chapter 12 — a wound named home
Cws: Emeto/vomit (brief), implied (past + offscreen) tortures, living weapon whumpee, insensitiveness about trauma (?), past animal death, death mention, family breakup, blink-and-you-miss-it homophobia. But ☝ someone gets a treat :>
Masterlist || previous
The bitter stench of vomit was the first thing that met it when it opened the bathroom.
“Sorry,” came a raspy voice from within it. Ah. Of course.
Gisele was collapsed over the toilet, chest heaving. Her brow was soaked in sweat and she was shaking, trying to hold back tears. A valuable effort. But with little success. It didn’t seem like she had just gotten there.
Espa swiftly closed the door behind it.
“I just—I can’t seem to stop the—” a sob rose up. Her words were strangled, and it wasn’t just the nausea. Espa had figured it might be that missing tooth. Her S also sounded different.
But speaking ability aside, that was less than ideal. She might end up dehydrating herself to death. The thought was unwelcome. It didn’t dare ignore it regardless.
“What is it?” They asked. A slightly stupid plan began forming in their mind. It might be risky, but maybe Ciça had other kinds of medicine at her ho—
“I don’t know,” she answered. Her voice was still weak, even after a few days. It had almost forgotten what happened when you screamed your lungs out like she must have. “It-it just keeps coming back t-to me and, and I,” another hiccup. She was starting to cry.
It?
It dawned on her, then.
Espa took out its toothbrush from behind the mirror.
“You’re dwelling on the memories,” she guessed. They knew what it was like. “You’re stressing yourself out for no big reason. Just calm down.” It was genuine advice.
“It’s easy for you to say,” she mumbled, so low it barely heard it. Espa stopped applying toothpaste to glance at her.
“Hm?”
“Nothing. Sorry,” her voice lowered. “That’s not true. I know it isn’t.”
It repressed a sigh.
It was... a bit tough, maybe, but it was just mental. Not a real issue in the slightest. Gisele would have to learn to deal with that. It was not worth it going out to try and sneak her something—there was hardly any medicine for it aside from tougher skin. The weapon cleaned its teeth in front of the sink as Gisele shook in the other half of the bathroom. Her whines were a bit distressing. It couldn’t figure out how to tune them out.
She spat the water down the drain.
“...You need to get yourself together,” it told her. “Get your mind away from it, focus on something else,” Espa bit its lip. They had a hand on the knob. “If you puke out all your food, your body will have nothing to heal itself,” they tried reminding.
A shudder. “I know. I’m trying.”
Try harder, it thought, but it bit it back. Jesus, those kinds of remarks were the reason she had been beaten so much as a fledgling. Going back to old habits would help no one. So she just nodded, closing the door.
Ms. Ann was waiting for her on the other side of the hall. The handler lazily poked a fork in her food by the kitchen, but her eyes snapped at them as soon as they came out.
It didn’t flinch.
“Miss?”
--
Ciça’s mood was bitter. It was her older sister’s birthday.
Always, when it came the time of the year, she was taken by this restless—heavy and suffocating—energy. A pang in her chest. And despite the fact that she didn’t want to admit it, a glimmer of hope.
Useless, painful hope.
It’d been years since she last dared to send her a card. And that was for a reason. It was fruitless trying to call. She knew it. She’d try to text her, before—
And somewhere along the years, they had stopped being marked as “read”.
But there was still that little expectation, deep down, somewhere, that maybe, this time her phone would be the one to ring. It was stupid. She knew it was stupid.
She wasn’t sure if Eva even had her number anymore.
The message, wordlessly said time and time again, was clear:
I don’t care about you.
You are nothing to me.
Stop trying.
She bit her lip.
That had been why she moved, almost, what? Five years ago? God—it’d been so long but so recent. None of Eva’s children, or grandchildren, for that matter, (except for him, of course) were much more eager to get in contact with her. Usually, it didn’t bother Ciça. Usually. At least not anymore. There was... always this little bit of sorrow in there, but one she had long learnt to ignore.
She missed them.
On birthdays—and holidays—though, it always got too much. Too painful. Ciça was taken by memories of when her father, Antônio, was still alive. When Maria Evangelista would still endure her, even if just for his sake. When she was allowed to play with the youngest kids, to help them with homework or to watch movies with them; make them taste the sweet recipe of the man’s cuisine when he had already been too ill to bake for ages.
His chair would rock softly in the living room. The little ones would sit nearby him, watching TV, while she made them a cake. To serve it straight off the oven, like how he used to do. When their parents were out at work, everybody came, and she and Eva would take care of them. Dante was the oldest, so he’d try to help. It was cute. She had never wanted children of her own—not like it ever was a very strong possibility—but she loved these moments. Her family. Telling them bedtime stories to ward off nightmares, make drawings with them to help them learn the colors. Even all the crying and the fighting were worth it in the end.
Now, she had a feeling the youngest ones didn’t even remember her.
It hurt, even after all this time. She missed them.
It was her older sister’s birthday.
And even if they only lived a few hours apart—the distance felt much more insurmountable than that. She knew Eva liked it better that way.
Ciça almost missed it when she could still hide it, too. When Eva didn’t know. When she didn’t look at her with disgust, even if the shame and the anxiety in Ciça’s chest almost made it hurt as much.
When Eva would braid her hair, the older girl’s gentle and steady fingers running through the curls their father had insisted they didn’t straighten—before Ciça had chopped it all.
--
Espa had a bit of blood in its hands.
They were coated in red, prior, but the weapon made sure to wash them by Ferdinand’s house earlier. He was struggling a bit against Ms. Ann’s requests by the phone—and causing scenes in public—so they went out to solve it. Took less time than she expected. The smell wasn’t fully off just yet though, but they weren’t very worried. Nothing noteworthy.
For some reason, his muffled cries were still ringing in his mind.
She must have been stirred by some nightmare earlier. It just didn’t remember it.
It mindlessly wiped away at its longsleeve. No cape. It was early morning, so not too hot for the black color, but soon it’d be. Sebastião da Graça was way too warm for such a tiny place.
They had been here for a while now. She’d figured out most of its layout already. And Ms. Ann wasn’t waiting them that soon, so they allowed themself to take a little detour. This neighbourhood was nice, quiet. Almost no people walking around, except for—
Its heart almost stopped altogether when it saw Ciça turning the street across the road. Near Ferdinand’s house.
Some strange instinct screamed at them to not let her close. Close to the blood. It was nonsensical, really. Ferdinand Garcia Porto was not a hazard in the slightest, and neither was his house. She’d be fine. Though it made it unbearably nervous to watch her walk only a street away.
They couldn’t pinpoint why.
Her clothes were much lighter today. A crop top. Short shorts. It made sense. Unfortunately, summer was drawing closer everyday. There were dainty silver earrings hanging from her earlobes.
That time, it greeted her first.
“Good morning.”
For a second, they remembered greeting Ferdinand, a bit of a while ago. He had ignored her, and then acted in terror as it pressed a blade against him. Ciça put them out of their deja-vu by looking into their direction. She opened up a wide smile at their sight.
“Sweetie!” She put her phone in her purse, seeming to reach out to hug it—it braced—but decided against it. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.” Neither did I. “Are you doing good?”
They nodded. “...You?”
“As good as ever.” It immediately picked up on the bitterness of the lie. It tilted its head.
“Has something happened?”
Ciça halted in surprise. She looked away, scratching her head, then let out a rather unenergetic laugh.
“Oh, Mary. I guess that’s the thing with having observant friends, huh. Can’t conceal much,” she said, sadly. Espa blinked. They weren’t used to Ciça calling them a friend. Even though it hadn’t exactly been the first time. They now decided they didn’t dislike it. “Just feeling a bit down. Came back from the gym a while ago. Didn’t really help.”
The weapon looked at her. It guessed it knew what she was talking about. Sometimes, working out helped clearing the mind.
They told her as much.
A little smile went over her lips. Another chuckle. It didn’t reach her eyes. Now that it noticed, she also looked tired.
“I didn’t know you exercised,” she said, “but I guess it makes sense. What do you do?”
“A thing or another,” it dodged. Fuck, they—they probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. Ms. Ann would kill her if she knew she ran her tongue like that.
She won’t. Calm the fuck down.
“So a little bit of everything,” Ciça guessed. Oh, yes, that. Perfect cover-up. They nodded, and the woman gracefully took it as an answer. They had the distant feeling she had given them that option on purpose.
She still seemed... sad.
“You’re walking home, Ciça?” It spoke up. She remembered the woman lived close to house 129B, and 129B was near Ferdinand’s house—she just hadn’t ever made the association until now.
“Nah,” she answered, half-heartedly. Ciça kicked a rock in the ground. Espada watched the movement with wariness. She’d seen a handler—Mr. Juste—do it a few times in annoyance before. When their friend tried to mimic it, he’d been beaten black and blue. “Just getting some air. I was planning on getting açaí, I guess.”
Açaí. Espa recalled seeing a few stores on its mapping walks. The purple facades one after the other, displaying lively pictures of a darker purple cream, paired with cereals, strawberries and bananas. They weren’t that close to this neighbourhood, it realized, relaxing.
“Can I go with you?” It asked. Ciça was upset, and it knew being nearby upset people was almost never a good call. But a part of the weapon wanted to be—she didn’t know, really. Close? Make sure she’d feel better, maybe. Do something.
They distantly realized they sounded like Gisele.
Ciça, slowly, raised her eyebrows at the offer. It repressed a flinch. If she didn’t want it, it’d just go back home. Ann didn’t know when they’d be back, but coming a bit earlier wouldn’t hurt, either.
“I would like that,” she said, at least. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Espa nodded, holding back a sigh of relief.
They adjusted the neck of their shirt to better cover the thin collar underneath, pushing down the urge to be behind her, and followed Ciça away from Ferdinand’s house.
--
Ciça was feeling down. Apparently, Espa had noticed. Nothing seemed to evade the kid. She wasn’t sure if she appreciated how it didn’t seem like she wanted to pry, or if she internally longed for her to ask a bit more.
No—she shouldn’t dwell on it. She didn’t even have any reason to be upset today. She was supposed to be over it.
Over almost the entirety of your life.
She—biting the inside of her lip—shoved it out of her mind.
They walked side by side—Ciça repressed the curiosity to ask what she had been doing out and about today. Espa always dodged questions of that nature with a vague ‘running affairs’ and an almost imperceptible tensing of muscles, so she’d stopped—enjoying the nice sun outside. Or at least, Ciça did. Espa didn’t seem to particularly care. No, actually, she had a feeling the kid didn’t exactly appreciate the weather. Even if she never used appropriate clothing for it. The memory of the bruises she once displayed on her arms pierced her brain. Ciça looked away.
Espa was watching her from the corner of her eye. Always attentive. Ciça didn’t know how to feel about it. She guessed it was... weird. Espa’s stare could be a bit creepy, sometimes. She smiled with the thought. Creepy. The juxtaposition was almost funny. Espa was probably more akin to a little stray cat.
Eva’s skittish kitten popped up in her mind. Her heart ached. She was so sweet once they got her settled in, but had passed away a few years later. The memory brought another pang in her chest.
Ciça internally berated herself for the comparison. Sometimes it seemed like her brain was bent on making her sad on purpose.
The woman stayed silent for the remnants of the walk. She mindlessly aimed for an açaí parlour, coins jingling in her purse inside the bag. They were likely too few, but it was okay. She had some good dozens in Pix. Espa merely followed, quiet as well. The kid was just wearing a very modest shirt covering everything up to the wrists, none of the usual yellow. Her pants were just as dark. Her neck was covered again. It made her hot just to look at.
Turning the street was like entering a portal to another world. The sound hit her ears as if a curtain had been lifted, the next neighbourhood a sea of people. There were loads of them, even that early—some were getting their breakfast here. Food stores on both sides, people walking in and out of every shop. It bustled with life and noise. She felt like she was in the central district. Someone bumped into her arm.
Espa tensed as she took a step back from her. “Sorry.”
Ciça blinked, processing it. “Ah, no, it’s okay,” she shook her head. Had Espa drawn closer? It occurred to her that maybe she didn’t like crowds. She was a little bit averse to touch, after all. Ciça glanced down at her, but the kid’s face betrayed nothing. She sighed. Yeah, she should’ve guessed.
The açaí parlor was surrounded by about fifty others, but Ciça went straight through them. This one wasn’t exactly the cheapest—but it was definitely the greatest. Precisely what she was needing right now.
“They charge by weight,” she told Espa. “Self-service. We can get ours in that balcony and then add in fruits or chocolate over them. There’s ice cream flavors, too, do you want one?”
Espa stayed still for a moment.
For a split second, Ciça caught nervousism in her face. She’d never seen her look so genuinely lost.
“What’s wrong?” She murmured. Espa backed up an inch closer to the wall. She looked tense all of a sudden.
“Nothing,” came her response. She was a terrible liar.
“You can tell me, you know. You don’t like açaí?”
She saw Espa bite her lip.
“I don’t know.”
Oh. Hadn’t she ever...? That was a shame. Ciça didn’t think that the nervousness was because she was afraid to try it, though. Espa was far from a picky eater, and she loved desserts. It was something else.
The kid seemed to fold under her inquiring look. She averted her eyes and looked around the entryway of the shop, where a few people came in and out. Her voice was clear, but noticeably restrained.
“I don’t want to make you get expenses.”
Oh.
...Oh.
“It’s okay,” Ciça reassured. “This isn’t too heavy on my pocket,” she promised. “If you get around like... three spoons plus additionals, it isn’t much more than ten bucks here. You can get whatever you’d like. I mean, maybe not more than four. Or else, uh, I guess fruits and chocolate might weigh it down too much. But it’s not a huge expense, okay?” She tried to smile.
She didn’t respond for another moment.
“Three spoons,” Espa repeated, at last. “How much of... ‘additionals’ should I get?”
Ciça thought for a minute. “Take your pick,” she conceded. Eh, she could surely bear to spoil Espa a bit. The kid’s company distracted her from the sorrow. “Chocolate, strawberries, banana slices, a handful of ice cream if you want, too. I’ll grab myself a mix,” she said, going over the balcony and grabbing two plastic pots for them to serve themselves. “Espa?” She offered.
“Yes, Ciça.” She still seemed nervous, but didn’t hesitate another second when the woman handed her the small bowl. Ciça poured herself some açaí from the balcony. Blended with bananas, it read. Yeah, she could do with a bit more sweetness today. Espa watched her for a while—she felt her gaze on her neck—before copying her move.
“You can get any flavor, by the way,” she put a plastic spoon in her mouth, serving herself with a load of passion fruit cream. “They weigh all the same.”
Espa didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know which to get,” she mumbled.
It dawned on Ciça that she couldn’t read the captions over the flavors by herself.
“Oh, yeah, shit, I’m sorry,” she bumped her forehead. “Sorry. ‘Kay, um—this one is tangerine,” she informed, “and that one is umbu, they look about the same but that one’s sweeter.” Ciça pointed her to each flavor, and Espa seemed to pick a little bit of some at random. Her bowl had considerably less than Ciça’s. But by the section they could pour chips and fruit slices over the ice cream, her eyes had subtly gone shining.
The kid looked inquisitively up at her before reaching out a hand to any additionals. Ciça smiled as she got a little portion of—uh, everything, apparently. Chocolate drops, black and white. Every fruit they had to offer, plus nuts, plus milk powder when she saw Ciça do the same, sparing only the jelly gum worms with nothing but a suspicious stare. The look of awe on Espa’s face was a bit heartwarming. She held her pot like it was a little bird that’d flee from her hands at any moment, and stared like she could taste it from the very look. It made her a little happy. Espa deserved something nice.
The scale told them Ciça’s açaí would be R$ 11,13. Espa’s was R$ 06,87.
They got a seat by the most far away corner of the place. Ciça usually got the seats by the front, to watch the street. She ended up deciding against it. It was busy today. Espa would probably get uncomfortable.
She barely noticed how the kid didn’t touch her ice cream until Ciça started nibbing at hers. Sour creams and colorful slices of fruit shared space with nut mixes and chocolate drops in her pot. The deep burgundy of the açaí stood out lazy under everything, powder milk generously coating it. It mixed in with the dye of gummy bears. The scent promised everything she wanted right now.
It looked tasty.
Or that was what she was trying to tell herself.
She took into the smell, trying to invocate her appetite. Ciça hated it when it did that.
“You should eat yours before it melts, Espa,” she mumbled, trying a little bite of the grapes. The kid looked away. “It’s hot today.”
“Yes, Ciça.”
She frowned. It was a bit weird how she sometimes answered like that. She didn’t comment on it.
Ciça ended up having hers half melted before she sighed and gave in to the treat. Espa was carefully moving her spoon up to her mouth in a gesture she could only describe as adoring. She covered her mouth, eyes closed.
It made her smile, despite everything. Espa seemed really happy.
“Thank you,” she spoke up. Ciça looked up at her, a bit surprised. She was staring at her dessert, lips bitten. “I’m sorry for making you waste your money. I—thank you.”
It made her actually stop.
“It’s okay. You’re welcome,” she said, giving her a smile. “I’m glad you like it.” She went back to staring at the table, idly moving her utensil inside the bowl. “I like it when you get things you enjoy.”
They shot their eyes up at her. It lasted half a second.
“...Are you okay, Ciça?” The kid, suddenly, asked. Uh? “Sorry.” She didn’t know what she was apologizing for. “Would you like me to do anything?”
The surprise almost made her laugh.
“Nah. I’m good,” she took another bite, without much enthusiasm. Espa didn’t look convinced. She bit her lip again. But didn’t pry.
Glances in her direction when she sat back down—after having served herself of another portion—made her cave in.
Ciça sighed. “...Okay. It’s my sister’s birthday,” she admitted. It sounded even sillier, when she said it out loud. “I haven’t seen her in a while. She... actually doesn’t want to see me. She hates me. But I miss her,” she allowed her smile to fall, tight. God, admitting it made her eyes burn. She tried holding the tears in. “It’s been years, but—but I miss her. She hates my guts and is glad that I’m gone. I miss it when she didn’t,” her voice strangled, against herself. She ate another bite of the almost liquid açaí to conceal it. “I can’t help being reminded of her when it’s this time of the year. It’s a bit stupid.”
Espa didn’t deny it, nor did she confirm it. Ciça didn’t look at her face. It was almost stupid, mourning this so badly. She shouldn’t have started talking. She gripped harder on her spoon, then let it go with a sigh. The kid had bigger problems at home than Ciça would ever have. She didn’t even know why she’d shared it.
Espa stayed quiet for a minute. She tried to forget it.
“Why?” She asked. It seemed so genuine it took her off guard. She looked up, and Espa, actually, flinched. “Sorry,” she backpedaled.
Ciça looked back down, nibbing on her ice cream.
“I’m wrong to her,” was all she said. She didn’t elaborate.
Espa chewed on her spoon, looking tense.
Ciça let out a chuckle. It was bitter.
“She has kids. They’re all grown up now,” she told. “Sueny, Wilson and Teresa. Maria Teresa, but she doesn’t like her first name. They’ve given her grandchildren by now,” her mind wandered. “I used to take care of them. They were so little. Some of them must be close to your age now,” she pondered.
“Your family,” Espa said. There was... almost awe in her voice. IIt was hard to tell. Ciça looked away. She didn’t want her to see her cry.
“I doubt they’d call me that, though.”
“They all hate you?” It was a bit harsh of a question, making her recoil, before she realized the utter disbelief in which Espa said it.
“Ah...it’s—” she bit on her lip. It was icy and tasted of chocolate. “Probably not. Eva just doesn’t let me see them. I doubt the little ones even remember me,” she mumbled. “But they don’t see me as family. I’m a stranger at best.”
Saying it out loud hurt.
Espa stayed silent. She looked at her own empty bowl of ice cream, brow furrowed. She noticed she had never asked for a second one.
“Why miss them?” She asked. Whatever emotions she had, they were firmly secured behind her voice. Sometimes Ciça just couldn’t figure them out. “If they betrayed you.”
It was her turn to look away.
“Betrayal, huh.”
She took another bite, allowing herself to enjoy the taste. The umbu cream was sour, softly complementing the sweetness.
“...Guess you could call it that.”
--
Espa looked up at her. Ciça’s shoulders were sunk.
“But it’s not like, all of them,” she continued. “One of the girls called me, a couple weeks ago. They usually don’t.” Ciça was trying to hide it, but her eyes were wet. “But the adults have my number. I doubt anyone is sharing it with the children, though,” she told. It struggled to imagine it. It hadn’t thought Ciça was this rejected.
What could someone so kind and—and gentle as her have done? It must be her family who wronged her. Espa couldn’t understand.
Family. Her family would never do that. The Dove always fended for their own. Traitors were dealt with. Everybody had a place, as long as they did their job. The thought of Ciça’s going against that... it stirred them.
“There’s one of them who likes me,” she confessed, sounding defensive. Espada blinked. “Guy, his name. He’s the youngest’s son. He’s a sweet,” her face opened up in a small smile. “Though they don’t like him much either. But I—nobody is kicking him out yet, though, so...”
She sounded worried.
Espa decided it didn’t like Ciça’s family. They wondered who they were.
“Sorry,” the woman resumed, at last. Her tone still had an edge of melancholy. “I didn’t have to throw that at you.” She looked down. “I’m fine, these days. I guess I—it’s a bit stupid,” she mumbled, eyes tight. “I guess sometimes I just feel a little...alone.”
Fine, she’d said. It didn’t sound very true.
Espa was good at reading people. It came with the role, really, but they were better at it than some of their fellow weapons, their friends. Their siblings. A certain someone always got himself in trouble because he couldn’t gauge when a handler was at their limit and he needed to back down. It was good at it, though. Reading Ms. Ann’s moods, for example, was not difficult. Gisele was also an open book. The current target—he might actually have been easier than her. People were always easier to read during torture. There was not much going on in their heads aside from despair. When they weren’t trained, at least.
It kept chewing on the little plastic spoon. They found it comforting, somehow.
Ciça, too. She was easy to read.
She was sad. She was upset.
Espa always found itself tensing up in the presence of upset people. They never knew what to do.
So they just stayed in silence.
Eventually, she noticed, the slight welling up in Ciça’s eyes began to dry. She sniffed, after having finished her second bowl of açaí, the store filling up as morning went by and they approached noon. Now the weather was definitely hot.
It didn’t say anything for another while.
“Do you want to get another, Ciça?” It asked. Maybe those would make her feel better. They tasted good.
The woman—she had been avoiding its eyes—looked at it.
“...Yeah,” she mused. “Do you?”
She blinked.
I like it when you get things that you enjoy.
Alone.
Family.
It held her gaze.
“I do.”
--
Eva rocked in her chair.
It was deep at night already. Her grandchildren were way too energetic for such an hour, but today, she could concede them it. They were all helping to clean the house after an impromptu birthday party she had not asked for. Her joints were grateful.
“Granny!” It was Radaça. She didn’t open her eyes, but the girl knew she wasn’t asleep. “Cosme is gone. I think he went out. Where’s the key?”
“Ask Dante,” was all she answered. The oldest cousin was the last one to aid the final guests out the gate earlier. She heard his voice giving a low sigh on another corner of the spacious living room, and then the creak of the door opening.
The world faded to nothing. Eva must’ve dozed off for a minute.
There was a discussion in the kitchen when she came back. The subject evaded her interest.
“Fu—I mean, heck, Dan, you gotta be kidding me—” She heard from the room. Sara was still fighting with her brother this late. His chuckle was the next sound that came from it.
A kitten, lazy, brushed against her leg. She opened her lids, looking down at it.
Cosme’s black fur appeared in her vision. The light in the garage had been long turned off, but inside was still too bright. She bent down slightly, allowing the cat to climb on her lap. It yawned, her hand resting against its head. Radaça was the one supposed to give it its baths, but its fur was tangled with dirt and grass. So it had sneaked out earlier.
“Mom,” it was Sueny now. Her oldest daughter looked nervous when Eva turned her head at her. “Have you gotten a call from...?”
She scowled.
“Where’s Maria?” She cut, before the girl could gather it up to say her name. They were not going to mention her under this roof. “Her children are biting each other’s noses off in the kitchen.”
Sueny looked away, sighing. No response. She didn’t insist on it.
Eva looked back down at Cosme in her lap as she left. A distant meowling caught its attention, and the black cat jumped down to meet its brother. She allowed it.
When she woke up again, silence had fallen over the house like a veil. The lights in the living room had been dimmed, all illumination coming from the kitchen behind her, now. Eva brushed her eyes, getting up. Her feet almost caught on two balls of fur by the floor.
“Gran!” Sara, as soon as she passed by the kitchen. Eva didn’t spare her a glance. She sounded surprised. “Where are you goin—”
“Sleep,” she answered. The kid shut up. Eva sent a look to them in the kitchen. Dante was still by the room, now storing back dishes in the tallest drawers. The sink was clean. Sara had been cleaning the table. None of the smallest ones were to be seen.
...Except for Ana Emily who was sitting by the floor, her small figure clearly dozing off as she held a broom. It was way past her bedtime.
“Good night, Granny,” said Dante. He didn’t look at her. She didn’t acknowledge it besides a nod, passing by the square of light into her room.
There were gift packages shoved above the sheets, and she didn’t have the energy to deal with them right now. Damn Sueny. She should’ve put them somewhere else.
It was too dark, so Eva just pushed them to the edge of the bed. Or at least she had meant to. The noise of paraphernalia falling on the floor alerted her of another possibility. She brushed her teeth, tucking her short hair under the light satin cap next.
The bathroom’s light lit up her bedside table. Something new was on top of it. She frowned.
A picture.
Eva’s good vision was a distant memory by now. She took it, holding it up inside the restroom.
When she saw it, the woman roughly threw it back on the table.
She tsked. Another stupid present, no doubt.
She didn’t bother turning off the lights. Her children would have at least the decency of doing it for her. She laid herself under the blankets, pushing away the bitter anger rising to her brain. God-only would know how anybody had even dug that up.
The old, worn-down black and white picture of two young girls smiling as their hair was scruffed by a gentle man under the sun was hidden under the framing now, forced to face the wood of the desk instead of the wide bedroom. On the left, the tallest one was already a lady. Her smile was serene, and her hair, longer. The girl on the right was about the same age, if only a couple years younger. Her hair was already short then; inappropriate for anyone but the likes of her, fruit of some untimely trend. She didn’t seem to care, grinning as her dad petted her poor excuse of a haircut. Not even her clothes were proper. The man was gentle, though. He smiled down fondly at both of them. He’d always been much taller than his daughters, at least as they were still teens. There was no older woman in the photo.
The left girl’s dress was chaste, elegant. Not luxurious; her only ambitions were to Christ, and she had no one to impress. The other one had bell pants, loose, a promiscuous shirt. Her cross necklace hung glimmering over her shirt, almost in heresy.
Even then, Francisca had always been more indecent than her older sister.
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Taglist: @otter-chaos-violence @oros-ash3s @inhurtandincomfort @swisscheesethethird @vintagewren @whumpawaydarling @catnykit
here is a picture of an açaí btw
