forgot how to fly

She was shy for a performer, he thought. It took guts to play as confidently as she had in the middle of the street. But he could understand the sudden change in expression. He himself had often gotten lost in the ebbs and flows of a grand piece of music, only coming to his senses once the tune faded away. He offered the blonde a small shake of the head. “You played well,” he said, watching as she knelt by her case, packing up. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

He wanted to say he was a musician too, but he hadn’t touched a keyboard in months. It wouldn’t be a lie to say it, but it didn’t feel right either. “How long have you been playing?”

So the fact that she had told him--the fact that she had made it clear, had made it 

                                              k n o w n 

  who she was. The person that she was. The name that had been a taint to everything she touched and every person she ran into----

                                 S A G E  L A N C A S T E R . 

                                                    The fact that he knew all these things and knew of her past... And he was still there? It made her feel really good. It made her feel so happy that the smile pulling at her cheeks would never go away. Her cheeks would hurt and her grin would get tired but it would never go away. Because he didn't care. Not really. He had just said so. If that was her attempt to make him walk away, she had failed--and he was still here. Still standing across from her. If she had the strength, she would have jumped up and down or hugged him or done something. But all she could do was smile. The tears had brimmed in her eyes--tears of relief and happiness--and they were all gone now. It was just her, Clementine, and Fredrick, her Henry. 

                                          H E R  Henry.

Did she really just think that? But Fredrick continued to talk. He continued to explain. And Sage could feel that something was coming. He was probably an axe murderer of sorts. He was probably some psychopath because that's all Sage seemed to do----attract psychopaths. She prayed on the inside that he wasn't, but when has God ever answered her prayers, let alone heard them? No. There was no God in her life. God had left her abandoned since she was four. She had been all alone in life and if she had made it this far----if she had made it to eighteen----and she was still here, still kicking, still breathing, then she didn't need a God. Sage was a survivor. Even if at most times she didn't feel that way.

                        Cameron... Why did that name sound so familiar? 

                                           C A N N O N . 

Sage knew that name. She knew it very well. It was a last name that, just like hers. A name that had been in the media for a couple of years.                                                                                       Sage hadn't been around when the incident occurred--or, at least, she had just been born. A baby at most. But a couple years after the incident--after the accident--the media decided to dig up the skeletons of the car crash yet again. This was before Sage's whole world change. When her mother still loved her and her father still cherished her. When there was a blimp of hope in the baby's eye that she might have a normal life. A beautiful life. So yes. Sage knew the last name.

She knew of the horrible things that the Cannon's went through. How the brothers lost both of their parents. How the oldest had protected his baby brother from a wolf who wanted to eat him--attack him--and do other horrible things. She held his gaze, never daring to look away. This was them. This was them now. And yes, they had their last names. And yes, Sage was a Lancaster and Fredrick was a Cannon. And yes, she was still somewhat socially inept and awkward when it came to others. And yes, he was the brooding artist type who could come off as a real jerk. And yes, they were only kids--kids who had gone through so much in their damn life. But they were them. And apparently, the fucked up ones found each other. So that they could be them as long as they wanted together.

                    "A wise man once told me that I wasn't the only one with a history.                                           That there were other people too.                                                    His name was Henry."

Sage looked down, a flush in her cheeks, and she noticed how white her knuckles had become from holding onto her case so tightly. Who knew that there was a person out there that was okay with it? That knew of her situation, who knew of who she was, and they were okay with it? He seemed okay with it. She was okay with his. Although, his was considerably less fucked up than hers was. But that didn't matter. Because he was still there. Still standing right in front of her, towering over her at his six-foot-something height----so tall that Sage had to crane her neck just to meet those deep brown eyes----and that was all that really mattered. Maybe she truly did make a friend. Maybe she finally had someone.

When it came to an end, the little group that gathered broke into a thunderous applause, Dylan included, before they carried on with their day to day lives, but the girl didn’t seem satisfied. She looked as though something were missing. 

I’m not quite finished.

Dylan tilted her head slightly, offer the girl a small smile. “Then keep going. Believe me, know is going to complain.”

They could leave. Yes, please leave. Sage watched their feet as they left, trying to figure it all out. She listened carefully to the sounds around her. The sounds--the music--and tried to find what was missing. What had made her piece not right? Aside from the fact that she rushed the middle part of the harmony and her fingers slipped at the end, she hadn't messed up too bad. But there was still something missing.

And there was still someone standing in front of her. The pretty girl.

Raising her head, Sage allowed her eyes to connect with hers yet again, a nervous feeling rushing up and down her spine when the brunette smiled at her. Did she smile back? She could try. "I haven't found it yet, so I can't keep playing. Maybe once I find it," she said, her voice quiet, though she wasn't sure if the brunette would understand. She wasn't sure if the stranger would know what it is. Holding onto the neck of the cello, Sage stood up and placed the cello back into her case, covering up the money. "B-but...thank you."

Already, there was a connection between the two of them. That was good. A little scary, but Ethan had always told her she needed friends her age anyways.            Not to say this girl was her friend.                     But she could h o p e.

She nodded in answer, chirping, “Yep, I’m new. My brother and I, plus a good friend, moved here recently.” The smaller the group she said was close to her, the easier the cover. It was the fact of life.

Extending a hand, she said, “My name is Margaret Fray.”

So, Sage had trust issues. Both in the sense that she trusted people way to easily as well not trusting them at all. It was a weird juxtaposition, one that couldn't possibly be true, but ti was something that Sage felt. But the happiness that was currently surging through her was causing her magic to crackle within her, itching to get out, but Sage knew that she had to keep it down. Keep it calm. She must. 

                       But there was h o p e .                        And there was h a p p i n e s s .                        Could this girl possibly be her f r i e n d ?

Yes. Possibly. And she was new. New. That meant that she didn't know. She didn't know about Sage and her past. There was a possibility she could find out, but for now she could still be Sage without having to worry about that pity appearing in the girl's eyes. "Well--welcome! I--I've lived here my entire life and the town has its faults but I promise it's still a great place. If...um. I know a lot of little places if you want to be alone or places, like the pier, if you want to go do something. So, you can always ask if you and your brother and friend need something to do."

Sage smiled, attempting to keep it from wavering when she saw Margaret extend her hand forward. To shake. She couldn't. Sage couldn't. "My name's Sage--Lancaster. Sage Lancaster." Her arms remained folded across her chest, a small blip of fear appearing in her eye. How do you expect to integrate into society if you can't even shake a hand, Sage? Don't you want to be normal? It was terrifying, but somehow--somewhere deep inside of her a strength appeared--and she reached forward timidly, grabbing Margaret's hand and giving it a quick and soft shake before taking her hand back. "It's nice to meet you."

              A hunter had to ignore the pain, always ignore——-

But at the mention of Kaffeine, she perked up. Narrowed eyes from squinting opened to glisten, and she replied, “I was heading there, actually! Snatched a job as a barista, so—they’ll give me ice, sure.”

She paused before adding, “You can join me if you want.” She hated to leave behind someone who took the time to ask if she was okay. 

            This was how she wanted to be all the time. Without cruelty. Reaching out to others. But as a hunter, she had to wonder: how much distance did she need between this person and herself down the road?

                             So why the pause?

Maybe Sage was just thinking too much of it. Maybe she was just overthinking because of the way she had grown up. That had to be it. This girl was being nice... She was. There was still nice people in the world, Sage had to remind herself of that. She had to.

"I was heading in that direction anyway," she said, though more for herself than for the girl in front of her. "Their lemon blueberry scones are kind of my favorite thing in the world..." Not that she needs to know that information. 

"O-oh! You work there? I--I don't mean to be nosy, honest, but is it...um, is it safe to assume that you're new?"

     the taste of a s h e s on his tongue -      which roiled about in his head. ( “I saw it that night on the pier.” She sees you. ) "Did you, now?" — His voice held a little bit of skepticism, but he couldn’t dismiss any observations she had to make. Not ever since he realised she was an artist in and of herself. Whatever opinions she had were now beyond validated - not to mention he had made her one of his ( muses ) which further made him value her. When he took in a breath, and ran his hand across the gelled spikes of his hair, as he was prone to do, he smelled them, too. He smelled the lemons and the raspberries. It held no sway for him, though. It just reminded him of summertimes when a parent’s hand could hold his own. And he was about to comment on that: ( “Yes, I know your name is Sage, but I call you C l e m e n t i n e, too.” ) But then, she continued.                                                        L A N C A S T E R. He had lived here all of his life. He would’ve been blind or stupid to not have heard of the family. Looking down at the ground, he attempted to gather his thoughts; they’d started to race. So then, that meant she was the girl who escaped attempted murder. The one in the newspapers. She lived with her aunt now, was it? He’d heard rumours here and there, mostly about the atrocities of Mr. Lancaster and his t r o p h y wife. Made a name for themselves in all the wrong ways. But - — What did that matter?      He could take a look at her right now and realise she wasn’t like that.                ( Though it did explain her wariness. He now understood. ) "Lancaster, huh." It bit down on the tip of his tongue, and he rested his hands low on his hips. But then, he peeked up at her through his lashes - and he was       smirking.  ”So - if that information’s supposed to chase me away, you’re gonna have to                                    t r y  a g a i n." And with that, he shrugged.  ”You’re not the only one who has some history.” ( His was nothing like hers — but he digresses. )

        It was the ultimate test.

                   He had said that he had lived here his entire life. So had she. That meant that he knew. Everybody knew. It had been the talk of the town for a year--maybe more. Even national news station broadcasted news of the attempted murder; the abuse Sage had undergone; the horrible things that her father and her mother had done to her. Everyone was down her throat. Everyone pitied her. She was Sage Lancaster. Forever labelled. Forever stuck in one spot without moving forward. The only reason she was still protected from the outside world was because of her aunt Olivia. Always there.

                       Her very own s u p e r h e r o . 

                                           But her chest still stung.                                                    The waiting was excruciating.                                                            The way he was looking at her... Oh Sage could just tell. She could see the realization dawning in his eyes. The way her name seeped into his brain, unlocking memories and knowledge that he possessed. It was impossible to have lived in Bindlebrim Hallows without knowing exactly who everyone was, what their story was, and what they offered. It was impossible to not at least know of the people you were surrounded by because of how small the town was. It was impossible for Sage to go anywhere to escape... Impossible. Everywhere she went she was Sage. Sage Lancaster. The girl that everybody knew of, but claimed they knew personally. The girl whose life story was apparently knowledge of everyone in town because she had been subject to being the center of attention in the media for a long time.

                                    Because her traumas and struggles were put out                                               there for other people's entertainment.

But when she had met Fredrick, she hadn't been Sage Lancaster. She had been just Sage. And better yet? She hadn't only been just Sage.           She had also been C l e m e n t i n e .

Fredrick had given her an escape. An escape from everything that her past had put her through. But she had ruined that now because of her confession. But he needed to know who he was dealing with. He needed to know because the whispers would forever follow her. She would forever be afraid to touch someone else; she would forever be looking over her shoulder; she would forever be haunted in her dreams of the things she had gone through.

                          What if Fredrick l i k e d her?

                                       What if he wanted to d a t e her?

                                                      What if he wanted to k i s s her?

Sage had already had her first kiss--but not of her choice. Sage had already lost her virginity. Sage had already gone through all the motions that came with a first relationship. Just not in the way that most did.

So, she held her breath. She watched him, knuckles turning white as they clutched onto the case of the cello tightly. He was still staring at her. Looking at her. S e e i n g  her . Every second was ticking down and she was starting to grow afraid; starting to kick herself for saying what she did; for revealing her identity. She had gone, messing everything up. So close... She had been so close.

The wind whipped. A rush of cool air against her porcelain skin which had been so hot.

                    And a s m i l e .                                       A g r i n .                                              Pure, unadulterated joy bursting from her irises. The pressure was released and her cheeks were beginning to hurt, her smile having grown so large, so pure, so...innocent that it took everything in her to keep it together. Tears appeared in her eyes, rimming her lashes, and it took everything within her to blink them away. 

          "So - if that information’s supposed to chase me away,                    you’re gonna have to t r y  a g a i n."

The words sounded so beautiful and she felt absolutely foolish for how happy she seemed; for the tears that had appeared in her eyes and had now gone away. Sage turned away, her back to the boy, and she quickly rubbed her eyes, wiping away the rush of emotions, wiping away any tears that may have fallen, and she took in a shaky breath. 

Stop it, Sage. You're being foolish. You're humiliating yourself. 

But the smile was still there. It wasn't leaving. The tears had disappeared; the blooming flower in her chest was gone; but the smile remained. And she turned around, facing Fredrick again, an apology on the tip of her tongue.

"Everybody's got a history," she said and then cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing. Nervousness, happiness, relief... All of it flooded through her. Yes. Everybody does.

Looking at her like they could see every single part of her. Every molecule, every pore, every damn piece of her heart and soul. It was an artist's gaze--and Sage wasn't entirely sure whether she liked being on the receiving end of it.

Her fingers trailed against the smooth wood of the instrument. So clean, so polished--it smelled of lemons. Sometimes on a windy day, Sage was attacked by the scents of fruit. Her hair smelled of raspberries and her instrument of lemons; when the wind blew, both of the scents hit her in the face and she was overwhelmed. Her tongue started to water and she would eventually find herself at Kaffeine, wasting all her bus fare money on those lemon-blueberry scones they sold.

After she gathered up the money, Sage effectively making sure she didn't hold eye contact long--Fredrick couldn't know... Or maybe he should. it would be better that way. 

  It would be much better that way, Sage. What's the point in making friends if they're going to leave soon after--once they know. It's better now. Better this way.                                                Do it. 

"I didn't squeak, no... Thank God. I would have been so embarrassed." The cello was put away now, the wind had picked up blowing her golden hair in her face. There it was again. Raspberries and lemons. The hunger for those scones. Like clockwork.

"You're not just a barista." The words fell from her tongue earnestly. Her eyes locked with him. Evergreen and whiskey. The tales of a forest and the tales of a bar, mixing together. Nature and manmade things. Clashing. Two people, coming together. "You're more than that--I saw it that night on the pier." You're an artist. 

"My name is Sage," she said again, stuffing the money into her back pocket as she got up from the bench. Confidence was radiating through her because this was a test. This was a test and she didn't even know it. This was a test to see how he would react. Because she needed to know. She needed to know if anything would change. She was Sage Clementine--but what would happen when he knew that she wasn't really Clementine? That she was a mask for who Sage really was? "Sage Lancaster."

There it was. That last name. The last name that haunted her around town, the whispers inside every home. The name that people spoke whenever they wanted to gossip about something and all the current events had been boring them. Sage bent over, grabbing the handle of the cello case and grasping it tightly. She wanted to go get those scones. Sage sucked on her bottom lip, biting it as the nerves exploded in her stomach. Her eyes never left his. Holding. 

             Please, she wanted to implore. Don't let that change anything. 

"I just thought you should know." 

                        Nothing except for her being an idiot. A freak.                                And now this person would think that of her.                                         GREAT.

   ”I’m fine, I’m fine!” she managed to chirp. “If it swells, then—I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

           O w. It was already starting to turn r e d . Sage wanted to hiss.                         That has got to hurt.                                     M A J O R L Y . 

"Kaffeine is right around the corner. We can go an--and get you some. O-or you can go and...get some."

She always admired the power of music, how it could touch the soul, mesmerize you, make you laugh, make you cry, make you miss someone, make you hate someone. Those who possessed the gift of music had a powerful thing at their disposal, a great ability to influence people in different ways with the same song. It was something Dylan always wished she could’ve been born with because she clearly couldn’t learn no matter how many times she belted out her favorite songs in the shower or substituted an air guitar for a real one, so when she stepped out of the store to find a young girl barely out of high school playing the cello with almost heavenly expertise, Dylan couldn’t bring it within herself to walk away. She stood there with a stupid smile on her face, watching the way the girl moved and put her whole soul into what she was playing. It was a struggle to keep herself from blurting out all her praises, but Dylan held herself together, finding that it was more important to not interrupt an artist on the verge of creating a master piece. 

Her finger tips ran along the neck of the instrument, plucking at the strings with as much expertise as she could muster. The music was flowing freely from her--one of the first songs her aunt had introduced her to--and she couldn't stop. Well, she could, the song was coming to an end, but there was something pent up inside her. Something she had been wanting to get out and no matter how many portraits she drew, it just wasn't enough. The dead were beginning to take her art away from her. Maybe she could have her music. The song came to an end, the vibrations still running through her, and she looked up--not having noticed her eyes were closed--and found herself looking at a pretty girl. One who probably had a lot of friends and was popular in high school. Just standing there. Looking at her. "I--I'm not quite finished..." she spluttered out, though she didn't know why. 

(Blame it on fate, Freddie.) - — Unnecessary comment from the peanut gallery. The last notes hung in the air, and she looked right back at him. If he was a betting man, he’d bet that she was - s e e i n g him.      Payback’s a bitch.  "Well, well, Clementine." The nickname spilled from his lips before he could retrain them to her real name. "You seem to be a woman of multiple talents."      With that exaggerated walk, he pushed himself from the pillar and made his way toward her, a couple of paces at a time. "First a fellow starving artist, and now a m u s i c i a n. How long have you been honing this particular craft, hm?” ( It was just part of his nature. )

Sage forced a smile to those who clapped and placed money in her case, but her eyes kept going back to Fredrick. How was it that she had run into him again? After their last encounter... Sage wasn't sure what to think. It was both awkward and humiliating on her front... Who knew what he was currently thinking? 

Clementine. 

He was calling her that again. Was that a good thing? Or a bad thing? The way he sauntered over toward her... It made her stomach flip. Was she...nervous? This wasn't fear. Not, this was definitely nerves. As if something was fluttering within her.

"It's not that much of a talent," she claimed, moving the cello out from between her legs and setting it up against the bench on which she sat. "I've only been playing for four years." She wasn't looking for praise. It was true. Honest to God.

Though... There it was. That ghost of a smile on her lips. Permanent, it seemed, in his presence.

"It helps pay the bills." The admission slipped out--it was so personal, but it had just happened. She had been bent over, gathering the money from the case--twenty seven dollars and fifty-three cents--and it had come out. He didn't need to know that. But she had said it.

Calloused were the hands that plucked on the strings; her eyelashes flushed against the apples of her cheeks, darkness clouding her vision; her ears were alert, listening to the roar of the traffic and the music in the wind; listening to the sounds of the music store behind her; she drew in from her surroundings. Her fear floated into her music. It was easier to hide her pain that way.

The song was coming to an end. How sad. She heard coins clinking into her case.

            Was that a  g h o s t  of a  s m i l e  on her lips?

            Or was it of fabricated mind?

The last note, a low C, reverberated into the air and as her fingers held onto the note, allowing it to fill the street, Sage opened her eyes, letting out the breath that she didn't know she had been holding for so long. Only to see him. 

           Henry. F r e d r i c k . 

Leaning against a pillar, looking right at her. Her fingers flattened against the four strings, the perfect fifths instantly stopping the air. What was she supposed to say? She didn't know. She was paralyzed and she didn't know why. As if he caught her in some scandalous act. So...

She held his gaze.