Chocolate Chip Mint 18, Fudge Ripple 18: can't go back
Title: can't go back
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Chocolate chip mint 18 (ancient), fudge ripple 18 (sacrifice), whipped cream (Olivia is thirteen) (yup), malt (sarcastic_sra's birthday prompt: You sound so innocent, all full of good intent/Swear you know best/But you expect me to jump up on board with you/And ride off into your delusional sunset --"King of Anything" by Sara Bareilles).
Word Count: 1036
Rating: PG.
Summary: Olivia's life falls apart.
Notes: I'm using the fudge ripple prompt in the sense of sacrifical. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
ETA: also, this is for the Summer Challenge.
"It's so stupid!" Olivia snarled, and gripped the handset so tightly her hand ached. "He said I can't go because we have church on Sunday. Like he's never skipped church in his whole life. God, it makes me so mad."
"Ugh, you are so right," Mimi agreed. "It's not like we're going to do anything bad, either. No boys or anything, and we weren't even going to stay up real late. Although..." she lowered her voice. "Carmen did say she could get some scotch for us to try."
"That is not the way to make me feel better about missing your party," Olivia told her. She sprawled in the big, overstuffed chair by the phone, the one her father usually occupied in the evenings, and in a small bit of revenge put her feet up on the armrest. "Man, if it wasn't for my stupid dad I'd be able to go. Mom would totally let me. She never cares what I do."
"Can't you try to persuade him?" Mimi asked.
Olivia pictured the way that conversation would probably go, and rolled her eyes. "Fat chance," she said, bitterly. "He never changes his mind. Sometimes I wish he'd just go away."
The front door banged open, and she jumped, then sat up properly in the chair. "Hang on, Mimi," she said, and then called, "Hello?"
"Olivia?" Her mother sounded stressed, and unhappy. "Where are you?"
"In the living room, Mom," she called back, then went back to Mimi. "I think I better call you back. Mom's home early and she sounds really mad."
"Sure," Mimi said. "Hey, if she calms down, maybe you can get her to sweet-talk your dad."
That had even less of a chance of working than Olivia's persuasion did-- at least her dad actually liked her. "Yeah, right," she said. "I'll call you after dinner," and hung up, just as her mother came into the room.
Yvonne Marhenke looked like a complete mess. Her blonde hair was disarranged and tangled, her blue eyes wild with half-moons of shadow under them. Olivia, who had never seen her mother in anything less than perfect order, sat up even straighter in alarm. "Mom, are you all right?"
"No," she said. "Get your things, Olivia, we have to move quickly."
A slow, uncomfortable roil begin in the pit of Olivia's stomach. "What? Move where? What's going on?"
Yvonne ignored her and began moving restlessly around the room, picking up things and then dropping them again. "Do you need your sheet music?" she asked, pausing by the piano. "No, never mind, leave it, we can buy you more."
Olivia stood up and crossed to her mother. "Mom. What's going on? You're talking like we're going somewhere."
Her mother blinked, and finally seemed to really look at her. "What? Didn't I say? We have to leave, Olivia, now, before Hugh gets home."
"Daddy?" Olivia stepped back, feeling like she'd been slapped. "He's not coming?"
"Don't be stupid, Olivia." Yvonne moved away from her again, towards the closet. "Get some clothes and anything you can't live without, but nothing too much. You'll have to carry all of it."
Olivia folded her arms across her stomach, hugging herself close to keep from trembling. "No. No! Not until you tell me what's happened?"
Yvonne snorted. "Hugh found out," she said.
The roiling in Olivia's stomach became a churning. "Found out what?" she whispered.
"That you're not his daughter," Yvonne said, and then, "Oh! Bring your jewelry. We might have to sell it."
She said it so casually-- that was what Olivia would remember later, how easily she said it. The same way she'd comment on the weather, or tell someone that their shoe was untied. She said it like it didn't matter at all.
"No," Olivia breathed, and then, "No, Mommy, there must be some mistake, please..."
"No mistake," Yvonne said, picking over a pile of letters. "I should know. Get your things."
No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Olivia pinched herself sharply, praying that she'd wake up, and almost sobbed when she didn't. Her mind spun in frantic circles, like a mouse trapped under a bowl, looking for an exit and finding only smooth glass walls, closing her in, cutting off the air-- "I shouldn't go," she blurted. "I shouldn't. He's not mad at me, Mommy, he's not, it's not my fault, please say he's not mad at me!"
Her mother stopped her restless wandering and looked up at Olivia, pity in her eyes. "I wish I could tell you that," she said, "but I can't. He told me he never wanted to see you again. Men! Don't bother with them, Olivia; God knows they never go out of their way for women. Just take what they want and heaven forbid you should ask something for yourself..."
Olivia wanted to cry, to vomit, to run away and hide someplace, to make this all be not true. She pressed a hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding as if she'd just run a mile. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true-- just yesterday he'd told her how much he loved her...
...and then she asked to go to Mimi's party and he said no and she got mad and they fought, and maybe he really didn't want to see her again, because she'd messed it all up and it was her fault, all of it, all her fault.
"Olivia Emily!" her mother said, sharply. "Get your things! Now! Do you want to be here when he gets home? Because I could just leave you, you know. See how well you'd do alone on the streets."
If she was here when he got home then he'd say all those things to her, she'd hear them in his beloved voice and then he'd throw her out, and she would know, would really really know, that he didn't love her anymore, and he never changed his mind, never, so he would never love her again no matter what she did, not ever. And she would know.
She couldn't bear that.
She couldn't.
Olivia felt suddenly very, very old, and very, very fragile.
"I'm coming," she whispered, and went to get her things.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Chocolate chip mint 18 (ancient), fudge ripple 18 (sacrifice), whipped cream (Olivia is thirteen) (yup), malt (sarcastic_sra's birthday prompt: You sound so innocent, all full of good intent/Swear you know best/But you expect me to jump up on board with you/And ride off into your delusional sunset --"King of Anything" by Sara Bareilles).
Word Count: 1036
Rating: PG.
Summary: Olivia's life falls apart.
Notes: I'm using the fudge ripple prompt in the sense of sacrifical. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
ETA: also, this is for the Summer Challenge.
"It's so stupid!" Olivia snarled, and gripped the handset so tightly her hand ached. "He said I can't go because we have church on Sunday. Like he's never skipped church in his whole life. God, it makes me so mad."
"Ugh, you are so right," Mimi agreed. "It's not like we're going to do anything bad, either. No boys or anything, and we weren't even going to stay up real late. Although..." she lowered her voice. "Carmen did say she could get some scotch for us to try."
"That is not the way to make me feel better about missing your party," Olivia told her. She sprawled in the big, overstuffed chair by the phone, the one her father usually occupied in the evenings, and in a small bit of revenge put her feet up on the armrest. "Man, if it wasn't for my stupid dad I'd be able to go. Mom would totally let me. She never cares what I do."
"Can't you try to persuade him?" Mimi asked.
Olivia pictured the way that conversation would probably go, and rolled her eyes. "Fat chance," she said, bitterly. "He never changes his mind. Sometimes I wish he'd just go away."
The front door banged open, and she jumped, then sat up properly in the chair. "Hang on, Mimi," she said, and then called, "Hello?"
"Olivia?" Her mother sounded stressed, and unhappy. "Where are you?"
"In the living room, Mom," she called back, then went back to Mimi. "I think I better call you back. Mom's home early and she sounds really mad."
"Sure," Mimi said. "Hey, if she calms down, maybe you can get her to sweet-talk your dad."
That had even less of a chance of working than Olivia's persuasion did-- at least her dad actually liked her. "Yeah, right," she said. "I'll call you after dinner," and hung up, just as her mother came into the room.
Yvonne Marhenke looked like a complete mess. Her blonde hair was disarranged and tangled, her blue eyes wild with half-moons of shadow under them. Olivia, who had never seen her mother in anything less than perfect order, sat up even straighter in alarm. "Mom, are you all right?"
"No," she said. "Get your things, Olivia, we have to move quickly."
A slow, uncomfortable roil begin in the pit of Olivia's stomach. "What? Move where? What's going on?"
Yvonne ignored her and began moving restlessly around the room, picking up things and then dropping them again. "Do you need your sheet music?" she asked, pausing by the piano. "No, never mind, leave it, we can buy you more."
Olivia stood up and crossed to her mother. "Mom. What's going on? You're talking like we're going somewhere."
Her mother blinked, and finally seemed to really look at her. "What? Didn't I say? We have to leave, Olivia, now, before Hugh gets home."
"Daddy?" Olivia stepped back, feeling like she'd been slapped. "He's not coming?"
"Don't be stupid, Olivia." Yvonne moved away from her again, towards the closet. "Get some clothes and anything you can't live without, but nothing too much. You'll have to carry all of it."
Olivia folded her arms across her stomach, hugging herself close to keep from trembling. "No. No! Not until you tell me what's happened?"
Yvonne snorted. "Hugh found out," she said.
The roiling in Olivia's stomach became a churning. "Found out what?" she whispered.
"That you're not his daughter," Yvonne said, and then, "Oh! Bring your jewelry. We might have to sell it."
She said it so casually-- that was what Olivia would remember later, how easily she said it. The same way she'd comment on the weather, or tell someone that their shoe was untied. She said it like it didn't matter at all.
"No," Olivia breathed, and then, "No, Mommy, there must be some mistake, please..."
"No mistake," Yvonne said, picking over a pile of letters. "I should know. Get your things."
No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Olivia pinched herself sharply, praying that she'd wake up, and almost sobbed when she didn't. Her mind spun in frantic circles, like a mouse trapped under a bowl, looking for an exit and finding only smooth glass walls, closing her in, cutting off the air-- "I shouldn't go," she blurted. "I shouldn't. He's not mad at me, Mommy, he's not, it's not my fault, please say he's not mad at me!"
Her mother stopped her restless wandering and looked up at Olivia, pity in her eyes. "I wish I could tell you that," she said, "but I can't. He told me he never wanted to see you again. Men! Don't bother with them, Olivia; God knows they never go out of their way for women. Just take what they want and heaven forbid you should ask something for yourself..."
Olivia wanted to cry, to vomit, to run away and hide someplace, to make this all be not true. She pressed a hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding as if she'd just run a mile. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true-- just yesterday he'd told her how much he loved her...
...and then she asked to go to Mimi's party and he said no and she got mad and they fought, and maybe he really didn't want to see her again, because she'd messed it all up and it was her fault, all of it, all her fault.
"Olivia Emily!" her mother said, sharply. "Get your things! Now! Do you want to be here when he gets home? Because I could just leave you, you know. See how well you'd do alone on the streets."
If she was here when he got home then he'd say all those things to her, she'd hear them in his beloved voice and then he'd throw her out, and she would know, would really really know, that he didn't love her anymore, and he never changed his mind, never, so he would never love her again no matter what she did, not ever. And she would know.
She couldn't bear that.
She couldn't.
Olivia felt suddenly very, very old, and very, very fragile.
"I'm coming," she whispered, and went to get her things.