Before Your Eyes
Title: Before Your Eyes
Characters: Mirrorverse-Main
Rating: T
Warnings: Swearing and strangeness.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Strange things are afoot at the Circle K the home of one, Judy Heller.
Notes: Wrote this for the weekly drabble challenge, "wayward" and decided to continue it. Wooo. Takes place in the main Mirrorverse.
Disclaimer: Don't own Mirrorverse.
It’s three-thirty in the morning, and for some reason, the entire city is asleep. It’s New York City, so this is obviously a problem. Where will I get my noodles? Surely there’s a 24-hour Chinese restaurant open now? I know there is, there has to be.
But there isn’t. There’s just silence, and when I look out the window, all I see is my own reflection, not a single light in the background. It’s so wrong, but I don’t know why it’s like this.
It finally settles on me, why it’s so dark.
I don’t think I survived that crash.
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“Mrs. Powell’s Home for Wayward Girls, this is Cynthia Powell speaking, how may I help you?” The voice is pleasant. Thank God, I can’t take any more of this nonsense in my house.
“Hello, this is Judy Heller. I have… my daughter is being… stubborn, I suppose.” I say into the telephone. I just want to finish this up and get on with my work. How the hell can I even begin to do my 'wifely duties' when my own daughter is being trouble? My husband is full of shit. It’s not an easy life, damn it.
“Well, Ms. Heller, why don’t we set up an appointment and see what the problem is?” Oh, thank goodness. I hear pages being flipped, and the steady clacking of a keyboard. “How does the fifteenth work for you, ma’am?”
“The fifteenth is wonderful, thank you.” I can feel the weight begin to lift off my shoulders. This will end, and everything will be fine.
She hangs up without saying goodbye. I thought they only did that in the movies, but apparently not.
My daughter, Jillian, is sitting at the table behind me. She heard every word, and said nothing. She just ate her Apple Jacks in silence. I head to the counter and make myself a new cup of coffee.
It’s completely silent in the house. Two stories, more than enough room for five kids, and there’s only two. There should be running and laughter, and instead, there’s only the small sound of cereal being chewed.
I can’t turn and face her. My plan for life didn’t involve living in a giant house with a man that may or may not love me with only the cat - who sleeps most of the time - to keep me company. I can’t face my own reality, so instead, I face the stove and try not to think the thoughts that would be sending me to confession for years, if I still went to church.
Finally, I hear a sigh, then the scrape of chair legs on tile. “Mom. Mom, I’m not… I’m not making it up. And I’m not crazy. I just…” she sighs again. I don’t turn around. She walks away, and disappears up the stairs.
I don’t care what anyone says, I just want to help my rebellious, strange, wonderful daughter… even if I have to send her away to Connecticut.