𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

two

Of course it wouldn't have helped her case that the first time they met, Ali was caught stealing bread from O' Keefe's bakery. The stingy baker didn't care that it was for her sick mother, or that Ali was only a child. Tara had offered to pay him for his troubles if he let the crying girl go. And from that day, they'd become inseparable.

She had offered to bring Ali and her mother along, but Ali was sure her mom wouldn't survive such a strenuous journey, let alone if they had the money for it.

Tara ran her slim hands down her dress, and anxiously teetered towards the door to her father's study. She instantly recognised the low, soft, suggestive voice of her mother. The voice that could coax a tiger into running a claw over its own throat and shatter her daughter's ambition and aspirations all in the same breath. 

A quick, muffled interjection revealed her father's presence in the room. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but there was no volatility to their low tones, so now seemed a good a time as any to make her entrance.

She curled her fingers to knock, but hesitated. Was it even worth it to try it this way? The chance of them turning her away at the door before she even got a syllable out was substantially more likely than any other outcome. 

"I could just slip away in the night, Ali, why the big charade?" Ali had shook her head and clasped their hands together. "Tara, they're still your parents."

Ali was right. If she didn't at least try it this way, it would hang over her head for the rest of her life. Tara swallowed her reluctance with a grounding breath in and banged her fist on the hard brown mahogany door.

Tara jolted violently awake, startled by the horn of a boat pulling into the port outside. The surrounding birds abruptly took flight, the flutter of their delicate wings audible in their departure.

She blew out a low breath, squinting her eyes slightly as she brought herself up into a sitting position, her knees bending to let her elbows rest atop. Tara reached forward, pulling back the thick curtains an inch to peak outside.

The sky was still dark, but subtle beams of purple and orange were slowly spreading out westwards from the eastern horizon. Although the musty stench had become normalized to her senses, she still craved the crisp morning air.

There was an eerie, all consuming silence drifting around the cheap inn while she trekked back up to the roof that had brought her such peace the previous evening.

Sweet chirps echoed throughout the sleeping city. Tara had captured the fleeting moment of the morning before the hustle began. There were no boats pulling in or out of the harbor, no one wandering the streets or whistling a tune. When the sun rose, the town sat completely still in response.

It was inexplicably serene, but it didn't once distract from the hollow feeling in her heart. She figured matricide would do that to her. All her life, the Donnelly girl had dreamt of freedom, but now that it was just within her grasp, she almost regretted the price paid for it. 

Tara wasn't even sure if she deserved to be free after what she'd done, but she'd be drowned in the port before the thought of turning herself in to her father ever occurred to her.

It was wrong to think she could recover from this, to think she was even entitled to recovery. Tara ran her fingers along her knotting hair. Maybe if misery was the only thing her freedom afforded her, the scales would balance and she had a hope of finding some peace one day.

Ignoring every bit of her worry, the sun continued to creep up the dome of the sky and slowly, the people settled into their early work days. It didn't matter what sick infractions she'd enacted or how close she was to absolutely losing it. 

Life went on.

❖

The marketplace bustled at an ear splitting decibel. Hagglers shouted across the yard and farmers stacked their goods in crates for sale. Children ran haphazardly through the crowds, ducking between legs and shoving past hanging arms, on a mission to knock someone over.

It was Saturday, four days since Tara had arrived in Belfast and nothing bad had happened yet to date. Granted, of course, she hadn't even left her room and this was her first time outside the inn. But Tara was not a fool, she wasn't about to let herself relax because of a lucky streak of momentary safety.

Ali's words still echoed in her mind, being both her tormentor and her guardian. 

Keep moving. You can't ever come back.

She still walked stiffly. Sometimes, the brushes of the crowd against her set Tara off. She didn't meet a single man or woman's eyes, but she was entirely aware of where everybody around her stood. It was exhausting. She only came out of her musty hole to fill her barren stomach and every rumble made her lose a little of that awareness. 

She needed to eat something and she needed to do it soon.