Author's Note: The little girl at the top, as a cover image there, is Cassandra: Mark and Witney's daughter. :) Isn't she adorable? :) I saw this picture and was like: that's her. She has Witney's eyes, shape and color, Mark's dark hair, and Witney's lips, though a bit redder. Her pose in this picture reminds me of how Mark stands sometimes. :) Anyway, this kinda just...I let it flow a bit in the beginning, well all of it really, but that's just a disclaimer; the beginning may seem random-ish but it just kinda happened, also simultaneously developing Cassandra's character quirks...so...enjoy! :)) As always, vote and/or comment if you liked it, I enjoy hearing from you who read! :)
_____________________
The bedsheets had fallen by force of the wind against her body, heating her petite frame by what felt like twenty degrees. They were flannel, and it was summer, so this was duly expected; what wasn't however, were the child's cries, their decibel so high, so strong in sinusoidal sound.
"Babe...can you get her?"
"Can't you Wit?"
His voice was thick with a slimy sleep, coating his tongue and preventing proper annunciation.
She exhaled, moving the tangles of blonde away from her eyes, bleary and swollen, shades of violet plaguing the surrounding skin. "Whatever."
Witney walked across the hall, painted toes coming alive in the dark, becoming lost amongst the carpeted flooring.
There was a subtle flicker and the room was bathed in a penumbral light, the pink of the walls blending with the golden halo above her head, its shine captured, and subsequently dulled, by a Tinker Bell fixture.
"Oh Cassie," Witney cooed, biting her lip as the wails hadn't yet taken pause, not even for one, wonderful, second. Please, sleep baby. Why can't you go to sleep!?"
Mark had mentioned countless of times that they should take her to the doctor, to someone who knows children and how they maneuver the big, wide, world. Though Witney had a different view, having insisted that there was absolutely nothing wrong with their baby girl.
This was three months ago, when the flag was first raised and barely catching a breeze. Now, another three months have passed and its redness flew high in the sky, sprinkling some clouds with color, the alert it sent off becoming harder to ignore: something's wrong!
Cassandra is five years old; she is a very happy, bubbly child, always has a lot to say. Presently, as her mother watched her, resisting the primal urge to hold her close, a heavy string of spittle coated those lips, and a ruddiness attributed to the unbridled tears coated those cheeks.
Humming softly, Witney sat on the rocking chair to the bed's right, beginning a back-and-forth motion. The child carried on her crying, halting only for a parched breath here or there.
"Oh Cassie, my little dancing queen, what's got you so upset?"
From the very first night Mark and Witney spent as parents, to now, not once has Cassandra slept through the night, always awoken by something, a figment of imaginative fantasia.
A few weeks ago, Witney had given in and walked into the pediatrician's office, clutching Mark's hand with a child, altogether oblivious, smiling and skipping, by her side. The doctor - a tall, homely woman with fine dark hair, and a soft smile to match her attitude - told the couple that their child had pavor nocturnes, though it was not too severe and should fade with time.
Witney hadn't known what to make of this information, not at the time, and even now it was still a struggle to comprehend. Their daughter had an illness, one that they - as her parents - couldn't make better with a cup of soup and cuddles. It was a disorder.
As Cassie continued to thrash in frightened anguish, there was a bang and Witney sucked in a breath. Her daughter, amidst her frenetic motions, slammed her arm against the headboard. Once again, she swallowed down the want to wake her, comfort her - something they were told could do more harm than good.
"How is she?"
"Mark, babe, I thought you were asleep, she's - "
"Witney, are you kidding right now? How can I sleep when both my girls aren't there with me?"
He gave her a saddened smile, watching too, as his daughter continued to cry out; it was no longer just moaning and groaning, screaming and crying, it was actual words, though majority remained intelligible.
"Bunnies....eat...I creeee....mommy, daddy...help!"
There was another bang, this time her leg.
"We can't help her," Mark stated, sinking to the floor and rubbing Witney's thigh.
"No, we can't."
"I hate this."
"Me too."
___________________
The next morning it was a struggle, as it was most days, to get their daughter up and ready. Both Mark and Witney were exhausted, one not more than the other, but, like every other day, they just had to live through it. Cassie was the most important thing to them; without her, they'd have nothing, no one, to live for - not even each other.
"Mommy," Cassie murmured, slowly standing from her bed as she rubbed her eyes, wobbling over to the bathroom. "Meet Daddy and I downstairs when you're done, okay my dancing queen?" Cassie nodded mutely, curls bouncing tiredly as she shut the door. "Mkay."
Witney couldn't help but smile, for her little girl must have forgotten, had a memory lapse. She was never a morning person, always groggy and disoriented - never having accumulated the suggested hours of sleep during a given night, these frequent terrors disrupting the normal pattern.
Hearing the steady trickle of water and the loud vibrations of her electric toothbrush, Witney felt calm, hoping that this day would be one that her daughter remembered, one that she would appreciate. Today was her sixth birthday. Oh, how time flies! Was that what Mark always said?
"Cassie?" Mark asked without turning around, with Witney still halfway up the stairs. In reaction to his questioning, she gripped the handrail and sighed as she finished her decent.
"Acts as though it never happened, she's excited for her special birthday breakfast though. She told me. You better get on it Daddy."
Mark smirked, flipping a pancake over in the pan as he answered: "first batch is almost done, and I just made the orange juice. It's in the fridge. The blueberry drizzle is on the table." Then, "She doesn't remember calling out for help? Anything about bunnies? Nothing?"
Witney shook her head. "The doctor said they were just repressed images, things her brain blocks out instinctually. Like trauma or something. It's normal behavior for people like her."
"People like her," Mark repeated, "she's just a child."
"I know, but - "
"She's just a child, Witney. OUR NORMAL, HEALTHY BABY GIRL!"
Witney flinched, for Mark was never one for raising his voice, was never one to let his emotions get the best of him.
"Mommy, Daddy? Why are you yelling? Please love each other like you love me," Cassie pleaded from the bottom step, her expression fearful, with a sticky rheum settled like sand in the corners of her oceanic eyes.
Witney turned to their daughter, as did Mark, as she tried to provide words of comfort. "Daddy and I love each other, we do."
"So much," Mark added, gripping his wife's cheek and laying a tender kiss on her lips. "I never stopped babe," he murmured, as she buried her face into his neck. "Even when you did."
"Mark. I never, ever, stopped loving you. It's just been so hard these last few months..." Witney turned to Cassie, raising her head as her daughter smiled, gap-toothed: "It's my birthday! November 12th!"
Mark smiled, squeezing Witney's hand - in one of those 'everything is okay' communicative gestures - and moved to pick up their daughter, spinning her around. "That it is! Look Wit, our little dancing queen is six years old today!"
"Happy birthday baby-girl," Witney said, kissing her curls and combing them with her fingers.
"Pancakes!" Cassie squealed, jumping from her father's arms and running to the table. "Thank you!"
Her parents joined her a second later, wearing matching grins of happiness. "You're welcome baby-girl," Mark said as Witney took the blueberry sauce from Cassie.
"I love you both, berry much," she told them, winking when Cassie and Mark burst into laughter. "We love you too, Mama," he purred, with their little girl nodding emphatically.
__________________
The DWTS cast crowded around her; the women awed over how big she's gotten, each one hugging her and never wanting to let go; the men loved twirling her around, her weight making it effortless in that it was like a twirling train, the little girl moving from one guy to the next with an uninterrupted fluidity.
"Auntie Lindsay!" Cassie squealed now, trying to free herself from the woman's grip. "I can't breathe!"
"Linds, let her go," Witney giggled, matching pitch with those emanating from the lips of her daughter. "It's her birthday. Today, the queen gets what she wants. But only for today."
"Yay!" Cassie yelled excitedly, running to Derek as Lindsay let her go free. "Does that mean I can dance on the stage with Uncle Derek and Auntie Jules!?"
"We'll see about that kiddo," Derek replied, though unwarranted as the question wasn't directed at him but at his best friend.
"If Tom or Erin says it's okay, it's fine by me," Mark acceded, "Wit?"
"Go ahead, I think it's a great idea. But what about dancing with Mommy and Daddy?" Witney whined, pouting with such obvious fakery.
"I can dance with you guys too!" Cassie assured, scurrying towards Tom. "Can I please?" she asked.
Tom smiled heartily at the small girl, leaning down to take her in his arms. "For sure, Cassie-girl, but only," he added, tapping her nose, watching as it wrinkled in reaction, "if you save the last dance for me."
"Okay Grandpa Tommy, I promise," Cassie said, snuggling into his chest."
"Awe!" Erin interjected, coming from behind Tom to run a motherly hand down Cassie's head. "What about your Auntie Ewin?"
Cassie shook her head profusely, the dainty, baby curls around her forehead moving softly in the air. "I can say your name good now, Auntie ERin. See? Not EWin. Are you happy for me?"
Erin smiled, incredibly proud of her, squeezing her arm lightly in nonlinguistic praise. "So happy Cassie, you're getting so big!"
Witney nodded in agreement as did Mark. "I know," she said, wiping away invisible tears. "It's a travesty."
"Wit..." Mark began, taking her pinkie finger and intertwining it with his own in an oath-like fashion. "Promise me we'll have another."
The look on his face was one of absolute hopefulness; his eyes were large, almost completely round, appearing to her like a lost puppy's - praying that she was his home, that she was his forever.
"I miss you, My Girl." Mark ran his hands down her torso with sensual movements, then leaned in to kiss her: fully and deeply, tongue and all.
"Okay, okay, break it up you two! There are tiny witnesses present"
The voice belonged to none other than Val, he who barged his way through the crowd of people, and pulled the couple apart with the strength of one hand.
He lifted the little girl straight off her feet and into the air. "Airplane!" he cried, moving her sideways, forwards and back. "Uncle Val! Quit it!"
Witney raised her eyebrows, hoping her daughter would get the message. "Please," she added, noticing her mother nod in approval.
Val did as he was told, placing her feet-flat onto the red-room carpet. "Well Sassy Cassie, what are we doing today?"
"EVERYTHING!"
Everyone laughed, not just at her answer, but more so at the cheesy facial expression and grand arm gestures: spread wide, like a bird, with a friendly Cheshire grin.
Cassandra was most definitely ready for the world of fame and fortune, and she has a whole bunch of people that are willing to help navigate her way.