London had been lonely at first. Things were fast paced, its people knocking cold shoulder into cold shoulder as easily and readily as crossing the road; Beth had been lost to a sea of impersonality, dragged by the currents of the capital’s complicated subway system and still feeling like a fish out of water. She’d missed the steadiness of home until the city had become just that, but it had all recoiled into a vanishing plume of smoke and cracked mirrors ( seven years of bad luck added to the tally ) when she’d missed that fateful fucking phone call.
Beth wishes she could hurl out her grief as easily as easily as she’s hurling out her guts.
She still isn’t sure how she’d made it back to Roswell, to a childhood bedroom once so comforting, now doubling up as a harrowing reminder of failures long since passed, yet still as fresh as the cut curving along her leg. She remembers the squeak of her chucks on the airport floor, plastered with lingering footprints of travellers unknown. She remembers staring at the departure screens, blinking only when her eyes stung and watered ( even then, she hadn’t been sure if it was the exhaustion or the guilt bundled against her chest like a rotten newborn left for her to raise– here’s your burden; you now belong to it ). She remembers checking her phone, as she still does some nights, and scrolling down to that one name, accusing her in bright red. missed call.
That same red swims before her closed eyes until she forces them open. Beth’s back home. There’s no robotic drone echoing against the walls of the duty free store, reminding passengers to PLEASE GO TO GATE NUMBER FORTY-THREE. There’s only Jaden’s soft assurances, making Beth feel sick all over again. Her bottom lip wobbles.
The wall feels nice and cool against her back where she’s slumping against it. As does her brother’s touch, steady and sure of itself in ways Beth hasn’t been since her return as it fixes what she’s broken– in this case, her own skin. He’s good at fixing things.
“You’re good at fixing things,” Zibby says. She wishes she could be more like him. “Jay—”
But the confession dies in her throat, leaving a lump in its wake that fills her eyes again until they’re spilling over, and her face is blotchy, and her hands are bunching at the sleeves of her oversized flannel.
In lieu of telling Jaden the truth– he’s burdened enough as is, doesn’t need her weight to carry, too –she manages to say, wobbly and thick, “please don’t say an’thin’ to Striker. S’my fault, he didn’– he didn’t do anything, I promise.”
the anger soon dissipated , poofing into a cloud of smoke like a spell cast from the palm of one of his many video game avatars . jaden’s lips pursed and , although he wanted to come out with it and chastise striker cannon for allowing his sister to fall into such a state , it was those rounded eyes that silenced him . that gaze was the same gaze he had seen when they were younger , if zibby fell and scraped her knee and pleaded for her older brother to stay quiet — what were brothers for , if not for keeping their promises ?? “ okay , i won’t say anything to him .. but next time he goes shoving moonshine under your nose , you say no , okay ?? “
it wasn’t that he was ruling with an iron fist . it wasn’t that he was attempting to step over the lenient rule of his father . jaden had made mistakes in his own life , ones that had left him with permanent injuries and disabilities aplenty , and so the concern ( and the previous venom that had bled into his voice against his will ) came from a place of love .
the very reason he was back beneath his parents’ roof was born from a mistake . time and time again juniper had begged him to get help , to go to therapy , to have somebody pry open his skull and poke at the squishy parts . again and again the requests were ignored , piling into an avalanche that had swallowed him whole and very nearly took his daughter with him . if there was anything he could do to warn against such missteps he would do so in the softest , sweetest , most brotherly of ways .
ensuring she was patched up the best he could in the low light , jaden sighed and relaxed his own back against the wall . legs bent at the knees , his forearms draped against them , half in exhaustion and half in pondering what to do next . “ what is all this , zibs ?? i don’t know what’s got into you , but you can’t just come home like a bull in a china shop and tear everything down , even if you don’t mean to . i can cover you as much as i can — that’s what i’m meant to do , as your brother — but what do i do when mum smells all that barf and alcohol on your breath ?? what do i do when you can’t get out of bed for a hangover in the morning ?? “ his own towering head of hair fell into his fingertips , tufts poking through gaps in his knuckles .