the showcase had begun with a decade-long lie.
SALLY: i’ll call you a fucking idiot! yeah, and you know what else? i’ll talk to who i please, when i please. you don’t own me, you fucking prick! and from now on, i’m going to speak my mind. i’ll say what i want to say, starting with this: my name is SALLY JANE REED, and as of today we are fucking done, you son of a bitch!
the audience had barely started clapping when sally'd ducked offstage, wading through her classmates who either called after her, or knew her attitude well enough not to. after that, it felt like there was no going back; not on the truth, not with barry— barry, who she thinks on with guilt as she clamors out of the dressing room; barry, who looked at her with such hate in his eyes she had no choice but to fold into herself again. and here she is, running like she did so long ago— though whether it was away or after from something she didn’t know.
but imagine her surprise when she finds her reflection around the corner.
❝ ... delia? ❞
PAN RIGHT ACROSS THE LOBBY. SALLY doesn’t know what to think when she sees her. that near-mirror, that ghost with the same hands, same face, different disposition. her uneasiness shifts into anger, which she’s sure isn’t right but fits on her all the same, her steps quick as they echo against the tile. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. with a fell swoop she swings DELIA’S shoulder alongside hers so they’re parted from sight; her glassy eyes are recognizable now more than ever.
( it’s a grief only a sister would know. )
❝ what the fuck are you doing here? ❞
@loverlept liked.
