Janavi: Lament
This is hard for you. It always is. It's easy and hard at the same time. The house is loud. There's a combination of yelling and thuds backed up by the white noise of a tv playing in the background and you barely notice it. You don't know what you are saying. You don't know what she's saying. Everything is hitting your ears in a pounding drumbeat and you can't discern a single word. Not a lick of it is pleasant, that much you can tell. Just the tone of it. You are picking up all of the venom and none of the meaning. Your own throat is sore as you spit fire of your own. Your words don't hold nearly as much spite but they hold twice as much logic but even so, you are absolutely certain it is all flying right over her head. Then suddenly, it stops. Everything comes to a grinding halt as you go too far, your words are too hot and everything is silent save for a ringing in your ears. Your cheek stings. Your eyes are wide. You are speechless.
You raise your own hand, but not to her. Your fingertips trace lightly over the surface of your face, adding minute smudges to the already-smeared paint. You vaguely manage to recognise her calling it stupid, silly, childish. The very paint she'd once regularly raved at and smeared. You remember it, but she apparently doesn't.
"You only care about your job,"
No, no. That isn't true. You care about your family. You want a family, at least. You do care, you really do, and that's why you work so hard. You wince. She isn't playing fair anymore. But what's said is said and you are done. You are done with this. Your surprise turns to nothing but cold examination and you turn on your heel. She yells after you. You don't listen. You don't want to hear what she has to say. You stride out the door without another word. Your head isn't nearly as silent as your mouth is being. It's already whirring, tuning out the things she yells out at you with a stream of logistics and what you are going to do next and paperwork- oh dear messiahs the paperwork this is going to involve- and on top of it all, a big heavy sheet of regret. It drips over you, thick and bitter and heavy like some kind of disgusting sap. Bad idea. This was hasty. Too soon. Your fault. That's why this is happening. You loathe it, you really do.
Your name is Janavi Caprin and you are lamenting your biggest mistake.