Sunflowers

~Prologue~

To say the summer of 2019 was "hot" would be an understatement.

It was sweltering. It was steamy and sweaty and sticky. The exiguous shade did little in the ways of achieving mercy from the drenching humidity.

Or maybe that was Linnea's overactive mind being too accustomed to New England's extreme winters.

Linnea was a New England native, so she enjoyed autumn the best. Swirls of steam from a cup of peppermint tea dancing up into the crisp morning air, the crunch of freshly fallen leaves, the smell of campfires, the warmth of piles and piles of cozy blankets - it was simply understood. Nothing could beat autumn in New England.

But here she was in summer. And she didn't mind that either. Well, at least she didn't mind it before she messed everything up.

The doors stood in front of her, glaring back at her in the sunlight. In her hands she held a script, but nothing else. At any other rehearsal, she would have had her folder, her water bottle, her pencil, and maybe a book, all stuffed into her arms whether she was capable of carrying it all or not. As long as she came across as prepared.

The day was warm, but it felt like it should have been cold and rainy.

One step at a time.

Linnea reached the door. It was warmed by the sun.

The stark contrast of air-conditioning immediately sent a chill up her spine. She caught the gaze of her director, whose chocolate eyes softened upon seeing Linnea.

"There you are," Nicole reached out her arms and embraced the younger, as if foreseeing the onslaught of apologies and excuses. Linnea wanted to back away from the hug. She couldn't risk a breakdown. Not here.

But there was no getting out of it now. There hadn't been for a long time.

I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry, Linnea wanted to ramble. And yet her face remained calm, apathetic as she allowed Nicole to embrace her.

IknowyougavemeachanceandIknowIscreweditupandI-

"Don't apologize, I don't want your pity," Nicole ordered, reading her mind, before stepping back. She had known Linnea too long to believe the façade that everybody else saw. Her voice still carried the motherly gentleness that Linnea had grown accustomed to, but held a harshness that practically crushed her with guilt.

Linnea willed herself to let go as she turned her beloved script over to her director.

"You owe me another audition," Nicole said, trying to lighten the tension. But the jest was short-lived, as her tone turned serious. "I know this type of behavior is not traditional for you. If and when you are cast again in one of our musicals, I expect better from you. You will not be given another chance."

Linnea hung her head. "I'm s-" she caught herself. Paused. Nodded slowly. "I understand."

The phone call that had took place earlier that day was colder than ice. Nicole had informed Linnea of her removal from the production. There was a simple "alright" and a dial tone. Couldn't say more than that. Couldn't say anything she couldn't take back.

That moment replayed now as she left the building. Her fingers ran through her hair - a nervous habit - as she walked away without looking back. She wanted to glare right back at the sun, stomp on the smiling peonies that lined the concrete walkway, scream at the trees just for existing. For being more successful than her.

However, Linnea wasn't one to break down. Stay strong, a voice in her head encouraged her. Stay humble, it said. Stay calm. Her mantra expected her not to let on that she was weak. And so she never did - if she could help it. She waited until she was in the driver's seat of her car, her own private space, to let the tears fall. To let the façade break and the smile disappear.

She'd failed herself. Big time. And now, the monster was stirring.

The monster, the thing inside Linnea, rustled in its cage. It woke up, stretched its legs, ready to let out an anguished roar. On some days, Linnea swore she could hear it buzzing in her ears.

This monster had already gotten out once. That was how she got into this situation in the first place. But now, the lock was reinforced. Linnea wouldn't let it slip again. She couldn't, and no matter how much it hurt her from the inside, what mattered is that nobody else saw her pain.

Soon, she would find another meaningless distraction. Reserved and quiet, she never let herself get too attached. She had strict boundaries for her own safety. And those boundaries would never break.

Ever.

Hopefully.