@wyatt-rhys thread: feel the heat location: the curtain; movie theater
Movies were never her thing. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the complex art of storytelling through visual medium as such, but truthfully… she’d heard them all and trying to sit still for a minimum of an hour and a half felt like pulling splinters from beneath her nails. And yet - as the ever-doting best friend, she’d once again agreed to rally everyone up for their bi-monthyly cinema date. It was all part of the act, weeks out from graduating and trying to pull together as much time as possible with the people who’d managed to get her through another four years of pretending like adolescence was all new to her. There were certainly a great many places she would rather be. Sarah, however, would have never shut up about it - and sometimes the wrath of the redhead that sat next to her now ranked right up there with some of the worst she’d experienced before.
Not nearly as mindlessly as she might have hoped, Leah tried to slow the bounce in her knee. Impatience, digging in beneath her ribcage as they awaited the doors somewhere beyond the smoky haze of The Curtain’s lobby to open and allow them through to take their seats. Her other leg tucked up beneath her as she sat upon the old cracked leather of the “seating” just outside, grew numb. An ironic parallel to the ringing in her ears as she sat in wait, trying her best to zone out the conversation that hung somewhere in the dim lighting, clinging to the haze that she’d never quite figured out the origin of after all these years.
The popcorn feels stale, but it’s hot and she’s had worse. It’s not much of a loss when Hunter grabs a fistfull, scooping it out as if he had shovels for hands and more than a few pieces scatter across the floor in-front of her, “We did tell him the right time, right?” Sarah asks, looking rather pointedly at Leah, “You did tell him the right time, right?” Because it’d been her responsibility to text Wyatt - even if it was her best friend who was hoping he’d show. In truth, Leah wanted to put as much space between her and the greenie as she possibly could. For no other reason than, she just couldn’t be bothered with the work it’d take to keep a new wolf in check; but she knew that look. The one that made it impossible to say no to - she only wondered if she’d ever been as hopeful as the girl who’d latched onto her four years prior. “He’s coming okay, he said something about picking up Kelsey and Jer. Not sure a movie was a great choice if you were hoping to talk to him,” Which, she was - Sarah was. A repetitive reminder she told herself as Sarah tried to manipulate the order of everyone’s seats as the three wayward friends approached a few minutes later. “Leah, switch with me.” A whisper spoken far too quickly for her to comprehend before lithe fingers plucked her ticket stub from her own. “What?..-- Yeah, right.. Okay.” What the fuck was happening? “God, he’s so cute.” A throw-away comment, or at least she hopes so - what exactly is she meant to say? The best she can offer is a curt nod and a smile that’s barely there as Wyatt and the others join them. Two wolves from separate packs being in such close proximity was never a good thing, it’d been pure luck that kept them both alive and allowed them to be standing there as the doors opened. Sarah squeezed her hand, and try as she might, the look on her face as they were soon shrouded in darkness didn’t share the same breath of excitement as her best friends.
It’s all she can do to count down the time until the lights come on, Sarah had somehow found her way to the seat beside Wyatt and left her squashed between Justin and Liam fighting for the very air she needed to breathe while they sucked all of it right up as they spoke over her. The bucket of popcorn sits on her lap, the dust of butter and salt flung about as the pair dig into it as if it might be the last thing they ever eat and though she’s always been one of the boys, this is just one more reason that her patience feels as though it’s worn thin. “Twenty bucks,” Justin whisper-shouts over her to Jackson, “Fuck off, you cheapskate.” The lid of Jackson’s soda pops off as he throws a half assed fist across her shoulders and into Justin as he chuckles, the chill of iced soda spills across the denim of her knee and immediately she hates the feel of it. Somewhere between meaning to cuss him out, and trying to ignore the fact that they were putting down a bet on whether Jackson could fuck Sarah before Wyatt did, the flicker of something in the reflection of a singular ice cube strikes her down cold. A trick of the light, that’s her immediate thought. Even as it flickers again, and her throat closes over. It’s the amber glow that drowns out the haze of the once dark room that encroaches upon the last of her patience. Only, it’s not anger that breaks through. The crackling sound bearing down from the mounted speakers, and even though she’s crowded into the tiny, uncomfortable seat by people on all sides, she’s thousands of miles away, alone. Watching flames engulf a house entirely different to the one on the screen. Her leg has stopped bouncing, and, try as she might to look anywhere but the flicker of flames that illuminate the screen, it’s impossible to do so without someone noticing that Leah Grey exists in that moment only because her heart hammers against her ribcage like a tribal drum. The shatter of glass erupts, and she feels the way she flinches all the way to her bones, and with each new crack in the glass, she loses her breath. The voice over the speakers cries out, but it’s not the voice she hears in her head. She smells burning flesh and the bucket of popcorn hits the floor as she jumps to her feet, involuntarily. “Sorry.. sorry..-’ And though nobody has a hold of her, the space between the row in-front and the guys beside her feels miniscule at best. “What the fuck, Leah?” Justin growls out, brushing the mess of popcorn from his lap as if she’s personally offended him, “Just move,” his legs block her way and it takes her three takes to push beyond him, the whole while trying to keep her voice as low as possible, when all she feels growing is the cry caught up in her throat. The arm of the chair snaps, as she shoves her way through, all but climbing over the few others she had to, to make the isle in minimal steps. The last thing she hears, beyond the unrivaled crackle of fire and destruction, is the word psycho die out on Jackson’s tongue. Heat, rage - and screaming. One voice, the most familiar. She calls out, over and over, for someone - anyone. She's always too late. The cool air makes no difference. Even beyond the haze and smoke that may or may not even be there, she fights to fill her lungs and no amount of oxygen seems to flush the memory from her lungs. “I’m fine,” she snaps, unsure exactly of who she expected to see as the doors beside her swing open, the shadow of another taking up space at the toe of her boots. Inhale. She tries - fails, and coughs out some attempt to cover it up. “Just, being a little psycho.” It’s muttered, because she doesn’t actually expect anyone else to have heard that, bar Justin and Jackson, but it stung enough to matter.