put on your war paint

WHERE: the gallows. WHO: @mackenziegthomas​ & alec.

These rushes were going to be a problem. Alec was operating with one hand, and not even the dominant one, and he was making rookie mistakes. He could feel the frustration of the crowd— his regulars a little more forgiving than the rest, but not by much— and it was getting into his head a little. His eyes kept cutting to the clock on the wall, every ache in his head or his arm making the minutes seem to crawl by until he could take another pill. 

It felt like all the bullshit got a little bit quieter after about twenty minutes. A little bit faster if he chewed. And god, he needed quiet. 

Turning back to the bar, he tossed his rag over his shoulder, leaning his elbows on the bar top and nearly knocking a drink over in the process. “Shit, sorry.” He yanked the rag off his shoulder to mop up the slight spill as Mack took a seat at the bar. Relief at friend versus customer brought a genuine smile to his lips. It felt like it’d been a while, so he let it widen. “Mack-aroni! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. What can I get you?”

- - -

Mack was somehow sure the pressure of her life was going to get to her, and she’d been out lately to find a vice. Something that could squeeze her tighter than the anxiety that coursed through her the more days that passed without a sight of Bella. The five minutes she could draw off a cigarette these days gave her nothing but time to sit and stew on all of the ways that Bella could be suffering, and so she needed something stronger- which lead her to the Gallows.

“I’m a sight for sore eyes?” Mack immediately teased, eyes falling on the spot where he’d just spilled a drink.

“Its nice to see you, though.” She said genuinely, Alec being a little flicker of comfort, and that wasn’t just because he was the barrier to her getting alcohol. “You wanna get me a long island iced tea? And I’ll tip you higher if you tell me things about you so I don’t have to say things about me.”

Sitting at Marie’s always brought him a sense of nostalgia. It was the place he’d go after the practices and the games with his friends, bruised ego bolstered by the camaraderie over milkshakes and fries. It was where he and Charlotte used to meet, legs kicking under the table as they exchanged shy looks and held hands. It was where his family went, once upon a time, before things started getting extravagant and painfully vegan.

These days, sitting at Marie’s felt like a weird obligation to his mother. Jocelyn loved to capitalize on the idea that he was still ‘small town’ and ‘humble’, returning to his roots like nothing had changed at all. She’d taken photos of him outside as if it hadn’t been planned, walking with a nice, expensive cardigan and $300 dollar jeans fashioned to look old and worn.

He felt out of place among everyone else, made worse by the fact that his mother was talking loudly on her cellphone about plans for him next year. Big name this, Lionsgate that. In a way, Mckenna felt embarrassed. And then bad for feeling embarrassed. His luck and fame was something most people would’ve done anything to get. Somehow, though, he’d have traded it all if he could go back to splitting a quarter pounder with his dad.

He straightened his spine when a server came by and offered her a smile, wide and genuine. Mckenna leaned forward, ready with his order when he caught the look his mother was giving him from across the table. His enthusiasm died a little.

“Uh, I’ll have a… cobb salad with no ham or cheese. And a basket of fries. No salt, please,” he said, staring up at his server with big, expressive eyes like a dog that had been just scolded to sit. “And I’m good with water. Thanks.”

@mackenziegthomas​

- - -

Mack liked to think that there were lots of things in Gravewood that were predictable. She would’ve said anything, a town like this rarely being alive enough for change, but then her sister had gone missing and it had thrown a wrench into everything she knew to expect from the town. 

Mckenna was new and old at the same time. She could recall maybe one or two things about him from childhood, but knew him better via what was listed when you googled him. It was different, to Mack at least, to have someone capable of something more than this town in her presence.

She was trying not to think to deeply on him. But seriously-- she got weird orders, often from people openly fucked up in some way, and this was on that level. “Are.. you sure?” She can’t help but ask, her expression showing exactly her thoughts, of disgust.

“Like.. maybe a soda to wash that down.” But then she looked up long enough to properly gauge what was happening- she recognized that exact look on Mckennas mom’s face, having been thrown looks like that all the time as a kid. It was the one that screamed the words ‘you better behave’, and Mack didn’t like it. “Cause you know, people can’t control you. If you want something else you should order it.”

.

Sam didn’t often feel regret or remorse; not in a world that had done nothing but take from him and his family. But the moment Mack pulled away from him, the flash of real fear in her eyes, Sam’s thoughts stuttered to a stop. 

Less than an hour before, Sam had stood in front of Jamie, accusing him of turning into their father. His job here tonight had gotten into his head, Jamie had gotten into his head, his dad fucking lived in his head. And now it felt like looking him right in the face, a distorted funhouse mirror that echoed back his own worst fears. Not to mention, he really didn’t need Mack spouting off what had just happened between them. 

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he reached out towards Mack, dropping his hands back to his sides before making contact. “Sorry,” he barked out, the apology sincere even if it didn’t sound all that genuine. This wasn’t about Mack, she was just the easiest one to take it out on. It made him a piece of shit to even acknowledge that he knew that, but it was what it was. “It’s been a bad fucking day, alright?” Adrenaline still coursed through him, some part of him still that young boy who had been powerless against a grown man. He shut his eyes tight for a moment before blinking them back open. Softer now, almost pleading. Masks, all of them. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Okay? It won’t happen again.”

- - -

Mack had been ready to walk away and swear Sam up and down in her mind. She wouldn’t say it aloud-- still able to feel her heartbeat in her chest, but she would think it. And then Sam stopped, and she could almost see him shedding whatever demon had temporarily taken him over. He was a Dyer- of course they had demons, plenty of them.

She could see that he felt so bad, even if it didn’t quite sound that way, and she already knew how to read deeper into it. Sam had realized what a grave mistake he’d made, and he was apologetic. More so than he’d say- but that was okay. She knew what he actually meant.

“I thought you might’ve been having one.” When she’d briefly run through possibly valid reasons he’d had for standing her up, before deciding he had none- something she might have to revisit, watching him right now. “Its okay.” She rubbed at her wrist one more time before dropping it, forgetting the importance of what just happened to help Sam, “Its okay. Whats bothering you? Someone at.. whatever made you late?”

Ever since she’d arrived at the party, Elle had been watching the time, counting down until she’d been there for an appropriate amount of time so she could leave without getting grilled when she got home.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy parties, it was actually the opposite. It was just that she wasn’t a fan of the host. Isadora was someone that Elle would always be polite to in person. Only to her face, only to save face. But, behind her back, the truth was she couldn’t stand the woman. It wasn’t that she’d done anything in particular, she simply rubbed Elle up the wrong way.

Elle was stood by the stairs, a very full glass of red wine in her hand. When she heard Mack’s voice, she turned with a smile, glad to finally see a friendly face. “Um, why not both? Come on, Mack. Dream big!”

- - -

Mack matched Elle’s grin with one of her own, some of the heavy emotions she’d been stirring in, dissipating. It was part of why she’d texted Elle in the first place, looking for something to distract her from the way she felt so deeply guilty the entire night.

“I feel kind of like that one meme.” Mack had a feeling Elle would either get the reference immediately, or she’d be SOL explaining it. Hopefully it wasn’t the latter. “Both is good. Great, actually. Where is the nearest wine station?”

.

“’That I’m here’?” he repeated with an edge. “Do you lack basic reading comprehension or are you being purposely obtuse? I said I’d be here, I’m here.” If he remembered correctly, he’d said he didn’t know, but it was semantics at this point. 

He could see the moment his words struck home and maybe he did feel a little bad for the low blow. He, like everyone else in town, was well aware of the missing Thomas girl. And Sam knew Mack, perhaps in some ways better than most people did, and he knew how it was destroying her. He knew how he’d feel in the same position.

But then she shoved him and while he might have had it coming, all he saw in that moment was John Dyer and his heavy hand, John Dyer with alcohol on his breath and a sneer on his lips. His hand snapped out, grabbing her by the wrist hard as he tugged her towards him. His eyes were hard, mouth set in a straight line. “Don’t ever put your hands on me like that again. You get one.” He held on for a beat longer before he finally released her.

- - -

Mack couldn’t quite recall exactly what Sam had said, but she knew it wasn’t that he’d be there. If he had said that, she definitely would’ve remembered, or spent some time thinking deeper on what she’d confront him with.

But she was walking away-- except a moment passed and she was looking Sam directly in the eye, the tight grip around her wrist drawing most of her attention. Like a flashing warning sign, quickly sobering her up to focus on the fire she could see in Sam’s eyes.

Normally- she was the kind of girl that ignored warnings, but something about Sam like this put fear in her. She’d seen asshole sides of him, plenty of times, but nothing quite like this. “Sorry.” She said, uncharacteristically meek and quiet, “Message received.”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛  

“Do I want to try what? The drinking or the justified bullying? Because it’s a no on the former and a yes on the latter,” Mari clarified, knowing that even if Mack was on her way to being wasted, she’d probably be able to connect the dots between her father’s death and her complete avoidance of alcohol since.

Deep down she knew that it was a shitty person that had stolen the life of her father without even bothering to stop (their identity was also still unknown), but that didn’t change what her brain had decided she needed to do to in order to begin to heal.

It was probably something she was going to have to work out in therapy at some point, but with a seventeen-year-old to look after and debts to settle, plus a book to write and a best friend’s sister to find, who had the time?

Taking a moment to look over Mack’s costume, Mari offered a nod of approval along with what she hoped were appropriately enthusiastic and encouraging words.

“Nice! I can definitely see it,” she insisted. But could she really? No.

There were a fair amount of gods that Mari still didn’t really know. She’d read the Percy Jackson books and learned what she’d needed to write a dark academia novel from a lot of Googling, but when it came to those outside of the traditional pantheon, she was a little lost. She’d only read Metamorphoses once. It was a miracle she’d remembered half of the deities that she’d almost run into thus far in the evening.

At least it was way easier to come up with insults for Isadora.

“All of those doodles on top of her yearbook photo have manifested into reality, clearly. This whole thing feels really ignorant, honestly. And what does she have up her sleeve that she’s trying to bribe us all in advance for? Is she about to skin 101 dalmatians in the name of fashion or something?”

- - -

Mack’s face crinkled for a moment as the realization settled across her. It was a bad call to offer drinking to Mari, and she’d wished she had actually thought instead of speaking- her Mom always told her it was her worst trait. Mack was choosing to blame it on her inebriation at the current moment, instead of the reoccurring theme it seemed to be in her life.

“The bullying, of course.” As if Mari was in the wrong and she wasn’t the asshole that offered drinking.

She didn’t stay on that guilty train of thought too long, distracted by the discussion of the Goddesses they’d picked. Mack’s experience with them started and ended with what she had seen on TV as a kid.

Tisiphone had only come about thanks to some googling and Leo’s genius brain. The costume had been Leo’s genius brain too. “I think you’re the first one. Someone called me a demented bat earlier- which isn’t even a goddess?”

Mack had still taken it as a compliment.

“I forgot about those doodles!” Mack said, then snickered, remembering that a good few of those doodles were Thomas originals, “Oh. You think this is some kind of plan? Like a nightmare timeshare that doesn’t give us tickets to the happiest place on earth?”

.

It didn’t take an expert on the subject to know that Mack was wasted. Sam had a lot of practice with even the most functioning of alcoholics, but messy drunks tended to irritate him. He set his jaw against that annoyance, self-aware enough to know that it was almost entirely misplaced. His machinations tonight were intricate: he needed to be seen, but he couldn’t be a spectacle. 

So he allowed himself a second to draw in a steadying breath. Years had whittled away his patience to nothing and he was on no one’s leash, so he had nothing to answer for. “You’re mad that I’m drinking?” he questioned, saying each word slowly, tone needling at her with condescension. “Real fuckin’ mature, Thomas. Are you gonna ground me?” He barked out a laugh, made entirely of serrated edges. “I told you I had something come up. And we’re not gonna do this nagging bullshit. I’m not your boyfriend.”

- - -

“No! No.” Mack corrected quickly, because she knew Sam wasn’t dumb. She knew that tone. “Not that you’re drinking. That you’re- you’re here. So casually!” She continued, as if that explained anything at all, but she was just trying to talk around her issue. She didn’t want to be the idiot that said it out loud- it annoyed her that he didn’t care. He could see her, in the flesh, and so easily be that guy.

Mack opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, hanging mid-air for a moment before closing it. She wanted that not to hurt. She knew-- they didn’t label anything, ever, but each time they did this she had herself believing that maybe this time was the time he cared back. Maybe finally, it was, but instead she got smacked in the face with reality. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re not my boyfriend.” She finally said, the sting still tingling, “Fine. We won’t do this nagging shit. Fuck you, Sam Dyer.”

–

Jamie could feel the rise in tension the moment the words left his mouth. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t remembered Bella. It was more that his mind always jumped to the worst conclusions first to clear the way for the next disaster that was bound to come. He was traumatized to the point of being efficient with it, building a system so that he wasn’t overwhelmed, dysfunctional and stomping around town causing a ruckus like Mack did.

He considered informing her of all that until he realized that he just didn’t have the energy and dropped it with a small, “My bad.”

Jamie stopped to think about the next question for a beat, knowing too well that he hadn’t eaten anything but Everclear lately. Did Alec count as a vegetable? He clamped his mouth around another handful of chips.

“I haven’t spoken to Sam in months. He’s not exactly a great conversationalist,” he said, massaging his temple. A headache was spawning from the mere thought of his older brother, the gloomy reality of his disappearance substantially more grim than a corpse at the bottom of a ditch. Sam was still roaming about, causing chaos and trouble wherever he went. At least dead people couldn’t hurt anybody else.

“You better not be talking to him again. God knows what he’s up to these days and I’d rather if you didn’t get mixed up in all of that again,” he said, meeting Mack’s defiance with stoicism. “Who else is going to take my shifts? Esther is the laziest bitch in this town.”

- - -

It always surprised her how Jamie could go from so fighty to small and meek at the drop of a hat. It was almost if he retroactively remembered that he couldn’t win all the battles he picked, or maybe, he didn’t want to? It certainly surprised her that he wasn’t biting for winner of the trauma Olympics, and furthered her discomfort of emotions as she realised that he must think that her life now comparably feels as crappy as his.

Which was a shitty trophy to win, knowing all too well just how crappy Jamies life was, changing shifts all the time to deal with family, or seeking extra hours to pay for something he really shouldn’t have had to. She’d always kind of pitied Jamie, angry at the way small towns like this could be so cruel to kids that never deserved any of it. It was weird to now be in a place where she should pity herself.

Finally succumbing to the fact this would be a real conversation, Mack stepped closer to Jamie, as if they were the friends they actually are, picking at the bowl of jellybeans until she found a blue one.

“Oh, no. I find that u up texts are a real conversation opener.”  Mack laughed at herself for a moment, “Really makes me want to pour my heart out to him. You don’t find the same?”

Jamie looked far too young to be lecturing her like this, and Mack wasn’t sure she cared to hear about it right now. She was proud of herself for being able to ignore Sam instead of fight, and this was reminding her that maybe she should’ve been able to ignore him more than just one night. “I told you. Ignoring him tonight. How could I get caught up in any of his crap if I wont even text him back?”

Jamie would know she was lying, but it was unlikely he would press further and prove he was caring about her. “I swear that last time you tried to claim it was Emmy. You can’t just change like that- which waitress do you really think is the laziest, Jamie?”

Sam cursed under his breath as he scratched at an itch at his brow only to come away with fingers smeared in black and white face paint. He hadn’t wanted to come to this in the first place, but the mandatory themed costumes had been mocking him all night. He felt ridiculous on top of anxious and irritated and he pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time.

A shrill voice stabbed into his subconscious, recognition immediately setting the hunch of his shoulders as he loosed a sigh. “Like I said,” he started, voice measured and bored, “I was running late.” With the free hand not currently clutching his phone in his pocket, he took a casual sip of his drink. “But, alright Sixth Sense, I’ll bite. It looks like you made it here just fine, so what exactly is the problem?”

- - -

Mack wanted to be able to match the uncaring, aloof attitude Sam had right now. It would be so much easier if she didn’t care about this, but she did. She hated the way Sam standing her up had sunk the very small amount of good she felt about tonight. It ignited a rage in her that she couldn’t tamper, which further ignited the flame, like some pointless rage circle.

“Late enough to stand me up, but not too late to put on makeup?” She rolled her eyes, realizing that she was on that edge of too drunk when it took her a moment to settle back on his face, “Just fine. Only had to beg Leo to drive me. My problem is that you’re here and just, drinking. Just drinking. Casually late, and were you even going to say hello? What made you so late?”

There were a lot of surprising things that Mack found she liked about Elle. It was the sort of friendship that at first glance, made absolutely no sense, but if you looked long enough, they mirrored each other in odd ways. Like sharing a hatred for the host of a party, but still showing up.

Or sharing a want to ruin the hosts very expensive shoes. As soon as the idea had been floated, Mack had dug through the crowds to find her friend, all too happy to shoulder check a few of the people she didn’t like as she searched.

“Elle! Finally.” Mack huffed, finding the blonde, “Wanna make a secret plan to ruin Isa’s shoes? Or we could just drink until we can’t see straight anymore. Technically that would mean we don’t have to see Isa.”

Both sounded like pretty good options to Mack herself.

Arm intertwined in Leos, Mack felt a lot more confident entering this party. This was as close as she was willing to dress up these days, her costume symbolizing the vengeance she craved at the moment, personally customized by the girl next to her.

“She really doesn’t know how to make things not scream, fuck you I’m rich, does she?” Mack asked, glancing around at the room. It had that air of too much-- too much elegance to be nice, too much money spent to justify how disappointed everyone would be at the end of the night, too much for a small shitty town like Gravewood. 

“Like, just look at that. Do you think thats the blood of all the lower class workers the Morgans profit off?” Mack threw her arm in the direction of the fountain, familiar with what it actually was. “Kind of fucked up to display it here, right?”

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“No,” Mari answered with almost a laugh, not even needing time to consider her response. “Though, to be fair, I don’t think I was expecting to have fun when I came tonight.”

That was just sort of how things… were. Everyone around her living their lives, feeling the full range of emotions - including joy. And Marianne Byrne, whose life at present was far from what she’d dreamed it would be and leaps and bounds away from what she’d been on track for just months ago, just… existing.

She hadn’t been expecting to have fun because she hadn’t had any in the past few months. She hadn’t been expecting it because why would it be fun to be at a rager when you no longer drank and every ten minutes someone would come up to you to express how sorry they were for your loss?

She hadn’t really talked about it with Mack (purely due to Bella’s disappearance), hadn’t really talked about it with anyone, but anyone who was perceptive could probably pick up on it.

Sadly, most in Gravewood were not terribly perceptive.

“I went for Athena. What about you?” she questioned then, grateful for a conversation that was sure to keep her out of her own head.

“You know, we can shit-talk the party and/or the hostess, if that would make the night more enjoyable for you.”

Truthfully, Mari had only spoken to Isadora Morgan a handful of times. But she was very clearly an enemy of Mack’s, and therefore she was an enemy by association. And honestly? There was enjoyment to be had on both sides.

- - -

Mack could understand the fact that Mari came out already knowing she wouldn’t have fun. Mack herself, had naively that she could’ve come out and had fun. She liked to pretend that grief wasn’t an all consuming monster, that had sucked her up already, holding her in its deep, dark belly. She’d always held hope when faced with horrible realities of life, it was a necessity when you liked to fight for what was better, but that very ability bit her in the ass when it came to Bella.

Enough people had made it clear tonight just how much they thought that this disappearance was permanent, not temporary, and Mack had argued with each and everyone, reminding people that this wasn’t the end.

“Drinking is helping me have fun.” Having an action to do had made her feel almost as if she was passing as someone partying, but here it was reminding her just how much of an imposter she was, “Do you think you want to try that? I’m almost at the point where the room spins. Its totally fun.”

“The goddess of war. I like it.” She was lucky to know that name- far too many people had mentioned obscure gods that Mack had no knowledge of. “Tisiphone. The goddess of revenge.” She lifted an arm and flourished her one wing.

“That would make it more fun.” Every inch of Mack hated Isadora Morgan, and the very small part of her that didn’t feel guilt at being here, felt embarrassment for turning up to Isa’s party. “Did you see her outfit? I can’t tell if she realizes she looks like Satan right now or not. Its uncanny.”

There were a myriad of reasons Mack did not want to be at this party as it wore on. Very briefly, it had been saved by a ride from Leo, but as the night wore on, Mack couldn’t hide from the dangerous cocktail of emotions that stirred inside of her.

Guilt, fear, annoyance, and anger mixed around and clouded any other emotions, to create something close to eruption. Which was fine, Mack had a firm grip on the cap and held it closed.

Enter, Sam Dyer. Or well, enter Sam Dyer in Mack’s line of sight. Whatever grip she had on that explosion, slipped, and Mack stormed up to him, ready to unleash.

“Oh, so you finally made it!” Mack grumbles, “I’m glad you look like the dead- because that’s what you are to me right now.”

It was not terribly ideal for Isadora Morgan to be surprised by someone’s presence at her own party, but when one was throwing the party of the decade in Gravewood, if not the century… some people were bound to slip through the cracks.

When she’d told the calligrapher to go through the town records and invite everyone aged 21-35, she hadn’t truly meant everyone.

It had been a costly error, she was sure. Because who had stumbled into her little soiree? Not one but two girls tied for first place on the I Hate Isadora Morgan leaderboard.

She’d spotted Elle Reynolds earlier, but she’d figured Mack Thomas would skip.

Instead, the girl had appeared out of nowhere like a half-bat out of hell.

“Mackenzie!” Isa acknowledged, barely able to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Wow. So nice of you to come. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to make it. I know you’re just dealing with… so much.”

Did Isa feel bad for her? Yes. That sentiment was legitimate. But was she, deep down, also hoping that her words would make Mack question her attendance? Yes. She really didn’t trust Mack not to find the expensive vases she’d hidden on top of the fridge and smash them purely out of spite.

@mackenziegthomas​

- - -

Mack had only one hope when attending this party. Avoid the hostess. Which seemed like a dumb thing to try, avoiding the one person that had invited her, but Mack knew that Isa hadn’t invited her. Whatever generic list she had, Mack had been on it, and she took her opportunity to come, and hopefully make a dent in Isa’s wallet with what she was drinking.

She’d find some better way to fuck with her later, she just needed a little more liquor to loosen up her thoughts.

Mack barely managed not to jump out of her skin when that shrill, shrill voice rang through the room. Were her ears bleeding? It felt like it.

“Isadora!” The use of full names was already feeling borderline disrespectful, and they hadn’t even said a full sentence yet.

“Well, I had to come and see how much of a flop this would be. Like, 90% of the people around here did.”

She did not miss the fact that Isa was talking about Bella. The guilt she had been uncomfortably simmering in was coming back full force- making Mack wonder for a moment if she really was doing her sister a serious misdeed by not searching at this current moment.

“Dressing as Satan is fitting for you.” Mack commented, gesturing to the red dress, “I swear you look exactly like that in my nightmares too!”

–

“At least I’ve got a reason for it. I need to take care of my family,” Jamie argued, then immediately regretted it. He could blame the alcohol for the slip of tongue but frankly, it was more of the willingness to ignore the blatant tragedy of Bella Thomas. 

He’d have known for a while that Bella wasn’t coming back, but Mack’s incessant searching almost made him want to relent on serving her the cold reality of missing people. The best case scenario was that Bella had wound up living her best life in the city and the worst, and most probable, was that she ended up at the bottom of a ditch while trying to escape the endless hellhole of Gravewood. 

Jamie was promptly reeled from his thoughts at Mack’s incessant nattering, scowl returning full force once the guilt subsided. He petulantly stuffed a handful of corn chips into his mouth. “All food is real food,” he crunched out, spitting crumbs out of spite before chasing it down with drink.

Her wording struck him as he swallowed his hefty mouthful and he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re talking to Sam again.”

- - -

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, like they always did when someone mentioned Bella at the moment. Jamie was just being Jamie- saying something kind of shitty and mean, but with the way her mood was, Mack couldn’t help but bite at it. “Screw you. I am taking care of mine.” 

I’m doing the best I can at it. She wanted to add, but swallowed down. The last thing she wanted was to give Jamie more ammo to tear her down with. She didn’t have the tolerance for it today. “You don’t need to win the trauma Olympics, asshole.”

Mack stepped back, out of the range of crumbs, in case Jamie had the thought to attempt that again. “When was the last time you ate a vegetable?” A hypocritical comment from her, but she was betting that Jamie didn’t pay enough attention to her eating habits to know.

“I’m not talking to Sam right now. In fact, I’m actively avoiding texting him back! There’s no talking from me.” She announced with pride, as if that wasn’t the crux of her mood tonight, “Why, is he avoiding texting you back?”

It was a harsh thing to mention, but Jamie had just come after Bella.

–

“So? Mack, she’s like a thousand years old. She’s not going to be around forever if we keep leaving her to do all the work,” Jamie argued. It was rich of him considering how many days he’d missed recently.

Somehow, his mother being around only compounded the problems within the household as if she’d brought chaos home with her with a fat helping of depression all around. John was a mess he’d left on the bathroom floor. He’d have been contented with that if he wasn’t afraid of his corpse scarring his siblings forever. 

Jamie let go of Mack’s arm to gesture to the refreshments table, pouring with candies and croutons like Willy Wonka’s personal spread. He reached over to grab a fancy kettle chip and popped it into his mouth to make a point to his presence.

“Having dinner, “he replied baldly before crunching on the chip. “You look miffed. Who pissed in your wheaties?”

- - -

“She’s not going to be around forever anyway.” As Mack had discovered this month, time was temporary, and you were bound to loose people, eventually. Maybe loosing Marie would be less painful than loosing Bella. “And, says you. You’re the only one on par with me right now for missed days.”

And it was a hard thing to do at the moment. Mack had grown a recent tendency to skive off any shift that she could- more time off meant more time to focus on finding Bella, and honestly, she had considered quitting once or twice. She’d kind of known when she offered to take the shift that she wasn’t going to go- she just didn’t expect to be spending tonight here.

“Do you ever eat like, real food?” Mack questioned sarcastically, moreso out of concern, despite the tone. Jamie on a good day looked like death- the lighting must have been amplifying it. “You? Whatever happened to hello?”

Unsatisfied with what was a complete statement, she continued, “Seriously. Its manners, or did all Dyers never learn them?”

While parties were Jamie’s thing, it wasn’t for the social engagement at all. Parties were meccas of people looking for a distraction and distracted people didn’t look after their things very well. Jamie helped himself to the selection of abandoned purses and forgotten bags, rifling through packages of gum and condoms for a piece of entertainment while situated on a chair he’d pulled up to he refreshments table. 

There was nothing like snooping while plied with food and drink. A happy little past time he was most comfortable indulging in as he sat as far away as he could from the double doors leading to the dreaded pool. Weighing his pockets with rocks was the least clever idea he had. (Perhaps it was subconscious, but he didn’t want to test that theory out.)

Jamie held a clear plastic bottle to the light and squinted through it as he watched the strange sediment in what looked like water shift from left to right as he rocked it. He was about to uncap the bottle when a familiar brunette lumbered through his peripheral. He shot up immediately to chase her, upending all the bags he’d opened on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, grabbing her wrist. “You’re supposed to be at Marie’s taking my shift.”

@mackenziegthomas​

- - -

Today, of all days, Mack was sick of Dyers. After Sam standing her up-- for reasons that still weren’t clear to her, although what was clear was that he was an asshole. So when fingers wrapped around her wrist, she was ready to be unpleasant to whoever was on the other side- more-so when she realized it was Jamie.

She was just trying to get to the bar. The nicest thing she could do for Isadora was to rack up a big bill, wasn’t it? Well-- it was the best form of protest Mack could come up with today, it wasn’t like her mind was even thinking about protesting lately. “So? They’ll be fine.” Mack shrugged, yanking her arm out of his grip. She stared Jamie down, her low tolerance for anything Dyer- related showing,  “Marie’s not going to care that I didn’t turn up for a shift. What are you doing here?” She mimicked back to Jamie.

He wasn’t the partying kind- at least to Mack. She should’ve considered it suspicious that he even needed a shift covered, now that she thinks on it. Glancing around, she tries to spot the other Dyer, Sam, and wonders if she should give one of them a heads up, although she wouldn’t know which one.