the state of being without or not having enough of something.
SKELETON
noun
the supporting framework, basic structure, or essential part of something.
Chicken. Chicken, chicken, chicken. She loved chicken; chimichangas too, but her new found love was chicken. The smell of chicken being cooked helped – a lot. Jack wondered if Canada would let her marry chicken.
And chimichangas. Canada had always been an open country.
“So, you've decided to venture out of your room?” Her father on the other hand; well, he was the opposite of an open country. Not that he was big enough to be a country – John always said that their father was the person that Jack got her looks from... not that she believed him; more worried for her brother – that's what she felt.
The blush made its way to her cheeks before she gave herself permission to blush, so she just cast her eyes to the ground – something that she'd been doing a lot lately. Matt said it made her look like a lost little puppy. “I ventured out of my room last week, thank you very much.” She was suddenly reminded of her time in high school; following Delilah around like a lost puppy.
Thinking about it, she decided that she needed a new leader to follow (preferrably not her father) “You're welcome.” The blonde's eyebrows furrowed and chanced a glance at her father. What? “And who are you gracing your presence with, hmm?” Her piercing (unintentional, of course – she never liked to have strikingly blue eyes, that was Matt's thing) blue eyes met his cold (unfeeling) green ones.
Jack tried to ignore her heart beating harder against her chest.
The deep breath she took helped; not by much though. “You, apparently.” She (barely) kept her voice from sounding like she was scolding him. He gave her a look. Not the right answer then; not that she was surprised. “I wanted some chicken to grace me with its presence.” Yes; if only she could go back to a few moments ago – back to her chicken mindset. Yum.
“That's ridiculous.” His voice actually sounded exasperated, like he was talking to a child. Everyone still talked to her like she was a child. She was; now she isn't, but she really was.
Jack began to wonder if she could run away; maybe to Marissa or Hayden. She hadn't seen Hayden in a while. She wondered – for a brief second – if anyone remembered her. Jack knew; knew in her heart (stupid as it may be at times) that they did... but her mind... her mind told her that she was just something useless to them. Something disposable. Something that they were glad to be rid of; or something so minuscule; stupid – like a thing waiting to be removed; like a bottle cap.
She was going to cry.
Maybe insulting him will take her mind off everything. It always worked in the past; that was a simpler time though, she wondered if she could just... travel back in time.
“Your face is ridiculous.” Jack ignored the slight crack in her voice; seemed like her father did too. He always said that emotions were weaknesses, waiting to be exploited by the right person. Her father seemed to be... a lot of people's uh, right person to exploit weaknesses.
He never met his though... at least, she didn't think he did. Maybe one day, Jack can return the favour. For her sister... no, her sisters.
He took a step closer; she took a step back, like a dance. He smirked (like the little snake that he was) “Did you see Dr. Carol?” Carol... Carol... Jack knew that name. With hand hand itching her head, her hair ruffled against her cheek. It reminded her of when...
Ah... that's who they were! “Delilah's therapist was here?” He was a useless prick (Delilah's words, not hers); it always seemed like he delved Delilah deeper into her... depression. Jack wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who caused it.
Maybe she could cause his...
... That was something she never thought before; she didn't like pain, especially not giving someone else pain. “I'll take that as a no then.” For once, Jack was thankful for her father's voice; it kept her mind from thinking; like a root would keep a flower from falling. “How long was Delilah in therapy for? Before–”
“Before she left for New York.” Where was this conversation going? She didn't like it, her father always pounced on her (not literally) when she least expected it. He would offer her his... teachings.
The blonde wished her sister was here; she'd know what to do.
Her father nodded, making a sound of approval. Hm. Jack felt like curling up into a ball, but did the next best thing instead. Her shoulders hunched over, her head faced the ground; her whole body just... tensed; it was ready to be attacked. Physically, not emotionally. “Three years, hmm?” She was never ready for an emotional attack.
The lump in her thought made itself known. “Four.” A magic number... sometimes. Jack preferred the number seven; it was a lucky number. Feeling glad that her father couldn't see her face (she began counting the tiles on the floor; boredom, mostly), she realized that seven plus four equalled eleven – the age she was when Mary died.
Jack couldn't decide if it was a coincidence or just her thinking.
Remembering a conversation that she had with John, Jack realized that she was going insane. Actually insane – losing her mind.
“Jack, you need to grow up.”
“I am a grown up!” Didn't he see her boobs? Didn't he hear the conversations between her and Delilah?
“Jack, you need to be a liar to be a grown up.” Evidently, he hadn't heard the conversations between her and Delilah.
Nonetheless, it would be a quick fix. “No you don't, you need to be responsible.”
“Are you responsible?”
“No, but–“
“Exactly!”
“John, you don't–“
“Jack, this is a dog eat dog world.” she knew that – Matt told her that. “Everyone is a liar, and we're all better liars than you.” She had told him before that he was wrong.
“Four years... do you want to know what Dr. Carol said to her a year into her therapy?” Her root acted again – she hated it when he did that as well... Jack didn't want her father to be her root; didn't want to rely on him, of all people.
Maybe she could rely on someone else; something else. It wouldn't break her heart then. “No, I want my chicken.” Her voice was wobbly – she felt meek – and she was reminded of a patient being scolded by its doctor, for not doing as they were told. She didn't like that thought; her father trying to fix her, trying to mould her. The blonde once thought about making food her root, then her father accused her of trying to get fat. She didn't know why he did that – maybe to stop her from eating so much food.
Her slim figure went up two sizes then, so she figured that it was for the best; still wished her father would leave her alone. She didn't think anything could change that.
Her father didn't approve of Jack trying to change the subject. The blonde – felt the tension getting thicker and tilted her chin upwards – and watched as his jaw clenched, his glare got icier (if that was even possible; his glare sent shivers up her spine before... it was even worse now) and he walked closer to her – his footsteps were confident, reassuring even. The urge to hug him was becoming more and more hard to resist – Jack had a feeling that Delilah was rolling over in her grave. It had taken years for her to instill knowledge into Jack.
Only for her efforts to take three months to break down.
She hoped Delilah wouldn't blame her. “'Maybe life isn't for everyone'... did you know that?” Did she know that? Jack wanted to say that she did know that; keep Delilah's reputation (well, knowledge) intact; keep the memory of her intact.
There was something that Jack knew better than anyone though – Delilah was a compulsive liar. Jack was no exception (she learned the hard way), but the blonde didn't find the heart to scold her sister for it. “Maybe...” Her voice wasn't confident; not like her father's. She sighed, knowing that he could just feel her lie. “No, no I didn't know that.” She felt proud for being able to hold her father's glare – not with one of her own, just being able to stare into his eyes – without looking back down to her feet.
“Why?” Jack had a bad feeling about the question – the direction in which the conversation was heading wasn't looking to good either.
Maybe she could just keep walking to the kitchen, without looking at her father.
“She left then, didn't she?” Knowing then that she was going to be here for a while (and probably feel all shades of emotion known to man... or just known to her – not that she knew many emotions), Jack put on her game face (not really) and pressed her lips together.
The blonde wanted her father to know her disapproval (maybe feel it too). “When?” She knew when; hard to forget when she was feeling the same way that she's feeling now.
Her father didn't look sympathetic when he spoke, he just spoke. “She left and you didn't see her for two years.” It took two years for Jack to forgive her. She didn't need a fucking reminder. “Remember?”
Yes. “How could I forget?”
His head tilted and he stepped even closer. Jack stepped backwards (she realized she felt scared) and the cold of the wall just added to the cold radiating from her father's heart. “Do you know why she left?” Jack wondered how he didn't have a permenant fever; maybe he's a wizard. If his name was Harry, she would've made the greatest joke of her time.
Attempting to smile, Jack looked up, up, upat him. He was, at least, a foot taller than her; she hated it – he was actually acting nice around her now... or... as nice as he'll ever get. “I didn't know you could have such a polite conversation with me... am I dreaming?”
He raised an eyebrow and sighed. “No.” He sounded exasperated – again. Jack felt like a child – again.
Not dreaming? Hm. “Nightmare-ing then?”
“That's not a word.” Her father's voice sounded tight, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed into a line. Jack wondered if he thought of... this as a business transaction; something like a... reassurance; wondered how John had been able to live through all of this too.
Maybe she could ask him how; get a tip or two from him.
Jack tried to smile again; guessed it looked like a grimace though, her father looked victorious. She wondered what he'd do if she broke his nose. “It is in Wonderland.”
Her father sighed, giving Jack a harder glare. “I don't believe that was the answer to my question.”
“What question?” Feigning innocence was easy; never found anything hard about that. Frown, pouting, sad voice, done. It wasn't rocket science.
Her father's way of thinking was rocket science though. “Do you know why Delilah left you for two years?” Not bothering to hide her confusion, Jack wondered if he knew where he was going with this – can't say that Jack got her... nonsense from nowhere. Though you could... her father almost always had a reason for speaking with you; unlike Jack. It was just a matter of finding out what. “I can't say that it was you she was leaving; responsibility was never her –“
“It isn't mine either.” Jack decided to defend her sister (wasn't like Delilah could defend herself) and pouted angrily at her father. He always knew how to insult Delilah, in a business point of view – he knew how to do anything from a business point of view.
“Why do you think she left?” His head tilted, curious. The blonde wondered how her father could speak and sound so... so... sure(? Confident, maybe...) of himself; knew how to push people's buttons. She wondered if he blamed himself for Delilah's death.
She wondered what he thought about Delilah's death.
Her eyebrows furrowed, (decidedly) not curious. “Why do you think she left?” More on the furious side, not necessarily angry though. Jack found that she could get... annoyed with her father, but never actually angry. Maybe Jack just wanted to leave that to Delilah.
“Oh, I know why she left.” Her father gave Jack a smug smile and she swore that there was laughter in his voice; she could hear it. She wanted to slap him.
Instead, the blonde thought of a joke; one of her better features, if she did say so herself. Maybe she could hug him too, that'd make the two of them laugh (instead of just the one – her father didn't appreciate her jokes like Delilah did). “Does that mean you're the Brain to my Pinky?” Her voice even sounded light, maybe she'd butter him up. Then ask him if she could leave; didn't know why she couldn't in the first place.
Delilah had just walked out. On a train.
Her thought process shouldn't have surprised her like it did (it surprised her when it happened, but it shouldn't surprise her now). She wondered what her father's response would be; he never liked her jokes, was never really a funny kind of guy.
“She was pregnant.”
Delilah had just walked out. On a train.
Jack had to remind herself to breathe. Her mind drew a complete blank; Delilah and pregnant do not fit in the same sentence. It was just something that didn't happen. Breathe; in, out, in, out. Breathe. Maybe her father was lying; yeah, that was it. Her father always lied, always got his way as well. He was getting his way right now; making Jack feel uncomfortable (and sick) seemed to be a hobby of his nowadays.
Breathe; you don't want to get sick in front of him, do you? Breathe. She needed to hold someone's hand; to stop growing up. That was never something that she liked – being smart; clever; manipulative – that was Delilah's job; Matt's job too.
It was never Jack's job to grow up.
Maybe she could run away without him noticing, though she couldn't. Finally, after swallowing (and choking on) her tongue, she actually found words. “Wh– What?” Better than nothing; sounded like she was sick (probably because she's still choking on her tongue).
“In those two years,” Two. Long. Dreadful. Years. Like these three long dreadful months... funny how history had a thing for repeating itself. “she was pregnant” no. She wasn't; would've told her about it. She would have told her about it. “but had a miscarriage.” A few tears had slipped out and Jack was sure that her face looked just how she felt; horrified.
Why didn't she tell me about that?
“Wh– I– Sh– “ Still felt like she was choking on her tongue; still had to remind herself to breathe. Beginning to feel light-headed (breathing heavily and fast like she was, she was surprised that she didn't feel it already), she noticed her father looking victorious. She thought of the last time she spoke with her father; she tried to be a grown up. “What?”
He was treating her like a grown up.
The thought made her feel lighter; wondered if she would fly away with just how light she felt. The lump in her throat made itself known and more tears spilled out; her father actually looked sympathetic. She knew what he was thinking; what he was calling her (in his head) – pathetic. He did walk closer to her, which unnerved her. Her breathing hitched and her neck crinked because of how tall he was; hiccup didn't help.
His hand surprised her, he actually rubbed away her tears with his thumb. Her eyebrows furrowed and she swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do. Her father had never... done something like this before; not with her. Jack never liked uncharted territory, it scared her.
“Did I stutter?” That was something she knew. Count on him to be a cold, unfeeling bastard – she knew where Delilah got her attitude from; knew that for a while. Just ignore the fact that she's crying. The blonde wondered if anyone had ever smacked her father.
He certainly was intimidating though; knew how to make people uncomfortable too. Like now – the tears were still rolling down her face and his thumb was still rubbing them away. Resolutely not looking in his direction, Jack could feel a blush forming. Couldn't say the same for her words though, then her thought process seemed to change instantaniously.
Delilah had just walked out. On a train.
The lump in her throat came back, prevented her from saying anything. Her father's eyes never left hers and she felt like if she were to get a dictionary, she'd find a picture of her face (right now) with the definition 'unnerved' beside it. She didn't know what to say. “No, she– she didn't... I don't– she wouldn't do that.” Apparently, she would say that. Sounded like something her mind would come up with, maybe her father would congratulate her for forming a sentence.
People seemed to not be able to do that, especially when being intimidated by her father.
“She was promisciuous, Jaqueline.” Jaqueline, yeah, that sounded like something he would say. “It was bound to happen.” That too. “She didn't love anyone either.” That too. So why did it shock her to her very core. Made her tears fall faster too.
Jack couldn't remember a time that she hated her father (hated anyone) as much as she did now. “Yes – she did.” Her voice sounded more desperate than assertive, damn.
Her father's movements halted and all he was doing, was cupping her cheek. “She didn't.” He sounded indifferent – was he so indifferent about his own daughter's death; her love life? He wasn't that way when he found out about it. He could burn in hell for all she cared, maybe Delilah had reserved him a seat – one in the fiery deeps of hell.
She remembered Delilah asking Mary to save her a seat in hell – Jack didn't (understand... maybe she knew that Mary was going to get cancer?) know why. Delilah always joked about Mary saving the throne for her; Mary would only reserve the best for her, she said.
Jack hoped that Delilah would save a space for her too.
“How...” did you come up with that idea? He never came up with ideas without proof; that scared Jack, like nothing else in the world. It really terrified her. “she wouldn't tell you.”
Her father looked smug again – I know something you don't, I'm going to rub it in your face. One day. One day, Jack was going to beat her father at his own game. Until that day though, she'd have to suffer through his... teachings. “She's surprisingly honest when she's drunk; it was a downfall of hers.” I know that, I knew that.
Why didn't she talk to me about it instead?
Her hiccups came in slow, they hurt her chest. They brought her closer to her father. “Well – she... that's not...” She wasn't sure what she was hearing; her father didn't hear it. Maybe it was the sound of her heart shattering because she couldn't say that Delilah wasn't a liar. “She... did.” She was.
Her father made an amused sound – probably at how naive she is. She was; she is. Maybe she could let her father be her guide... just for a little while. Just until she could leave the house again. “No, she never loved anyone.” Shut up. “Including you.” Shut up! “I could show you recordings, if you need proof.” Shut up and leave me alone!
He didn't leave her alone, just waited for her response. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to respond with her crying; she was sure that she'd be able to respond when he hugged her. Once he did, she hoped that he'd never let go. If she had been thinking clearly, she wouldn't have been thinking of slapping her father.
She'd be thinking of slapping herself instead.
It really did take years of precision (courtesy of Delilah) for Jack to think the way that she did earlier in the year. Years it took, and it only took two conversations with her father, to break those years down; make them crumble into nothing.
All Jack could do was watch and hope that he wouldn't do the same to her. “She did love people. She just didn't want to admit it.” She was reassuring herself, not her father. Her hands acting on their own terms and wrapped themself around her father's shoulders, she had to stand on the balls of her feet to even get close to his shoulders.
If anyone came walking down this hallway... Jack had no doubt in her mind that her father would snap their neck. No. Doubt. In. Her. Mind. It seemed like everything her father breathed in was intimidating; what a perfect business man would do.
It fueled what little anger she had left; the way her shoulders slouched, the blonde wouldn't be surprised if there was no fight left. “I doubt that very much.” Maybe her father's teachings were starting again. He tried once.
Delilah stopped him.
There was no Delilah now... maybe Jack's conscience could be Delilah this time. Jack's conscience was pretty strong; she knew that, she grew up with the damn thing. There was more anger to fuel now than there was a second ago, the blonde needed time away from this hell.
She needed friends.
She needed an idea, one that could pull her out of this mess. There was one thing that still came through, from what Delilah taught her. It was being stubborn. Hold onto your views like they're the last thing left on the world, that you can – that you can love. Those were Delilah's exact words, she remembered. Jack remembered them clear as day! How could she have forgotten?
She needed hope, not a hug – she thought she did, but she didn't... “No, you just want everything to be normal. She's your daughter, accept her for what she–“ is. For what she is; just say it. For what she is. “What she was.” She couldn't. Jack didn't trust herself with holding her ground if she said what she was thinking.
Jack tried to push away from her father (her tears were dry now; made her face feel all sore and puffy), but his hands were locked onto her forarms. He was hurting her.
“She wasn't my daughter.” Gone was any warmth that her father gave her (not that he was giving her any in the first place, that was just her mind playing tricks on her), in its place took a stern teacher; cold, and angry.
It reminded Jack of their last converstion – they both turned cold and unfeeling and angry. It made a shive crawl (running up her back would have been too nice, coming from her father. She would have been even more worried then) up her back. Last time it was to do with Mary; this time it was to do with Delilah.
Jack wondered if her father had the same conversations, with his other daughters, about her. She hoped they only talked about good things.
“Yes she was...” Jack uttered in disbelief, was he disowning her? What was this, some Shakesperean tragedy? The blonde hoped it wasn't; everyone died in Shakspearean plays, except for two people. “She was born to you and mother and–“
Her father began to glare at her. She wondered if their relationship would always be this toxic. “She wasn't born to me and your mother, she was born to a man and your mother.” What?
“Don't ignore her just because she didn't like men!” Jack needed to run away, or else she'd do something that she'd regret. Like crying – again – or–
“Have you ever heard of Emerson?” Her father brought her out of her thoughts – again... he really was like her root.
No, no, no, no... NO, NO! He isn't my root. He isn't my root. He isn't my fucking root!
Pushing all thoughts from her mind, Jack's eyebrows furrowed and lost all words of arguement and his subject change (and he thought that she was bad for changing subjects).“Who?” It seemed like she could only form one word answers recently. Not good, she'd have to work on that.
“No, then.” Her father sighed, seemed like he disapproved of her lack of knowledge. Maybe that's how she could convince him to let her see the world again; talk about her lack of knowledge. “She's Delilah's half-sister.” Is Emerson not her half-sister too? A man and your mother. Delilah's only... her half sister...
This was too much to process right now; all fun and games were gone. At least until... she found someone other than her father to cling to, but who? That seemed to be the question controlling her life now; who. Everyone probably forgot about her by now, she didn't bother with checking her phone anymore; it'd only give her thoughts; dark thoughts.
She wondered, at times, if they were the thoughts that Delilah lived with.
The blonde was ready to run away from this conversation; she didn't like it anymore (not that she liked it in the first place), she needed to get away from him before she began to think like him. “You're lying–“
He was interrupted her a lot this conversation. “She lied a lot, Jaqueline.” I know, I know, I know! Tell me something I don't know. “Don't trust a liar.” I told you to tell me something I don't know!
Jack actually knew what to say to that. “So, I–“ shouldn't trust you.
He gave her a look for interrupting him (she should just kill him now... with hugs... fuck, she needed to get that snake out of her head). “She only kept you” kept. Delilah would've scoffed at the word. “and that whore” What. Did he just call Marissa– “close becau–“ –a fucking whore?! That was when she just saw red.
That was when she slapped her father – nice backhand to his cheek; seemed to surprise her more than it did surprise him. It sounded through the hall and that was when Jack knew... she knew in both her heart and her mind...
That she was never going to see any of her friends, ever again.
{ in light of my a b i l i t y to feel denial }
{ i walk away from everything with just a smile }
{ the a g o n y of coming home has gone away }
「 it’s e v e r y w h e r e 」
「 it’s e v e r y o n e 」
「 it’s e v e r y d a y 」
