She knew Misha's grief. It was hard to admit that the gods of your childhood were, in the end, merely dust. But at least the woman had been able to express her pride and accomplishment before being whisked off the mortal coil.
And Brian....She couldn't help but slip her fingers to gently curve around his wrist, other hand linking her elbow with Misha's. It didn't matter to her what happened next. They each had a share in this. And she had dragged them down there. It might as well have been her cackling, peeling them back layer by layer with unsheathed nails. But they were together. And it didn't matter how many more times they had to sate this creature's hunger for pain.
Beth's defiance was at the tip of her tongue when the sphinx turned its gaze for a third time to her.
“And now, my little mouse.” It eyes lit up in something akin to joy, though it was far too sharp to be described as such. It was a look Beth knew. “Show us a Grudge, that poisonous little pebble you hold dearly to your heart until you're branded with its malice.”
Beth suddenly felt very sick. There could be only one story the Sphinx meant, one that Beth was loath to share. In spite of her determined desperation only moments ago, she trembled. She opened her mouth--but then the most peculiar sensation settled over her. It was like falling backward down a rabbit hole, like sinking deep into a bed of roses—all petals and thorns. Beth was dizzy and tired and unable to resist the fogginess in her mind as an image came to them, to all of them--
March in Washington is bitterly cold, cold enough that Beth—sliding from a cab parked in front of a two story townhouse, pulling her customary several luggage pieces from the trunk—wears a thick coat to keep out the bite in the air. She thanks the driver, pays him, and starts to bring her bags up the driveway toward the small, quaint porch. This is not a place that a businessman's young daughter would choose for herself, no matter how rebellious she thinks she's being. The paint on the front door is peeling, the siding is a few years too old, but it is clear from the seasonal decorations—bunnies, eggs, and a garland of pink and white flowers--that someone cares enough to call it home.
Beth's progress is slowed as she passes two cars in the driveway—a pick up truck that she pays no mind to—a purple Honda with a “Life is Good" sticker on the back windshield which she frowns at. Like a kaleidoscope, the memory comes in hazy, fractal pieces. She fumbles for keys, pulling off her gloves as she reaches into the front pocket of a bag. A white stone glitters in a weathered golden band ensconced on her left hand. She opens the door. The sound of some loud, grungey music pounds through the ceiling. She leaves her bags downstairs. A door closes upstairs and she follows the sound.
The moment she hits the threshold of the main bedroom, the details come into sharp relief, jagged halos of light thrown from an unshuttered lamp, streaming around the curtains blocking the window. There are clothes strewn about to every side of the large bed that dominates the room. A girl sits amid the rumpled sheets, hazel eyes suddenly going very wide at the appearance of Beth at the door. Though she tries to cover herself, it is painfully obvious whose clothes litter the carpet.
The look that descends upon Beth's face is a stony mask that only seems to become fastened to her features when the sound of running water cuts off and the door to her right opens. The man on the other side—pale, dark haired, wearing pants, thankfully—starts at the sight of her.
A heartbeat passes, then two then three and then-- “Oh ********> the man in the bathroom mutters.
Beth takes two steps into the room, her black boots treading on the girl's discarded clothing. As if her movement breaks a spell, the girl murmurs something about “needing to go” and starts to slide out of the bed.
Eyes glittering but without warmth, Beth takes the girl's form in before saying in a very calm voice, “Victoria. You should get the hell out of my house.”
After a pause to glance at the foot on her clothes, Victoria dares to say, “Can I at least get dressed?”
“No.” Beth replies simply. At the dismissal, she shifts her gaze to the man whose head swivels between the two woman. Victoria seems to reach for a shirt by the foot of the bed, but Beth moves and very deliberately kicks it to the other side. There is an awkward pause before the girl just stands—but Beth's attention is suddenly not for her. Victoria has to walk past Beth for the door, but simply leaving proves to be easy enough. Like an actress walking off stage, Victoria disappears down the stairs. The matter of her clothes...but Beth is not concerned for that. Her face starts off devoid of passion (but does not stay that way) as she says, “Mike. Are you ******** kidding me?”
Mike runs a hand through his hair and brushes past her to turn off the music. The movements are jerky. Perhaps he's stalling for time. Time to think. Time to wish. Time to...wake up, maybe?
“Why? Why did you think this was even necessary? While I was on Spring Break? How long has this been going on?” When she gets no answers and the silence stretches on too long, she rushes ahead, palms going to her temples, saying, “The wedding's in four months, what on earth possessed you to--”
Finally he speaks, interrupting to answer a thought already left behind, “You're the one who decided to go to Aruba or wherever the hell--”
Automatically, Beth corrects him, “It was Ibiza, dear.” Poison drips from the final word.
He spins to glare at her. “Yeah! Some place I could never hope to see in my ******** life unless it was with you or your terrible ******** parents! I mean, who knows what you and your bougie bitchy friends get up to?”
The vitriol seems to surprise Beth, and she rocks back on her heels at the strength in his voice.
Working himself up into a righteous fury, he continues, “For all I knew grinding up on someone you weren't going to see ever again was the entire reason you were going to the 'clubber's heaven'--”
Seeking refuge in what she can, Beth dismissively begins, “Nobody calls it that except,” before seemingly catching herself and stumbling over the rest of her sentence.
Mike's eyes seem to burn brighter at that and he baits her, saying, “Except who? Go ahead. Say it.”
Fumbling for what feels like lost ground, Beth draws herself up (though nothing changes the fact that she is still nearly a foot shorter than him), and tries to rebuild the mask, starting with her stare, which seems half as wronged as his. “I can't believe you'd think that I'd ever cheat on you.”
“Why not? Anything you could possibly want Mommy and Daddy give you. You haven't had to work for a damn thing in your life. Daddy didn't want you to marry me--”
“And I CHOSE YOU!”
“Yeah, and he's the one still paying for this place, isn't he.” Mike sneers, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
Beth gapes at him. “That's not fair.”
“You were only ever slummin it here with me, why shouldn't I want someone more down to earth?”
A light of sudden revelation blooms in her eyes. “You just couldn't take it, could you? You just couldn't bear to be under the pressure of what it's like to be in my world. To be with the kinds of people I've lived with all my life. You just had to get out, no matter how. Well, at least I know I'm not going to be your meal ticket.”
“Oh, that's ******** rich coming from--”
The mask descends again. The woman before them is not the nervous, sweet girl who preferred being a dormouse to a person. The woman before them might well be a Chosen of Hera, straight-backed and with all the pity of marble. Beth brings her right hand to her left and yanks the ring from her finger. Her voice is the biting wind outside. “You can have your mother's ring back. If you can find it.”
And then she is running down the stairs almost two at a time. She finds herself at the storm drain in the street. As Mike races down the driveway toward her, past his lone pick up truck, she lets the ring fall into the grate to be swept away by the water. She doesn't see that, though. As Mike throws himself down on the concrete and hisses “b***h! up at her, she is turning, walking back into the house calmly, blue eyes chips of ice in her pale face.
She closes the front door and locks it, reaching into her pocket for a phone. As she presses buttons and puts the device to her cheek, she checks the other ground floor doors and locks them too. After a few rings, a voice answers the call and all of Beth's hardwon composure crumples. She is a girl, alone and collapsing against a wall, as she gasps out in a single broken sob, “Mom?”
Beth came back to herself on the floor of the Sphinx's room, the tear tracks no longer remnants, but active rivulets of sorrow splattering on the tile below. Her chest and throat hurt as she heaved, not quite sure if she was sobbing or retching. She trembled with the force of the memory and did not want to know if she was the only one privy to that particular chapter or if some other magic extracted it from her in less private ways. She did not turn to confirm or deny it and just pressed her forehead into her arms, unable to stop the sound of her weeping from echoing along the empty room.
ShortGreen
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