- May 29, 2023
- 232
- 37
- 28
[human au; tw for alcohol. idea was okay'd by raenya]
Her mother isn't home. It is a rare occurrence that the teenager has the house to herself, if only for a few hours. Robin will savor the peace and isolation. Perhaps the universe knew she needed an evening to herself, especially after the day she had at school. Brook seemed to make it her mission to terrorize Robin yet again; over what this time? Robin couldn't tell you. Merely existing perhaps. That's all it seemed to take to gain the ire of the other high schooler. Robin can recall the two of them being somewhat acquaintances back in their elementary school days - not exactly friends but they could be in the same room together and more or less get along. Everything changed as they entered their teen years and suddenly resentment and malice blossomed between the girls with Brook being the aggressor the majority of the time.
"When will she just stop all this," Robin sighs to herself, a glass of red wine held in one hand while the other tosses yet another scathing note written by Brook into a shoebox she usually kept tucked under her bed. At least once a week, if not more, a note showed up in her locker with the same perfect penmanship and lingering scent of perfume. The very first note Robin was almost mistaken to think it a love letter - her heart nearly leapt for joy before crumbling to ash as she opened the paper and read the words within. Useless. A waste of space. Various other phrases to drag the teen through the metaphorical mud. The auburn haired teen takes a long sip of the burgundy liquid and winces at the taste (she wishes her mother had bought white wine instead of red wine, but there's no way she'd say that aloud lest her mom figure out she sneaks a glass of wine here and there when home alone). "I can leave Brook alone, keep my head down and yet she still pulls this shit." It was exhausting. Robin felt like she was trapped in the marionette strings of the other, being strung around and forced to feel one way or another because that was the will of her keeper.
How did she let it get this far?
Robin takes another swig of wine and stares angrily at the shoebox on her bed. The simple square of cardboard harboring months of hatred and torment. Each note saved for... for what? Why did Robin save them? And why, on nights like this, does she linger on the feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness placed in her head by Brook. Why does she hold her breath around the other, keep to the edges of the halls, and say a silent prayer before opening her locker each afternoon? When did she decide to give that power to Brook? "Fucking wimp," Robin shakily scolds herself as she blinks back burning tears she didn't realize were welling up in her doe-like eyes. Through the blear of tears she glares at the box. Her lungs feel like they are on fire, each breath held seconds and seconds longer before she releases them in a tumultuous scream. The shattering of glass is a crescendo to her outburst and a heaving Robin is left staring at wine stained papers and glass speckled bedding. "Oh no," she breaths as it dawns on her how difficult it'll be to clean the mess before her mother gets home. With shaky hands does she pick up the larger pieces of glass, putting them carefully in a nearby wastebasket. She'll have to shake out the smaller shards over the trashcan before tossing her bedding in the washing machine with a lot of detergent and stain remover. As for the soggy box of notes...
Through the wisps of smoke rising from the fireplace Robin finds she can breathe again. Flames rise and glow as the notes are engulfed in the cleansing inferno. She doesn't know why it took this long to finally let go of the notes and let go of Brook's hold over her. Perhaps Robin will never know why she waited until she reached her breaking point to let go. But she does know one thing: it feels good to be respiring from Brook's grasp over her, to encourage herself to stand up against her bully and learn to stand on her own two feet. The first step was the hardest one to take but the auburn haired girl knew each subsequent step would be easier and easier.
Her mother isn't home. It is a rare occurrence that the teenager has the house to herself, if only for a few hours. Robin will savor the peace and isolation. Perhaps the universe knew she needed an evening to herself, especially after the day she had at school. Brook seemed to make it her mission to terrorize Robin yet again; over what this time? Robin couldn't tell you. Merely existing perhaps. That's all it seemed to take to gain the ire of the other high schooler. Robin can recall the two of them being somewhat acquaintances back in their elementary school days - not exactly friends but they could be in the same room together and more or less get along. Everything changed as they entered their teen years and suddenly resentment and malice blossomed between the girls with Brook being the aggressor the majority of the time.
"When will she just stop all this," Robin sighs to herself, a glass of red wine held in one hand while the other tosses yet another scathing note written by Brook into a shoebox she usually kept tucked under her bed. At least once a week, if not more, a note showed up in her locker with the same perfect penmanship and lingering scent of perfume. The very first note Robin was almost mistaken to think it a love letter - her heart nearly leapt for joy before crumbling to ash as she opened the paper and read the words within. Useless. A waste of space. Various other phrases to drag the teen through the metaphorical mud. The auburn haired teen takes a long sip of the burgundy liquid and winces at the taste (she wishes her mother had bought white wine instead of red wine, but there's no way she'd say that aloud lest her mom figure out she sneaks a glass of wine here and there when home alone). "I can leave Brook alone, keep my head down and yet she still pulls this shit." It was exhausting. Robin felt like she was trapped in the marionette strings of the other, being strung around and forced to feel one way or another because that was the will of her keeper.
How did she let it get this far?
Robin takes another swig of wine and stares angrily at the shoebox on her bed. The simple square of cardboard harboring months of hatred and torment. Each note saved for... for what? Why did Robin save them? And why, on nights like this, does she linger on the feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness placed in her head by Brook. Why does she hold her breath around the other, keep to the edges of the halls, and say a silent prayer before opening her locker each afternoon? When did she decide to give that power to Brook? "Fucking wimp," Robin shakily scolds herself as she blinks back burning tears she didn't realize were welling up in her doe-like eyes. Through the blear of tears she glares at the box. Her lungs feel like they are on fire, each breath held seconds and seconds longer before she releases them in a tumultuous scream. The shattering of glass is a crescendo to her outburst and a heaving Robin is left staring at wine stained papers and glass speckled bedding. "Oh no," she breaths as it dawns on her how difficult it'll be to clean the mess before her mother gets home. With shaky hands does she pick up the larger pieces of glass, putting them carefully in a nearby wastebasket. She'll have to shake out the smaller shards over the trashcan before tossing her bedding in the washing machine with a lot of detergent and stain remover. As for the soggy box of notes...
Through the wisps of smoke rising from the fireplace Robin finds she can breathe again. Flames rise and glow as the notes are engulfed in the cleansing inferno. She doesn't know why it took this long to finally let go of the notes and let go of Brook's hold over her. Perhaps Robin will never know why she waited until she reached her breaking point to let go. But she does know one thing: it feels good to be respiring from Brook's grasp over her, to encourage herself to stand up against her bully and learn to stand on her own two feet. The first step was the hardest one to take but the auburn haired girl knew each subsequent step would be easier and easier.