Amelia Sterling / Rose Red (holdontothepast) wrote in fableless, @ 2016-11-15 22:02:00 |
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After the confrontation with Charlie, and Nic's post, Amelia didn't really want to go back to Miguel's place right away. She still didn't want to go back to hers either. So it was no surprise at all that she found her way to the door of the only person who didn't ask why. And didn't seem to need answers out of her. Even Miguel, as loving as he could be, needed to ask why. She was tired of the introspection at this point. She dragged herself to Ana's place with a bottle of wine. She hadn't opened it up and drank from the bottle yet, so that was a plus. Amelia hadn't bothered to dress up or put make up on. She lost that suit of armor, or shucked it off on purpose. She looked mousy and worn out, both things she hated to appear as, and there was a fire somewhere deep inside waiting to be set loose. The type that wanted to burn this place down and everyone in it, the destructive side she always had. So it was just good news that she came to Ana's instead, knocking on the door with the top of the wine bottle, a cigarette in her other hand. "Hey. It's me." She was hoping she'd be there, because otherwise Amelia was going to end up sitting at the door of yet another ex during this ordeal, and there was a point where it was too emo even for her. Ana’d closed her shop early that day to go over her inventory and re-index some items — a day sorely needed, if she was going to leave the place to Cat again on the upcoming trip. The sign on the door marked it as closed, and Ana was going to go over and grumpily point that out to whoever it was before she heard the voice. Then she just walked over, shooing her big collie, Buff, out the back door on her way (“out, out! Not when we have girls over, you know that!”); he panted as she swatted him affectionately but obediently trotted out into the yard. The front door swung open a few moments later, Ana’s eyes immediately taking in her ex-girlfriend and good friend, tracing over the wine, her expression, her clothes. “Hi, ladybug,” she said, her own face softening. “I wondered if you’d come. Let’s go upstairs.” She stepped out of the doorway. Upstairs meant Ana’s little apartment above the shop, but it was more homey and comfortable than the ground floor. Amelia had been feeling all kinds of pathetic lately. For a proud and bold person, that was the worst possible outcome. She'd gone through dark and sad times before, and she'd messed up before, lots of times, but this was definitely a new low. She nodded and took Ana's hand as she passed by, tugging her up the stairs with her. "Nic's mother died," she murmured, in case Ana hadn't known, she had no idea who knew. When Amelia got upstairs she immediately just flopped back on Ana's bed, setting the wine down next to the bed and looking up at the ceiling. This place was familiar. Even without her memory, she could recall all the details, all the ways that made it homey. The way it made it Ana. "I'm not going to the funeral." Taking a seat on the bed next to her, Ana just nodded. She knew about Nic’s mom, and about the funeral, had planned on stopping by for, honestly, as short a time as she could manage without being rude; she hated funerals, less because of the somberness than because they frankly scared her. “People there you don’t wanna see?” she guessed, plucking the bottle out of Amelia’s hand to put it on the bedside table for the moment. “Does Nic know?” Though Ana was friends with Charlie, Nic and of course Amelia herself individually, she knew the three younger women had been tight-knit since their college years — when Ana had merely been the upperclassman head over heels for the brunette. Ana’s own bonds with people didn’t seem so tight, transient and flighty as she was with Woodsbridge, but even if she couldn’t empathize with her in that sense, she felt a surprising ache within her to see her ex-love worn out like she’d never seen her before. "I don't think so. She would have yelled at me already if she knew. I thought they'd tell her and that's why she was quiet, but ---" Clearly Nic had bigger things on her mind, and none of them clued her in. It was for the best. Not just for Amelia, because that was going to come around eventually, so this was only a reprieve. But it would just hurt Nic more than she needed to. "Charlie said it hurt to look at me, when I cornered her to ask if I should go. So." Amelia sighed and rubbed her forehead. Getting sober was rough, and she wasn't certain it was the right pick. Being drunk consistently for awhile didn't make her feel better either. "Honestly a part of me wants to just say fuck it, you know? Because that's more me. Fuck it. They don't forgive me, whatever. They've been holding me back from the real apathetic bitch I've always been striving for. I let them get under my skin. I let a lot of you under my skin." Dark eyes turned toward Ana, and she reached over to take her hand, lifting the palm so she could look at it. Ana knew about the Talefinder before anyone else, and she never judged. She just accepted. Why couldn't they be the same way? "But I'm not so sure I'm ready to fully ride onto the sociopath train, as much of a relief as it would feel like. There's just no other option I can see." Ana’s sigh echoed hers from earlier, and she let her fingers fall closed around Amelia’s. This she understood, more than she wanted to. She remembered the end of high school, turning from her locker to see girls she’d used to be friends with staring at her, their mouths the shape of the o in sociopath. But saying something doesn’t make it true. “You’re not a sociopath, so you’re not getting on that train whether you want to or not,” she said, a trace of tiredness in her voice that wasn’t directed at the woman lying on her bed. “Sometimes people forgive you when you do shitty things. Sometimes — they never do,” and inevitably Esau popped into her head, only briefly before she shut him out again. “But it hasn’t been that much time yet. Don’t give up on the rest of us when it’s too early to call the results.” Amelia brought Ana's hand to her lips and kissed the knuckles. "Thank you for being the only fucking person around here who doesn't currently make me want to scream." She wasn't so sure she was looking for forgiveness. She really didn't expect it, that much was true. "Eli said I was trying to rationalize my reasons and look for excuses, and he's not wrong, but it's not like they're all perfect angels." She was friends with people who were as wretched as she was half the time. That was what made them work. But after a beat, she had to admit, "but he's never really been a dick to me. To Charlie, a lot, but to me, never. I really think I fucked him up over this." It was one thing to piss them off, but she hurt Elias. Something some people probably didn't think was possible. Amelia held Ana's hand to her face and turned on her side to look at her ex. She'd loved her with all the worst and best parts of her heart, for exactly the reason she felt safe with her now. "You know how I'm usually the most self-centered person alive? Well right now I really don't want to be. I want to know what's up with you. What's going on. Tell me anything other than the disaster that is my life." In response to the kiss to her hand, Ana smiled, and shrugged. Charlie, and Jack — they were her friends too. Nic would be mad that Amelia had hurt her friends, their friends. And she wasn’t. She was quite aware that the fact that she wasn’t upset with Amelia likely said nothing good about her, but she didn’t care. Her negative judgment was reserved for very rare situations, likely involving cannibals (hence the rarity), and the rest of the world’s guilts and wrongs just tended to roll off her like water off a duck’s back. “Yeah, I got a couple stories for you I can think of,” she laughed, and let herself fall back on the bed, lying on her back next to the younger woman. “So last week this guy came into the store and he’s like, I need sixty yards of bubble wrap…” |