Entry tags:

beauty

Who: Ella (and Boyd)
What: A narrative
Where: Hallway outside 601
When: A few minutes after this
Warnings: None
Notes: Epi’s headspace is a confusing place

Edge of a Petal was quiet, and all Ella could hear was the sound of Iris fighting with the cash register out in the main room and occasionally typing at someone on the laptop that was out there; her doctor, maybe, or her detective.

Ella closed her own laptop, and she placed it on the recliner she’d bought because she’d thought Daniel would like it, and she slipped her scarf and coat on silently. Her cheeks were damp with tears, but she hardly noticed them as she slipped out the backdoor of the flower shop. (She didn’t want to have to explain things to Iris)

The walk back to Bellum, which usually felt endlessly long and terrifying to her, passed in a blur of hurt. She’d been expecting Jane, been expecting this with Jane, maybe even with Rosalie once upon a time. But not with this girl she’d never met and not now. She’d childishly thought she was more to Daniel than she was. Logically, she knew that he’d had little interest in her before their tales were revealed, but she thought he’d liked having her around, liked being around her. And she thought, admittedly, that he was amazing.

She was stupid. William had been more invested in her than Daniel had been, and hadn’t he done the same thing? Hadn’t her mother explained to her (ad nauseam) that all men cheated and all men hurt? She knew the sort of man Daniel was, but she’d thought- She laughed bitterly. Thought what, Ella? That you were so wonderful he’d fall in love with you?

By the time she pushed open the lobby door to the building, she’d already known where she was heading.

The door to 601 loomed, seemingly daunting in its simplicity. And in the end, she hadn’t even needed to knock. The redhead that stepped out, envelope of money in hand, was much younger than Ella expected - little more than a child, even though Ella knew she wasn’t much older herself. But this girl, she looked young. And she was beautiful; not pretty, not interesting, not unique. No, beautiful. Like Jane.

She gave the girl a waver-soft smile; a tepid thing. “I spoke to Shane, and I just need to know if it’s true,” she said with a defiant tilt of chin. She reminded herself that she’d lived the life of a con artist for a very long time, and she could hold a front in front of a slip of a girl when necessary. “No conversation please. A yes or no will suffice.”

The girl tilted her head to the side, and Ella could almost see the thoughts racing in her mind. Surprise, indecision. She almost felt sorry for the girl - almost. “I ain't got no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” the girl said, and Ella was shocked silent a moment by the way she sounded. She’d thought Daniel- a writer like he was- but then the girl was talking again, and Ella couldn’t chase the train of thought any longer.

Ella interrupted her. “Shane said Daniel slept with you recently. I just need a yes or a no from you.”

The girl didn’t say no, and she didn’t say yes. She just walked past her with her envelope full of money. It was all the response Ella required.

She leaned against the hallway wall behind her, and the smell of dying flowers filled the hall, the vines that normally sprouted when she was scared replaced by dried, dead roses, petals and thorns at her feet and along the wall. She could see William and the woman she’d found him with in her mind’s eye, and she replaced the visual with Daniel and the redhead, and she wept.

When her feet moved, it was without her knowledge, and she was not aware of the trail of dead petals she left in her wake. By the time she found herself at the flower shop again, it was late and the security alarm had been installed. To protect me from what? she wondered, reminding herself that Daniel didn’t equate emotional hurt with physical hurt.

She did three things before falling asleep on the chaise in the back room: She agreed to go to the safe room for the moon (she had little doubt Jane was Beauty now, after this), she contacted her mother about a job (one that would bring in just enough to pay the loan on the flower shop, which meant it would need to be a considerable job), and she sent Daniel a text, not wanting to go near the building forums again.

Working late. Sleeping at shop.

She didn’t want him to know she knew, didn’t want him drinking himself into a guilty stupor over it. She wanted to calm down before she talked to him. And so she sent the text, and she locked the doors and turned out the lights.

And she did not sleep.