I used to know the way my life was going to unravel.
I knew that the rest of my education was going to come to an end, I knew that I'd eventually get married, be unhappy with my husband. I knew I was going to prefer pets over children but I'd still have children to show my worth as a wife. I knew all of that, I hated it all but I knew.
Love has always been this thing in my head that unattainable. Which is why I fear it. I fear that I let myself be persuaded by the idea of love instead of feeling it course through my veins when I'm around someone. I fear that in a few years the puppy love will go away and I'll be some discarded person at the bottom of the trashcan with kids and no more motivation to do the things that keep me alive.
People live for love, and my fear is keeping me from wanting to live.
My fear to choose is much different. It's much worse. Like a monster guarding my heart I can't get through no matter how hard I try.
Between the melodramatic arguing, chasing, and packing things in case she'd suddenly get an adrenaline rush for the hills.
It was difficult. Deciding. Making that pros and cons list was insensitive, it tore them apart from being human. Thinking of all the good moments she overlooked the bad, and having emotions decide just made her remember the barrier broken.
"I really need help," she whispered before face planting onto a pillow. Todd and Stephen had heard her from the bottom bunk, they had gotten back from a soccer game and were currently taking off their wraps to get ready for a shower. "What with?" Stephen said, almost carelessly, while folding his wrap carefully into a circle.
"Boys, homework, I don't know....setting myself on fire," she groaned as she turned to face the roof. She held her hands over her stomach for comfort. She'd eaten too much at lunch she felt her food baby and nearly went nauseous at the thought of how much sauce was on the spaghetti, "It doesn't make sense."
"How come?" Stephen helped Todd who was struggling to balance on one leg.
"Is it this whole Charlie thing again?" Todd rolled her eyes, Stephen playfully pinched his side to get him to quiet down.
"The Charlie Thing," all of them echoed like it was a historical event. They made ghost noises as they repeated the same phrase a couple more times.
She scoffed, "Don't make fun of me, this is serious."
"Oh we know," Todd giggled, "C'mon then, we'll make a circle on the floor like we're a cult and talk about it."
"No."
"Fine, then you won't get any help."
It was silent for a couple seconds before she threw one of the pillows she didn't use to sit down. "Fine, but promise not to make fun of me at all and that you won't get too close to me because you're too sweaty! I need some serious advice and you all struggle to sound like you care," she went down the ladder then pulled on the boys legs to sit on the floor.
"Ok, maybe not sitting down on the floor. Can we stay here? I'm really sore," Stephen pouted at Sigrid in an attempt to convince her. "I'll never forgive you if you if my knee pops out of place for attempting to kneel."
Sigrid looked over at Todd, she threw her pillow down reluctantly. "Whatever."
"We appreciate you," Stephen mumbled,
"Do not."
"Do too!"
"Anyways!" Sigrid butted in, "I need to make a decision. And quickly. Before he slides off my hands like sand and I need to settle for the Elvis impersonator in front of Bloomingdales."
"Do not," Todd mumbled one last time before Stephen threw a sweaty sock at him. He shrieked in pure horror as the wetness clung to his cheek. Stephen cackled uncontrollable, holding onto his stomach. Sigrid seemed to be piqued, being ignored by them.
"What do I do with Charlie? It's been a while, and I like him but I just can't make myself fully fall into the rhythm of it all. I don't know how to feel."
"I say you get out of this hellhole."
"You two are like ice and wine," Stephen mumbled just loud enough for Todd to hear.
"Yeah, everyone knows not to put ice in the wine," Todd shook her head in disapproval. "You two are like water and oil."
"Like paper towels being used to dry the ocean," Stephen added.
"Like dogs and people who are deathly all-
"You guys are so mean," she sighed in annoyance but then laughed, "We're not a common mix. It's frowned upon, not recommended. Otherwise impossible to a common person's eyes," Sigrid stopped for a second or two. "He's actually really sweet," she looked down at her hands, refusing to blush in front of them because she knew she'd get hell for it. "And considerate. And selfless. I totally painted him the evil way. And he's really not."
"Really?" Stephen leaned forward in curiosity. "I'll-set-your-clothes-on-fire-if-you-don't-give-me-the-trig-answers Dalton?"
Sigrid nodded, "After everything went down...I really grew to hate him. Like want to throw him in the Grand Canyon type of hate. He was unbearable, and it always felt like he had it out for me. But then it slowly started to change, I took time to reflect on everything and I forced myself to go to that dinner I was pretending I didn't have pending. And I wasn't scared of Theresa like I thought I would...I was actually pretty confident when I responded to her. He...he told me he loves me."
Stephen and Todd decided to sit on the floor to continue the current spill coming from Sigrid's heart. "And I love him too. He had a plan to told yall about, I want to go through with it," she looked around uneasily.
The boys furrowed their eyebrows in confusion, "Where would you even go?"
"If I got to run away I'd go to Acapulco, the legal drinking age doesn't matter in Mexico," Stephen whispered. "Mojito by the beach? Yes please."
"He used to call me Bambi, and I hated it at first but then it turned into me saying I despised it while the butterflies in my stomach debunked my every word. He's protective, I like that. He's not afraid to say what he's thinking, or do what he's planning on doing, he doesn't live life with expectations. Everything about him is new, you can't read him like a book and already know how it's going to end. We kissed three time, the night he said he liked me. He was comforting me when Knox tried sticking it out for me for not knowing why Chris didn't show him the interest he wanted,"
"And I know I'm dramatic sometimes, if not all the time," she peered up at the roof as the boys looked at each other knowingly. "But the entire time he was trying to get me to explain I was thinking about the one relationship I did have. How cold his hands were...how he constantly made me feel like a child for doubting him. All the gaslighting...it became too much and so I ran and Charlie ran after me. That's when I found out he liked me, and I really liked him back. It all went away when I chased after him and kissed him in the snow. It felt like a movie. I felt our breathing sync, I felt his heartbeat against my hands and his hair swishing on my forehead. It felt like I couldn't get enough of him. He was something amazing that happened to me, and it went away because of Theresa. I hate her. I despise her. I wish she would die."
The silence was overwhelming to her, he did not sense the discomfort as he stood across from her with his arms folded across his chest. She hadn't seen him in a considerately long amount of time, she assumed he would never step foot on Welton, but as he stood in front of her waiting for her to speak she realized she was mistaken. "Sigrid, it's rude to keep company waiting."
His hair was more skunk-like than the last time she saw him and his blue eyes bored into whatever they fixated on. Still, he wore a tidy suit with a tasteful tie. He had a sort of shadow over his dimpled chin. She, confused, but hopeful, smiled at the man in front of her.
"Oh I'm sorry, I haven't got any tea or crumpets to invite you to. I wasn't expecting your company, so I didn't necessarily have the time to tidy up. Can I interest you in some..." she looked in her cabinet, her eyes widened as she noticed a certain box her father would yell at her for having. She cleared her throat, deciding to continue the joke as she took out a pack of gum, "Sweet watermelon blast gum?"
"Sarcasm is a bleak color on you, Sigrid Taylor," he prevented himself from glaring, instead looking around the room. He sighed in disbelief, "I take it you didn't have the precious time to open my letter before I arrived?"
"What letter," she looked down in shame, "I am certain I didn't get one."
"That much I could tell," he tried to joke but she didn't budge. His eyes widened slightly at the awkwardness before he cleared his throat. "I suggest you open your letters the week you get them. Especially if it's got a parent's name is on it. I could've been dead."
She squinted at him, "You clearly aren't."
"I know a man named Allen that could change that, if you see it any benefit. I take you're not to pleased with my presence at the moment."
"Oh no! I'm ecstatic, I really am. I needed someone to try these new designs on who couldn't say no," she pointed at the sketched taped Knox's portion of the wall. He gave the shadow of a smile before his eyebrows twitched.
He sighed, starting a pace in what was an attempt to stay grounded, "What Mr. John Keating tells me is absolutely appalling."
"In the broadest sense of the word?" Sigrid hoped, wishing he didn't come the long way just to give her a lecture.
"You know, in my day, we didn't take too nicely to what you kids refer now to a 'fink' but Mr. John Keating does it for your protection. And for that I am eternally grateful, I could not wish for better supervision. I asked him if he could do this for me when I came to sign some release forms for your brother, I hadn't seen John in almost eight years. The catching up...well, it was lovely. It's always lovely to catch up to someone as likeminded and, unique at heart as him. That man could've been something great, for all of us, speaking in the term of the society. Sigrid, I've been doing a lot of thinking with what John has given me the pleasure of remembering, with what he's told me, and my life beyond your mother and that box I forced myself into to deny her passing."
Peter hadn't spoken about Karina since she died, not publicly, and certainly not to his children he protected by becoming a wall. If he displayed nonchalance he assumed his children would think he was strong. He assumed his children would look up to him and move on in the natural course of life thinking of their mother as someone extraordinary and not someone who was long gone. Peter feared her fading, the box only made sure the silence in his car made it feel like she could still sit in the passenger's seat. No one had sat in his passenger's seat since his wife died.
"Why...why tell me this. Why now?" she mumbled, "If you know what's been happening through Mr. Keating, why wait all this time to come talk to me and give me an explanation for why you're a horrible parent?"
His jaw clenched as he sat down on the bed, not asking but knowing Sigrid would be too shy to deny him a place next to her. "I've come to terms with that, but it sounds horrendous leaving your child's lips. I would consider myself the worse of the worse, if I were you with all the ignorance and persistence to do things you didn't want to do. But remember, I am not that section of fathers that are scum. Scum fathers wouldn't check up on their children. Scum fathers would not put themselves through hell to ensure their child's happiness. They would not put their child first, themself second."
"You're right," she laughed to herself, "But don't you think it's a little too late for that?"
"Sigrid, I am your father. You respect me," he gritted as he looked at her. She swallowed uneasily, looking down at her lap, "Yes father."
"Where is that child we were so sure was going to grow to do impeccable things?" he'd said out loud but spoke to his wife. Sigrid, confused, continued to look at her lap in shame. "We are both impulsive, this much I know. John has said he's seen some symptoms of depression in you, Sigrid. Watching your constant snapping, degrading, and denial in person I believe that he's right. This..child that was so optimistic, energetic, and most important: kind, has completely vanished. I could see her dying in your eyes, the way the inner child in mine did. I feel nothing but sorrow for you."
"You never did look at me, father. You hear one thing for one man who's known me for four months and trust him more than you trust yourself on anything you could take away from just hearing my voice. I don't think I'm depressed. I don't think I'm spiraling. I don't think I'm falling down this hole of poor-life decisions I won't get out of until I'm well into my forties. So, tell Mr. Keating he's wrong."
"I never said that."
"Said what?" her eyebrows furrowed. He sighed, then bit the inside of his cheek fighting back a witty remark.
"The spiraling, the hole on the floor. The poor live decisions. I never mentioned any of that. It came from your brain, which implies you think of it constantly and you're concerned with that...possible spiral."
"Father, when you use the word 'appalling', the spiraling and digging holes comes in the package. As well with the drug dealing, and the sneaking out to parties, and joining some cult in the mountains thinking you're finally independent only to end up killing someone's pet chicken."
He tried his hardest not to laugh but he failed miserably, "Well, you make sure to tell me when you join that cult."
"Janson wouldn't let me," she quickly retorted.
He let himself fully smile, "joue contre bouche," he mumbled to himself, "Your mother used to do that a lot. We'd share a joke or two, and we never got tired of it. That's why I knew she was the one from the start. She always had something to say, always had something of her own, and she certainly never let a man get the last word. Looking at you now, with what I know, I realize that in many ways you are just like her, as equal as you are to me. Your mother wouldn't let you throw every second of your social life to relationships that won't make it past these walls, your mother would probably give you this speech about how men are worthless unless you need to reproduce or you're missing a fifty from your wallet. That woman, as gentle and ladylike as she was, always had those moments where she said things that kept you in complete disbelief. But she did it just to see you smile, I'm sure she'd do anything to see you smile."
"Well I hope you don't realize the toilet paper on your shoe and go talk to Mr. Nolan like that," she impulsively retorted, attempting not to get teary-eyed.
He looked down, only to hush her, "Now is not a time for jokes," he kept his voice stern.
"Yes father."
"Seeing I can't give that entire 'men are worthless' speech, I want to give you my time to listen. And not in the way your friends might have, but as someone who has dealt with the heartbreak, the rebellion turned life of good, and running on empty for the majority of my teenage years. I might look old to you, but I reassure you I'm younger than most of the parents whose children attend Welton."
"I don't know dad, you seem ancient to me."