A/N: To keep the note short and sweet, I own nothing from Hemlock Grove. Fawn is mine, as are any other unrecognized characters. Let me know what you think, pretty please?
- - -
She is fourteen years old the first time she feels her heart shattering in her chest.
He is standing in front of her with a smug grin plastered lazily across his full lips, his arms crossed over his chest. He has just told her that what happened last weekend in the woods meant absolutely nothing to him, was just a little fun for both of them, and by the cold look in his eyes, he means it.
In hindsight, she likes to think she might've seen that coming, had she been a little older. Fourteen year old girls are naïve in that way, though; the way the world works is a difficult lesson to learn without getting your heart broken first.
In that moment, however, she is ultimately crushed. Her head had been filled with delusions, lovely thoughts of going steady with the boy every girl wants - Roman Godfrey.
After all, he'd told her how much he liked her, how pretty and special she was, right before they went 'all the way'. All the charming things smooth-talking teenaged boys say to get a girl's pants off a little easier.
She can't form words through the stillness that fills her, freezing her from the bottom up as she stares at him, mouth agape.
"I'm not your boyfriend, Fawn. Just get over it, okay?" he laughs, rolling those beautiful green eyes at her. "Who's going to believe you, anyway?"
When he says it, she believes him. She isn't popular or cool like him, just a nerdy girl with glasses and inky, box dyed black hair. She'd felt like the luckiest girl in the world when he'd so much as looked at her, let alone when he'd kissed her...
The hatred that replaces all of the rose tinted infatuation is a burning heat in her chest and if he was not significantly taller and stronger than her, she would take her chances at landing a punch to that squared jaw.
"You're ugly, Roman. Inside, I mean," she grinds out, cursing the tears that slide down her cheeks. "You've got an ugliness inside you that nobody can love."
She means the words when she says them, more than she's ever meant anything in her entire existence and her blue eyes burn with seriousness. Whatever or whoever listens in the universe, she's silently praying that they hear her words and that they sink in to every inch of his soul.
"Better ugly inside than pathetic, like you," he dismisses her insult, lighting up a cigarette and turning to leave.
- - -
She grips the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white, humming along with the radio and trying to ignore the familiar tingle of dread that tends to creep up any sane person's spine as they pass the sign that reads, 'Welcome to Hemlock Grove' in worn white letters.
It's been years since she's stepped foot in the tiny, backwards town - almost four, to be exact. Her mother hadn't given her fourteen year old much grief when she complained of missing her father and expressed a sudden desire to move to Newark to stay with him.
It had always been easier to visit Fawn in what had quickly become her home, where school and her friends surrounded her, rather than to drag her out to Hemlock Grove.
Part of her can't believe she's even coming back, although much of the misery the town caused is entirely behind her.
There are no animal attacks in Newark and it has been years since she's allowed any boy close enough to break her heart, the memories of both events fading into something far away for the now nineteen year old.
It's not as though she had much of a choice in the matter though, blood being thicker than water and stronger than even her aversion to Hemlock Grove.
Her mother has recently married again, some best selling self help author named Gregory. In addition to a honeymoon in Italy, Gregory has a chain of speaking engagements along the west coast that will keep both he and her mother out of town for the next few months.
"I hate to ask you, darling, but I thought since your classes are out for the summer..." her mother had tiptoed around the subject on the phone. "Just for a few months."
Even through the phone, Fawn could practically see her twirling a lock of red hair around her finger, nervously chewing her lip the way her mother was prone to doing when she was asking a favor. Someone had to feed the cats, after all.
As she takes in how little the town has changed in the past five or so years, she ponders what has. She, for one, isn't a hormonal, emotional teenager anymore.
She is no longer in love with Roman Godfrey or plastering Blink 182 and My Chemical Romance posters on her walls, no longer collecting Beanie Babies or dying her ginger hair jet black.
Not everything about her is entirely different, however. It seems the hate she has always carried for the town has only died down to a acidic simmer in the pit of her stomach.
Again, she tries to ignore the feeling, plastering on a smile as she pulls up the driveway that leads to her mother's house. It feels a little awkward to think it's now both her mother and Gregory's home, another thing she mentally adds to the list of things to ignore for the moment.
Her mother is waiting on the front porch when she steps out of the car, a beaming smile etched over her features. She looks much the same as she always has, quite like an older and slightly heavier version of Fawn herself, though her hair is worn wild and wavy rather than pin straight like her daughter's.
She lets loose a squeal of joy and dashes towards her Fawn, arms open to ensnare her in a hug.
"I'm so glad to see you," her mother gushes, pulling Fawn back to arm's length to look her over. "You look wonderful! I hope you had a safe trip. Was traffic still backed up coming into town? It's been so awful just off the turnpike since construction started last month..."
And just like that, her mother is back in full rambling mode, her natural state. It's the first familiar and comforting thing Fawn has experienced since leaving her father's, and it brings a smile to her lips.
She listens to the woman tell her about construction, about the new car she's recently purchased, about everything new in her life aside from the obvious. It's almost easy enough to forget there's a husband in the picture at all until Gregory steps onto the porch and clears his throat.
"Oh, honey. This is Greg," her mother's eyes light up like a teenage girl as she turns and looks at her husband, pushing the two of them towards one another. "Greg, this is my Fawna."
She cringes at the usage of her full name but overlooks it, shyly offering her hand to Gregory. He is a tall, thin man who looks to be around the same age as her mother, which is in and of itself surprising.
His salt and pepper hair is kept neat and short and he has glasses perched on his nose which do not seem out of place at all for a self help guru. Not really her mother's type from what she's gathered over the years, but his eyes are kind as he smiles.
"Hey there, Fawna," he greets, clasping her hand in his and giving it a firm shake.
"Oh, just Fawn is fine," she corrects him gently. "It's nice to meet you."
From there the greetings get slightly less awkward and her mother shows her around the house. Not much has changed about the eclectically decorated chaos that is her mom's place and again, the familiarity is welcoming to Fawn.
While they are gone, her mother explains, she is to have full run of the home, provided that she keep it clean, water the houseplants, feed the cats, and keep up the gardening. There is cable television and internet access that she is welcomed to use and her teenaged bedroom is still in the corner of the house waiting for her.
They've left an allowance for food, gas, and necessities, though as always, her mother cautions her that should she need anything at all, they're happy to send more.
She tells her all of this twice while they're making their way through the house, and once more for good measure as they're leaving, dark eyes watery with unshed tears.
"I'll be fine, mom. I promise," Fawn reassures her, attempting to breathe through the vice grip of a hug her mother has wound her into. "You just enjoy your trip."
"You've got all the emergency numbers on the fridge," her mom says as she finally wrenches herself free of the embrace, as though she's fourteen again and being entrusted with staying home alone.
"Flight's at three, dear," Gregory sheepishly reminds everyone, giving Fawn a wink when he notices her expression of relief.
When all the goodbyes are said and their car is pulling out of view down the street, she can finally take a deep breath. She loves her mother without question, but there is a distinct difference in their personalities; Fawn is much more similar to her father in that she usually prefers to keep emotional outbursts to a dull roar while her mother seems to wear her heart on her sleeve, always keen to show exactly how she's feeling.
She lets herself back into the house and busies herself with unpacking the things she's brought for her three or four month stay.
As her mother said, her old room is left nearly untouched in the corner of the house which faces the garden, though the band posters have been removed and the dark purple walls updated to a more palatable neutral shade.
She pops her iPod into the dock for music and gets to work, placing her clothes into the closet and the chest of drawers and setting up her toiletries in the en suite bathroom before carefully unpacking her sentimental things and finally, her altar.
Each component - incense burner, candles, oils, precious stones, tarot cards and other baubles - is wrapped carefully in bubble wrap and old newspapers to avoid any damage in the transport.
It isn't the fanciest set up in the world, but a pagan on a budget does what they can, and in the six years or so that she's gone from dabbling to practicing, she's managed to accumulate a decent arrangement.
Once everything is in its rightful place, she does a quick sage cleansing of the room and stops to finally survey her handiwork.
It gives her a sense of accomplishment to see everything unpacked and sorted, though she can't help but notice how it bears such a striking resemblance to the way the room once looked that it's as though she may have never left, although much of it is now decidedly more 'grown up' than it was then.
Exhausted from the trip as well as the unpacking, she decides to grab a bite to eat, maybe watch a little television, and try to get some sleep.
The next day will be busy enough, she supposes; the plan is to visit some of the local shops and stores to see if anyone is in need of some temporary summer labor, lest she spend all of her time in Hemlock wasting away in her mother's house.
She makes a plate of the leftover lasagna her mother saved her, the homemade dish being her all time favorite thing to eat, and slouches into the overstuffed recliner opposite the large flat screen in the living room.
She doesn't know what the channels are here in Pennsylvania anymore, accustomed to the set up she's memorized from Jersey, but punches in 1-0-6 out of habit.
"Good evening. This is Channel Ten, and I'm Rachel Stockton, filling in for Henry Cain," a pretty blonde in a sharp suit greets. She considers changing the station, but figures catching up on the local news might not be such a terrible idea.
"A long awaited press conference was held today outside of Godfrey Industries headquarters in Hemlock Grove where the rumors of a company power shift were finally and officially confirmed," the voice says as the screen fills with a silent clip of a familiar face, camera flashes lighting his features as he stands there, hands clasped, in his finely tailored suit. Not even so much as a smile for the cameras.
"In light of pressing health issues and other mitigating circumstances, Olivia Godfrey has relinquished control of the company to her young son and sole beneficiary, Roman Godfrey," Miss Rachel Stockton continues as Roman walks gracefully across the screen, taking his place behind a podium.
There is no sound bite from him, which is Fawn's only saving grace.
She has managed not to think about his face in years, and then the moment she steps foot in Hemlock Grove, as though it's some sort of terrible cosmic joke, there it is - forty-seven inches tall and in high definition, her stomach churning with that same sick feeling she had the last time she saw him.
"We attempted to reach out to Mr. Godfrey regarding the recent slew of personal turmoil in the months leading up to this business move, including the disappearance of his sister, the disfigured and mentally ill heiress, Shelley Godfrey, wanted in conjunction with several murders in Hemlock County," the woman's face reappears on screen, a sad and forced tight lipped expression on her features, "but we at Channel Ten were unable to reach him for comment."
The television turns off with a click.
Fawn need to hear any more, doesn't want to. Part of her had assumed Roman just... disappeared, or something. Or at least got out of the small town he'd constantly complained about as a teenager.
Whatever she'd imagined for his future, she certainly hadn't expected to see or hear about him so soon after arriving in town.
It was a long time ago, she reminds herself, rinsing her dish in the sink, it doesn't matter now.
She tries to tell herself this, push any thoughts to the contrary out of her mind, as she showers and dresses for bed.
There's no use in thinking about any of it, she convinces herself, feeling quite silly for even allowing some sad teenage memory to get to her now.
She places a small mesh bag of various incense and spices underneath her pillow before turning in for the night, hoping to ward off the dreams she's already fairly sure will come, anyway.
Welcome back to Hemlock Grove, she thinks bitterly to herself, just before drifting off.