September 25 2017
They're all watching, and they don't even attempt to hide it. Larkin feels his skin prick, goosebumps scattering, though having little to nothing to do with the cold. He can't feel the door handle beneath his fingers, nor can he feel the rain splattering dark across his narrow shoulders. It was a strange thing, this overwhelming numbness. It didn't hurt, but then again, it didn't exactly feel good either. It was just the severe lacking of absolutely nothing. The boy drew in a breath, a buzzing rattling softly in his skull as he made his way along the sidewalk and up to the building looming up ahead. In the grey New York light it appeared almost menacing, as if it'd never been in anything else but a shadow. Larkin's lips twitched, he stopped at the base of the stairs and stared.
Inside that building everyone was waiting, waiting because he was late. He was already uncomfortable with all of the eyes on him now, Scarlet's driver with his permanent frown and the greeter with her drawn brows in fake grief. He'd be seeing a lot of that today. Somehow Larkin's feet managed to guide him up each step. When he reached the top the greeter smiled sadly at him, or tried to before the door burst open and Scarlet was there. Her lips were painted a bright red, and there was a handkerchief in her hand. It took a lot more effort than it should have to drag his icy gaze up to meet his mother's. Her eyes were sapphire, deep and beautiful and cold. Scarlet was wearing black, of course she was, they all were. "You're late."He was, in fact, late, late to his own father's funeral. It gave Larkin a dark sort of pleasure, at the control of it all. He had so little control...
"I didn't want to come," His voice was equally as cold as Scarlet's and if she was taken aback he couldn't tell. Larkin wasn't a cold person, he was electric, restless, but warm. He was so tall that his mother had to tip her head back to look at her son, the funny thing was that she'd never before struggled with looking down on him. At first, Larkin had thought that Scarlet was like too dry skin, hardening so much that cracks would show through her mask, but what he'd found was that beneath that mask was another mask even stronger, even thicker. He looked over her to stare towards all the people crammed inside the house, all craning their necks to get a better look. He tried to shut them out and focus on his mother, who was blocking the doorway. The boy just couldn't believe that out of all of them, he was the only one who could see the snake his mother really was, a predator posing as a house pet.
Without another word Scarlet turned sideways, allowing him inside. Larkin sucked in a breath, it'd be a while before he got another, thought the boy as he stepped inside. Scarlet grabbed his sleeve, and when he turned back to look at her, his mother's coldness had deepened into something much darker. A warning. Play your role. Right. He pulled out of her grip, discreetly enough that no one noticed his returning glare. And that's when it hit him, all their prying eyes, all their whispering. Larkin had almost forgotten what it felt like. Almost. The crowd parted, letting Scarlet's lost son through, up towards the empty casket and to a space beside the podium, where his mother would stand, and beside that, where the rest of his family would be. Family. Larkin wanted to laugh, he could feel it building in his throat, low and humorless. It took everything to clamp it back, but it wasn't an unfamiliar gesture to him. smothering laughs wasn't much different from smothering words. Beside him was his aunt Belle and uncle Beau Lassiter. They were standing with their daughter between them--who he hated more than the two of them combined--Sage Lassiter. She was just two years younger at eighteen, picture perfect, intelligent, she spoke four different languages and could go to any college she wished.
Sage was standing strait backed in her little black dress, highlighted in silver. Her dark hair was pinned high on her head, flawless pale skin nearly glowing. She was pink cheeked and pink lipped, hazel hues shimmering with light. "Why can't you be more like Sage?'' Over and over again, he'd heard this, felt it in nearly every look Scarlet and Kamden gave him. ''Why can't you be charming, why can't you be prettier, why can't you...'' And Larkin hated her so much it made his fingers tingle, it wasn't Sage's fault, in fact he barely knew her but that didn't smother any of that pain. It didn't heal every cigarette burn or every broken glass he'd cut his fingers upon cleaning up so no one else would see, if didn't-- Larkin's thoughts snagged, instead focusing on the sound of Scarlet's heels clicking as she climbed up to the podium. Each click was a bit like a shock wave through his skull, they sounded like firecrackers. Sometime during those shock waves the entire house had gone silent, and he felt it like a hollow hole in his chest. The boy's heart began to pound, and that was all he could hear, searching their faces he knew they must have heard too. Fraud. And he was, he felt like one.
"My name is Scarlet Lynn Lassiter and Kamden was my husband," As if anyone in the room wasn't aware, as if this wasn't all some game, "For those of you who don't... didn't know Kamden, he was an amazing, loving husband and a tremendous father." At that she looked over her shoulder at Larkin and planted a weak smile on her lips. It was so good that if he hadn't known better he might have believed it, believed the trembling smile and the tears glittering in Scarlet's eyes. His face was carefully blank, but behind his back, beneath the white gloves, his knuckles were white from clutching his wrist. "Kamden was... well he was stubborn," A light laugh, "but he was kind and smart and... I loved him..." Larkin felt a sickness turning in his stomach, because after those words he stopped listening. His mind drifted away to everywhere else he'd rather be, but it always ended back at the cold numbness in his chest where grief should be. He was supposed to feel pain, his father was dead. Did Scarlet feel pain? Scarlet who had only put her ring back on for this funeral, Scarlet who had let him stare for several minutes at the paler band of skin where that ring should have been, and Scarlet who had shot Kamden in the first place. Three times. The buzzing was even stronger when she finished and everything was a blur. Sage came over and kissed both of his cheeks but he didn't hear what she said, men and woman, young and old made their way over to shake his hand, to mumble their apologies. I'm not sorry. One woman, middle aged and resembling more of a walrus than an actual woman actually took him in her arms and hugged him. Was it a hug or was she trying to strangle him? Larkin wasn't totally sure, but she smelled like peanut butter and lavender and his face was dangerously close to her breast--which were popping from her shirt. This seemed to bring him back.
Larkin squirmed in her grip. "Ma'am?" He choked out, she looked down, but didn't release him. Larkin didn't even know her. "I hate to interrupt whatever this is, but I'd rather not waste any time with two funeral, as your breast are smothering me." The boy muttered, she let go and strode away with a hiss. I can't do this anymore. He lasted ten more minutes, ten more minutes of smiling for the camera he despised, ten more minutes of playing his shitty role. Who was emptying the air in the room? Suddenly, he just couldn't take it. Larkin pushed out the door and didn't look back.
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