sweet nothing (derek morgan)

prologue

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SWEET NOTHING.
PROLOGUE
"NOTHING/EVERYTHING"

tws: death and child abandonment

A ten-year-old Bridget sat in the back of her father's old Ford and rested her chin on her fist as she stared out the open window, counting the streetlights they passed by as the warm hair blew wisps of her hair around her face.

She, utterly content, kicked her feet along to the tune of the song coming through the radio (American Pie, her favorite), an orange lollipop stuck to her tongue and the cheap stuffed rabbit her brother won for her at a bottle toss hugged tightly to her chest. They had been driving for longer on the way back than they did on the way there but it was so far past her bedtime that she figured they would let her stay up a few more hours if she didn't say anything; it was the middle of summer, after all, and she had just gorged herself on cotton candy and all sorts of fried food at the county fair they were coming home from, and, as far as she was concerned, it was, even if she got horribly sick at the end and had to suck on a lollipop to fix her blood sugar, the best day of her entire life so far. She didn't want it to end any time soon.

(They never really had fun. Every day followed the same routine—— her mother would wake her up, they'd eat breakfast, and then her brother would be stuck with her all day while they went to work—— and there were hardly any deviations. It was nice to spend time as a family.)

(In retrospect, Bridget would compare it to giving an old dog chocolate before putting it down.)

Matthew, the toy rabbit winning brother in question, sat beside her with significantly fewer rewards from their excursion. For a short while, he was also staring out into the night, listening to music on his Walkman because he was, as their father put it, too cool (see also: socially burnt out) to be present in the moment. But, as the drive got longer and longer, and the world outside of the car became unfamiliar, and his mother kept glancing back in the rearview with a strange look on his face, he pulled the headset from his ears and sat up.

He was fifteen years old, after all—— five years older than his sister and far more adjusted to the way things were meant to work than she'd ever be—— and he was the one who took Bridget everywhere.

He knew the way home like the back of his hand.

"Where are we going?"

The question interrupted Bridget's counting and her head snapped away from the window.

"We're going home." Was their mother's answer, her voice warbling slightly as she, suddenly, avoided the mirror all together.

"No, we aren't." Matthew shook his head. "We're going in the opposite direction."

Bridget's eyebrows creased to the middle of her forehead. She glanced between the three of them, confused until her gaze met her mother's.

The look in her eyes made her stomach churn.

"We, um... Your mother and I received some troubling news yesterday." He said, and swallowed. "We have to go away for a while, so you guys are going to stay somewhere else, okay?"

Bridget started to ask all sorts of questions. Who gave them the news? What was it? Why did they need to leave? Where were they going, and for How long?

Matthew just sat back, his face slackened with an indescribable emotion, and listened to her barrage.

Or, rather, listened as their parents danced around the topic, failing to give her a single, clear response.