SNITCH
noun [ C ]
UK / 'snɪt / US / 'snɪt /
"A PERSON WHO SECRETLY INFORMS A HIGHER SITUATIONAL AUTHORITY THAT SOMEONE HAS COMMITTED A WRONGFUL ACT."
• • •
'an unsolicited liar.'
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SNITCHES GET STITCHES.
-
"Oliver, I've found-," Venetia re-emerges inside the pool house, scavenging an adequate variation of sleeping medication and pain reducing medicine.
She stopped in her tracks, eyeing up the scattered smithereens of their father's costly whiskey glasses across the floor - making her behead her sentence.
She sighed loudly at the mess, a hand being raised to place onto her hip.
"Felix?," She accused, knowing her brother far too thoroughly - and, it couldn't have been Farleigh.
Farleigh despises whiskey.
He's more of a wine person.
"Indeed it was." Farleigh rolled his eyes, still struggling to pile up the shards into a dustpan and brush, "This is the only time you'll ever see me on my knees."
With this remark, Lyssa noticed Oliver and Farleigh catch eachothers' eye - Farleigh then proceeding to clear his throat, that otherwise sounded crystal clear when he last spoke.
"Sorry." Was all Felix could mutter, as his offer to help clean up was once again denied by Farleigh's proudness.
He probably felt heroic and utterly charitable for cleaning up at all - for that was a foreign concept to these kinds of people.
"Farleigh, you're doing it wrong-," Venetia placed the boxes of medication on the centre table, with Oliver reaching over from his seat on the sofa to examine each one.
She took the dustpan and brush from Farleigh, earning her a judgemental look from his end.
"You have to pick up the largest shards first." She instructed, beginning to carefully retrieve the greater chunks of the glass.
"Fine - you do it, then." Fairleigh gave in, knowing Venetia had a very specific order of doing things, and he could never perform up to her standards.
Ignoring his snark, Venetia continued manhandling the pointy residue of Felix's drink, wiping her whiskey-soaked hands on her pyjamas nonchalantly.
Farleigh attempted to shuffle behind Venetia, between the small gap of the table and the sofa, where her body was an obstacle.
Instead of Farleigh vocally excusing himself or asking Venetia to move so he could get past for a second, he instead tried to shove his way past.
Being the underhand amongst entitlement hurts.
Literally.
Because as he did this, he lost his balance - his hand automatically reaching for Venetia's shoulder blade as the nearest support.
As his hand implanted itself, the force pushed Venetia's left shoulder on a downwards slope - the sudden force travelling down her entire arm and impaling her palm into a shard of glass.
As quickly as Farleigh regained his balance and rushed out of the slim passage, Venetia's hand began to exude blood.
A large gauge was all that was left of Farleigh's foolish and inconsiderate action, and an alarming exclaim from Venetia once she'd realised.
"Farleigh, fucking hell!" She whined, quickly rising to her feet - however, that didn't stop the wound from discharging ruby pearls across the floor.
The concoction of glass and blood spatter made Lyssa's stomach churn. The backs of her kneecaps fizzed - she could've sworn they were liquidating.
And on queue, the paralysis, and the memories emerged for the first time in weeks.
The pitiful deceased brother parade that tormented Lyssa as if it were her fault - her punishment - for his death.
For all she could do was watch as Oliver sprung to assist Venetia - the two scurried off towards the nearest bathroom - with Farleigh following apologetically behind, suggesting using vodka as a steriliser.
"Jesus Christ." A muffled voice exhasperated behind her, belonging to a rather overwhelmed Felix.
So far, the evening hadn't gone as planned.
"Lyssa? Are you alright?," The same voice asked.
When he didn't get a dismissive, insanely defensive response as he usually would, he moved the table further backwards so he could crouch in front of her.
"Lyss."
He removed his hand from her upper arm - settling to placing it on her bare knee, as she sat void, cross-legged on the sofa.
"Lyssa, sweetheart." He had tried to gain her attention once more.
Following her bottomless gaze across the table, he'd realised she was fixated on the mixture of blood and glass.
"Fuck-,"
He panicked, quickly rising to grab the nearest material that could soak up the blood and in which he could safely remove the glass with - which happened to be his jumper he'd discarded on the arm of the sofa.
"I'm sorry, darling." He regrettably apologised, "I didn't mean to remind you, I'm so sorry."
Eventually - after using Oliver's glass of water Venetia had brought with the sleeping medication earlier for him - as a diffuser for the spots of blood, the floor was only left with a few pinkish smudges.
As if it were on command, Lyssa's mental and emotional blockage walls in which barricaded her brain and lead to her physically shutting down had lowered.
All the energy she had was used to wipe her nose that had began to run.
Felix had made multiple trips to the bathroom during this time, to continue soaking his jumper in warm water to clean the floor, and to wring it out.
He was finally tasked with permanently getting rid of the minuscule glass shards, eventually deciding to use the vacuum cleaner.
He knew the blood spatters in which had been smudged across the floor during the frantic five minutes would stain.
However, he settled on temporarily hiding them by rearranging the furniture so the sofa covered that area of the floor completely.
"All done, Lyssa."
He sighed, throwing the filthy jumper into a hamper beside the bar - typically used for cloths and beer mats that the cleaners would use to clean the pool house bar.
"Sorry..," Lyssa came to, squinting her eyes as an attempt to rid the slight blurriness to her vision.
"Don't apologise, Lyss." Felix chuckled, "After-,"
He sighed again, this one deeper, pitted with sympathy and pity - which Lyssa sensed, and hated.
"-After what happened with Esther." She finished the difficult sentence for him, lowering her eyes to her knees that were pulled into her chest.
"It's a valid response to the situation, is what I'm trying to say." He explained.
Lyssa hummed.
"I'm sorry you had to be reminded."
"Don't fret, Fe." Lyssa brushed it off, as if her trance didn't ever occur, "I need a glass of water, want one?"
She rose to her feet, beginning to walk towards the bar.
"I mean, I think you should-," She trailed off, "Obviously, you need to lay off the whiskey-,"
"I'm alright, thanks." He replied bluntly, returning back to his original seat upon the sofa.
"Oh, okay."
She continued to make herself a drink, humming Maneater by Daryl Hall & John Oates.
The room had gone silent - other than the shuffle of Lyssa's footsteps as she navigated her way around the lengthly bar stocked with many bottles of alcohol, mixers, and cordials.
Felix was now significantly more tired, dragging a hand over his face as he leant back into the sofa.
"Fuck." He muttered to himself frustratedly - for this evening hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd planned it to.
He closed his eyes briefly - the sound of the white noise that infiltrated the atmosphere that filled the gaps where sound would be thriving, was now only distributing the faint sound of Lyssa's humming.
In which he could easily fall asleep to.
And he almost would, before Farleigh and Venetia hurried back into the pool house.
"I'm taking Venetia to the hospital - she needs stitches." Farleigh alerted, causing Felix to stand up in a panic once more from his seat.
"What? Farleigh are you fucking dense?," Felix raised his voice, exhaustion straining within it.
"-We can't, Elspeth and dad will find out - we'll be in deep shit."
"The cut is too deep, Felix! If we don't get it stitched, she'll lose too much blood!"
Farleigh argued back, Venetia stood in a rare state of silence, evidently paler as she stood cradling her palm that was amateur-ly bandaged.
"I'll do it." Oliver shrugged as he too emerged from the bathroom back into the pool house, still clutching a dampened towel to wipe off the blood from his hands.
A rather sinister image if you revoke the context - a twisted foreshadowing.
"Do what?," Felix scoffed, now only wanting to go to sleep, for he'd lost all sense of fun after tonight's events.
"Give her stitches."
"Do you even know how to do that?," Farleigh queried, tilting his head - eyebrows furrowed.
"Yeah." He nodded casually, "Had to do it a lot for my dad when he kept falling down the stairs after he'd had a bit to drink."
The room once again descended into a graveyard of conversation - a thoughtful silence.
"Okay, fine." Felix surrendered, raising his hands as if to shift the responsibility of Venetia's wellbeing over to Oliver.
"Don't fuck it up, Quick." Felix warned, glare sharp.
Lyssa, who was witnessing this entire ordeal from behind the bar - occasionally stopping to listen to sip from her glass of lemon water, - observed Oliver's strange sense of newfound confidence.
"I won't, I've done it plenty," he reassured, his commoner accent thick off of his tongue, making Farleigh grimace ever so slightly at his pronunciations.
"-Have you got a sewing needle and black thread?"
Venetia nodded at Oliver's question, beginning to lead him back out of the pool house towards the main building.
Once they'd both left and were out of earshot, Farleigh let out an evidently pent-up sigh.
"Fucking hell." He groaned, letting his body go limp as a ragdoll on the nearest sofa, "I can't with those two - they need five minutes and a private room."
Lyssa let out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh, walking back towards the two boys on the sofas - now more relaxed and rehydrated.
"Why the long face, Felix?" Farleigh pouted at the boy on the sofa opposite, who looked far from amused.
"Why wouldn't I have a long face, wanker?" Felix playfully shot back, "My sister is painfully over-dramatic and Oliver's entertaining it."
"Well, to be fair," Lyssa intercepted, sitting at the other end of the sofa in which Felix was situated, "-She did have a piece of glass peirce through her hand."
"Not through her hand." Farleigh corrected the severity of the situation, most likely as an attempt for him to feel less guilty.
"Deep enough for her to need stitches." Lyssa shrugged, sipping her lemon water once more.
"Yeah, whatever - she'll get over it." Farleigh rolled his eyes, standing up to feel his back pockets for a packet of cigarettes.
"-Pretty sure she's cut herself deeper." He snarled, the heartless, unprovoked remark almost making Lyssa choke upon swallowing her drink.
She quickly glanced over to Felix's direction, his jaw tightly sewn like an iron bolt in a plank of wood.
Felix and Lyssa's stunned silence was a clear indication that Farleigh best remove himself.
"I need a cigarette." And with that, he left the pool house.
A moment of silence followed once again, brief yet dense intervals of complete stillness as Felix and Lyssa eventually both became too tired to conjure up conversation.
However, Felix's disturbed expression made it impossible for Lyssa to settle herself without wanting to merely attempt to lighten the mood.
"Fe."
No answer - for the boy had closed his eyes, his head resting against the back of the sofa.
"Fe." She repeated, this time, his eyelids crinkled with movement as he finally acknowledged her efforts to speak.
"Lyssa." He shortly replied back, allowing Lyssa to progress with what she wanted to say.
"Come over here."
At her invitation, Felix lifted his head, raising a hand to rub his eyes as he turned to face her.
"What?,"
"I said," She lowered her voice, repeating herself once again, "Come sit with me."
"I am sat with you." He confusedly responded, "You mean, you want me to come closer?"
"That's what I said, no?" She tilted her head, stretching out her leg, that was drawn previously close to her chest.
The distance between them on the sofa was just about enough to allow Lyssa's outstretched leg to brush his thigh, Lyssa watching as he stiffened immediately at her touch.
Watching the infamously provocative bachelor that was Felix Catton turn rigid at her touch was always a trusted source of entertainment for Lyssa.
She let out a gentle, yet satisfied laugh.
When Lyssa had caught glances of Felix during a conquest at the pub or at a house party, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing - hands positioned perfectly, for he steered the ship.
Yet, when Lyssa was first to touch him, he usually - even if it is for a split second - goes as rigid as a wooden board.
For if she were to tell anyone how staggered and unco-ordinated Felix catered to her advances, they would never believe her.
"You always react the same."
Felix chuckled, nodding knowingly in response.
Lyssa silently praised him for at least being self aware.
He shifted slightly in his seat, moving a hand to place on her ankle - the warmth of his palm enveloping her bare leg.
This, to Lyssa, felt like a protest - a chance Felix decided to take to counteract her accusation.
"I react the same?" He reiterated her words, "React to what?"
Lyssa clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, resting the side of her face against the sofa as she maintained eye contact.
"When I touch you," She admitted, "You freeze - like a deer in headlights."
He chuckled amusedly at her use of metaphor, reaching over to the table to take another cigarette and a lighter.
As he lit it between his lips, he constructed a reply to her upfront observation.
"How else am I meant to react, Lyss?" He sighed, his thumb brushing over her skin on her ankle gently,
"-When you touch me, I'm not sure whether it's out of platonic appreciation or because you want to fuck me."
It was Lyssa's turn to laugh at his remark, reaching over to the table herself to put her drink down.
"Mm," she thoughtfully pondered, taking it upon herself to move closer to him.
She shuffled herself across the sofa using her knees, settling herself so she was knelt beside him, leaning on the back of the sofa but on her side so she could see his face clearer.
He watched her intently, the way a cat would eagerly behind a window when watching a bird take flight in front of it on the other side.
A tease.
Felix's tease then proceeded to lean into him, her lips brushing against his pierced ear, making him instinctively lean his head backwards.
She placed a gentle kiss behind his ear, lifting a hand to inspect his hooped earring, cupping itself beneath his jawline, in order so she could tilt his head to to the side so she could see it better.
In Felix's moment of utter vulnerability beneath her touch - one that both of them had dearly missed - Lyssa saw the perfect opportunity to debut her response.
She levelled her lips to his ear, Felix too waiting for Lyssa's tactical insertion of a witty comeback, for she'd remained quiet suspiciously long.
"Both."