molly moon. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} deficits) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} playout,@ 2020-04-25 23:12:00 |
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DATE & TIME: Monday 20 April
LOCATION: PI HQ
RATING: References to CHARACTER DEATH and slightly upsetting themes with a hopeful ending.
SUMMARY: Lily and Molly wake up in the basement after a horrible day, and figure out what they do next.
At first, when she put Molly to sleep with a gentle push, she let herself fall too. This time Lily wasn’t worried about waking up after her. Molly’s body had sucked up her sleep pulse almost greedily, and she’d let herself put a little extra in there anyway, just a bit more than normal. The energy she got in return meant that her own nap wouldn’t be too long.
So Lily woke first, for once.
Molly hadn’t moved from the nest of couch cushions and extra blankets that Lily had curated for them both. She didn’t move when Lily sat up, though it jostled her arm a bit, and pulled out her phone. Social media was a no-go right now so she just went through the motions, tapping on various apps without really seeing anything, waiting for her best friend to wake up.
She did, eventually. It just took a little longer for her to move.
Eventually, Molly rolled from her position on her side, to sprawled on her front, arms in front of her mouth, eyes still closed willingly to the outside world. The pain in her head had subsided and with it, the claustrophobic sensation that came with her migraines, the type of feeling that the two of them seemed to feel in a more tangible way than everyone around them. This was the eye of the storm, it seemed.
Molly stretched one arm out to tap Lilly’s knee, before pulling her arm back sharply, quickly. A moment passed. Then a sigh, and: “We didn’t know him.”
It was declarative: Molly had decided. There were ways to cope with whatever she felt and this was it, no matter how many training sessions they’d done, no matter how kind his smile was, it was: we didn’t know him. We. Her word for protection.
“We didn’t,” Lily nodded. “I liked him, though.”
Her voice sounded strangely noncommittal, all things considered. She’d experienced the death of a relative before, but only the kind where you knew it was coming, even though you could never be prepared for when it actually happened. The shock of this, though, still had her unsure what she would feel when it wore off.
Something had been bothering her. She’d woken up with the words bouncing around her head.
“Do you really think coming here was a mistake?”
Molly buried her head in her arm folded before her. A beat that lasted a lifetime. “Yeah. For me.”
The other girl shuffled closer to her instinctively, and reached out to tug gently at her arms — without pressure, just a sign that she was there. There was a sharp flare of panic, bitter at the back of her tongue, that Lily quickly swallowed. “Molly, I don’t understand.” That was rare. They always got each other.
A pause. A beat. And then: “I think you’re meant to be here.” A sharp intake of breath,and Molly let her head fall down again. “And I’m not. Or both of us aren’t. I don’t… know.”
“What are you talking about?” Lily replied, but it was fond, not aggressive, as she relaxed. “You’re the one who’s thriving here. You’ve got sponsorships and special meetings with all sorts of heroes and everyone loves you, because of course they do. I’m — I’m barely staying afloat and half of that is because you help drag me out of bed in the mornings.”
She squeezed her fingers in between Molly’s folded arms and head to grab her hand (she took the gesture quickly, desperate, scrambling, as always and painfully expected, waited) and, a little self-conscious at the admission, spoke quickly: “I really thought he would help us, though. I really felt like we could get better with him…”
“But he’s dead.” Molly spat, head springing upwards, a horror. “He is dead. And we’re here. He can’t help us, Lils. He can’t.”
The words were harsh, the tone moreso. Her hand clasped in Lily’s tightened, a horror, as she snarled. “We are never getting any better, Lily, they die. We don’t have help. This is it. We live with it.”
For a moment it felt like Lily was drowning.
(It was also the sharpest, clearest thing she’d felt all day.)
She closed her eyes, but then the moment passed, and she felt a strength take its place. It wasn’t her own strength, she couldn’t pretend that; when Lily felt weak Molly pulled her up, and vice versa. That was how they worked.
“I’m not ready to think that, Molly,” she said quietly. “I’m not, and I won’t.” Pressed her hand back, just as tight.
Molly squeezed her eyes tight together. Then she sighed. “Fine. Then we keep going.”
And so, they did.
So Lily woke first, for once.
Molly hadn’t moved from the nest of couch cushions and extra blankets that Lily had curated for them both. She didn’t move when Lily sat up, though it jostled her arm a bit, and pulled out her phone. Social media was a no-go right now so she just went through the motions, tapping on various apps without really seeing anything, waiting for her best friend to wake up.
She did, eventually. It just took a little longer for her to move.
Eventually, Molly rolled from her position on her side, to sprawled on her front, arms in front of her mouth, eyes still closed willingly to the outside world. The pain in her head had subsided and with it, the claustrophobic sensation that came with her migraines, the type of feeling that the two of them seemed to feel in a more tangible way than everyone around them. This was the eye of the storm, it seemed.
Molly stretched one arm out to tap Lilly’s knee, before pulling her arm back sharply, quickly. A moment passed. Then a sigh, and: “We didn’t know him.”
It was declarative: Molly had decided. There were ways to cope with whatever she felt and this was it, no matter how many training sessions they’d done, no matter how kind his smile was, it was: we didn’t know him. We. Her word for protection.
“We didn’t,” Lily nodded. “I liked him, though.”
Her voice sounded strangely noncommittal, all things considered. She’d experienced the death of a relative before, but only the kind where you knew it was coming, even though you could never be prepared for when it actually happened. The shock of this, though, still had her unsure what she would feel when it wore off.
Something had been bothering her. She’d woken up with the words bouncing around her head.
“Do you really think coming here was a mistake?”
Molly buried her head in her arm folded before her. A beat that lasted a lifetime. “Yeah. For me.”
The other girl shuffled closer to her instinctively, and reached out to tug gently at her arms — without pressure, just a sign that she was there. There was a sharp flare of panic, bitter at the back of her tongue, that Lily quickly swallowed. “Molly, I don’t understand.” That was rare. They always got each other.
A pause. A beat. And then: “I think you’re meant to be here.” A sharp intake of breath,and Molly let her head fall down again. “And I’m not. Or both of us aren’t. I don’t… know.”
“What are you talking about?” Lily replied, but it was fond, not aggressive, as she relaxed. “You’re the one who’s thriving here. You’ve got sponsorships and special meetings with all sorts of heroes and everyone loves you, because of course they do. I’m — I’m barely staying afloat and half of that is because you help drag me out of bed in the mornings.”
She squeezed her fingers in between Molly’s folded arms and head to grab her hand (she took the gesture quickly, desperate, scrambling, as always and painfully expected, waited) and, a little self-conscious at the admission, spoke quickly: “I really thought he would help us, though. I really felt like we could get better with him…”
“But he’s dead.” Molly spat, head springing upwards, a horror. “He is dead. And we’re here. He can’t help us, Lils. He can’t.”
The words were harsh, the tone moreso. Her hand clasped in Lily’s tightened, a horror, as she snarled. “We are never getting any better, Lily, they die. We don’t have help. This is it. We live with it.”
For a moment it felt like Lily was drowning.
(It was also the sharpest, clearest thing she’d felt all day.)
She closed her eyes, but then the moment passed, and she felt a strength take its place. It wasn’t her own strength, she couldn’t pretend that; when Lily felt weak Molly pulled her up, and vice versa. That was how they worked.
“I’m not ready to think that, Molly,” she said quietly. “I’m not, and I won’t.” Pressed her hand back, just as tight.
Molly squeezed her eyes tight together. Then she sighed. “Fine. Then we keep going.”
And so, they did.