SOME KIND OF DISASTER ─ oliver wood

[ 022 ] feels like fourteen carats but no clarity

As Sawyer approaches Quinn's bed, it's clear, from the way her shoulders are set, wired with tension, and in the tight lines of her face that the tears streaming down her cheeks in jagged lines weren't kindled by sadness (well, she is definitely upset, so maybe a little sad, but isn't everyone these days?), but by the smouldering embers of anger.

Ah, Sawyer thinks, recognising what breed of rage Quinn is. An angry crier.

"Go away," Quinn says, sniffing as she slanted a watery glare at Sawyer, who stood over her at her bedside.

Amusement lit her features as she leant against Quinn's bed frame lackadaisically. "You tell me what's eating you first."

Wrapping her duvet around herself tighter, Quinn sniffs again. "It's nothing."

Sawyer pins Quinn with a deadpan stare. "Don't lie to me."

Quinn lets out a defeated sigh. Instead of explaining herself, Quinn thrusts a hand out, shoving a piece of parchment paper into Sawyer's chest with more force than intended, but Sawyer doesn't even stumble. Doesn't snap back at Quinn's unexpected violence. A mirthful grin works its way onto her lips as she puts a hand up to stop the paper from falling to the ground, clipping it between her front and her arm. It's a letter, Sawyer realises as she scans the cursive writing, addressed to Quinn from her father, beginning with 'your mother and I' which Sawyer knows from personal experience is never a good thing. Turns out, she's right.

"They're never happy with me," Quinn says, swallowing, and Sawyer hears her sheets rustle as she pushes herself upright. Her voice cracks, a merciless sound, like a glass dashed against the corner of a table. It's the first time she's opening up about her parents. In the course of their friendship, Sawyer doesn't recall ever hearing Quinn speak of them. "I mean, I'm no child prodigy, but I do work hard and my grades aren't shit, but they're never happy. I just... I don't know what I have to do to get them to stop being so passive aggressive and condescending. I don't know what I have to do to finally be enough. You know?"

"Parents suck," Sawyer says, folding up the letter and tossing it to the foot of Quinn's bed. "Sometimes they're alright, but they always fuck you up. Even if they don't mean to. Why do you care about what they think, anyway?"

Quinn's brows furrow as she swipes the heel of her palms over her cheeks. "Don't you care what your parents think of you?"

"I don't waste my time on pointless things."

"But don't you want your mother to like you?" Quinn presses, winding her thumbs in the hem of her pajama shirt. "Just a little bit even?"

Sawyer shrugs. "My mother and I have an agreement." Her voice was affectless, very matter-of-fact. People have told her that she adopted a certain tone when speaking about her mother, emotionless and blunt, meant to reflect how she felt—or didn't—about a woman who never had anything good to say about her daughter.

Frustration flashes in Quinn's red-rimmed eyes as she drags her fingers through her curly hair. "Some days I feel so... so invisible. So small. Like I don't matter. I mean, I like invisibility because there's no drama when nobody knows who you are, but it's just... I'm so, so lonely. Do you even know my favourite colour, Sawyer? Do you know my favourite song? Nobody takes the time to get to know these things, and maybe it's my fault, and I don't know why but it's so hard for me to talk to people, but shouldn't there be someone who tries anyway?"

"I think you might be reading too many romance novels."

Quinn lets out a humourless laugh. "Melin, I swear, I feel like I can't talk to you sometimes because you just don't understand. You don't feel anything, and that's fine. I wish I could be like you, but the truth is, i'm not. I feel too much and I don't know what to do with all of these feelings. I don't tell people because I don't want to burden them with what I feel. There's a difference."