I've already been to school. (Not a real school though. Not an actual school like the one that Clarisse has gone to before: big campus, lots of students and teachers and different kinds of classes to pick from like in the movies. They could go together. She's thinking about it now, picturing it, wondering what subjects she'd like to take. Literature would be cool. Maybe writing, and history. Classics? Hah.
Lev could go to school too. He could be around all sorts of kids his own age, he could make a solid group of friends. That'd stop him sulking in his bedroom at all hours of the day. It'd be really good for him.
Fuck.
It's heart-breaking, knowing how good it would be if only they could reach out and take it. Instead of getting to have that, everybody got stuck here instead. Abby's decision to walk her and Lev through that fucking door, lest she forget.
She exhales, frustrated with herself. She realises she's been staring out the window in the direction of the ocean as she thinks, and her attention snaps back onto Clarisse instantly.)
Guess it'd be better I went back with you than if you came back with me. I'd love to see you punch an infected, though.
It's different. There are classes for, like, everything you can imagine doing. And you'd have to go to a football game. And... see the cacti.
[ Look, it's those giant saguaros she always pictures when she thinks about school—and home. Those and the intense, dry heat. It's so different from here, and for a moment Clarisse is hit by a pang of intense homesickness, the urge to get away from this place and find her way back to familiarity, to comfort. It's not her dorm room in Tucson she thinks of, or the room she stays in at her mom's when she visits, but the creaky old bunk she slept in at camp, and the soft blanket tucked against her chin, and the squabbling sound of her siblings in the background.
She gives Abby a sad, wilting smile. Her stomach hurts. Despite her reassurances, she's not sure what's about to happen, and she's scared of what might. ]
I'd punch the shit out of some infected. We'd kick ass together.
(She chuckles, momentarily buoyed out of her sadness by the thought of it. They really would kick ass together. They're fighters, survivors, and they'd be fucking unstoppable.
That isn't enough to stop Trench from separating them.
The thought crashes over her like a wave.)
... I'm not gonna go back to bed, (she says it suddenly, recklessly,) Stay up with me. Okay?
[ Clarisse knocks her shoulder against Abby's, just hard enough to make her have to shift her balance. It's no hardship for her to stay up—some blood type thing, she's pretty sure—but she'd do it anyway. ]
Whatever you wanna do, I'm game. [ Except go to the beach. Not that. ]
(Yeah going outside probably isn't a good idea, huh... where she might have suggested they go out for a walk or something, instead she chews the inside of her cheek, thinking.)
D'you... wanna watch a movie?
(Offering this is far too obvious huh. It's like she's asking Clarisse what she'd like her last meal to be.) You can pick.
[ It's certainly suspicious. Clarisse is momentarily torn between said suspicion and the exhilaration of knowing she could take Abby up on it, and then mock her for it later, after this drama blows over. ]
Like, anything? [ Suspicion is winning out, though. ] Even... Con Air?
... Yeah, (Abby says, with the air of somebody who has no idea what Con Air is but wants to live up to her word anyway,) Sure.
(Whatever she wants. Whatever is going to make her happy, and whatever is going to distract Abby sufficiently enough that she stops thinking about leaving.)
[ Clarisse holds the suspicious look for a few more seconds before giving in with a shrug. This should feel like a victory, but it just... doesn't. She still can't shake the uneasy feeling she has. ]
(It's probably a good idea, it'll give her a moment to calm down. Wash her face, or something, pull herself together. Everything aches anyway, like somebody kicked her right in the chest.)
I'll– see you there.
(And she does come back looking a little better for having pressed a cold washcloth against her eyes. It's probably suspicious of her to sit close enough to Clarisse that their shoulders and arms bump each other, but Abby pretends she's doing it so she has a nearby place to plonk her head when the movie inevitably starts to get boring. Besides, she's kinda tired. Maybe she really could go back to sleep and wake up fine.)
... This isn't one of your favourites or anything, is it? (Her nose wrinkles. She is leaning right up into Clarisse's side now under absolutely no pretense other than wanting to cling.)
Edited (did you think i forgot about editing this... you were right!) 2022-03-20 10:44 (UTC)
[ Abby is a warm, solid weight against her arm, and Clarisse doesn't mind. It's nice; she likes being able to have a friend who doesn't mind touching her in ways that are gentle. Abby coming back calmer, sleepier helps too. It makes the thrumming of Clarisse's own pulse less noticeable. Everything is okay. ]
It's not my favorite, [ which isn't what Abby asked, and she knows it, and she knows Abby knows she knows it. ] It's just fun. [ A prison break on an airplane... what's not to like? ]
When I was a kid I couldn't really go to crowded places much, so my mom would bring me movies to watch. The Matrix... Armageddon...
It's weird, (is her judgement, spoken without heat– spending time with Clarisse has nothing to do with what movie is currently playing. Even if it were 300 she'd still be sitting here with her head halfway to resting on her best friend's bony shoulder... savouring the company while she still can. What a morbid fucking thought.
Wait, hold on–) I've seen Armageddon.
(Finally, a bit of overlap. She seems surprised.) Jordan got really into apocalypse media for a couple months, he got us to watch a lot of shit.
(Including all the zombie movies he could get his hands on... people from the old world were obsessed. Pretty ironic of them actually.) They make really good drinking games.
Clarisse almost asks why people would want to watch "apocalypse media" when they're living through the apocalypse, but reconsiders after a moment, since she likes to watch war movies and she's lived through two different wars. Maybe it's one of those things where, as long as it's still a tiny bit removed from you, it's okay. Like, even 300 doesn't directly reference Ares or anything. ]
How come we've never played bad movie drinking games? [ She's feeling really cheated right now. ]
(That's fair. Maybe it is kind of weird to watch it, but it's oddly cathartic to watch what old world people classified as a world-ending disaster and go 'hah, it didn't happen like that!'. Some form of control or something, she doesn't know. Stupid, but fun.
A pause, and then she reaches out for the remote on the coffee table between them and the television, fumbling for the pause button.)
Dunno. Do we have anything?
(Could make it one. Is getting tipsy a really good idea right now?? No, but Abby is full to the brim of fuck this. She sits up, and pushes the blanket off her lap. It's very much still 5am.)
[ Was Clarisse horrified and disappointed to find out that yeah, you can make alcohol using fermented mushrooms? Yes. Do they have some in the house? Also yes. Gotta drink the pain away from time to time. Besides, sometimes it helps her sleep, shut up. ]
Drink every time Nicolas Cage makes a weird face. [ I mean, they would die, but whatever. ] Oh, or every time there's an electric guitar riff.
(She wasn't paying attention during the opening credits; she's shoving up from the couch to go and find a bottle, and pauses in the kitchen, suddenly dealing with a classic what did I come in here for again? moment. Abby isn't very focused right now. When she stops concentrating, all she can hear is the ocean, a tidal force in her blood. Like white noise. Overwhelming.
She shivers, shakes out of it, but instead of reaching for the handle of the fridge, she's found the doorknob of the back door that leads out of the kitchen, and into the garden. Bella has a green thumb. Her little flower beds are bright pops of colour in the early morning gloom, and Abby's socks get wet from the dewy grass when she starts to walk out across the lawn.
Not necessarily away, just to sea. See. There's something out there that she needs to see.)
[ Clarisse only sighs as Abby gets up and makes her way to the kitchen. She can't describe Nicolas Cage. It's impossible.
She's only half listening to Abby in the kitchen, staring down at the couch and picking at a piece of fuzz near her leg, but she lifts her head and frowns when she hears the back door open. A few seconds more, and when Abby hasn't come back, she gets off the couch and walks to the kitchen to find her.
It's hard to make sense of what she's seeing, at first, even though she heard it happen—the back door open, letting cold air in, and Abby's silhouette moving out across the lawn, away from home. Clarisse follows her into the early morning mist, hissing in annoyance as her bare feet hit the wet, cold grass. ]
What the fuck are you doing? [ She comes up behind Abby and grabs her shoulder. ]
(She spares a wordless look for Clarisse, but pulls out of her grasp. Abby won't be held back, but she has enough frame of mind to want to go there with somebody, instead of alone, so she takes Clarisse's hand in hers and holds it so tightly.)
... Come with me. (She doesn't feel the same way about leaving as Abby does but maybe once she sees it she'll change her mind. They could walk into the waves together. The thought loosens up the tight knot in her chest.
She starts walking again, giving Clarisse a tug to let her know to come along.)
[ Clarisse feels lightheaded, like she can't catch her breath, like she's dissolving from the inside out. She pulls her hand out of Abby's, yanks it hard without giving thought to whether or not it might hurt her; maybe part of her wants to hurt Abby a little bit, snap her out of this. She hates the way Abby's barely looking at her and the way she seems to have just accepted this, like it's fine, like Clarisse could just go with her. ]
No. [ She repeats it, more insistent, her voice rough with an anguish that can only come out as anger. She can't. She can't. She can't. She chose to come here; they all chose to come here. What is she supposed to do? Leave Bella here alone? Not even say goodbye? ]
How could you ask me to do this? [ Even if Abby only wants her to go to the beach and watch her walk into the ocean, how could she—? Clarisse's chest is heaving like she's about to sob, but she can't. She can't. ] How can you do this to me? You decided to come here and now you just—you back out like some kind of fucking coward? You just leave?
(No? At first she doesn't understand, but allows Clarisse to rip herself free in turn. Abby doesn't actually need her there, just wants it, and she's steadily realising that what she thinks and feels about this doesn't matter. There's a fog in her head, an eerie calm. A calling.
Then Clarisse makes a sound like a wounded animal behind her, and something punctures abruptly. Abby rounds on her.)
What are you talking about? (It spills out. At first she thinks she's really angry, but that's not it. She's overwhelmingly sad. She wants to grab Clarisse and shake her until she understands, because she can't find the words to express how this is making her feel, it's all tangled up, snarled tight around her heart. She can't begin to start accepting that this could be the last time she ever sees her.) You think I want to leave you??
(How the fuck could she possibly- Abby can barely breathe. That Clarisse might think this is easy for her when really it's like a knife in her fucking gut is salt in the wound.
This place? Trench? Give or take. It isn't home, but Clarisse is.)
I told you. (Listen. Please just listen, and understand, and find a way to save her, to keep her here. She grabs Clarisse again, entreating her,) It's in my head, it's– fucking with me, and it doesn't care if I want to stay.
[ Clarisse is too swept up in fear and anguish to feel Abby's hands on her. She's drowning in it. The sound of her own voice, of Abby's, is muffled under the pounding of her own pulse in her ears. Everything—the frost melting on her feet, and the fog drifting around them, and the look on Abby's face, it's all lost to her. ]
Apparently it doesn't matter if you want to leave me or not, because you're doing it anyway!
[ Her voice is shrill, almost hysterical. Behind her, skeletal fingers start to claw their way up from the dirt, grasping for open air. She hasn't summoned anything by accident since the first day she came to Trench, back when she barely remembered herself, but it's happening again now, and she can't begin to get herself under control enough to stop it. ]
All you have to do is be stronger than this, but you won't even try! You—you know what will happen if you go, don't you? [ Abby will forget. She'll forget Clarisse and everything they did and all the conversations they had, and it'll be even worse than if she'd died, because at least in dying there's something on the other side of it. There's memory, and feeling. Clarisse knows that when she dies she'll see Silena and they'll remember everything, but this? This is nothing. This is emptiness that she'll never, ever be able to fill again. ]
(Fighting the urge to turn on her heel and walk away actually hurts, like thinking around a physical pressure building in her head; Abby thinks she's trying really hard. She's concentrating on Clarisse's cold arms underneath her palms, the tremble of her muscles from being held too tight. She's looking at her best friend, locked in a spasm of grief that she caused, is causing, one hurtful enough to drive grasping, bony hands up through the earth, a telltale sign of her panic.
Of all the things she's ever done that she regrets, this might be what she hates herself for the most (while she still has the memory of it). Finding Clarisse, and then letting her go.)
I know. (She's clutching her too tightly. She can't fucking make her come along, and anyway, she won't, and she shouldn't, not just because Abby isn't done needing her. It isn't fair. She croaks,) I fucking know, C, okay, please-
(She exhales tightly, brow furrowing. She can hear the bodies coming up out of the ground and it puts her deeply on edge, the kick of adrenaline sudden, instinctive. Abby whimpers. Clarisse has to know that she's not taking any of it lying down.) It hurts. (She's had so much worse, but not like this, not in her head. Not whispering in her ears.)
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laruetheday) wrote2021-09-04 06:23 pm
no subject
Lev could go to school too. He could be around all sorts of kids his own age, he could make a solid group of friends. That'd stop him sulking in his bedroom at all hours of the day. It'd be really good for him.
Fuck.
It's heart-breaking, knowing how good it would be if only they could reach out and take it. Instead of getting to have that, everybody got stuck here instead. Abby's decision to walk her and Lev through that fucking door, lest she forget.
She exhales, frustrated with herself. She realises she's been staring out the window in the direction of the ocean as she thinks, and her attention snaps back onto Clarisse instantly.)
Guess it'd be better I went back with you than if you came back with me. I'd love to see you punch an infected, though.
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[ Look, it's those giant saguaros she always pictures when she thinks about school—and home. Those and the intense, dry heat. It's so different from here, and for a moment Clarisse is hit by a pang of intense homesickness, the urge to get away from this place and find her way back to familiarity, to comfort. It's not her dorm room in Tucson she thinks of, or the room she stays in at her mom's when she visits, but the creaky old bunk she slept in at camp, and the soft blanket tucked against her chin, and the squabbling sound of her siblings in the background.
She gives Abby a sad, wilting smile. Her stomach hurts. Despite her reassurances, she's not sure what's about to happen, and she's scared of what might. ]
I'd punch the shit out of some infected. We'd kick ass together.
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That isn't enough to stop Trench from separating them.
The thought crashes over her like a wave.)
... I'm not gonna go back to bed, (she says it suddenly, recklessly,) Stay up with me. Okay?
(Stay with me.)
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[ Clarisse knocks her shoulder against Abby's, just hard enough to make her have to shift her balance. It's no hardship for her to stay up—some blood type thing, she's pretty sure—but she'd do it anyway. ]
Whatever you wanna do, I'm game. [ Except go to the beach. Not that. ]
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D'you... wanna watch a movie?
(Offering this is far too obvious huh. It's like she's asking Clarisse what she'd like her last meal to be.) You can pick.
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Like, anything? [ Suspicion is winning out, though. ] Even... Con Air?
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(Whatever she wants. Whatever is going to make her happy, and whatever is going to distract Abby sufficiently enough that she stops thinking about leaving.)
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Okay. Meet you in the living room in five?
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(It's probably a good idea, it'll give her a moment to calm down. Wash her face, or something, pull herself together. Everything aches anyway, like somebody kicked her right in the chest.)
I'll– see you there.
(And she does come back looking a little better for having pressed a cold washcloth against her eyes. It's probably suspicious of her to sit close enough to Clarisse that their shoulders and arms bump each other, but Abby pretends she's doing it so she has a nearby place to plonk her head when the movie inevitably starts to get boring. Besides, she's kinda tired. Maybe she really could go back to sleep and wake up fine.)
... This isn't one of your favourites or anything, is it? (Her nose wrinkles. She is leaning right up into Clarisse's side now under absolutely no pretense other than wanting to cling.)
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It's not my favorite, [ which isn't what Abby asked, and she knows it, and she knows Abby knows she knows it. ] It's just fun. [ A prison break on an airplane... what's not to like? ]
When I was a kid I couldn't really go to crowded places much, so my mom would bring me movies to watch. The Matrix... Armageddon...
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Wait, hold on–) I've seen Armageddon.
(Finally, a bit of overlap. She seems surprised.) Jordan got really into apocalypse media for a couple months, he got us to watch a lot of shit.
(Including all the zombie movies he could get his hands on... people from the old world were obsessed. Pretty ironic of them actually.) They make really good drinking games.
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Clarisse almost asks why people would want to watch "apocalypse media" when they're living through the apocalypse, but reconsiders after a moment, since she likes to watch war movies and she's lived through two different wars. Maybe it's one of those things where, as long as it's still a tiny bit removed from you, it's okay. Like, even 300 doesn't directly reference Ares or anything. ]
How come we've never played bad movie drinking games? [ She's feeling really cheated right now. ]
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A pause, and then she reaches out for the remote on the coffee table between them and the television, fumbling for the pause button.)
Dunno. Do we have anything?
(Could make it one. Is getting tipsy a really good idea right now?? No, but Abby is full to the brim of fuck this. She sits up, and pushes the blanket off her lap. It's very much still 5am.)
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[ Was Clarisse horrified and disappointed to find out that yeah, you can make alcohol using fermented mushrooms? Yes. Do they have some in the house? Also yes. Gotta drink the pain away from time to time. Besides, sometimes it helps her sleep, shut up. ]
Drink every time Nicolas Cage makes a weird face. [ I mean, they would die, but whatever. ] Oh, or every time there's an electric guitar riff.
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(She wasn't paying attention during the opening credits; she's shoving up from the couch to go and find a bottle, and pauses in the kitchen, suddenly dealing with a classic what did I come in here for again? moment. Abby isn't very focused right now. When she stops concentrating, all she can hear is the ocean, a tidal force in her blood. Like white noise. Overwhelming.
She shivers, shakes out of it, but instead of reaching for the handle of the fridge, she's found the doorknob of the back door that leads out of the kitchen, and into the garden. Bella has a green thumb. Her little flower beds are bright pops of colour in the early morning gloom, and Abby's socks get wet from the dewy grass when she starts to walk out across the lawn.
Not necessarily away, just to sea. See. There's something out there that she needs to see.)
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She's only half listening to Abby in the kitchen, staring down at the couch and picking at a piece of fuzz near her leg, but she lifts her head and frowns when she hears the back door open. A few seconds more, and when Abby hasn't come back, she gets off the couch and walks to the kitchen to find her.
It's hard to make sense of what she's seeing, at first, even though she heard it happen—the back door open, letting cold air in, and Abby's silhouette moving out across the lawn, away from home. Clarisse follows her into the early morning mist, hissing in annoyance as her bare feet hit the wet, cold grass. ]
What the fuck are you doing? [ She comes up behind Abby and grabs her shoulder. ]
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... Come with me. (She doesn't feel the same way about leaving as Abby does but maybe once she sees it she'll change her mind. They could walk into the waves together. The thought loosens up the tight knot in her chest.
She starts walking again, giving Clarisse a tug to let her know to come along.)
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[ Clarisse feels lightheaded, like she can't catch her breath, like she's dissolving from the inside out. She pulls her hand out of Abby's, yanks it hard without giving thought to whether or not it might hurt her; maybe part of her wants to hurt Abby a little bit, snap her out of this. She hates the way Abby's barely looking at her and the way she seems to have just accepted this, like it's fine, like Clarisse could just go with her. ]
No. [ She repeats it, more insistent, her voice rough with an anguish that can only come out as anger. She can't. She can't. She can't. She chose to come here; they all chose to come here. What is she supposed to do? Leave Bella here alone? Not even say goodbye? ]
How could you ask me to do this? [ Even if Abby only wants her to go to the beach and watch her walk into the ocean, how could she—? Clarisse's chest is heaving like she's about to sob, but she can't. She can't. ] How can you do this to me? You decided to come here and now you just—you back out like some kind of fucking coward? You just leave?
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Then Clarisse makes a sound like a wounded animal behind her, and something punctures abruptly. Abby rounds on her.)
What are you talking about? (It spills out. At first she thinks she's really angry, but that's not it. She's overwhelmingly sad. She wants to grab Clarisse and shake her until she understands, because she can't find the words to express how this is making her feel, it's all tangled up, snarled tight around her heart. She can't begin to start accepting that this could be the last time she ever sees her.) You think I want to leave you??
(How the fuck could she possibly- Abby can barely breathe. That Clarisse might think this is easy for her when really it's like a knife in her fucking gut is salt in the wound.
This place? Trench? Give or take. It isn't home, but Clarisse is.)
I told you. (Listen. Please just listen, and understand, and find a way to save her, to keep her here. She grabs Clarisse again, entreating her,) It's in my head, it's– fucking with me, and it doesn't care if I want to stay.
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Apparently it doesn't matter if you want to leave me or not, because you're doing it anyway!
[ Her voice is shrill, almost hysterical. Behind her, skeletal fingers start to claw their way up from the dirt, grasping for open air. She hasn't summoned anything by accident since the first day she came to Trench, back when she barely remembered herself, but it's happening again now, and she can't begin to get herself under control enough to stop it. ]
All you have to do is be stronger than this, but you won't even try! You—you know what will happen if you go, don't you? [ Abby will forget. She'll forget Clarisse and everything they did and all the conversations they had, and it'll be even worse than if she'd died, because at least in dying there's something on the other side of it. There's memory, and feeling. Clarisse knows that when she dies she'll see Silena and they'll remember everything, but this? This is nothing. This is emptiness that she'll never, ever be able to fill again. ]
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Of all the things she's ever done that she regrets, this might be what she hates herself for the most (while she still has the memory of it). Finding Clarisse, and then letting her go.)
I know. (She's clutching her too tightly. She can't fucking make her come along, and anyway, she won't, and she shouldn't, not just because Abby isn't done needing her. It isn't fair. She croaks,) I fucking know, C, okay, please-
(She exhales tightly, brow furrowing. She can hear the bodies coming up out of the ground and it puts her deeply on edge, the kick of adrenaline sudden, instinctive. Abby whimpers. Clarisse has to know that she's not taking any of it lying down.) It hurts. (She's had so much worse, but not like this, not in her head. Not whispering in her ears.)