(no subject)
"Rose! Damn it, Rose, come back!"
Rose is in boots that reach up to her knees; Emmy is in strappy heels. Also, Rose is a trained cross-country runner, and Emmy is not. Rose is not worried about getting away, even though she's leaving clear tracks in the remains of the Christmas snow.
She ducks into the woods that run along behind all the houses in their development, the ones that border Silver Lake. If she goes in too deep she'll hit fences partitioning off the parkland from the houses, but she's not running towards the lake; she's running home, and blindly.
Her life is over. There's no taking back what just happened, no explaining it--she can't explain it to herself--and even if she didn't care about Emmy's friendship personally, which she does, politically there's no worse mistake she could make.
And she's still, as far as she knows, in love with Dee. And she kissed Emmy. For some reason. Her life--
Diamonds used to be coal / Look young cause they got soul / That's why they're beautiful Her phone explodes into life. (This dress was not created with a pocket, but Helen sewed in two, with surprising skill at tailoring--one for her knife and one for her phone. It's still a good thing she has a very flat phone.)
In shock her feet almost go out from under her; her hand flicks out and catches a branch, and for a minute that's the only thing holding her up. As she comes to a stop she realizes she's standing on the edge of a shallow culvert, a rainwater run-off, currently slick and congested with melting snow. One foot is actually dangling over the edge. She should've seen it, even by starlight; should've heard it.
She doesn't have her mind right.
And my heart used to be cold / 'Til your hands laid on my soul / Baby, that's why you're beautiful
"Yeah?" she says shakily into the phone. In her mind's eye she sees herself, running headlong into the culvert. Breaking her leg, maybe, or cracking her skull; plunging into the icy runoff. Hypothermia the best case scenario.
Then her life would be over.
"Want to explain why you just ran off into the woods?" Helen asks.
"Helen? What, were you watching me?"
"Tracking you," she says, nonchalant. "With your phone. I'm parked about a block away. Bodyguard, remember?"
She swallows, her head still swimming. "You can do that?"
"Oh, I can do all kinds of things. What the hell is going on?"
"What the hell is going on? If you've been following me, then you know--"
"All kinds of stuff that have nothing to do with my job," Helen says smoothly. "I'm not a spy for your mother, and I don't care what you do in your free time. I just keep you alive."
Rose looks down into the rushing black water again. Get your mind right, Helen told her once. Or you'll end up dead.
"I'm fine," Rose says shortly. "Long story. I'm going back to the party now. And coming home, probably." She slides the phone closed.
***
Emmy is waiting in the snow, shivering, and insists on driving her home. With coats, please. When Ben and Derek come towards them, Emmy warns them off with a paint-blistering glare. (She'll make it up to him later, she promises herself.) The drive passes in silence.
Rose's mom is in bed, thank God. Her dad is not.
"What's going on, girls?"
"Nothing," Rose mutters. "I just want to go to bed." She's sweaty and disheveled, slush thrown up to her knees and her hair slipping down around her neck. There's a leaf in it that fills Eddie with a nameless dread.
She slips past her dad towards her room.
"Emmy, what the hell--"
"Mr. Toren," Emmy says. "I'm sorry, but I can't--Rose has her privacy. She didn't do anything wrong. And neither did I. She hasn't been drinking, or anything like that. She's just--"
I think something is wrong, Mr. Toren, and I think it's been going on for longer than tonight. Since the start of the school year, at least. Maybe longer.
She's really unhappy. I know you haven't been here to see it. But she's totally unhappy, and she doesn't even seem to know it. For a while I thought that maybe someone was hurting her. Because she kept having these accidents. But I really believe they are now. They are accidents. Because she doesn't take care of herself. She doesn't care what happens to her, or at least, she doesn't care enough. That's how she is now. She just lets things happen.
She's not happy.
There's something about herself she has to swallow, Emmy wants to say, and she's choking on it. But that she can't say. Not to Rose's parents, and maybe not to Rose.
"She's having a rough night. Take care of her, okay? I love her." Just not the way she wants me to, she thinks wearily.
Eddie Toren watches her go, shivering under the porchlight, and thanks God for Emmy Hogan.
Rose is in boots that reach up to her knees; Emmy is in strappy heels. Also, Rose is a trained cross-country runner, and Emmy is not. Rose is not worried about getting away, even though she's leaving clear tracks in the remains of the Christmas snow.
She ducks into the woods that run along behind all the houses in their development, the ones that border Silver Lake. If she goes in too deep she'll hit fences partitioning off the parkland from the houses, but she's not running towards the lake; she's running home, and blindly.
Her life is over. There's no taking back what just happened, no explaining it--she can't explain it to herself--and even if she didn't care about Emmy's friendship personally, which she does, politically there's no worse mistake she could make.
And she's still, as far as she knows, in love with Dee. And she kissed Emmy. For some reason. Her life--
Diamonds used to be coal / Look young cause they got soul / That's why they're beautiful Her phone explodes into life. (This dress was not created with a pocket, but Helen sewed in two, with surprising skill at tailoring--one for her knife and one for her phone. It's still a good thing she has a very flat phone.)
In shock her feet almost go out from under her; her hand flicks out and catches a branch, and for a minute that's the only thing holding her up. As she comes to a stop she realizes she's standing on the edge of a shallow culvert, a rainwater run-off, currently slick and congested with melting snow. One foot is actually dangling over the edge. She should've seen it, even by starlight; should've heard it.
She doesn't have her mind right.
And my heart used to be cold / 'Til your hands laid on my soul / Baby, that's why you're beautiful
"Yeah?" she says shakily into the phone. In her mind's eye she sees herself, running headlong into the culvert. Breaking her leg, maybe, or cracking her skull; plunging into the icy runoff. Hypothermia the best case scenario.
Then her life would be over.
"Want to explain why you just ran off into the woods?" Helen asks.
"Helen? What, were you watching me?"
"Tracking you," she says, nonchalant. "With your phone. I'm parked about a block away. Bodyguard, remember?"
She swallows, her head still swimming. "You can do that?"
"Oh, I can do all kinds of things. What the hell is going on?"
"What the hell is going on? If you've been following me, then you know--"
"All kinds of stuff that have nothing to do with my job," Helen says smoothly. "I'm not a spy for your mother, and I don't care what you do in your free time. I just keep you alive."
Rose looks down into the rushing black water again. Get your mind right, Helen told her once. Or you'll end up dead.
"I'm fine," Rose says shortly. "Long story. I'm going back to the party now. And coming home, probably." She slides the phone closed.
***
Emmy is waiting in the snow, shivering, and insists on driving her home. With coats, please. When Ben and Derek come towards them, Emmy warns them off with a paint-blistering glare. (She'll make it up to him later, she promises herself.) The drive passes in silence.
Rose's mom is in bed, thank God. Her dad is not.
"What's going on, girls?"
"Nothing," Rose mutters. "I just want to go to bed." She's sweaty and disheveled, slush thrown up to her knees and her hair slipping down around her neck. There's a leaf in it that fills Eddie with a nameless dread.
She slips past her dad towards her room.
"Emmy, what the hell--"
"Mr. Toren," Emmy says. "I'm sorry, but I can't--Rose has her privacy. She didn't do anything wrong. And neither did I. She hasn't been drinking, or anything like that. She's just--"
I think something is wrong, Mr. Toren, and I think it's been going on for longer than tonight. Since the start of the school year, at least. Maybe longer.
She's really unhappy. I know you haven't been here to see it. But she's totally unhappy, and she doesn't even seem to know it. For a while I thought that maybe someone was hurting her. Because she kept having these accidents. But I really believe they are now. They are accidents. Because she doesn't take care of herself. She doesn't care what happens to her, or at least, she doesn't care enough. That's how she is now. She just lets things happen.
She's not happy.
There's something about herself she has to swallow, Emmy wants to say, and she's choking on it. But that she can't say. Not to Rose's parents, and maybe not to Rose.
"She's having a rough night. Take care of her, okay? I love her." Just not the way she wants me to, she thinks wearily.
Eddie Toren watches her go, shivering under the porchlight, and thanks God for Emmy Hogan.