BLOOD FOR BLOOD ─ paul lahote

[ 013 ] alone at midnight

And so, she'd taken to calling. Reaching out. Talking to people helps, is what her therapist says. Talking, making meaningful connections, reinforcing bonds... All that was supposed to help, right?

"Watch that attitude, birdie. How's mum treating you?" Violet mocks, pushing her window open and shaking a cigarette out of the half-crushed carton procured from her pocket. Balancing her phone between her ear and her shoulder, Violet sticks the cigarette in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter as a flame sparks to life. She draws in a musty inhale, and feels the tension drain from her shoulders as the smoke hits her lungs.

"Fine," Wren grunts, but it's without heat. There's more shuffling, the sound of porcelain clapping, and then a dull whistle siphoning through the static-permeated silence. Violet arched a brow.

"Are you peeing right now?" Smoke billows out of her mouth. She follows the trajectory of the small plume of haze, spiralling with the wind, up into the starless night sky, gazing back down at her with its miserable, unblinking tenebrosity.

Wren falls silent.

"Maybe?" There's the hint of a smile in her voice. Violet can hear it. The childish coyness curling her tone. It's with a tiny pinch in her cold, black heart that Violet realises she misses Wren's smile. There's only so much a phone call can do when there's oceans separating two people who used to only have a bedroom wall between them. Abruptly, a wave of regret crashed down on her. She should've spent more time with Wren when she was around. Back then, before the madness of the past four years had crippled her life, Violet had always stuck to Luka, sidelined Wren with the excuse that she was too small to connect with. All Wren had wanted and whined for was to hang out with Violet, and Violet, in true ignorance of the older sibling, didn't want to be saddled with minding Wren, the burdensome pest, when she could be outside learning new skateboard tricks with Luka, who was cooler and less annoying and didn't mind having her around. Violet purses her lips, exhaling another smoky breath as though she could expel the guilt from her lungs. It doesn't help.

"Remember what I said about not giving me that bullshit..."

"It's not that bad," Wren says, relenting, though there's little conviction in her tone. A squeak of a faucet turning. The quiet static of water gushing from a tap. It cuts off after a few seconds. Wren sighs. "I mean, she's a little bit overbearing sometimes, but I suppose it's just because I'm the only one in the house now when there used to be you to nag at for being such a tomboy and..."

"She had Luka to coddle," Violet finishes, voice tight, as Wren trails off, unsure whether to bring him up.

A rustle in the hedges below catches Violet's attention. She sucks in a sharp breath as the leaves begin to tremble, and the rustling grows louder. Wren says something, but Violet is only half listening. Her heart jams in her throat. Her pulse roars in her ears. Something is coming. A head pokes out of the bushes and Violet has to choke down a scream. Yellow eyes glare back.

She lets out a sigh of relief.

In a flash, the racoon scuttles off to somewhere else, darting away into the darkness. The tension bleeds off her muscles. Violet sucks in a stabilising breath.

"...Hello? Vi? You still there?"

Shit, Violet swears inwardly. She'd forgotten about Wren.

"Yeah," Violet says in a breathless whisper, not daring to look down at her hands incase they were shaking, but bringing her cigarette to her lips to take a drag. She rakes a hand through her hair, tugging sharply on the ends. Spikes of pain jab her scalp, whetting her focus. There's nothing out there. You're safe. "Yeah, I'm here."