the devil within

Esme: though mentally exhausted, was rendered wide awake by rehashing her trauma. She longed to drift into slumber, but it was proving too difficult to brush off the resounding thoughts bounding in her mind. It was as if she was paralyzed, stuck in her seated position for several minutes even once the room was enclosed in darkness. Eventually and with a heavy sigh, she pulled her legs onto the bed, slowly shuffling to the head of the bed beside Miles to make herself a place in the made bed. Assuming he was fast asleep, she didn't bother keeping up any appearances, letting the long overdue floodgates open, more tears falling by the moment. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to muffle her sobs, her body shivering as she tried to rid herself of every drip of emotion.

Esme: could feel the familiar turning in her stomach, mentally debating whether its source was the empty stomached pill, the emotional toll she brought upon herself or the uncomfortable situation she found herself in the moment with Miles. It was too similar but so drastically different from the times they shared lounging in the past, formerly laced in relaxation and now etched in awkward fumbling from both parties. Barely turning to the voice at her back, again she exuded another minuscule nod before stiffly turning her body in the right direction atop the made bed. "I'm fine," she moused, the words even sounding like a lie in innocent context. "I just... want to sleep," she added weakly, a huge exhale driving along just how exhausted she really was from the day's events.

Esme: nodded in solemn understanding, not knowing the specifics of the war at home this time around, but knowing enough of the situation to surmise what and who was keeping him away from home for the night. Hands lifted to clench the oversized robe closer to her body, still chilled from the rain, a sordid attempt to comfort herself. She felt the shift behind her as Miles began to settle in, unsure what her next move was. Technically he'd paid, so the room was rightfully his. She had cash on hand to rent her own room, but that involved redressing in wet clothes and braving the storm again, neither notion thrilling her. So instead she sat rigidly, waiting for further instruction.

Esme: had created quite a rollercoaster for herself over the last few minutes, stringing Miles along for the duration until she was back on solid ground. She didn't want to think about the project. She definitely didn't want to think about her parents. Truth in all, she simply didn't want to think. Glancing to the other side of the bed, Esme riffled through her discarded purse for a moment until she found the small orange vial in question, plucking out a small capsule to dry swallow before easing herself down on the bed beside Miles. Softly she shook her head, strands of damp hair finding their way to her face to make home there. "I don't particularly want to," she answered quietly, recalling the passive aggressive note she'd left on. Even fond memories of the past couldn't keep the bitter taste of the present at bay for long enough.

Esme: was almost offput enough by the reveal of her hair, something so simple but so significant, to blush. She swallowed again, unsure of what else to say but a hushed "it's not my thing," before returning in front of him. "And there was a Hildegarde," she counted, her brows pulling together. "Well, she wasn't technically related. She was a maid and she snuck chocolate chips in my pancakes when dad wasn't around," she added, her expression drifting to a small hint of better days. "Anyway... I don't care what you do. It's an opinion piece, so Perino can't really dock us for not being detailed," she shrugged softly. Wordless in thought for a few moments, her mind eased back to her previous sentiment. "He was really pissed out when he found out about the pancakes. There was chocolate on my face one morning and he put two and two together. I don't know who he yelled at more, Hilde or my mom. After he went to work, I felt so guilty that I'd gotten everyone in trouble that I cried in my closet until mom found me. To prove she wasn't mad at me, she smeared chocolate on her face too and took a picture of us." Smiling wistfully for a moment, she remembered her surroundings -and company-, blinking back to focus. "Uh. Anyway. It's... late," she drawled, desperate to get off topic.

Esme: "Just forget it," she rasped, too exhausted now to pick a further fight. She so rarely allowed the memories of her mother, more so her demise, to cross her mind for the very reason of the heavy toll it took on her entire being. Now that everything was in the open, she was drained and too exposed. Feeling the eyes on her, Esme glanced over, realizing that she'd made herself susceptible to being a new sight; her safety net of hair fallen around her shoulders as it dried in soft waves. "What?" She muttered, self conscious. Swallowing the nervousness she felt, she cast her eyes away, spotting a thin terry robe hanging neatly on the back of the door. Inspecting it thoroughly, she pulled it from the hook, trading it for the wet clothing plastered to her cold skin before walking back to the main room. "I wasn't kidding before," she noted, her voice a steady sooth as she stood in front of his seated form. "About making up a family. I'm not writing about the truth, I don't care if I fail the class."

Esme: could have gone on forever; delving into grittier details and remembrances, really punishing Miles for digging so far into the business she clearly wasn't keen to share, but where was the use in hurting herself in the process? His reaction was a typical one to such jolting news, and while she wasn't sure what she'd expected, there was a sense of relief that he was just about speechless. The less she'd need to explain, the better. The rain hadn't really registered until now, Esme finally becoming aware of the growing storm beyond their walls once she noticed the water pooling at her feet, realizing it was dripping from her sopping braid. She took a tentative step backward as Miles neared her, still keeping her distance even once he stilled. "You couldn't leave well enough alone," she murmured in a small, pained voice as she turned away to step towards the tiny washroom. Flicking on the light, she located the nearest towel before tugging her soaking hair free from its elastic constraint, shaking the mussed locks free to pat dry. "But you're sorry, so that must make it okay."

Esme: was undoubtedly spun out, her dark secrets threatening to spill over as rapidly as the tears at her waterline. Her previous tremble was now a full-blown shake, whether out of anger or overwhelm was anybody's guess to make. She ignored Miles' inquisitive confusion; she didn't need any of her ramble to be sensible to him, a tangent she hadn't wanted him to be privy to in the first place. Now however, it was much too late to take anything back, getting more specific by the moment. Figuring it was best o go for broke and cut her losses, she remained outturned, tensing at the first instance of physicality from Miles in months. A deep exhale left her worn lungs, preparing herself to hear the words out loud. "I'm not stalling," she retorted, angry emphasis on the last word. "You want to finish this project so bad? Where do you think we should start? My mom's overdose? Me being the one to find her? Oh-or the most thrilling part of my dad not only blaming me for it, but saying so to my face. More than once. I think that bit will really capture our audience's attention, don't you? We could double this up as a history project and make a timeline while we're at it," she suggested with a bright feigned enthusiasm. "Yeah, from when my mom stopped taking her medication, then just took all of it, the weeks she spent in the hospital, the first time my dad told me how much I remind him of her, specifying that it wasn't a good thing. And a great plot twist is when I was prescribed the same pills that they found forty of in my mom's stomach, I think everyone in class will appreciate that irony, right? So, in conclusion: dead mom, spiteful father, guilty Esme, that's what family means to me."

Esme: would have found it shocking to be reacting how she was if she weren't so wrapped up in her temporary mania. Thrust into the memories she normally so expertly shielded from her thoughts, she was too far gone to explain away the things coming from her mouth without requiring some truth. She was wrought with the urge to keep up her physical tirade towards Miles despite knowing how close to home it hit... so to speak, but resisted as he didn't fight back. Feeling the slight twitch as she was questioned, she wasn't calm enough to censor her speech before letting out another bawdy, bitter laugh, no trace of humor to be found in it. "I mean obviously you're not my mother, I haven't killed you yet," she scoffed, turning to face away from him as her heart picked up in speed.

Esme: could feel the tunnel vision setting in. Each moment seemed to stand still, Miles' voice dying out around her ears and the words barely registering in lieu of the rage searing her veins. "Just shut up, Miles," she commanded lowly, unable to even meet his eyes. She wasn't sure whether the warning was more beneficial to him or herself but it was genuine, each of his biting words pushing her closer to the brink of her composure. The accusation of manipulation was one of Esme's father's favorite to make towards her, the word alone never failing to shake her to her core, and now that it was being directed at her by someone else, someone she already felt don betrayed by, it was more than she could handle. The upset came over her like a flash, her hands raising of their own accord, pushing him the tiniest shrug back. He was much bigger than she, his body practically unaffected by her shove, which only served to anger her further, earning him a second swat. "Don't walk away from me! You don't get to up and leave when things get too real for you and abandon everyone else, you're not my mother!"

Esme: could already sense that the escalating situation wouldn't soon be remedied, her skin earning goosebumps across the surface and tears already pricking her eyes. It wasn't reasonable for her to expect Miles to magically know any of her past that she purposely never elaborated on, but that he wouldn't back down from trying to figure her out was too infuriating to bear. She took another step back, this time to create a distance of defense between them before she cracked completely, not that the physical space was doing much to aid her. "God, you sound just like him," she complained, her voice a mixture of anguish and exhaustion. "My mind games. Right. They're the cause of everything, I get it. It's all me, it always has been, big bad hurricane Esme is at it again! That's what I live for, just death and destruction," she rattled, her voice cracking at the vague mention of decease.

Esme: rolled her eyes again, unabashed by Miles' words. "I already told you that I didn't owe you anything, nothing has changed," she replied calmly, idly scribbling on her blank page. Only once the pregnant pause formed between them did Esme realize how threateningly close she was standing, taking half a step back and shaking out the fists at her side, realizing that her demeanor was unnecessary. He was practically begging now, his tone too soft and Esme too riled as usual, and she was beginning to see defeat in her near future. "Scared!" She cackled darkly, feeling each inch of her body trembling as she fought to keep the salt in her eyes at bay. "You think this is fear? Once you're faced, and I really do mean FACED with your biggest fear in this world, nothing can scare you ever again. I'm not afraid of this project, I loathe it, and out of every topic we could have been assigned you manage to land us with the one that neither of us belongs anywhere near. I can't even do a simple project for school at my house because I can feel my dad's eyes on me and hear everything in his head that he wants to say. Between him and you I'm completely boxed in, drowning in all of these people I know can't stand me, but I can't escape if I want to pass this stupid class. So how about we change our topic to what this project means to me. Hell."

Esme: had expected to be irritated by the end of the day, whether it be by the project or her partner, but she wasn't anticipating the bubbling anger inside of her, threatening to surface with each second longer that Miles prodded her for answers she wasn't willing to offer. She was still astonished that he was taking the matter so casually, seemingly so willing to discuss his woes to his peers. She however did not share that seem willing this only growing and see as he sniffed out his clues to her own home life. "That doesn't count," she sneered, angrily shaking her head and tapping a nervous pen atop her notebook. "That's generic shit, this is supposed to be an essay, so let's get specific, shall we? Tell the audience why you feel deceived. Were you not hugged enough? Are there the lies that the twins aren't the favorite children because there's no aggression left for them after it gets taken out on you?" Too invested in the beginning of her rant, Esme hadn't realized that she was back on her feet, reflexively backing Miles closer to the wall as she spat her accusations.

Esme: though irritated by the sudden storm, was almost thankful for its appearance as it offered a decent excuse not to talk about her place in the project. The short walk to their final destination was a quiet one, assumably due to both party's frustration towards the resounding day as a whole. Once they'd arrived, Esme kept her silence up, no more emotion but a glare to the skeptical looking lobby employee as they were granted entrance to their temporary housing. She followed closely behind and into the designated room, letting her own belongings find a place on the floor beside his before finally hearing him speak. "Oh no you don't," she scoffed, turning towards him with arms already crossed tightly over her chest. "I asked you first and you never answered, so since you're the one that has no problem with being so generous with his answers, you're on the chopping block first."

Esme: didn't think that Miles' alternative was outright suggestive, but she had to take pause to gather her thoughts. Months ago, the concept of being secluded somewhere with Miles would be exciting, if not to be expected in the height of their unconventional relationship, but now it was a strange limbo to be found in. Fully prepared to reject the idea, her mouth opened to speak, interrupted by another hearty crash of lightning and an even heavier downpour, culminating into a full fledged storm. "Well... maybe we can go..." she trailed, at a loss to any other location close enough that they'd both be willing to relocate. "Whatever," she grumbled, packing her things back up with a soft huff. "But this whole thing was your idea to begin with, aso you're paying and don't get any ideas," she snipped unnecessarily, tossing her braid behind her back as she started the pace ahead of them through the brush of trees and towards their unfortunate destination, ultimately ushering him forward once they'd arrived.

Esme: often wondered if she'd ever feel anything but blase about anything in life. Her demeanor surprised even herself sometimes, finding it strange that she could so easily non-react to the tensions around her. Miles had no idea of the territory he was nearing, but it didn't matter to the anger rising under her skin, each muscle tensing. "I didn't make you tell me anything," she reminded him, lifting a brow to herself. "And that doesn't mean I have to reciprocate. I don't owe you anything." Biting the inside of her lip, Esme pondered whether to specify that she wasn't throwing anything in his face, rather making a point that some things were best left unsaid and rehashed. Clearly it wasn't resounding with him, but if it was between incidentally offending him and letting her own tribulations be known, he'd simply have to be collateral. Blinking at his suggestion only then did she realize that the weather had turned, holding her arm away like she needed the physical smattering to confirm that the rain wasn't her imagination. "It- it's just sprinkling, just ignore-" The rain chose that moment to fall harder, the full intensity kicking in with a roll of thunder to prove its point. "Okay well no, my house is not an option," she noted sternly, shaking her head. "We can just go to yours."