#rcsechild

erin stands frozen in the doorway, pale blue eyes studying @rcsechild as if he was some kind of a ghost. unsure what to say or do, trying to make sense of the storm that’s brewing deep inside her chest. part of her wants to tell him to get lost and shut the door in his face, but another part, the one that still loves him, can’t quite do it. “umm… hi,” she breathes, smoothing the front of her dress. suddenly, it seems a bit too short and a bit too bold, covered in midnight-blue sequins that catch every flicker of light as she moves. she discreetly kicks her high heels to the side, out of his sight, as if trying to hide the fact that she’s in the middle of getting ready to head out, that her friends will be here to pick her up any minute. although, she’s almost certain the smell of her perfume and hairspray, her glittery eyeshadow, have already given her away. it was taryn’s idea to head down to the sunset strip, party the heartbreak away… but now something about it just feels wrong. 

“i — i… i didn’t think you’d come,” she stutters awkwardly, lingering in the doorway. it’s the truth — she hasn’t expected to see him. not so soon, not after the way things ended between them a few nights ago. they broke up. the fight’s still fresh in her memory, even if certain details are slowly beginning to fade. it all started when steven’s drunk girlfriend, ex-girlfriend? who knows at this point?, made some stupid comments about how great axl was in bed, went on and on about it, which in turn led to erin flirting with a friend of theirs, tommy, the one who works at the viper room, and things escalated quickly from there… the bruises on her arms have turned yellowish, and she has to refrain from reaching out and touching the fading red lines that her nails craved in his cheek. 

❝   axl?   ❞   erin  calls  out  for  what  feels  like  the  hundredth  time  even  as  her  throat  begins  to  close  in  on  her,  dainty  hand  carefully  pushing  the  door  to  the  master  bedroom  ajar.  she  hesitates,  lingers  in  the  threshold  and  struggles  to  calm  down  her  racing  heart.  she’s  beyond  terrified  of  what  might  await  her  inside.  it’s  three  in  the  morning.  the  clock  is  still  ticking  in  the  distance.  tick.  tick.  tick.  and  even  children  know  that  all  horrible  things  always  happen  at  three  in  the  morning.  this  house  smells  like  death  —  the  thought  crosses  her  mind  involuntarily  and  refuses  to  leave.  the  air  is  stale  and  there’s  something  dark,  sinister  lingering  in  it.   ❝   @rcsechild?  i’m  coming  in,  okay?   ❞   maybe  he’s  asleep,  like  most  people  would  be  at  this  ungodly  hour,  and  that’s  why  he’s  not  answering,  and  she’s  just  so  paranoid.  

but  as  she  steps  inside,  she  finds  the  room’s  been  abandoned.  much  like  the  living  room,  the  dining  room,  kitchen,  pantry,  downstairs  bathroom…  pale  moonlight  pouring  in  through  the  tall  windows  being  the  only  source  of  light  because  she  hasn’t  yet  mustered  enough  courage  to  turn  on  the  bedside  lamp.  large  shadows  dancing  between  moonbeams,  pretending  to  be  what  they’re  not  and  sending  chills  down  her  spine.  it’s  like  a  dream,  she  thinks,  a  nightmare.  everything’s  so  vivid  and  real,  and  yet  it  almost  feels  like  she’s  standing  beside  her  own  body,  watching  it  unfold  while  having  absolutely  no  control  over  what  happens  next.  she’s  growing  numb  because  she’s  had  this  feeling  all  night,  keeping  her  wide  awake  —  not  that  she’d  manage  to  sleep  otherwise,  she  doesn’t  remember  the  last  time  she  got  more  than  two  hours  of  undisturbed  rest.  a  voice  in  the  back  of  her  head  telling  her  to  go  check  on  her  husband.  legally,  he’s  still  her  husband.  their  lawyers  have  already  drawn  up  divorce  papers,  but  they  remain  unsigned.  at  least  on  her  end.  why?  she  can’t  explain  it. 

pale  blue  eyes  scan  the  area  reluctantly,  having  already  adjusted  to  the  dark.  what  is  she  looking  for?  a  gun?  a  noose?  traces  of  blood?  his  feet  sticking  from  the  closet?  but  the  room  is  empty.  the  only  thing  that  she  finds  is  an  envelope,  and  for  a  brief  second  it  almost  feels  like  relief.  that  is  until  her  brain  reminds  her  that  most  people  who  commit  suicide  usually  leave  goodbye  notes…  her  hands  begin  to  shake  as  she  picks  up  the  envelope  and  turns  it  over.  she  lifts  the  unsealed  flap  and  pulls  out  a  single  folded  sheet  of  plain  white  paper.  she  doesn’t  really  want  to  read  it.  part  of  her  is  tempted  to  rip  it  apart,  stand  up  and  run  for  the  door,  never  look  back  again.  but  before  she  can  stop  herself,  her  fingers  are  already  unfolding  the  paper,  gaze  landing  on  familiar  handwriting  as  her  body  sinks  into  the  mattress.  she  reads  it,  every  single  word.  once,  twice,  three  times…  over  and  over  and  over  again.  the  tremor  in  her  hands  increases  and  she  has  to  lower  them,  place  them  in  her  lap  to  stop  the  letter  from  flapping  about  in  front  of  her  eyes,  giving  her  an  even  bigger  headache.  she  smooths  it  out,  smearing  droplets  of  water  across  the  paper.  water?  but  —  she  begins  to  hyperventilate,  not  even  realizing  that  there’s  tears  running  down  her  cheeks.  the  ink  spreads  and  words  blur  as  more  teardrops  roll  down  her  face  and  fall  onto  the  letter.

far  below,  there’s  acres  and  acres  of  fields,  lightly  dusted  with  snow,  and  small  dark  dots  and  swirls  that  after  a  moment  reveal  themselves  as  houses  and  roads.  it  looks  so  beautiful,  erin  thinks  to  herself  before  turning  her  head  to  the  side  to  smile  at  the  older  redhead.   ❝   axl?   ❞   she  whispers,  instinctively  reaching  for  one  of  her  husband’s  hands  as  she  wants  to  cling  to  him  in  one  way  or  another  when  they  touch  down.  she’s  never  truly  managed  to  overcome  her  fear  of  flying,  but  now  seated  in  the  middle,  between  her  boys,  with  axl  on  her  right  in  the  aisle  seat  and  sebastian  beside  the  window,  erin  does  feel  somewhat  safe…  or  rather  less  nervous  than  usual.   ❝   you  have  to  put  your  seatbelt  on,  honey,   ❞   she  coos  in  a  sing-song  voice,  unable  to  disguise  her  giddiness  as  her  fingers  squeeze  his  own.  this  is  undoubtedly  the  happiest  she’s  ever  been.  a  warm  smile  tugging  at  her  lips  as  she  glances  at  her  son,  sleeping  soundly  with  his  head  in  her  lap.  her  scarf  turned  into  a  makeshift  pillow.   ❝   gosh,  i  hate  to  be  the  one  to  wake  him  up.  he  looks  like  a  little  angel.  our  baby  boy.   ❞   murmuring  softly  as  she  affectionately  caresses  her  son’s  cheek,  she  knows  how  much  he  dislikes  being  stirred  awake  so  she  makes  sure  to  be  extra  loving  during  the  process.

❝   little  love.  wake  up,  little  love,   ❞   erin  whispers,  dark  curls  tickling  his  face  as  she  leans  in  to  plant  a  soft  kiss  on  his  shoulder.   ❝   wake  up  and  look  where  we  are.   ❞   the  plane  banks  a  little  and  continues  its  descent,  the  silhouettes  of  the  buildings  more  define  now,  fields  replaced  by  urban  architecture,  the  lights  of  I-70  shimmering.  after  a  moment,  the  landing  gear  comes  to  life  with  a  low  hum.   ❝   and  guess  what?  it’s  snowing.   ❞   she  has  a  feeling  today  is  going  to  be  the  best  day  of  her  son’s  life,  with  two  of  his  dreams  coming  true  —  celebrating  thanksgiving  with  mamaw  in  his  favorite  place  and  learning  he’s  to  be  a  big  brother.  she  still  can’t  believe  it’s  happening  to  them,  after  such  a  long  time  of  doubt  and  fear.  sebastian  is  going  to  be  over  the  moon.  after  all,  he’s  been  asking  for  a  baby  sister  for  quite  some  time.   ❝   wake  up,  bubby.  you  have  to  hold  elmo  real  tight  ‘cause  we’re  about  to  land.   ❞ 

@rcsechild ,

this  boy.  gosh,  this  boy  will  never  not  melt  her  heart,  erin  thinks  as  a  hint  of  sheer  wonderment  reaches  her  bright  blue  eyes,  making  them  twinkle  with  joy.  a  smile  as  warm  as  the  sun  outside  tugs  at  the  corners  of  her  lips  and  lights  up  her  entire  face.  motherhood  can  be  overwhelming  and  incredibly  stressful  at  times,  all  the  tantrums  and  sleepless  nights,  the  why’s  and  how’s,  but  it’s  all  worth  it  in  the  end.  after  all,  she  never  thought,  not  even  in  her  wildest  dreams,  that  she’d  receive  such  a  sweet,  heartfelt  birthday  present.  instantly,  she  scoops  her  son  up  into  her  arms,  refusing  to  acknowledge  he’s  already  eight  years  old  and  soon  she  most  likely  won’t  be  able  to  pick  him  up,  and  sits  him  on  her  lap.  arms  curling  around  his  body  as  she  plants  at  least  a  dozen  of  kisses  on  his  cheek,  she  squeezes  him  close  to  her  and  basks  in  the  warmth  of  his  skin.   ❝   did  you  draw  this  all  by  yourself?   ❞   she  asks  with  a  sweet  smile,  gently  moving  the  chocolate  away  as  she  picks  up  the  drawing  to  take  a  closer  look  at  it.