i'm single layered; there is no me inside me

He’d left the house so many times, even within the last handful of months, but he hadn’t made it very far. The nights he didn’t spend in his childhood bed were spent on the beds, couches and even floors of strangers’ when he was too wasted to find his way back, something that wasn’t unusual, even less as time went on. He’d thought he was doing better. He’d thought, stupidly, that he wasn’t a complete lost cause, there for a moment. He faintly remembered at the festival, how he’d felt a sense of happiness and hope, how he could breathe again — a weight lifted. Now it was back, heavier than ever, and if he was being honest, he didn’t care to shake it off. He would rather it just crush him until there was nothing left, then maybe, maybe, this would all be over. For good this time.

Those thoughts were a bit too dark to share, at least to the girl that was standing in front of him. While he didn’t care about his own downward spiral, he didn’t want to bring anyone else down with him; Belva, especially. (And on Christmas of all days.) If you asked him, she was one of very few people who actually had a chance in this world, and one of even fewer that actually deserved it. It took all of his energy to pretend that anything about where he spent the day mattered, to even muster a halfway realistic smile. He didn’t need that energy, anyway. There was nothing else to use it for. “Alright. You got me.” Pushing the half empty bottle of gin underneath his chair with the back of his boot, as if her seeing it would matter at all, he gave in. “Where’s this change of scenery?”

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The bottle of gin doesn’t escape Belva’s notice, but she won’t comment. She’s no stranger to those who lose themselves in the liquid contained within glass bottles, to pills and substances that were meant to provide an outlet but often left their users trapped. Perhaps she should say something, offer some type of support and advice, but her words have a tendency to come out wrong (especially when it means so much), and so she chooses to stick with what she can do. She can be there, act as a distraction or a confidant or whatever it is that her brother needs. Even if that relationship is still new, not nearly as solid as with Ace or Horatio, she treasures it all the same. 

So, Belva holds out her hand, red sparkly fingernails outstretched towards him. “First, we’re going to get whatever take out you want. I’m still kinda new to a lot of it, so I’m trusting your taste here, okay?” There’s a tilt to her lips, an amused and teasing grin. “Then, we’re going to go back to the place I’m renting and...I don’t know, watch a movie? Maybe one of those super cheesy Christmas ones? Not Hallmark, though, I won’t torture you with those.” Blue eyes glance at him, as if seeking approval, still trying to navigate the new relationship between them. 

“Both are,” Flo assured her, “I know who I’m talking to.” While she couldn’t remember all of her customer’s allergies or favorites (as nice as that would be) Belva held a special place in her heart. As strange as it was, Florence was more of a loner — she had never been able to make true friends. The blonde treated her more like a friend than someone she hardly knew, and she probably didn’t realize how appreciated it was. “I’d gladly take you up on that chat, though. How have the holidays been treating you so far?”

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Belva’s eyes widen slightly, her grin growing even larger. There were difficult things about returning to a place you were known, where your name was a shadow and cause for gossip, but this was a reminder of why she came back. The few friendly faces, a comfort at a time that was supposed to be about family and friends. “You’re an absolute darling,” she replies, and her tone is perhaps a shade too bright to be normal, but genuine nonetheless. “They’ve been okay. Just got back, hoping to see my family and some friends.” It sounded so simple when she said it like that, even if it was anything but. “But what about you, Florence? Is your family in Vertmoor, are you spending it with them?”

*

“Did she choose?” Emilio asks, it is not really a question. It seems to her very obvious that nobody but their Father really had any power over the comings and goings of the house on the hill. Perhaps it set alight a flame in her own heart that in a sense even when in chaos, her Father had tried his best to keep the dog collar and reigns close by. She has seen her siblings become who they were meant to be, not by destiny but by the choice. When she looks around she still sees the strings and it amuses her but also bemuses her that it is not clear to all that his powers were deeper than their own concept of free will – had they ever believed themselves to. have any at all? “It seems to me at least that you all believe that our Father took away all our choices, he made it so his way was the only way. He controlled you all like puppets for your entire lives and yet your imagination does not comprehend his ability to manipulate just one single misplaced woman because the power of friendship is meant to be stronger?”

She leans back in the bar chair and refills her glass with little interest, a small chuckle sliding from her made up lips. Oh, how funny it is that even now the penultimate card is always their father. “Even in his grave he can be the most important man in the room, does that not humour you as it humours me?” she pauses, dark eyes flittering as she leans her head back and presses her lips back together to create as short silence, “There are so many version of the man left behind that it is quite a talent.”

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Glassy blue eyes study Emilio’s face, and once again, the woman finds a way to get into her head. There have been plenty of times that Emilio provided enlightening commentary, fitting things into place for the blonde in a way that hadn’t been done before. And although her argument has merit, although Belva knows firsthand how manipulative her father was and the power that he had, she is still unable to accept this as a justified reason. Vidal got his claws in his children when they were just that, children, with no one and nothing in the world to their name. They were powerless for so much of their time in that house, the alternative to Vidal’s influence a world they weren’t ready for. Harley came from a good home, a loving family   she was beautiful and kind and smart. (All things that did not exempt Harley from Belva’s father’s manipulation, his control, and yet the hurt does not allow her to see this).

“I wanted it to be,” is what she says instead, feeling much like a deflated balloon, empty and useless. I wanted her love for me to be enough. But it wasn’t, and instead Belva is left with the knowledge that she is unable to give her sister anything more, unable to forgive Harley for her part in it all. She glances over at Emilio, sees what she thinks is amusement on the woman’s fine features. “I never really expected anything different.” They’d grown up with their father’s name plastered everywhere, his allies spread out across the world. If Vidal Athanas was to be known for anything, it was his ability to create a legacy that would outlive him. “He was always good at making sure people couldn’t forget him.”

“No,” she says easily, the word familiar to her as it enters the world. She looks at Belva and wonders why this is so important to her. She does not understand these trivial matters, in fact it is more apparent to her than anyone that the real question should be why should someone want to sleep with their Father. “Was it really an affair when he and our Mother were never together as one at all? It’s more so that he liked to stick his wick wherever it would fit,” she remarks simply. What a strange world they live in where these sexual relationships are so meaningful to people who were not even involved. She was shocked to hear of all the affairs but only because she had not noticed a considerable amount of them taking place.

“Is it not that I’m meant to be the one that doesn’t understand compassion, not the rest of you?” she ponders, “And yet you seem to lack the understanding that for some reason your friend was IN LOVE with our Father so much so that she was willing to give up everything else in the world for him – even you. You and I both know he never loved her back. I’m the last person who understands these apparent matters of the heart but I believe in this case your misguided little friend is the one who has been left with nothing. Why is our family the one who is crying about an affair that never touched us at all? Azra already has the heir.”

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The crude comment brushes right over her, her prim nature subdued by the frustration and hurt that are at the forefront. Initially, with Azra at least, it had been the concern of the affair. Their mother had given Vidal Athanas everything, lived her life for him and the children that he had brought into their home, and hearing that he had been unfaithful had stirred ugly emotions in her. But then she had time to think about it, to wonder if their mother would have even cared. This time, however, it wasn’t that her father was unfaithful, it was that he had willingly started something with someone who meant so much to her. That Harley had known what that man had done, and fallen in love with him anyway. Kept it a dirty secret for the entire duration of their friendship, dried Belva’s tears when she’d been lead to leave her home and then slipped back in to share a bed with the man who had iced her out.

“Nothing?” The word is sharp, carefully manicured fingernails clutching the stem of the champagne glass. Emilio’s final comment causes her painted lips to fall open, and the emotions rise within her like the bubbles in the expensive alcohol. “But it did touch us  touched me. Harley was one of my best friends, she was   she was the first person I ever talked about all of the messed up shit that he did with. She was there for all of it, saw everything, and still loved him. Still chose to be with him.” It’s these thoughts that drove her out of the house on the hill, that nearly drove her mad pacing her empty London apartment. Emilio speaks of her understanding of compassion, and she wonders if this is why her sister doesn’t seem to see the reason that this betrayal is tearing her apart. The news of their new sibling hadn’t reached her yet, but it isn’t enough to fully pull her from her hurt. “It’s a baby. I was upset at first, but...can’t blame a baby for who their shitty father is. They’re not so different from us, really.” Except she hopes that they will be, that they’ll make it out of Vertmoor without all of the scars that the other Athanas children have. Belva finishes the glass, the burn not nearly as unpleasant as the stinging in her eyes and the reason behind it. “They’ll be better off without him here, at least.”

it was hardly even like she needed to get that particular cab, there was more than enough time for her to wait for the next one. but it was the fact that it was cold, she was tired, and she was most definitely hungover from the night before. bare hands hit the window of the cab door as the passenger that beat her shut it behind them, a seething ‘motherfucker’ and a frustrated groan leaving her lips. it was only after verity turned around and made unfortunate eye contact with a familiar face, she inhaled sharply, a guilty smile passing over her face, “hi?”   

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Arms laden with shopping bags, Belva was double checking the information of her Uber driver when she heard a commotion in front of her. Oddly enough, the voice was one that she recognized, although the language wasn’t one she would usually pin to the sweet and guilty face that met her as she looked up. “Verity,” she exclaims, a laugh bubbling from her lips. “That was a word I never thought I’d hear you say,” she teases, before holding out a hand to the other woman, soft gloves covering outstretched fingers. “C’mere, you look like you’re about to freeze.” 

“I greatly overestimated the amount of orders I would get for red velvet this year,” Florence admitted sheepishly, showing off the giant tub of cookies. “And what better to do with freshly baked gifts around this time of year than give them away, right? So, if you’d like them, they’re yours. If you’re not a red velvet person, I have an excessive amount of almond fudge, too.”

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Being met with Florence and a tub of sweets was never a bad situation to find oneself in (even if Belva usually avoided sweets, although less since leaving). Blue eyes widen slightly at the offer, a large grin on her face. “Any chance some of that almond fudge is vegan?” she asks, tilting her chin. “If not, I’d be happy for a chat instead of chocolate.” 

“Happy fuckin’ Christmas,” December greeted at the sound of approaching footsteps — he didn’t look behind him to see who it was, if they were even a familiar face. Lately everyone and no one was familiar. He’d been staying at the house… as much as he’d been anywhere else, anyway. He’d ended up a lot of places over the course of the last few months, but, somehow, for some reason unbeknownst to himself, he always ended up crawling back to the place he’d grown up. “How the fuck am I still here?” How, why, it was all the same, wasn’t it?

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Belva was making progress. It was in fits and starts, with plenty of backpedaling (especially after the disaster with Harley), but she was making progress. In large part because she’d finally had enough and left the house on the hill, escaping for several months before finding herself back there for the holidays. Even then, she’d rented a place in the town, the house (the center of it all, not home without the woman who once lived there) too much to bear. 

Which begged the question, why was she back tonight? A night meant for family and celebration, spent wandering through a mostly dark house that was so quiet it was making her uneasy? (The answer, of course, came back to her mother, to Maia Athanas, the woman she’d spent her life molding herself into. The woman who wasn’t there anymore, didn’t seem to be anywhere anymore). As Belva pushes open a door, she’s startled to hear someone speak, letting out a small squeak as her hand rises to her chest, ivory skin standing out against her red dress. “Gosh, December,” she breathes out, relaxing slightly when it’s clear that the person isn’t a ghost child or some nefarious character. The blonde takes in his appearance, the rather dark room, the two of them lingering in a house that’s filled with anything but Christmas spirit. “We can try to, like, unpack that later, but I think we should get out of here.” It’s the most direct she’s ever been with him, and feels a bit strange, but the thought of either of them spending Christmas moping about a murder house gives her the resolve to continue. “There’s much better ways to spend Christmas. Starting with take out and a change of scenery,” she offers, hoping that’ll sound like a tempting offer.

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Snow. It was the promise of snowy trees every winter that had made the decision for him all those months ago. Carefully looking around for the perfect place. Trying to do everything behind his parents back, knowing they wouldn’t approve. Now, finally, he was making him dream come true. A part of him called for the world of nature, and yet he understood that his place was within the masses. Except, he’d allowed himself this small bloom of hope for a future he wanted. A future he desired for himself, untainted from the outside world.

“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes bright with hope. Constantin nodded as she bounced some ideas around. The image slowly forming across his face with a smile adorning his face. “Are you trying to become a partner in this endeavor of mine, Belva?” 

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If someone had approached her a year ago, six months ago even, and told her that she would be standing in the middle of a tree farm with Constantin Moreau as he decided to trade parties for flannel and being his father’s party trick for being a Christmas tree farmer, Belva would have been hard pressed to believe it. Now, however, it made sense (well, definitely more sense than the majority of other things happening in her life). 

A smile rose to her lips at the way his voice sounded, the excitement clear to see. It was nice seeing the young man so obviously happy, especially after the times she’d stumbled upon him in the garden, clearly dealing with heartbreak that had something to do with her beautiful eldest sister. “A partner?” she asks, for a moment confusion crossing her face before she realizes just what he’s talking about. It’s an interesting thought, one she never would have thought herself capable of, and despite the growth that’s taken place since her father’s death, it still feels out of reach. “Oh no, I think you’ll do really well on your own with it, Constantin. I’ll just be a dedicated customer; especially if you get some reindeer in there for me to say hello to.”

↳  INSTAGRAM: @belvaathanas uploaded a new photo

Santa baby...🎅🎄

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She hasn’t been trying to lose time within these memories, little holes that seem to open, appear and absorb days, weeks, months, even years each time. These little tears in their lifetime are better forgotten, her Father had told her to soothe her but she has held onto them. She holds on tightly to the forgotten. She sews her own tales and in most cases she has been ignored, as if she is the one who has never made any sense and not the fraudulent family and memories that were made before their eyes, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I tried to save him. How I was the only one,” she points out, this much was true. She doesn’t need to spell out the tale of his trauma or the way his eyes looked as he drained away, she thinks onoly of her Father’s throne of lies and how it still sits behind his desk awaiting it’s hidden legacy. “Dolls are made to be perfect, Belva. In their own way. You return the fauly ones to the manufacturer,” she suggests as if it were unwanted Christmas gifts she spoke of and not human beings.

“Do you want some champagne? Perhaps it will absolve some of your questions,” she decides, pointing the rim of the bottle towards her. Her interest in Max itself is selfish, he is no use to her as he is no longer the boy that she left behind. He is nobody at all. “It’s not good to get tangled up in details we were supposed to forget.”

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The words send a chill down her spine, and despite the expensive knit sweater that she wears, there’s a cold there that refuses to budge. “There’s so much I can’t remember. Not him, not a sick kid. It makes my skin crawl, but I guess for you, maybe remembering was even worse.” She looks at Emilio then, tries to imagine being a child and holding onto such a secret, to the guilt of trying to save someone and not being able to. Was it any wonder Emilio was the way that she was, with a father so bent on making her that way? That prickling feeling remains, but the anger surfaces too, the way that Emilio’s statement is so aligned with what their father was like. “God, he really was evil, wasn’t he? And so many of us still did everything to try and win his...his approval, whatever that was.” A sharp exhale passes her painted lips, and she wonders how long it will take before thinking of the man doesn’t make her want to explode.

It’s an odd moment, the two of them sitting together, Emilio offering her a drink and Belva only hesitating for a moment before she tilts her chin in agreement. Changes, big and small. As unpredictable as the rest of Vertmoor and its odd occupants. “What about the ones you just weren’t supposed to find out about?” she asks, and the memories that the question stems from cause her to reach out for the bottle and pour herself a glass. The little bubbles rise to the surface, and she thinks of the little doll in its tiny bathrobe, of Harley’s voice as she said, I just...was there. It’s this that prompts her to grab the glass, unladylike as she sips at the drink and pulls back with a look of distaste. Still, it doesn’t stop her from going back for another sip. “Did you know he was having an affair? With her, of all people?”

“And what will we do if we don’t unravel?” she ponders the thought aloud as it tumbles from her lips, champagne bubbles fizzing and popping against the edge of her chin from the edge of the glass. She had not the luxury of many others, there was no other place to go, no other thing to satisfy her mind besides this puzzle. Desperately, in the hopes of some sense of feeling she clung to the ghost of a home caring little but so much all at once in a way that should not have been.  “I thought that things would change when I saw that ghost boy,” she admits, in a way that almost seems human. Perhaps in some ways she has always been human, just built differently. She wishes so much that the rediscovery of Max, his brittle little bones and under inflated lungs in the form of a man that walked amongst them would have inspired some feeling between her rib cage and her organs but he was simply underwhelming. In ill health she had cared for him more, back then as a child she remembered some form of care at least but now she stared emptily at blue eyes who longed after a girl who would never care for him and felt uninspired. “I was the one who watched him die… And yet here he stands and survives and lives and procreates and I could’t care any less about his survival or existence.”

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Blue eyes watch Emilio’s movements, drift from the bubbling champagne that she just knows would taste bitter on her tongue, to the strange look that her sister wears. What would they do? Who were they all outside of their father, outside of the disturbing legacy that he had left them with? “Try to move on, I guess. Leave that asshole in the past,” Belva replies, tone sharper than she’s ever used with Emilio. Well, not with Emilio, but in her presence; the acid that falls from her tongue isn’t directed at her sister, but at the man who had made them family. A feeling of exhilaration runs through her, at the curse and the prospect of a world where Vidal Athanas was just a distant memory. 

The blonde focuses in on what Emilio is saying, preventing herself from getting lost in her thoughts and her tiny rebellions. Emilio was someone she needed to focus on when speaking with, her sister always there with hidden clues and meanings and, perhaps even more than that, someone who wasn’t happy with just mindless agreement and vacant smiles. It takes a moment for the pieces to shift together, but when they do, Belva’s lips purse together. “I want to know why he was different. Why we’ve been able to find him, but none of the others,” she admits, forearms resting on the bar top, the muscles of her shoulders rather tense. It isn’t good to fall down this rabbit hole again, a voice warns her, but there’s an even louder voice that has brought her back here. “Wait, he what?” she asks all of a sudden, something about Emilio’s statement causing confusion to pass over her face.

Constantin breathed the crisp air of the frozen ground, face freezing as he ran his fingers across the pine needles. The scent of the Nordmann Fir enveloping him completely. There was something to be said about tree farms. Planting more trees than the ones they cut down while at the same time bringing a brighter experience to others. He remembers a time where dreams were all he had, and expectations a shadow in the future, wishing his family would take a day off to cut down their own tree. Instead every December Constantin would wake up to a full decorated house done in the early mornings by an interior designer. 

Now, as he looked ahead of him seeing acres and acres of trees with his own money to spend Constantin knew what he wanted to do. “What if…well, what if i bought it?” he asked them, turning his gaze towards them. “I know. I know it is crazy. Trust me. This would be a whole business in itself, but the owners have agreed to stay for a year to show me the ropes.” Pressing his fist against his chest, just knowing what he wanted. “But this is all i want.”

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New York City winters could be cold. That was something she had learned this year, when she’d taken a leap that for most would have felt like a baby step, but for a girl so tied to a dead man, had been frightening. Perhaps that was why the chill didn’t feel quite so harsh now, and why she was rather comfortable in her cozy scarf, expensive coat, and bobble hat. As they stepped through the tree farm, an experience that Belva hadn’t ever had before but was perhaps overly excited for (the photo opportunities were endless, and the smell made it difficult not to smile), she didn’t notice the pensive look on Constantin’s face until he spoke.

Belva blinks, taking a moment to come back to the present, tugging her gloves on as she finishes taking her photo. “Really?” There’s no judgement to her tone, just an open curiosity, blue eyes searching his face to try and see if he’s joking with her. “I mean...it’s really cute. You could set up a, like, hot coco hut and ice skating and a little hill for sledging,” she daydreams, essentially listing off all of the things she’d always wanted to be able to do as a child, but that Vidal Athanas ensured were not possible.

She stands at the bar, long painted fingernails clicking against a green glass bottle of champagne. It has been so long since their Father’s bludgeoning (see. murder) and so little had changed besides her siblings dropping in and off of the face of planet Earth. The revolving doors of the doll house affected her little but other things weighed heavy on her ever spinning mind. She chewed up and spat out ideas as she did people and left little remaining, a little flesh and bones spattered on the pavement to be trodden over and over until nothing remained. Nothing for anyone else. Only for her. 

“You can basically smell the blood in the air these days, everybody’s waiting for it to all unravel. But, it never will,” she proceeds, bottle uncorked as it spills into a champagne glass with a splash, dangerously filling to the edges. 

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Summer had been filled with ugly family secrets, autumn with situations she found herself dragged into and desperate to escape. And so, when things at the house upon the hill seemed to calm down and Belva couldn’t walk down a hallway without bumping into ghosts and unpleasant memories, she’d quietly packed her bags and retreated to London. Taken the first job that got her out of the country and out of her mind for long enough to feel as if she could actually breathe again. And when that had ended and the holidays crept in, she found herself back where it all began, wondering why there was still something calling her back to a house that left its occupants so haunted.

So many things had changed since their father’s death. She had changed, even if some days she still looked in the mirror and could only see the reflection he’d crafted. Still, there was a certain thrill to sitting in a crowded bar in her hometown, sitting beside a sister he’d wanted her to fear, to reject. “Good. I’m kind of sick of all the unraveling, if I’m bein’ honest,” the blonde replies, the sentiment so different to the months previous when she’d been desperate to unravel it all and find out the answers. Now, she’s just so tired, so afraid that more unraveling will just unravel her too. 

It was a mystery how Constantin found himself inside of nature, and even worst in nature belonging to the Athanas family. Even though he was a fan of connecting to the earth, and getting its energy from sitting on the grass he’d been spending an unhealthy amount of time outside. The only thing protecting him from the cold were the clothing he had so carefully chosen, if not he was sure he would of found himself sick by now. It was in that moment, as he wrote wax poetry about Demir in his mind, that he saw her figure standing a little farther away. 

Approaching her was questionable. He was unsure if he wanted the possible questions of why he was here, once again, to come up. A small part of him, however, didn’t care because it seemed like she might need a friend. Breathing in deeply he approached her, trying to make as much sound possible as to not frighten her. “Hey, B.”

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Before returning to the house on the hill, whenever Belva heard the name Constantin Moreau, she thought of parties. Of fancy rooms filled with items that spoke to the wealth of those gathered within, blinding (and often false) smiles as discussions of business deals and social responsibilities passed between the elite. Now, she thinks of trees, of a man relaxed under the moon with his treats and fine wines. The finery still there, but less hollow, somehow.

His nickname softens her, thin fingers brushing against the ivy covered brick wall beside her. “It’s really pretty today, isn’t it?” And despite the slight chill, the wind that sometimes manages to nestle its way into the little courtyard, it is. There’s wine colored flowers, bushes of lavender, and trees signaling the approaching autumn dotted about the courtyard like a painting. She wonders how much of this work was her mother’s, how much is Florence’s. Wonders if that’s why she’s there, searching for comfort even when all that’s left of the woman is a garden.