let’s devour the w o r l d, darling;
—There had always been a nameless, thrumming current underlying Caillin and Holden’s relationship; something all consuming that gave the headstrong brunette a further passion— or purpose rather, than what the often two dimensional life the Washington town of Twin Peaks had to offer. It was barely detectable, maybe a murmur in the background, something like the incoherent words filtered between the static of a radio– but she learned to recognize it in every harmless brush of hands, and endless night ride in the boy’s classic car, that often had an inclination to break down. It was an untouchable, giddy, low burn superiority that no one could possibly grasp the way suburban deities such as themselves could; but only while by each others side.
Before Holden had stepped into the diner she worked in, and into her life subsequently, Caillin consisted almost solely of over caffeinated studying, fingertips smudged electric neon from highlighted notes for AP classes and practiced smiles for rude customers ( if she spit into a milkshake or two behind the counter well, no one had to know). Of course she still consisted of the latter, but now with a further potency with Holden’s sharp edged humor and charm as company. While the boy didn’t bring out the best in Caillin, he managed to draw out the most, something that tested her at times but in the most rewarding way possible. The constant promise of intrigue draped in a leather jacket, a sinister reprieve that if the no where town of Twin Peaks were Eden, Caillin wasn’t sure if Holden were the apple, or the snake himself– but god, she was delighted to be damned by his side regardless. Or at least that’s what she’d convinced herself of, there was never much room for debate after the brunette set her mind to something.
Caillin’s dilated eyes peered in a detached fascination at the looming forest that barricaded the familiar road they roared past in the night. The heavy fall of rain and angry tremble of thunder a pulse that caused a nervousness to itch at the edges of the vibrant high Caillin had managed to achieve at the party. It had been nothing but a cesspool of spilled drinks and terrible music, but it had been something to do which was a feat in itself around here. She remembers being passed a poorly rolled joint in the basement and the dazed hunt to find Holden in the sea of people crammed in the small lake front house. She recalls the burn of jealousy that consumed her when she noticed a few girls hanging onto every word of some charming story the brunet was retelling, and the suggestive words she’d murmured in his ear to get them out of there– and more importantly him away from the tall blonde he’d been closest too. They’d made it as far as the front seat of the vintage car. Hands fumbling on zippers, all teeth and force and hitched breath before an abrupt tap on the window alerted them of a trashed Laura Palmer who’d leaned heavily against the frame of the vehicle, begging for a ride home. Caillin could still feel the sigh of disappointment sitting bitterly in the back of her throat.
The radio jolted between stations in an unsettling way that had the bite of paranoia beginning to stick to Caillin’s skin. The reception in town was always a little spotty for whatever reason, something everyone in Twin Peaks begrudgingly tolerated and the weather wasn’t much of a current help to that either. With feet rest languidly on the dashboard (something she’d been reprimanded for constantly), Caillin reaches gracelessly over to Holden, snagging the pack of cigarettes from his jacket in hopes to soothe her nerves. “Mind if i take one?” She murmurs softly over the rain and the sound of Laura’s senseless chatter they’d both been pointedly ignoring for the duration of the ride. Her doe eyes blearily catch sight of one of Holden’s fathers’ campaign signs sticking up from the side of the road, but it’s gone in an instant as the car flies past. She grins fondly behind the cigarette tucked between her lips, recalling when they’d first popped up around town how she reassured Holden over some cheap beer that yes, his father looked like an asshole in the photograph. She lights the cigarette with jittery hands as the radio switches nervously between classic rock and something slow and sultry, like the song of a siren dripping from the speakers. “Fuck,” She croaks distantly after her first drag, catching sight of the time on the dashboard. “I’m gonna miss curfew for the second time this week they’re gonna kill me– there’s no way they’ll let me drive out to the concert with you next weekend I can’t believe I let you buy the tickets before I even asked, i’m probably– jesus christ I still have to start my physics project, and– fuck i’m so high right now they’ll probably catch me as soon as I walk through the door and-” Caillin babbles on defeatedly before glancing at Holden’s profile, the weak light from the moon streaming through the windshield to caress the edges of his features, and to this day the brunette was still at times caught off guard by how beautiful he was. “– they’ll put like, bars on my windows, maybe an ankle monitor. This honestly might be the last time you see me.” Caillin takes a heavier inhale from the cigarette, the car air turning bitter, but she figured he might prefer it to the chance of rain getting on the leather seats if she rolled down a window.
It happened suddenly, like a flash of lighting, blinding and tragically beautiful. When the fall from grace, from sanity took place and the ties to human morality began to fray between the two obsessive lovers. A figure illuminated by the burning glow of headlights, the sound of the collision, shriek of tires stopping too late on the wet tar road. These are the things Caillin remembers forever, the blood that stains her hands no matter how many times she washes them raw. The shock and the ragged breathing, clutching to the strap of the seat belt hysterically. “Holden.” Her voice is foreign and desperate in her own ears as her eyes lock on the lump in the road a few yards behind them from the view of the mirror. “Do you– do you think they’re…?” She trails off in sickening fear before allowing herself to finally look at the boy sat beside her.
