(no subject)
Yesterday, I didn't think anything of it. I came by, stuck my head in the door, and moved on. She isn't always in her room, and it wasn't the first time I checked around the compound and the grounds and didn't find her. Probably down on the beach. Whatever. I'll see her later, I thought, and wandered back upstairs for coffee.
A little less than twenty-four hours later and I'm standing in the doorway to her room, just standing, a hand braced on the frame as I look down at her empty bed. And I just... know. It seems so obvious, now I'm not sure how I missed it before. One side of the room seems bare, like no one was ever there at all, Briony's half still orderly and stiff but somehow alive in a way the other half isn't. I pull open the drawers, smooth my hand over the neatly made bedsheets, and crouch to look under the bed.
Oh.
Before I leave, I hurl the dog-eared paperback under the mattress across the room where it slams into the wall with a satisfying thud, but I don't feel any better. I'm walking when my throat starts to close up, banging through the front doors and finally ending up at the playground, sitting heavily on the swings. There's a fucking black scrunchie in my hand, twisting almost nervously around my fingers, sneakers trailing through the sand and my head tipped over against the chain.
Things were too fucking good, I know that. Let myself get too wrapped up in my own bullshit, I started believing it could stay that way. "Fuck you, I get it," I mutter to no one. To the island. To everything. Then, drawing in a shuddering breath, I let my eyes slip shut, and just for a second I think I'd give back everything good that's happened lately just to have that side of the room not be empty.
[[Neil's just figured out that his best friend, George Lass, is no longer on the island. Open to all. Friends of Neil very welcome, as well as friends of George and anyone who'd like to find out that the little grim reaper is gone. ST/LT also very much accepted.]]
A little less than twenty-four hours later and I'm standing in the doorway to her room, just standing, a hand braced on the frame as I look down at her empty bed. And I just... know. It seems so obvious, now I'm not sure how I missed it before. One side of the room seems bare, like no one was ever there at all, Briony's half still orderly and stiff but somehow alive in a way the other half isn't. I pull open the drawers, smooth my hand over the neatly made bedsheets, and crouch to look under the bed.
Oh.
Before I leave, I hurl the dog-eared paperback under the mattress across the room where it slams into the wall with a satisfying thud, but I don't feel any better. I'm walking when my throat starts to close up, banging through the front doors and finally ending up at the playground, sitting heavily on the swings. There's a fucking black scrunchie in my hand, twisting almost nervously around my fingers, sneakers trailing through the sand and my head tipped over against the chain.
Things were too fucking good, I know that. Let myself get too wrapped up in my own bullshit, I started believing it could stay that way. "Fuck you, I get it," I mutter to no one. To the island. To everything. Then, drawing in a shuddering breath, I let my eyes slip shut, and just for a second I think I'd give back everything good that's happened lately just to have that side of the room not be empty.
[[Neil's just figured out that his best friend, George Lass, is no longer on the island. Open to all. Friends of Neil very welcome, as well as friends of George and anyone who'd like to find out that the little grim reaper is gone. ST/LT also very much accepted.]]