43 Unicorn Street, Friday Morning
"Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you..."
The season was right, a Christmas tree glowed in the corner, but it wasn't quite Bo's birthday yet... was it?
But it had to be, because there was a frosting-bedecked cake on the table in front of her, a forest fire of candles blazing around the edges of the BETH in gooey red script, shadows flickering over familiar faces: her mom, her dad, her closest friends from school, even Kyle standing behind her, one hand resting easily on her shoulder, which really couldn't be right, because... because....
"Happy birthday, SPAWN OF DEMONS..."
"Mom?"
Her mother stopped singing and leaned close into Bo's face, braided hair swinging just above the tops of the candle flames. "As if everyone doesn't know? Just look at you, half-dressed, painted up like a tramp, hanging all over that... that thing!"
"What are you--"
"Thank the good Lord you're not really any child of mine! It's not bad enough to shame us all by running around with boys, you have to do it with a corpse? "
When Bo looked down at the hand on her shoulder, anything to get away from her mother's angry stare, only the reflection of candle-light gave the gray fingers any color at all. They were hard and cold, and when she said his name, they tightened, squeezing skin, then muscle, then bone.
The name that wheezed back at her on a gust of foul-smelling breath was the one on the cake, followed by "she's riiiiight....loooook at meeeee... looook what you diiiiid...."
She couldn't. She wouldn't. Not at his face. Not there.
Bo tried to jerk away, tried to get up, kick over her chair, run out of the house into the night, but her mother grabbed her other arm, both of them locking her in place. She struggled against them, birthday candle flames like furnace heat in her face now.
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO! LET ME GO!"
With that shout, Bo finally fought her way free.
...of the sweat-soaked sheets that were twisted around her body.
Times like this, Bo kind of wished she'd grabbed more from Mitchell's place the last time she went to visit than a good time, a lot of tea, and a big stack of Aero bars. Specifically, a pack or two of smokes.
Hell, right now she'd settle for just one cigarette. "Well. That sucked balls."
[OOC: cut for religious zealotry, parental mental illness, and undead boyfriends, as you do. For the BFF, primarily, but open to calls or visitors as well.]
The season was right, a Christmas tree glowed in the corner, but it wasn't quite Bo's birthday yet... was it?
But it had to be, because there was a frosting-bedecked cake on the table in front of her, a forest fire of candles blazing around the edges of the BETH in gooey red script, shadows flickering over familiar faces: her mom, her dad, her closest friends from school, even Kyle standing behind her, one hand resting easily on her shoulder, which really couldn't be right, because... because....
"Happy birthday, SPAWN OF DEMONS..."
"Mom?"
Her mother stopped singing and leaned close into Bo's face, braided hair swinging just above the tops of the candle flames. "As if everyone doesn't know? Just look at you, half-dressed, painted up like a tramp, hanging all over that... that thing!"
"What are you--"
"Thank the good Lord you're not really any child of mine! It's not bad enough to shame us all by running around with boys, you have to do it with a corpse? "
When Bo looked down at the hand on her shoulder, anything to get away from her mother's angry stare, only the reflection of candle-light gave the gray fingers any color at all. They were hard and cold, and when she said his name, they tightened, squeezing skin, then muscle, then bone.
The name that wheezed back at her on a gust of foul-smelling breath was the one on the cake, followed by "she's riiiiight....loooook at meeeee... looook what you diiiiid...."
She couldn't. She wouldn't. Not at his face. Not there.
Bo tried to jerk away, tried to get up, kick over her chair, run out of the house into the night, but her mother grabbed her other arm, both of them locking her in place. She struggled against them, birthday candle flames like furnace heat in her face now.
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO! LET ME GO!"
With that shout, Bo finally fought her way free.
...of the sweat-soaked sheets that were twisted around her body.
Times like this, Bo kind of wished she'd grabbed more from Mitchell's place the last time she went to visit than a good time, a lot of tea, and a big stack of Aero bars. Specifically, a pack or two of smokes.
Hell, right now she'd settle for just one cigarette. "Well. That sucked balls."
[OOC: cut for religious zealotry, parental mental illness, and undead boyfriends, as you do. For the BFF, primarily, but open to calls or visitors as well.]