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︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ NOBODY EVER ASKS THE KID IN THE BACKSEAT WHETHER THEY ACTUALLY WANT TO LEAVE.
︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ They just buckle you in, tell you it's for the best, and expect you to understand later. River never did. It's hard not to grow bitter when you're dragged away - not necessarily kicking and screaming, but close enough - from the only home and best friends you'd ever known because your mom decided to leave your dad, and your dad didn't fight hard enough to make you stay. Bobby Finstock had been too busy drowning himself in alcohol and self-hatred to notice what he was letting go of.
︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ Now, River was returning, like most natural disasters do - loudly, reluctantly, and against at least one adult's better judgement.
︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ ︎︎ She'd collected one too many suspensions, one too many warnings - and apparently one arrest too many. Shoplifting had been the final straw for Christina Finstock. Don't make this harder than it needs to be, River, she had said, calm in the way adults get when they've already made a decision without you. River had shouted back anyway. Stormed out anyway. Because it wasn't fair. It wasn't like she'd chosen to be here. Her mom was the one who left Beacon Hills first. River was just unfortunate enough to get dragged along too.
