#museanthology

and things have even shifted in school. no longer does she sit at the table full of cheerleaders, or hang out with the jocks. her cheer outfit has temporarily been replace – but she rather likes the hellfire club t-shirt she now rocks. (she thinks she might wear this even when she can return to cheer.) for now, chrissy sits at a table of nerds, choosing the seat adjacent to eddie after setting her tray down one-handed. ❝ good news, ❞ she greets with a grin, carefully sitting at the bench to avoid banging her now cast-ridden arm. (a product of being under vecna's spell and having a single arm broken before ultimately being saved by the hero she sits beside.) ❝ the doctor says i'm on the mend. the bad news – i'm stuck wearing this cast for a few weeks. do you … erm, maybe wanna sign it? you'd be the first. ❞ she'd even rejected the cheer squad taking that honor. she wanted to offer this to the one who kept her alive during those hellish days. 

things escalated from zero to one hundred so quickly, it's a wonder they've managed to ever break out of malone's and find a moment to breathe. she's probably the last person he'd want around at the moment, but she's never been one to shy away too far. in fact, because she feels like she's the cause of tonight's mess is exactly why she lingers. this is on her, she might as well take accountability – and make sure he doesn't go off and do something stupid, like start a round two.

she sits at the end of the coffee table before him, ice wrapped in a towel pressed to his brow. (perhaps a bit too forcefully – actually, it was intentional.) for a moment, she holds onto the silence held between them. allie's eyes remained glued to the parts of him bruised and injured, concern etched in her features. but she does no more than hold the pack to his face, her brows furrowed so deeply that one would have to study her carefully to decipher where one ends and the other begins.

❝ i thought … we had an understanding, ❞ she starts off just above a whisper, but with them being the only two around the guy's living area, she sounds louder than intended. ❝ if i'd just known before everything … ❞ at last, she allows her gaze to find his. sincerity written within hers. ❝ it wouldn't have happened. it really was meaningless. ❞

“ Okay, humor me for a sec ──── if I'm gonna be the mom, and you're already claiming the role of dad . . . the hell does that make Jesse? ”

@museanthology : BEETLEJUICE (1988)

he says those words as though he means them. what follows is a grin and laughter, as though she's shrugging it off in disbelief he'd say or believe something like that. chrissy isn't aloof over what goes on in school – kids are mean. they pick on each other, ostracize others. but she's always been the type to greet each person she makes eye contact with, with a welcoming grin. 

she sits upon the wooden table, legs crossed and feet just resting against the bench. moments before his admission of being strange and unusual, she'd witnessed him in such an animated mode, sharing his interests as they caught up on life. this was nice. a breath of fresh air.

they're quite the sight when around one another. eddie looks straight out of an eighties movie and chrissy is the vision of cheer and pep. if he'd been alive during her time, or even the other way around, she has to wonder if they'd have crossed paths. he's the kind of guy her mother would have warned her to stay away from. the kind of guy she would stick around either way. even if their worlds didn't quite collide or make sense.

❝ today marks my one year… 'deathaversary'. ❞ sheknows she's not really dead. she'd seen her body throughout the halls this year, watched as another pretended to be her and live out the life they'd lost out on prematurely. the resentment has long since left her.  – in fact, she wonders if she should thank this person if they ever can communicate. she's no longer in a miserable household, quietly suffering and never feeling like she's enough. (and … she wouldn't have met eddie, had it not been for what happened to her.) ❝ so … how do you guys usually celebrate these dates? or is it insensitive to celebrate at all? ❞ brows furrow as she considers that last question. ❝ we don't have to celebrate – i'd just like to spend my day with you. ❞

THERE IS AN UNDENIABLE ACHE within her bones. Muscles flex and contract, pupils dilate, heart begins to race; every fiber of her being screams at her to run, to leave this place. Dina's doorstep is much more terrifying than everything she has faced ──── wolves, scars, infected, rattlers . . . She shouldn't be here, shouldn't re-open old wounds, shouldn't dig the knife deeper into those she'd allowed to fester. But she can't help herself, having left her family ──── the love of her fucking life and their son ──── in the middle of the night, the guilt of her failure in Seattle tied to her ankle like a cement brick and pulling her into murky depths, the sleepless nights and unbearable anxiety too much to bear. She'd intended to finish what she'd started, falsely believing that revenge would cure her, would set her life back on the path of normalcy. ( Whatever that was. )

The turning of the doorknob and the creaking of hinges manage to dry out Ellie's mouth. Her breath catches, lungs paralyzed and chest constricting as the door opens, the warm light of the setting sun flooding the home's entryway.

Dina is every bit as beautiful as the night she'd left her.

Ellie stands on the porch, knees threatening to buckle. Her tongue peeks out between chapped, sunburnt lips, a nervous habit, while hands flex at her sides, desperate to reach out to brush the hair from Dina's face. ( To feel her warmth and ensure that this was real. ) She stands there, silent and pathetic, nothing more than a dog with its tail between its legs. She has no right to be here, no right to see the woman that occupied every inch of her mind, of her heart. But here she is, a complete and utter mess, a bundle of nerves and a tangle of regret.

Dina's words are quiet, yet no less sharp. Ellie worries at the inside of her cheek as she stumbles through the speech she'd rehearsed over and over and over again during her travels. The apology is bitter upon her tongue, the confession of love burning in the back of her throat. Words wouldn't fix this. Her presence wouldn't fix this. She'd taken a sledgehammer to the life they'd built together and destroyed it, leaving Dina behind amidst the ruins, forced to pick up the pieces alone. “ I'd said I didn't plan on dying. ” An echo of words past, a promise that she would return, if only Dina had chosen to wait for her.

Green eyes fall to her feet, finding it impossible to hold the gaze of those she'd lost herself in countless times before. Unthinking, she lifts her mutilated hand to rub at her jaw ──── another tell of hers, another window into her soul. The three fingers left in tact curl easily enough around the sharpness of her jaw, the red, swollen stumps of the two taken from her moving alongside them, as though they might still do the same. “ . . . thought you should know. ”

perhaps their earlier spat had been unfair. he knows the position she's in; the position he's placed her in. (he's at fault for falling in love with a queen – out of reach and yet his hand remains extended.) an admission she could never give him more than what they are now, that only her heart is hers to give, had left him out of sorts. he was upset then, but has since simmered down and more receiving of what was said. he has to accept they may never wed, could never really be seen by the public eye. and perhaps that's what aches within the most.

he is simply her lover. never her husband, never more.

the silence between them has weighed down for too long. his eyes cast upon the sky above, admiring the stars as he stands beside her on the balcony. eventually his hand moves to rest over hers – careful as to not startle, warm and gentle in touch. ❝ i'm ashamed of earlier. my heart feels so heavy to know i've hurt you or made you feel anything less than wholly loved by me. ❞ his voice is low, gaze tearing from the sky as he turns his head just enough to peer down at her. ❝ the heart is the most precious gift one could give to another. and if you're still willing, if i've not lost you –  ❞ his body turns fully to her now – free hand clasping the side of her face in a way her cheek is encompassed within his palm and fingertips just barely lose themselves within the waves of her hair. ❝ i love you, mary. your heart is more than enough. your love is all i need. ❞

… but life never quite worked like that. Things didn’t simply fall into place that easily; at least, not for Vi, and definitely not for Jinx. The love they have for one another — an unbreakable bond, blood bounding them together for an eternity — hadn’t been enough to urge Jinx to break into Vi’s shitty apartment. ( It hadn’t been enough to stop Vi from grabbing her by the throat, arm wound back in preparation to beat that fucking smirk from her face. )

The utterance of their father’s name had been the key. Vander, a man long thought dead, now running around with a coat of fur and sharp teeth, dagger-like claws and animalistic instinct.

As strange as it is, what remains of their family had found one another again, with the addition of the kid glued to Jinx’s side. Vi runs her fingers through a tuft of gray fur on Vander’s arm, noting the sigh he breathes out and the way his ears pull back. ( Would it be in poor taste for her to tell him she’d always wanted a dog, but this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind? )

“ How’d you find him? ” Stormy blue eyes find the shimmer pink of her sister’s, a scarred brow cocked. “ How’d you even know it was him? ”