he adds on with a wink, "Or, at least it will be after ten easy payments."
Suddenly I'm struck with a memory of raising a glass, sprinting down an alley, hijacking an elevator, skinny-dipping in a pool. There was a rich old codger in here before us, I can picture his moustache now, all grey and groomed and very very distracting. The place is quiet now though, and I have a feeling we're the only ones in here. I wonder where the bastard went.
"You'd make a terrible realtor." I deadpan, looking out at the view, "There's no way I could afford this place."
Dad could probably, but he keeps the funds under lock and key, and even though I'm the favourite, that still doesn't seem to mean jack shit when it comes to the business side of things.
"Whatever, you said your sister could pay for it."
He slumps down onto the floor and raises his arms above his head.
It feels like there's a dozen little hammers banging away at my skull and it would be very helpful if he would shut up. I consider telling him that, but then he I doubt he'll let me bum a cig off of him again. Instead, I sip at the sludge he calls coffee again and scoff, "I doubt Sutton will be footing my bills any time soon."
She's probably still being a petty bitch and ignoring me. But then again, I dunno, it's been a while since I've seen her. It's not that I avoid my siblings, it's just that it's better if they stay out of my way. I think it was a few days ago I brought Wolf to the clinic, no particular reason, just a checkup. Things get a little hazy again after that. All I know is Lysander is dead and Sutton is pretending I don't exist and Wolf is still being a little bitch as usual.
Ripred, I don't even know what day it is. There's probably a calendar in here, right? Rich people love calendars.
But Dante waves his hand, "Nah, not that one." He says easily, "The hot one."
And ok gross? He's way too old for Bambi or Sterling so I might just have to knock his lights out for a comment like that. I might've missed him with that glass the first time, but he's a whole lot closer now. Right within stabbing distance.
But he could theoretically mean Hazel, and he's kinda-sorta my friend, and like I said, a good choice to bum off of, so I give him the benefit of the doubt. "Didn't know you had a thing for dead girls." I tell him and punch his shoulder hard enough to hear him yelp, "Kinky."
Dante rubs his shoulder a little ruefully and makes a face that might come across as a pout on anyone else, it just looks pathetic on him, "I don't think it counts if they aren't dead anymore."
And now I think my head is just messing with me, or he is, and I shake it back and forth a couple times, "The fuck are you talking about?" Ok, sure, this isn't my first time blacking out, but it's definitely the weirdest. "Got a zombie girlfriend I don't know about?"
Now it's his turn to look confused. We stare at each other for a minute, long enough for me to half forget what we were talking about and focus on swishing the last gulp of coffee around in my mouth to get rid of last night's taste. It's like there's sand under my tongue and my teeth all ache a little, with a hollow sort of pain. I really can't remember what the fuck I did to cause that, and usually I don't worry too much about trespassing, the Maes are too powerful for something like that, but the more I look at this place with it's leather upholstery and it's crown moulding, the more I notice how expensive the damage is.
I hope that coffee table wasn't an antique. Those are always a bitch to replace.
"Hey, what happened to Mister Moustache last night? Don't tell me we gave the old fart a heart attack and now we're hiding out here."
I think half the shit that comes out of my mouth is garbage anyways. Sometimes I swear I don't know I'm talking until I'm already three sentences deep and by then there's no turning back. This kinda feels like one of those times. Because Dante's face changes then, and he looks at me a little funny, the same look I used to get from Adeline when she caught me doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, and it makes my hair stand on edge.
"Dante." I drawl, waving my hand in front of his face like he has to reboot or something. He grabs my wrist midair and I immediately recoil, ready with a barb because he fuckin' knows not to touch me, but he doesn't let go.
He frowns and his grip tightens a little against my struggle, "You mean Polonius right? Us and the guys might've, uh, accidentally, broken into his apartment after we head him bragging about it, but then you said you were there to make him an offer for it." He squints at me and I'm three seconds away from just reaching over and snapping his pinkie finger before he says "You're the one that told him Lysander's gonna pay for it when she gets back with all her dough."
I don't break his finger then. I don't say anything, just look at him. Because Lysander's dead. She's not coming back with dough. She's not coming back with anything but a casket. She's dead. I saw it. Ok, fine, I heard about it, but still. I was busy. Word travels fast though, and I know that it was that little fucker from Two that got her in the end. And, shit, the district wouldn't shut up about it. I dunno why they were so broken up about it though - it's what she wanted. Lys wanted to die.
So, "When she gets back." I echo dumbly.
I must still look blank as shit because Dante lets go of me and starts laughing, a real one this time, not just that stuffed up pig sound he makes, "Man," he wheezes, "Whatever you took last night, you gotta share next time."
He slaps my back and my hands wrap around the mug so hard I think I can hear it creak. "Can't believe you don't remember Polonius, dude, he was a baller. Handed out all sorts of shit during the finale party."
I don't tell him that I can remember Polonius just fine now. I can picture the crushed velvet of his waistcoat, and the little yellow pill he pushed into my palm, and the cheers of the crowd when- something happened, I guess. It was just a mob mentality, I didn't know. They were cheering so we cheered too and then we washed it down with free booze.
The past few days have been a mess of fog and lamp oil and I didn't hear a single whisper of Lysander after someone told me she got shanked, not one.
Dante's still laughing but I feel a little like I'm going to throw up again, because I didn't even think it was weird that Five was throwing a finale party at the time. I didn't even consider it. We were out having fun, trying to find somewhere to crash and just happened to stumble on one of the only hole in the wall places that avoided the public viewing in the square.
They must've known who I was, especially if Lysander was one of the ones on the screen and jesus fucking mary.
Because if Lys- fuck, if Lys does comes back then Dad'll be all over it, like flies on shit, and there goes my chance at heir. It's Wolf all over again. Someone stepping in all over again because little broken Caelum was too weak and too fragile to do anything about it. I was finally so close, so fucking close to proving them wrong and she's about to ruin it all.
She wanted to die - why couldn't she just have stayed dead?
"I gotta go." I mumble abruptly, ignoring the glass digging into my palms as I push myself up. I had dropped the mug at some point, but neither one of us noticed, and it lays there chipped on the floor, but I can't bring myself to care. There's an ache in my bones that's starting to settle in, I can't remember the last time I was home or the last time I took my meds, and it should probably worry me but it doesn't. My mind is just on a constant loop of no no no fuck no because it isn't fair.
Dante wipes at his eyes, "Aight, man. Put in a good word for me, yeah?" Then he reaches up and shakes my shoulder so hard that it dislodges a piece of last night. Because I can suddenly picture myself standing in front of that stupid fucking screen in front of my stupid fucking sister with Dante's stupid fucking hand on my shoulder and I remember know that when Lys won I threw my hands up and stumbled over to the bar, tripping over my own feet and screaming DRINKS ON ME!! because in that moment, I belonged to a victor family, and it felt like the right thing to do.
I wish I had passed out before then, maybe taken a handful of whatever Polonius gave us except all at once, because then at least I could keep on pretending that I don't know what's going to happen now. My legs almost buckle when I cross the room and my hands shake against the doorknob when I reach it. I know I need to take something before I go see Dad because I've suddenly never felt this sober before and it does something funny to my chest.
"I'll hold down the fort." I can hear Dante call from behind me, "Bring back take-out!"
But I'm already letting the door swing shut and practically running down the hall. I need to get home before Lysander does, before she can ruin the little niche I've carved out for myself in her absence, and it's a paranoid thought, I know. She still has all the ceremonies and the parties and the tour to do. Some distant part of my brain registers that. But I know myself well enough to know that I can't always trust my brain. I could've been passed out in that penthouse for a day or for a week. Lysander could already be sitting on the throne, my throne, kicking her feet up and watching everything I've worked for burn.
She'll probably have Wolf take my place.
I stop in the lobby to empty my stomach into one of the potted plants.
