#anna leskowitz

"You're still that same, scared little girl you were--"

Something white hot and angry blooms in his chest, and Paul starts to suspect she may be correct in her comparison.

Before he can even process what his own body is doing, he takes a sudden step forward, straightening out his perpetual slouch and giving him an extra few inches. He doesn't need them, he was taller than her by the time he was nine years old, but it appears the feather puffing is hereditary. The thought alone makes it hard to quell his anger.

Anna quickly lurches back on instinct, back hitting the fridge behind her, sending the pans on top and the jars inside clattering against each other. Paul sees a terror in her eyes that he had only seen when Marvin was still around. A terror he saw on his own face, reflected back warped and bloody in a flower vase.

"Don't." The word falls out of his mouth and clatters onto the kitchen tiles, quiet and as sharp as a knife.

"You're worse than your cousin." She spits through her teeth, and Paul doesn't need to ask which one. It's Daniel. Weeks on the road at a time, ignoring phone calls and begging Belle not to tell anyone where he's going, as if he knows where he's going at any given time. Staying awake for days at a time, only coming out of hiding when something related to that godforsaken game comes up.

His eyes drift away from Anna briefly to the closed bathroom door down the hall. He's so angry that he can't move. He briefly wonders if she's simply trying to hit him where it hurts, or if she truly wishes he ended up the same way Daniel did.

"And just like your father."

The shrike opens its talons.

"Don't you ever fucking say that to me again." He hates how flat he sounds when he's angry, how insincere it comes off. He's never been able to display emotions well. "And don't call him my father."

the shrike folds in its wings, diving, diving, cutting through the air like a blade.

Anna's expression warps as her hands curl into fists at her sides. From anger to disgust, and muddled with confusion. She seems taken aback, likely because Paul hasn't ever really stood up for himself. Everything about him surprised her, she never bothered to pay enough attention anyway.

Talons close down around the bluejay, pinning its wings to its sides.

"He's not, and it's the same reason I'll never call you my mother."

A branch pierces through the bluejay's chest, straight through the heart.

"Get. The fuck. Out of my house." Anna says. she's quiet, almost inaudible, yet the intent behind her words is louder than any sound she could be capable of making.

Paul wants another snarky remark. In his head, he smiles and hurls a gladly! her way, or a wouldn't be the first time you've said that. but he doesn't. Nothing in his life could ever pan out like that, far too awkward for an exit that would really mean anything at all.

His eyes finally snap back to hers for only a moment, and he turns to leave without another word. Anna's fist hits the fridge, sending everything inside rattling again.