} to break the tension
Feb 1, 2013 20:55:28 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 1, 2013 20:55:28 GMT -5
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The sight of Hayden ignited a flame that quickly diminished. Her recently cracked open anger was sending torrents through her bloodstream, but her mind and body lacked the strength needed to execute a proper punishment. Hayden was pardoned from her fury for now. All that mattered were the scrapbooks. Tiffany had to see the scrapbooks. Pushing past Hayden and opening the door, Tiffany's eyes wandered to the closet doors. Mrs. Prescott kept them on the top shelf. There were more than twenty meticulously put-together books waiting for her audience. Several of which were purely of her childhood, Neal included. Tiffany's last walk along memory lane had been short and to the point. Mrs. Prescott returned from shopping earlier than either of them had anticipated, so Tiffany was forced to hastily shove the books back into their respective places. Delving into her secretive ritual was risky with a house full of people, but now was Tiffany's only hope to go through them one final time if she proved to follow through with tomorrow's escape.
Unfortunately, Hayden's company prevented her from diving in. She almost forgot him if she was truly honest. Zoning out happened more than she was comfortable admitting. Neal's life was constantly featured in her mind from dawn until dusk, and she was strapped in for the entire ride. Only Hayden's gentle breathing told Tiffany he remained in the room beside her. His face looked blank and paler than she had seen it in years. Revisiting Neal's room had that affect on people, though the previous ownership of the room hadn't seemed to disturb her cousin's family. They hadn't known Neal like most of Chantilly had. They hadn't been deeply affected by his loss. In fact, her uncle had neglected to show up at the funeral. For others, for the people who cared for Neal, seeing his renovated room left tear tracks in their wake. Gloss seemed to be accumulating on Hayden's eyes from what she could tell. "Please don't cry," she wanted to say. One meltdown was enough on the eve of a new year. Behind the clouds, Tiffany could detect another storm raging in his features. His distorted face almost made it seem like he had something to say, and as if on cue, he began to apologize. "Tiffany, I'm sorry for leaving you to fight this on your own. We both know I was an ass to do that." His sentiment would be honorable had he said those words a decade sooner.
"Don't apologize," she snapped, shaking her head. Tiff looked straight ahead once again. The white closet doors were shut on each end. "It happened ten years ago. It doesn't matter." The second piece to her demand served to convince him but also her. Tiffany laid awake at night wondering about the multitude of "what ifs" out in the world. An explanation and an apology from Hayden were a pick from the bunch. What if Hayden had apologized in a more timely manner? What if he had explained his reasoning for skipping out on the burial of her brother? What if, what if, what if? None of that mattered, and none of that could be revised. Why, then, did Tiffany obsess over the past? Why was she pulled in Neal's bedroom with every visit to flip through those damn books? Again, she didn't have the answer. When her nightmares of Neal began, Tiffany pulled from popular Hollywood methods to find an answer. Dreams often contained conversations of the deceased saying exactly what a mourning victim needs to hear. That wasn't the case in Tiffany's dreams. Neal was always a mute, eventually losing his balance and tumbling off that roof unless Tiffany stirred herself awake in time to avoid reliving it. More often than not, she was moments too slow at which point she woke up with cold sweat smeared across her forehead.
Reality slowed blurred together as the silence between she and Hayden broadened. Mrs. Scott's shrill call frightened Tiffany, and she flinched once Hayden's cold fingers brushed her cheek. Oxygen refused to pass through her throat during such contact. Hayden's age-old magic proved to be somewhat effective after all those years. Weird, Tiffany mused, how Hayden could send a chill throughout her body when the desire to strangle him was equally rich. He seemed to pick up on how uncomfortable she was and backed away. That's how their relationship has always been. While one was interested in becoming close, the other repulsed at the very idea of standing in the same room. Obviously Tiffany held that position now. And Hayden left without another word. There was a lingering princess deep down inside that wished he hadn't. Beneath a thousand tons of brick, the young, love-struck puppy within hoped the flame might flicker into an inferno. It didn't. It never would. It never could. Downstairs, Tiffany's father recounted the minutes left until twelve. One hour, thirty minutes. Her previous minutes were flying by.
The closet doors glided to the side with a gentle push. She had to stand upon her tip-toes in order to reach the book she yearned for the most. Typically she had enough time during her vacations to go through all of them chronologically. Mrs. Prescott usually paraded off to a Tupperware party or the Scott residence to visit with the woman of the household. Mr. Prescott worked during the week, so he was never really a factor. Her last attempted ended before Tiffany reached thirteen, so she reached for the last book Mrs. Prescott finished. An hour and a half was plenty of time to scrutinize every page until her heart burst. Memorizing her brother's smile was exactly what she wanted to be doing when the clock struck twelve. As a precautionary measure, Tiff closed the door before settling criss-cross on the floor. The first page held a family photograph like the others, neon orange print labeling the date: April 2002. Neal died less than three months after the photo was taken. The unknowing, blissful smiles inside the photograph were enough to kickstart her sorrow. Tears gradually welled up in her eyes before sliding soundlessly down her cheeks. The next page wasn't much better. The theme was Easter and Neal was dressed up as the Easter Bunny, another dare rightfully fulfilled by the ultimate prankster he was. From that page on, the pictures continued by the progression of the months before Neal's death. June's photographs were the most difficult to bear. One picture in particular stood out above the rest. Tiffany scrutinized it for a long moment, unaware of the door reopening. In the photograph, she, Neal, and Hayden were in someone's backyard. Peyton was supposed to be in the picture, she remembered. Camera shy, Peyton begged Neal to put her down before the camera flashed. That left Tiffany on Hayden's back and Neal posing heroically beside them. Tiffany chuckled despite her tears, briefly smiling in such a way that she hadn't in a long time.
Unfortunately, Hayden's company prevented her from diving in. She almost forgot him if she was truly honest. Zoning out happened more than she was comfortable admitting. Neal's life was constantly featured in her mind from dawn until dusk, and she was strapped in for the entire ride. Only Hayden's gentle breathing told Tiffany he remained in the room beside her. His face looked blank and paler than she had seen it in years. Revisiting Neal's room had that affect on people, though the previous ownership of the room hadn't seemed to disturb her cousin's family. They hadn't known Neal like most of Chantilly had. They hadn't been deeply affected by his loss. In fact, her uncle had neglected to show up at the funeral. For others, for the people who cared for Neal, seeing his renovated room left tear tracks in their wake. Gloss seemed to be accumulating on Hayden's eyes from what she could tell. "Please don't cry," she wanted to say. One meltdown was enough on the eve of a new year. Behind the clouds, Tiffany could detect another storm raging in his features. His distorted face almost made it seem like he had something to say, and as if on cue, he began to apologize. "Tiffany, I'm sorry for leaving you to fight this on your own. We both know I was an ass to do that." His sentiment would be honorable had he said those words a decade sooner.
"Don't apologize," she snapped, shaking her head. Tiff looked straight ahead once again. The white closet doors were shut on each end. "It happened ten years ago. It doesn't matter." The second piece to her demand served to convince him but also her. Tiffany laid awake at night wondering about the multitude of "what ifs" out in the world. An explanation and an apology from Hayden were a pick from the bunch. What if Hayden had apologized in a more timely manner? What if he had explained his reasoning for skipping out on the burial of her brother? What if, what if, what if? None of that mattered, and none of that could be revised. Why, then, did Tiffany obsess over the past? Why was she pulled in Neal's bedroom with every visit to flip through those damn books? Again, she didn't have the answer. When her nightmares of Neal began, Tiffany pulled from popular Hollywood methods to find an answer. Dreams often contained conversations of the deceased saying exactly what a mourning victim needs to hear. That wasn't the case in Tiffany's dreams. Neal was always a mute, eventually losing his balance and tumbling off that roof unless Tiffany stirred herself awake in time to avoid reliving it. More often than not, she was moments too slow at which point she woke up with cold sweat smeared across her forehead.
Reality slowed blurred together as the silence between she and Hayden broadened. Mrs. Scott's shrill call frightened Tiffany, and she flinched once Hayden's cold fingers brushed her cheek. Oxygen refused to pass through her throat during such contact. Hayden's age-old magic proved to be somewhat effective after all those years. Weird, Tiffany mused, how Hayden could send a chill throughout her body when the desire to strangle him was equally rich. He seemed to pick up on how uncomfortable she was and backed away. That's how their relationship has always been. While one was interested in becoming close, the other repulsed at the very idea of standing in the same room. Obviously Tiffany held that position now. And Hayden left without another word. There was a lingering princess deep down inside that wished he hadn't. Beneath a thousand tons of brick, the young, love-struck puppy within hoped the flame might flicker into an inferno. It didn't. It never would. It never could. Downstairs, Tiffany's father recounted the minutes left until twelve. One hour, thirty minutes. Her previous minutes were flying by.
The closet doors glided to the side with a gentle push. She had to stand upon her tip-toes in order to reach the book she yearned for the most. Typically she had enough time during her vacations to go through all of them chronologically. Mrs. Prescott usually paraded off to a Tupperware party or the Scott residence to visit with the woman of the household. Mr. Prescott worked during the week, so he was never really a factor. Her last attempted ended before Tiffany reached thirteen, so she reached for the last book Mrs. Prescott finished. An hour and a half was plenty of time to scrutinize every page until her heart burst. Memorizing her brother's smile was exactly what she wanted to be doing when the clock struck twelve. As a precautionary measure, Tiff closed the door before settling criss-cross on the floor. The first page held a family photograph like the others, neon orange print labeling the date: April 2002. Neal died less than three months after the photo was taken. The unknowing, blissful smiles inside the photograph were enough to kickstart her sorrow. Tears gradually welled up in her eyes before sliding soundlessly down her cheeks. The next page wasn't much better. The theme was Easter and Neal was dressed up as the Easter Bunny, another dare rightfully fulfilled by the ultimate prankster he was. From that page on, the pictures continued by the progression of the months before Neal's death. June's photographs were the most difficult to bear. One picture in particular stood out above the rest. Tiffany scrutinized it for a long moment, unaware of the door reopening. In the photograph, she, Neal, and Hayden were in someone's backyard. Peyton was supposed to be in the picture, she remembered. Camera shy, Peyton begged Neal to put her down before the camera flashed. That left Tiffany on Hayden's back and Neal posing heroically beside them. Tiffany chuckled despite her tears, briefly smiling in such a way that she hadn't in a long time.
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