a hand squeezes. gently. alana is tender as the dawn is light outside her front door in not but a few hours. when she smiles sheβs unhaunted. when she smiles sheβs alive.
β i could definitely make worse decisions. β
she doesnβt know the line sheβs toeing when she speaks. she doesnβt know that sheβs swaying from side to side and she could drop at any moment. madness is an overtaking thing, consuming, and the familiar touch of allysonβs hand is long-fingered, another familiar comfort she struggles to forget. so instead she keeps moving and steps down into the living room, the tremendous tv hung high above her fireplace. the dogs click click in the dark away from them. going to settle, seeking silence.
β youβre welcome to laugh at me. i know i was wearing about thirty tons of black eyeliner. it was a thing. β
sheβs cycling through her television memory, seeking a file drive somewhere in there. when she clicks it, the screen is a blown-up series of glitchy pixels. they settle when her own voice cuts in, high-low, soft and hard at once, β ed, put the fuckinβ camera down! β
itβs a sight to behold. winter blue eyes, vibrant beyond measure, arresting on such a young face. a hoop encircles her lower lip, a shiny silver thing with a tiny black ball through it. her hair is long and messily thick, streaked bubblegum pink and swept over one bare shoulder. sheβs wearing a dead kennedys crop-top, legitimately tearing back to kick the camera lens so hard it grinds to static right before eddie yells YβBROKE IT! and right behind follows alanaβs voice through the static, GOOD, FUCKO.
in her eyes is nothing but the sight of how much she wishes she could tell that person what it would be like, life, beyond that camera lens. how she wishes she could dissuade herself to be anyone else. to avoid so many things.
β told you it was bad. β
Β Β i could definitely make worse decisions.Β does alana know at all what sheβs doing to her ?Β Β she must not.Β allyson hopes she doesnβt, anyway.Β she allows alana to lead her further into the house.Β alana bloomβs home seems sleek,Β but not in the sterile doctorβs office sort of way.Β itβs still warm,Β from the dogs at their feet to the comfortable furniture to the fireplace.Β allyson sits alongside alana,Β long legs instinctively finding their way beneath the coffee table,Β with her hand still in alanaβs,Β as she watches.Β now that sheβs been granted the opportunity to touch,Β she thinks,Β she wonβt let go.Β once sheβs invited sheβll stay,Β like some sort of vampire.Β instead of blood,Β itβs human contact,Β something sheβs unsurprised to find sheβs needy for now that sheβs granted the opportunity.Β (Β she hasnβt touched anyone like this,Β hasnβt let anyone touch her like this,Β since corey --Β Β )Β Β
her other hand,Β laid at her side,Β finds its way to alanaβs arm,Β rubbing up and down absently,Β as she does laugh.Β not at the young,Β grungy alana,Β but with her.Β her mother had kept similar tapes of allyson,Β herself,Β and her father,Β from all of the years leading up to her death.Β somewhere on her old destroyed cell phone in haddonfield,Β thereβs a video of her national honors society induction,Β taken the night before her mother and father had been murdered.Β she hasnβt tried to watch it yet.Β Β
after a moment,Β she glances at alana.Β Β then,Β she lies her head against her shoulder,Β mindful of the possibility of her own hair finding its way to alanaβs mouth.Β Β
βΒ no. you were cute.Β β