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In the end, Rosie doesn't ask Anne about particularly slow and vengeful ways of killing someone, or go to Sabrina for a hex involving boils or scrofula or something equally vile, or any of the other gruesomely creative things she'd thought about in the space between finding out about Neil and Caleb's breakup--and the reasons therein--and now. She hadn't replied to any of his messages beyond that first one, and even that was a starkly ominous we will talk about this later; in the last day or so, he'd moved on to leaving voicemails, and she hadn't listened to any of them either. There was a kind of glee in letting him stew, in ignoring him in favor of making sure Neil got back on his feet and recovered as much as possible from the blow he'd been dealt.
Eventually, she decides to take him off of whatever agonizing hook he'd placed himself on--not that he hadn't deserved it--and sends him another message, just as short as the last. If you're not home, get there. I'm coming over.
She doesn't wait for a reply, just heads out the door and towards Caleb's building.
Eventually, she decides to take him off of whatever agonizing hook he'd placed himself on--not that he hadn't deserved it--and sends him another message, just as short as the last. If you're not home, get there. I'm coming over.
She doesn't wait for a reply, just heads out the door and towards Caleb's building.
Rosie takes a few days to get everything settled in her mind before she even considers bringing it up to Sabrina. All the things she wants, and the things she doesn't; what she has to have back out of the things she's given up, and everything that she's thrown aside for the better over the last year. She doesn't know if it's enough, will be enough, but she wants to try.
Nick, she thinks, might have wanted her to try. More than that, she loves Sabrina and Charlie too deeply to turn away from this. Whatever it becomes.
She and Sabrina agree to meet in the window of time between when Sabrina's finished at Leviathan and before Rosie has to go down to the restaurant in the evening. After a day or two of storms, the weather's cleared, the humidity all but gone with the rain; after getting them both drinks from a nearby cafe, it's easy for Rosie to find a mostly-dry spot of grass in the park where they can talk and enjoy the sun. That it also makes it easier for either of them to leave isn't worth thinking about, and she does her best not to.
She texts Sabrina her location, then settles down to wait, fingers fidgeting with the straw in her drink.
Nick, she thinks, might have wanted her to try. More than that, she loves Sabrina and Charlie too deeply to turn away from this. Whatever it becomes.
She and Sabrina agree to meet in the window of time between when Sabrina's finished at Leviathan and before Rosie has to go down to the restaurant in the evening. After a day or two of storms, the weather's cleared, the humidity all but gone with the rain; after getting them both drinks from a nearby cafe, it's easy for Rosie to find a mostly-dry spot of grass in the park where they can talk and enjoy the sun. That it also makes it easier for either of them to leave isn't worth thinking about, and she does her best not to.
She texts Sabrina her location, then settles down to wait, fingers fidgeting with the straw in her drink.
It isn't anybody's fault, not really. Not Neil's or Caleb's for being so happy in one another, or Nick's for having left, or Sabrina and Charlie's for having stayed. Not even her own, though at times that's a harder thing to believe. It's all of it, and none of it, and even though she's aware of a kind of coming out of the dark at last, it doesn't take much to sink her once again.
When everything was still raw and fresh, Nick gone a matter of hours rather than a long and still terrible stretch of days, Newt had invited her to come stay. To be with him and Kav and Charlie and the cats, to let herself be cared for. To accept, she thought then, made it feel real; a confirmation that something vital had broken and couldn't be repaired again. It had stayed on her mind anyway, something about it warm and glowing and kind in a way she knew she needed. When she said as much to Charlie a few days ago, the response had been immediate, instantaneous: It's not an invitation that expires, you know? Come stay.
She packed a bag and found a way to explain it to Neil, trying not to look for any kind of hurt or question in his eyes. It wasn't forever, and it wasn't his fault. It was just something she needed to do.
Today, she's spent much like the last few days; quiet and brittle, floating from one room to another. Sometimes alone, sometimes picking up the thread of an easy conversation, sometimes saying nothing as she just shares space with whoever's there. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, drifting off in the middle of a show she and Charlie had put on mostly for the noise and distraction of it, and wakes a short time later to the scent of someone cooking something in the next room. While she slept, one of the cats had curled up with her, a solid weight on the blanket by her legs, and as she gets up she's careful not to disturb him.
Dressed in leggings and a t-shirt she'd borrowed from Charlie, she pads into the kitchen to see who else is around.
When everything was still raw and fresh, Nick gone a matter of hours rather than a long and still terrible stretch of days, Newt had invited her to come stay. To be with him and Kav and Charlie and the cats, to let herself be cared for. To accept, she thought then, made it feel real; a confirmation that something vital had broken and couldn't be repaired again. It had stayed on her mind anyway, something about it warm and glowing and kind in a way she knew she needed. When she said as much to Charlie a few days ago, the response had been immediate, instantaneous: It's not an invitation that expires, you know? Come stay.
She packed a bag and found a way to explain it to Neil, trying not to look for any kind of hurt or question in his eyes. It wasn't forever, and it wasn't his fault. It was just something she needed to do.
Today, she's spent much like the last few days; quiet and brittle, floating from one room to another. Sometimes alone, sometimes picking up the thread of an easy conversation, sometimes saying nothing as she just shares space with whoever's there. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, drifting off in the middle of a show she and Charlie had put on mostly for the noise and distraction of it, and wakes a short time later to the scent of someone cooking something in the next room. While she slept, one of the cats had curled up with her, a solid weight on the blanket by her legs, and as she gets up she's careful not to disturb him.
Dressed in leggings and a t-shirt she'd borrowed from Charlie, she pads into the kitchen to see who else is around.
The plan had always been for all of them to stay the night at Nick's, movies and dinner and all of them either piling close or pairing off, then spending the next day together at least through the afternoon. It made it easier, once the three of them realized how very wrong everything had gone, for Rosie to avoid even the thought of telling anyone else. Of telling Neil.
He didn't need to know. Didn't need to hear it from a text message or over the phone, especially not all these months after his own pair of losses, and even less time since the agony of that bizarre videotape they'd watched together. And if Caleb had stayed, they both needed her sadness even less, something crashing in over all that happiness. It was better, easier, to leave her phone in her bag; to cling to Charlie and Sabrina, all three of them huddled close in Nick's bed, at Nick's apartment--and was any of it even Nick's any longer? She didn't know--none of them sleeping very much as the night went on. They stayed together through the next day, until Sabrina decided to go home to Marcus and Dan, to start the process of sharing their loss with the other people who matter. Charlie drives her back, then drops Rosie outside Candlewood, helping her unload the few things she claimed from Nick's apartment from the trunk.
It's nothing special, just the gift she'd bought him for Christmas and a few of his shirts and sweaters. She doesn't think about how small a remembrance it seems, taken all together.
Unlocking the door, she nudges it open with her foot, then kicks it closed once she's inside. It makes a louder sound than she'd anticipated in the closing, and she winces, aware it's going to pull Neil's attention if he's even here at all.
"Sorry," she calls, her voice sounding awfully small in just that single word.
He didn't need to know. Didn't need to hear it from a text message or over the phone, especially not all these months after his own pair of losses, and even less time since the agony of that bizarre videotape they'd watched together. And if Caleb had stayed, they both needed her sadness even less, something crashing in over all that happiness. It was better, easier, to leave her phone in her bag; to cling to Charlie and Sabrina, all three of them huddled close in Nick's bed, at Nick's apartment--and was any of it even Nick's any longer? She didn't know--none of them sleeping very much as the night went on. They stayed together through the next day, until Sabrina decided to go home to Marcus and Dan, to start the process of sharing their loss with the other people who matter. Charlie drives her back, then drops Rosie outside Candlewood, helping her unload the few things she claimed from Nick's apartment from the trunk.
It's nothing special, just the gift she'd bought him for Christmas and a few of his shirts and sweaters. She doesn't think about how small a remembrance it seems, taken all together.
Unlocking the door, she nudges it open with her foot, then kicks it closed once she's inside. It makes a louder sound than she'd anticipated in the closing, and she winces, aware it's going to pull Neil's attention if he's even here at all.
"Sorry," she calls, her voice sounding awfully small in just that single word.
Neil's been out of the apartment a little more often recently, and Caleb's been even worse than usual at responding when she texts him, and Rosie's clever enough to put both of those facts together into one delightful conclusion. Maybe not the most delightful, not yet, but at least they're both spending time together. She's tried her best not to pry ever since her talk with Neil the other week--she had promised, after all--but it's not exactly prying to notice something. Or be terribly happy about it.
Given that her talk with Neil had gone so well, Rosie's been looking for an opportunity to do the same with Caleb, to find out if things on his side are similar enough that something might come of it after all. The end of the year is busy enough that it's hard, all the prep for finals and agonizing over projects, but at last there comes a day when it seems like things might be calm enough.
When the bell rings at the end of French class, Rosie weaves her way through the rows of desks to where Caleb's sitting, still packing up his bag. "Ready for lunch?"
Given that her talk with Neil had gone so well, Rosie's been looking for an opportunity to do the same with Caleb, to find out if things on his side are similar enough that something might come of it after all. The end of the year is busy enough that it's hard, all the prep for finals and agonizing over projects, but at last there comes a day when it seems like things might be calm enough.
When the bell rings at the end of French class, Rosie weaves her way through the rows of desks to where Caleb's sitting, still packing up his bag. "Ready for lunch?"
Rosie's been busy in the week or so since Darrowfest, and not just because of school, or for the usual Nick or Sabrina-related reasons. One of the places she'd applied, the seafood restaurant down by the water at the fancier end of the boardwalk that'd been looking for a hostess and had seemed like such a long shot, actually called her in for an interview--and that had gone well enough that now she was supposed to come by one night next week, too, for a kind of walkthrough and training just to know what she was really getting into. Even though the main reason she's doing it seems terribly far off, that thought of a quiet little house near the woods with enough space for all four of them, it still feels like a step forward.
As distracted as she's been, though, she hasn't missed the change that seems to have come over Neil since the festival. He's been happy, happier than she's really seen him in months, and it feels just a little like he's finally come out the other side of losing Harry and Guy in one harsh blow. She hasn't asked why, but she's noticed, and whatever the reason, she's glad.
Today, she's spent the afternoon at home, most of it reading on the couch. She's still there when she hears the short buzz of Neil's phone that usually indicates a text coming through. She doesn't pay it much mind, but then it happens again not long afterwards.
And again. And once more, just for good measure.
Rosie still doesn't get up, but when she hears Neil coming down the hallway and into their living room, she looks in his direction. "Someone really wants to talk to you," she says, a little amused. "Everything alright?"
As distracted as she's been, though, she hasn't missed the change that seems to have come over Neil since the festival. He's been happy, happier than she's really seen him in months, and it feels just a little like he's finally come out the other side of losing Harry and Guy in one harsh blow. She hasn't asked why, but she's noticed, and whatever the reason, she's glad.
Today, she's spent the afternoon at home, most of it reading on the couch. She's still there when she hears the short buzz of Neil's phone that usually indicates a text coming through. She doesn't pay it much mind, but then it happens again not long afterwards.
And again. And once more, just for good measure.
Rosie still doesn't get up, but when she hears Neil coming down the hallway and into their living room, she looks in his direction. "Someone really wants to talk to you," she says, a little amused. "Everything alright?"
not in a straight line, but all in pieces
Feb. 23rd, 2020 11:21 pmRunning into Charlie on her walk from school led to going to his house instead, which in turn meant she’d hung about long enough that it only made sense to stay for dinner once Newt and Kavinsky were home, and while she’d made sure to let Neil know where she was her phone had found its way back to the bottom of her bag before his reply--if there would be one at all, he was probably busy with school or work or Harry--flashed up on the screen. All of that means she doesn’t know, not until the evening is at its end and she’s digging through her bag again on the way to the bus stop.
When she pulls up the messages on her phone, reading them once, twice, even a third time, she turns and all but runs back to the Kavinskys. If one of them brings her home, it’ll at least be faster than the bus, but it still feels like it takes forever.
Rosie murmurs a distracted thank you as she gets out of the car and shuts the door, pushing into the Candlewood lobby and waiting--and waiting and waiting and why is it taking so long--until the elevator doors slide open at her floor. She fumbles with her keys, her hands shaking as she tries to fit them in the lock, and when she finally does get inside, she nearly leaves them hanging there in her distraction. That she even takes off her coat, once she sees Neil slumped miserably on the couch, is a miracle in itself.
“Both of them?”
When she pulls up the messages on her phone, reading them once, twice, even a third time, she turns and all but runs back to the Kavinskys. If one of them brings her home, it’ll at least be faster than the bus, but it still feels like it takes forever.
Rosie murmurs a distracted thank you as she gets out of the car and shuts the door, pushing into the Candlewood lobby and waiting--and waiting and waiting and why is it taking so long--until the elevator doors slide open at her floor. She fumbles with her keys, her hands shaking as she tries to fit them in the lock, and when she finally does get inside, she nearly leaves them hanging there in her distraction. That she even takes off her coat, once she sees Neil slumped miserably on the couch, is a miracle in itself.
“Both of them?”
It's a wet day, full of cold and bluster and unpleasantness, and Rosie's more than glad the two of them have decided to stay in for the duration. They have no concrete plans aside from curling up beneath as many blankets as they can pile on Sabrina's bed, watching movies and eating junk food until they're absolutely sick of both. Later, Nick and Charlie may stop by to share in some of it, but for now it's a girl's afternoon and Rosie can't think of anything more perfect.
"I'm only saying," Rosie says as they both go into the kitchen, "that if we alternate watching one of your terrible monster movies with something a bit lighter, we'll be able to...appreciate the contrast more." She grins. "And even if that's not true, you have to agree it's a convincing argument."
Turning away, she starts opening the pantry cupboards, looking for more snacks to bring back to their little nest in Sabrina's room.
"I'm only saying," Rosie says as they both go into the kitchen, "that if we alternate watching one of your terrible monster movies with something a bit lighter, we'll be able to...appreciate the contrast more." She grins. "And even if that's not true, you have to agree it's a convincing argument."
Turning away, she starts opening the pantry cupboards, looking for more snacks to bring back to their little nest in Sabrina's room.
At first, she'd given that late-night text from Caleb--a friend in trouble, Caleb okay but out of school for the week--a healthy amount of sympathy, but no real concern. She sought out Clint in the senior hallway and divvied up the task of collecting assignments and notes from Caleb's classes, ignoring to the best of her ability the vague sniggers about sex cults she overheard from a few of the other members of the team as she walked away.
It was all working rather smoothly, with very little room for worry--until she stopped by Caleb's apartment that night and actually saw him. Whatever had happened, it left him drawn and tired, something almost lost behind his eyes. Rosie hadn't pried, despite the flurry of questions that rose to her mind, just handed over the collected assignments and made the appropriate vague noises of sympathy before he pushed the front door slowly shut again. Still, the sight was enough to make her worry, to increase that faint concern from before to something far harder to ignore.
Clint had agreed to drop things off the next two days, leaving Rosie time to think--and to plan. By Thursday, she had at least the seed of an idea, something that might provide Caleb with a little more comfort after a situation that had so clearly rattled him. She got Clint's half of the assignments from him after school, then stopped by the small market a few blocks from Candlewood to pick up a few additional things before heading home.
That night, she loads everything into a few tote bags she and Neil had picked up from one Darrow event or another and heads downstairs. She knocks once, twice, then tries the knob, finding it unlocked and barging in before she can quite stop herself.
"It's just me," she calls, nudging the door shut with her foot.
It was all working rather smoothly, with very little room for worry--until she stopped by Caleb's apartment that night and actually saw him. Whatever had happened, it left him drawn and tired, something almost lost behind his eyes. Rosie hadn't pried, despite the flurry of questions that rose to her mind, just handed over the collected assignments and made the appropriate vague noises of sympathy before he pushed the front door slowly shut again. Still, the sight was enough to make her worry, to increase that faint concern from before to something far harder to ignore.
Clint had agreed to drop things off the next two days, leaving Rosie time to think--and to plan. By Thursday, she had at least the seed of an idea, something that might provide Caleb with a little more comfort after a situation that had so clearly rattled him. She got Clint's half of the assignments from him after school, then stopped by the small market a few blocks from Candlewood to pick up a few additional things before heading home.
That night, she loads everything into a few tote bags she and Neil had picked up from one Darrow event or another and heads downstairs. She knocks once, twice, then tries the knob, finding it unlocked and barging in before she can quite stop herself.
"It's just me," she calls, nudging the door shut with her foot.
I'd left him dreaming; a dangerous feat
Nov. 20th, 2019 10:05 pmMost mornings, she and Neil keep, if not the same hours, at least similar ones; close enough that there's sometimes a good-natured battle between them for the bathroom, or that it's easy for one or the other to make an extra few pieces of toast while they're putting together their own breakfast. And when they differ, when Neil's been out late or Rosie's spent the night at Nick's, they know each other well enough not to be concerned. Those quieter mornings can even be nice sometimes, a chance to settle into the day at the very start, to have some time without another person around.
All this to say, if it hadn't been for Beau, she might have simply gone to school and left him.
The dog had parked himself just outside Neil's closed bedroom door, something Rosie could only think of as concern in the low note of his whine. "Come away," she'd said, trying to call him over first with words, then the click of her tongue, then finally by taking hold of his collar and pulling. He resisted it all, settling the weight of his stocky body along the floor in a way that made him nearly immoveable. Finally, she'd tapped on the door, listening for the sound of anything within before she pushed it open. "Neil? I'm not trying to--oh."
This had happened before, but she'd been on the other side of it then. Now, it seemed it was her turn to be the one left behind. In a way, she's almost glad for the recentness of her experience, the way it keeps her fear mostly at bay. After looking up the number for Darrow General, she calls for an ambulance: Yes, someone else who won't wake up, please hurry if you can. As she waits, she sends texts to Sabrina, Nick, Charlie; calls Neil's work and makes up a plausible enough excuse as to why he'll be missing his scheduled shifts today and tomorrow. It's only what she knows he'd done for her, not long at all ago. When the paramedics arrive, Rosie follows them down, riding in the back of the ambulance and holding Neil's limp hand the entire way there. He's booked into a room, has an IV set up for hydration, and though the nurses encourage her to leave, claiming he'll be just fine in a matter of days, all she does is pull a chair over to his bedside and settle in.
Perhaps a bit shamefully, she doesn't think about Harry until just then. For all that he's been a little distant to her--and still she thinks it's awfully rude, the way he sometimes acts the few times he's been over when she's there, almost as though it's she who has no business being in her own flat--Rosie knows Neil cares about him. He deserves to know what's happened. Having brought Neil's phone with her just in case, she taps in his passcode, looking up Harry's number. In the hopes of avoiding confusion, she texts him from her own phone; a few short messages, all in quick succession.
Hello Mr Starks, it's Neil's friend Rosie, he's in hospital (unconscious but othrwise fine), wanted you to know
Room # is 387, have put you on visitor list if you'd like to stop by
Please don't worry, it's something the city does at times, very stupid
All this to say, if it hadn't been for Beau, she might have simply gone to school and left him.
The dog had parked himself just outside Neil's closed bedroom door, something Rosie could only think of as concern in the low note of his whine. "Come away," she'd said, trying to call him over first with words, then the click of her tongue, then finally by taking hold of his collar and pulling. He resisted it all, settling the weight of his stocky body along the floor in a way that made him nearly immoveable. Finally, she'd tapped on the door, listening for the sound of anything within before she pushed it open. "Neil? I'm not trying to--oh."
This had happened before, but she'd been on the other side of it then. Now, it seemed it was her turn to be the one left behind. In a way, she's almost glad for the recentness of her experience, the way it keeps her fear mostly at bay. After looking up the number for Darrow General, she calls for an ambulance: Yes, someone else who won't wake up, please hurry if you can. As she waits, she sends texts to Sabrina, Nick, Charlie; calls Neil's work and makes up a plausible enough excuse as to why he'll be missing his scheduled shifts today and tomorrow. It's only what she knows he'd done for her, not long at all ago. When the paramedics arrive, Rosie follows them down, riding in the back of the ambulance and holding Neil's limp hand the entire way there. He's booked into a room, has an IV set up for hydration, and though the nurses encourage her to leave, claiming he'll be just fine in a matter of days, all she does is pull a chair over to his bedside and settle in.
Perhaps a bit shamefully, she doesn't think about Harry until just then. For all that he's been a little distant to her--and still she thinks it's awfully rude, the way he sometimes acts the few times he's been over when she's there, almost as though it's she who has no business being in her own flat--Rosie knows Neil cares about him. He deserves to know what's happened. Having brought Neil's phone with her just in case, she taps in his passcode, looking up Harry's number. In the hopes of avoiding confusion, she texts him from her own phone; a few short messages, all in quick succession.
Hello Mr Starks, it's Neil's friend Rosie, he's in hospital (unconscious but othrwise fine), wanted you to know
Room # is 387, have put you on visitor list if you'd like to stop by
Please don't worry, it's something the city does at times, very stupid
how can you change what is altered
Nov. 14th, 2019 08:18 pmSomehow, she manages to stop the bleeding, that strip of sailcloth turning into as close to a lifeline as it's possible for a thing to be. A group of them get Jamie to the ship, to something approximating safety; the pirates have seen this kind of injury before, and know more than the rest of them what to do. It's so easy to let them take control of the situation, to salvage from it what they can.
Clothes splashed with blood, Rosie wanders belowdeck, passing hammocks and coils of rope until she finds a hidden nook in the ribs of the ship. It's narrow and shadowed, barely large enough for her to fit inside, but she climbs in and sits, folding her arms around her bent knees to make herself just that much smaller. She stays there, numb and silent and waiting for whatever happens next. Her eyes close, just for a minute.
When they open again, it's to the sight of a stark white ceiling and a fluorescent light so bright it almost shocks her. There's a slow, steady beeping coming from somewhere nearby, the strange sensation of tape against the back of one of her hands keeping something in place. She lies there in confusion for another moment more, then tries to sit up, the motion slow and full of so much effort she shakes with it.
"What..." she starts, looking to one side of the bed--the hospital bed, she's at a hospital now, somehow--and then the other. "What happened to the ship?"
Clothes splashed with blood, Rosie wanders belowdeck, passing hammocks and coils of rope until she finds a hidden nook in the ribs of the ship. It's narrow and shadowed, barely large enough for her to fit inside, but she climbs in and sits, folding her arms around her bent knees to make herself just that much smaller. She stays there, numb and silent and waiting for whatever happens next. Her eyes close, just for a minute.
When they open again, it's to the sight of a stark white ceiling and a fluorescent light so bright it almost shocks her. There's a slow, steady beeping coming from somewhere nearby, the strange sensation of tape against the back of one of her hands keeping something in place. She lies there in confusion for another moment more, then tries to sit up, the motion slow and full of so much effort she shakes with it.
"What..." she starts, looking to one side of the bed--the hospital bed, she's at a hospital now, somehow--and then the other. "What happened to the ship?"
She's kept quiet about it. Not because of any worry or concern, not because she feels as though she's done anything wrong--indeed, in a way this feels the furthest thing from incorrect. There's just been a lot to think about, thoughts and feelings and needs that she's been turning over in her head and trying to parse out on her own before she brings them up with either Nick or Sabrina. She'll need to, because they're the cause of it all, the ones that sparked that odd blossoming warmth within her as they asked questions that held just the barest edge of command behind them.
It could be that she's understanding it all wrong, her relative inexperience turning words murmured in the heat of passion into something that feels more weighty than it is. But somehow, she doesn't think so. Whether she's misunderstood or not, though, Rosie wants to be sure of herself, and sure of what she wants. As she'd been told before, so many times, that's the only way this works.
After a few days of thought, she's ready to open the conversation, and given that they already had plans this afternoon, Nick seems the perfect person to start with. Settled on his couch and entwined under a blanket, they watch--well, mostly--the season premiere of that awful witch show Nick had fallen in love with during his convalescence, the both of them laughing and shouting things at the screen. Once it's over, Rosie reaches for the remote control, clicking the television off.
"Nick," she says softly, a flutter of uncertainty starting up in the pit of her stomach, something she tries to ignore. She turns in his arms until she can press a kiss to his mouth. "Could I...there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Realizing how that might sound only once it's out, her eyes widen, just slightly. "Something...I think it's something good, I promise."
It could be that she's understanding it all wrong, her relative inexperience turning words murmured in the heat of passion into something that feels more weighty than it is. But somehow, she doesn't think so. Whether she's misunderstood or not, though, Rosie wants to be sure of herself, and sure of what she wants. As she'd been told before, so many times, that's the only way this works.
After a few days of thought, she's ready to open the conversation, and given that they already had plans this afternoon, Nick seems the perfect person to start with. Settled on his couch and entwined under a blanket, they watch--well, mostly--the season premiere of that awful witch show Nick had fallen in love with during his convalescence, the both of them laughing and shouting things at the screen. Once it's over, Rosie reaches for the remote control, clicking the television off.
"Nick," she says softly, a flutter of uncertainty starting up in the pit of her stomach, something she tries to ignore. She turns in his arms until she can press a kiss to his mouth. "Could I...there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Realizing how that might sound only once it's out, her eyes widen, just slightly. "Something...I think it's something good, I promise."
Just like last year, the return of Movies in the Park was one of the main topics of chatter that day at school: groups of people making plans or shouting lines back and forth at one another in the hallway; gossip about who was going with whom (or who might say they were going and forgo the movie for other, more private entertainments); a few intensely enthusiastic people from the AV club discussing going in costume as one character or another. Strange though it was, as Darrow traditions went it seemed, at least, fairly innocuous. Especially after the summer that’s just passed, things like that seemed more and more of a rarity the longer she stayed in the city.
For a moment, Rosie considers attending herself, but when she hears that Charlie and Sabrina had already made plans to go--and that the movie scheduled for tonight was one of the blood-soaked horror films Sabrina loved so much--it’s all too easy for her to drop the idea entirely. Her offer to spend the evening at Nick’s is met with a lack of resistance, especially from Sabrina, that she might have thought suspicious under any other circumstance. Relieved as she is at having avoided a night of watching wholesale cinematic slaughter, though, she barely pauses to question it.
Hardly notices, too, the slight spark in Sabrina’s eye and the quiet look of planning both her best friends exchange as they turn away at the end of the lunch period.
When she gets to Chelsea that night, it’s just in time to say a quick hello in the lobby to Sabrina and Charlie on their way out. They’d done things like this on numerous occasions over the last two weeks, briefly checking in or updating one another on how Nick was feeling; this time, at least, it’s for a slightly lighter and easier reason. Rosie waves them happily out the front door of the building, then takes the familiar elevator ride up to the top floor and lets herself in to Nick’s apartment.
“Shift change,” she calls out to him, laughing a little. “Let me just put my bag down, and then I’ll be…” She trails off, noticing the neat pile of things on the coffee table: takeout menus, DVD cases with cover art that looks nearly as lurid and gory as that of the movie playing in the park, even a set of disposable cups and plates and a folded picnic blanket. And, prominently displayed, a note in Sabrina’s familiar handwriting exhorting them both to Have fun tonight!
“Oh, good grief.”
For a moment, Rosie considers attending herself, but when she hears that Charlie and Sabrina had already made plans to go--and that the movie scheduled for tonight was one of the blood-soaked horror films Sabrina loved so much--it’s all too easy for her to drop the idea entirely. Her offer to spend the evening at Nick’s is met with a lack of resistance, especially from Sabrina, that she might have thought suspicious under any other circumstance. Relieved as she is at having avoided a night of watching wholesale cinematic slaughter, though, she barely pauses to question it.
Hardly notices, too, the slight spark in Sabrina’s eye and the quiet look of planning both her best friends exchange as they turn away at the end of the lunch period.
When she gets to Chelsea that night, it’s just in time to say a quick hello in the lobby to Sabrina and Charlie on their way out. They’d done things like this on numerous occasions over the last two weeks, briefly checking in or updating one another on how Nick was feeling; this time, at least, it’s for a slightly lighter and easier reason. Rosie waves them happily out the front door of the building, then takes the familiar elevator ride up to the top floor and lets herself in to Nick’s apartment.
“Shift change,” she calls out to him, laughing a little. “Let me just put my bag down, and then I’ll be…” She trails off, noticing the neat pile of things on the coffee table: takeout menus, DVD cases with cover art that looks nearly as lurid and gory as that of the movie playing in the park, even a set of disposable cups and plates and a folded picnic blanket. And, prominently displayed, a note in Sabrina’s familiar handwriting exhorting them both to Have fun tonight!
“Oh, good grief.”
It's only once it's all over, once Nick's been delivered into the far more capable hands of a doctor at Darrow General and there's nothing to do but wait and hope, that Rosie lets herself think about going back home. She could stay, she knows; clean off the dried and drying streaks of blood on her skin as well as she can in the bathroom by the emergency waiting room, look for something clean to wear in the hospital gift shop, stay with the remainder of the same small group that had convened outside the bar only a few hours ago. Maybe she even should, but the thought of a shower, of clean clothes that are her own, of seeing Neil and knowing that everything they'd just done had kept him safe too--all of that is enough to make up her mind.
She makes Charlie promise to text once there's more news, promising him in turn that she'll come back as soon as she can. Someone drives her to Candlewood, drops her at the door. There's a long mirror on one of the lobby walls by the elevator, some attempt at elegance or class that doesn't really fit with the rest of the building; spotted and streaked though it is, it's clear enough that Rosie gets her first proper look at herself. What she sees--rust-colored smears on her forehead and shins, hands gone crimson, stains on her blouse and skirt--makes her go pale and sends her stomach lurching unpleasantly. When the elevator chimes open, it's empty, a small miracle that she doesn't dare question, and she rides up to the eighth floor in silence.
Rosie unlocks the door to the flat, slipping inside as quietly as she can. Now, she just needs to get to the bathroom, get the door locked behind her and the shower on without Neil realizing she'd ever been gone in the first place. Once she's clean, she'll be able to face him, to start explaining what still seems to her more than a little unexplainable.
She makes Charlie promise to text once there's more news, promising him in turn that she'll come back as soon as she can. Someone drives her to Candlewood, drops her at the door. There's a long mirror on one of the lobby walls by the elevator, some attempt at elegance or class that doesn't really fit with the rest of the building; spotted and streaked though it is, it's clear enough that Rosie gets her first proper look at herself. What she sees--rust-colored smears on her forehead and shins, hands gone crimson, stains on her blouse and skirt--makes her go pale and sends her stomach lurching unpleasantly. When the elevator chimes open, it's empty, a small miracle that she doesn't dare question, and she rides up to the eighth floor in silence.
Rosie unlocks the door to the flat, slipping inside as quietly as she can. Now, she just needs to get to the bathroom, get the door locked behind her and the shower on without Neil realizing she'd ever been gone in the first place. Once she's clean, she'll be able to face him, to start explaining what still seems to her more than a little unexplainable.
After everything, after she comes home bloodied and terrified and exhausted, she does what little she can. Showers, changes, reassures Neil again (and again and again) that she's fine--that they all are, that the unbelievable danger that had come so close to happening was over almost before it had begun. Keeps her phone near her, one ear always listening for the buzz of a text coming through or the chime of her ringtone. When he's discharged and brought home, she goes to Nick's apartment to stay with him, taking turns with Charlie.
It's not a lot, any of it; maybe even less in combination, but it's all she has.
As worn out as she had been--as worn out as she is, still--it's all the worse for Sabrina, she knows. Rosie keeps her distance for a time, letting the other girl recover within the safety and quiet of her own house, but when she hears that she's awake again and more than ready for visitors, she doesn't hesitate. The trip up to the house near the woods takes as long as it always does, and when Salem meets her at the front door, Rosie bends to scratch him behind the ears before following him inside and down the hall.
It's not a lot, any of it; maybe even less in combination, but it's all she has.
As worn out as she had been--as worn out as she is, still--it's all the worse for Sabrina, she knows. Rosie keeps her distance for a time, letting the other girl recover within the safety and quiet of her own house, but when she hears that she's awake again and more than ready for visitors, she doesn't hesitate. The trip up to the house near the woods takes as long as it always does, and when Salem meets her at the front door, Rosie bends to scratch him behind the ears before following him inside and down the hall.
and we can weather the great unknown
Sep. 2nd, 2019 04:07 pmWith Sabrina still recovering from all she'd had to do to save everybody, they set up a bit of a rotation in her stead, the two of them; quiet and watchful and dedicated, making sure that Nick's not left alone until she can be at his side. Rosie gets to the apartment as soon as she can, letting Charlie go to see Sabrina or head home to Newt and Kavinsky, and he does the same for her, letting her check back in with Neil. It works, because it has to.
When she arrives, Nick's sleeping--or maybe drifting, dosed up with the pills they'd given him at the hospital. Rosie checks on him, just to make sure, then busies herself with things she knows are just helpful distractions: washing the dishes they'd dirtied already; separating out the few real pieces of mail from the junk and advertisements that had piled up in what she carefully thought of as Nick's absence; staring at the book she'd brought with her and managing only to read the same two sentences, over and over again. She's putting on water for tea when she hears him start to stir. Carefully, she goes down the hallway and stops in the doorway to his room, looking in on him lying on the bed.
Something about the juxtaposition feels familiar, if distantly, a connection her mind tries to grasp and can't. She'd done this a few times already since Nick had come home, after all; that might be all it is.
"I'm here," she says, smiling faintly. "The kettle's on, if...there'll be tea, soon."
When she arrives, Nick's sleeping--or maybe drifting, dosed up with the pills they'd given him at the hospital. Rosie checks on him, just to make sure, then busies herself with things she knows are just helpful distractions: washing the dishes they'd dirtied already; separating out the few real pieces of mail from the junk and advertisements that had piled up in what she carefully thought of as Nick's absence; staring at the book she'd brought with her and managing only to read the same two sentences, over and over again. She's putting on water for tea when she hears him start to stir. Carefully, she goes down the hallway and stops in the doorway to his room, looking in on him lying on the bed.
Something about the juxtaposition feels familiar, if distantly, a connection her mind tries to grasp and can't. She'd done this a few times already since Nick had come home, after all; that might be all it is.
"I'm here," she says, smiling faintly. "The kettle's on, if...there'll be tea, soon."
but the moon is low and I can't say no
Aug. 18th, 2019 02:27 pmThere's so much less she can do, in comparison, and Rosie knows that all too well. No magical shattering of bone, no cold and swirling wind, no holding him resolutely in place with the clench of a fist or a murmured string of Latin. All she really has is her anger and shock that it had happened at all, that Nick had been--could ever be--so vile about it.
It's not much, not at all. But maybe it's enough. She owes it to Sabrina to try, at the very least.
She doesn't really have a plan, either, something she only thinks about once she's stormed into the lobby of Nick's building and stabbed her finger viciously at the call button for the elevator. Maybe she doesn't need one. Maybe all she needs is her fury, her love for Sabrina...and the key she still has, silver and shining, on the keyring in her purse. Once the elevator comes and she gets inside, she works the key off the ring; if nothing else, she'll just throw it at him. It's not like she'll need it ever again.
Rosie arrives at the tenth floor, charging out and down the hallway. She doesn't even hesitate, just unlocks Nick's door and flings it wide. The lights are on, dim and golden in the living room and bedroom, signs that he has to be here--not that she wouldn't have waited, seething and furious, until he arrived back home again.
"Nicholas," she snaps, in a voice that for a minute sounds far too commanding to be her own. In any other circumstance, it might have made her smile. "Get out here and explain yourself immediately."
[[tw for gaslighting & dubious consent in the thread]]
It's not much, not at all. But maybe it's enough. She owes it to Sabrina to try, at the very least.
She doesn't really have a plan, either, something she only thinks about once she's stormed into the lobby of Nick's building and stabbed her finger viciously at the call button for the elevator. Maybe she doesn't need one. Maybe all she needs is her fury, her love for Sabrina...and the key she still has, silver and shining, on the keyring in her purse. Once the elevator comes and she gets inside, she works the key off the ring; if nothing else, she'll just throw it at him. It's not like she'll need it ever again.
Rosie arrives at the tenth floor, charging out and down the hallway. She doesn't even hesitate, just unlocks Nick's door and flings it wide. The lights are on, dim and golden in the living room and bedroom, signs that he has to be here--not that she wouldn't have waited, seething and furious, until he arrived back home again.
"Nicholas," she snaps, in a voice that for a minute sounds far too commanding to be her own. In any other circumstance, it might have made her smile. "Get out here and explain yourself immediately."
[[tw for gaslighting & dubious consent in the thread]]
They’d had the first few weeks of their summer vacation stolen by the weather, each of them trapped at their respective homes--or elsewhere. It makes the rest of the summer ahead feel a little more immediate, a little more like they need to spend as much time together as possible before September and the start of school and all their other obligations. Which they have, and it’s been wonderful; a little heady, even a little scandalous with the way they almost always seem to end up entwined in the back of his car or on the couch in the living room, Rosie kissed breathless and David’s hand sliding its way beneath her blouse or skirt in a way she’s ashamed to allow--but never quite wants to stop.
If there’s another reason behind the immediacy, behind the trips to the movies and the long vacant afternoons, a reason that might look a little too much like guilt if examined too closely, she doesn’t think about it. It’s better, maybe, that he still thinks those cold weeks in June were eaten up by freak snowstorms and Rosie falling ill with laryngitis, unable to call or text or come to see him. Better than the truth, one of cages and fear and fighting for her life; something she still isn’t able to understand herself, let alone explain to someone who hadn’t been there for any of it.
If she finds the words to explain it, she will. Of course she will. She just hasn’t yet.
( Read more... )
If there’s another reason behind the immediacy, behind the trips to the movies and the long vacant afternoons, a reason that might look a little too much like guilt if examined too closely, she doesn’t think about it. It’s better, maybe, that he still thinks those cold weeks in June were eaten up by freak snowstorms and Rosie falling ill with laryngitis, unable to call or text or come to see him. Better than the truth, one of cages and fear and fighting for her life; something she still isn’t able to understand herself, let alone explain to someone who hadn’t been there for any of it.
If she finds the words to explain it, she will. Of course she will. She just hasn’t yet.
( Read more... )
