Frank Castle (ex_notadamse124) wrote in tell_a_tale, @ 2008-06-27 00:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | mackensie womack, player: lindsay |
Who: Mackensie Womack [Hector of Troy] (Also a brief appearance by one of her NPC brothers
What: Actually showing she has a heart? Except not really, since no one else is around
When: Backdated to June 16th, Father's Day
Where: Her apartment
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Closed; Narrative
Mackensie wasn't kidding when she said that she was going to take the day off. She had told her higher ups that she wasn't going to be available, and though she wouldn't tell them why, so they weren't happy about it, but she didn't give a rat's ass. She was upset, hurt, angry, and sad all in one little bundle today, and that only was going to make today so much worse. She was pissed off that she actually even had to take the day off. It was all a lose/lose situation for her. Either be completely incoherent and useless at work, or admit that she was upset today. None of them appealed to Mack.
It had been a good sixteen years since the death of her father, and there were always three days that she ever let herself feel any sort of pain anymore as a result of it: Father's Day, his birthday, and the day he died. Any of those days caused her to shut down, because she wouldn't ever let herself grieve, and even then, she'd never, ever admit it to anybody else. Not her mother. Not her siblings, and definitely not her partner. Mack was tough. Mack didn't have a heart, and if anyone ever thought different of her, then she would absolutely hate herself. Foolish pride, I know.
When she woke up this morning, she wasn't going to let herself just hide in bed. No, no. She had to... at least move to the couch. She turned on the TV, but nothing was promising. She didn't want to watch any reality TV, and the only funny shows were in reruns at this point. There wasn't even a decent movie on any of the TV channels. Groaning as she turned off the TV, she tossed the remote on the other end of the couch and got up. As she made her way over to the DVDs she owned, she stretched her arms above her head, then raised a hand to massage one of her shoulders that was particularly tender. "Dammit." She exclaimed when it didn't do any good. She needed sleep. She needed someone to massage her shoulders.
...God, she was being too needy.
Sighing, she looked over her collection at least twice before settling on a good shoot 'em up movie, Smokin' Aces. There. None of that sappy shit. But then again, you'd be hard pressed to find a single sappy movie in her collection. She brought the movie in the sitting area and popped it in the DVD player, then made her way back to the couch. She moved the remote and laid down on it as she skipped through the previews and hit play.
... And almost as if to tell her that she shouldn't have time for herself today, her cellphone rang. Dammit, why hadn't she thought to turn the damn thing off? Shrugging it off, she let it go to voicemail.
...And whoever it was kept calling. Three times. By the fourth, she cursed aloud and went to see who it was, and what was so fucking important. She looked at the caller ID. One of her brothers. Great. She really didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to talk to her family at all today. It was just going to remind her. When her father died, she was the one who acted like the father from there on in. Taking care of the younger kids and telling them that they were going to be fine, and that things were going to get better after a while. No one was there to tell her that it was okay to cry, and that she was going to feel better if she just cried on them for a while. But even if she did have that, it's debatable, even at the ripe age of fifteen, whether or not she would have listened to them or let anyone try and comfort them.
Not knowing what came over her, she flipped open the phone. "Womack." was the first thing she said. Even if she knew who it was, she still answered the phone authoritatively.
"Mackensie, I know you know it's me. Why do you always have to answer like it's some business call?" She had a separate phone for that. And he knew she had Caller ID. Who else that owned a cell phone didn't?
"Habit." She answered shortly and walked back to lay down on the couch. "What do you want?"
"I don't want anything. Why can't I just call to call? I don't always want things from you."
"Ugh. Fine." She rolled her eyes, even if he couldn't see it. "Why did you want to call?"
"To see if you're okay."
That hit her. She wasn't okay, but she didn't want people thinking that she wasn't. "Yeah. I'm fine. Always am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"That's just it. You always are." A brief pause. "Do you know what today is?"
"You learn quickly. And yeah. So?"
"So... it's a weird day for us, and I just want to check up on you."
"There's no need. I already told you. I'm fine." She fidgeted a little with her pants, hoping that he'd believe her. She really didn't want to talk about this anymore.
"Okay. I can tell you're... being you. Just call if you need anything." A brief pause again. "I love you."
Those three little words made her resolve completely break, and one single tear started to fall. She paused a moment, not wanting that tear to be obvious in her voice as she pushed it away with her hand. "I know." And another brief pause. "Love you too." And with that, she hung up the phone. She'd already given him enough with saying she loved him. She didn't want him to know she was gently crying.
She turned the phone off and tossed it to the floor. In an effort to make the tears stop, she shut her eyes tight and pressed her fingers on the bridge of her nose, like someone would if they had a headache.
It didn't help. Her mind just kept going back to her dad. She punched the cushions of the couch hard in frustration with her free hand. Dammit. Just stop fucking thinking about it! Quit crying!
She needed a cigarette. She bolted off the couch and just tried to think about how much she needed a cigarette. That was it. She didn't smoke too often, because she knew how badly it affected her health. She wasn't that stupid. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
She went into her room and grabbed the cigarettes and a lighter from her bedside drawer, then crawled across the bed to open the window. She sat on the side of the bed, dangling her legs out the window. She was allowed to smoke in her apartment, but she didn't want the whole place reeking. More like a personal rule.
The cigarette combined with the fact that people passing by could see her crying if they looked up caused her to stop. It was just soft tears anyway. She tossed the cigarette out the window when she was through, and closed it. She walked back to the couch and decided to start the movie over, even if she knew what was going to happen. She'd seen the thing too many times to count.