She Will Always Hate Me

xi: dream not of

This chapter is edited.
WARNING:
This story deals with some heavy topics i.e. mental health, depression, mentions of suicide, physical abuse, as well as eating disorders. Please read at your own risk.

Getting to the house (house was putting it rather lamely, with the expanse of it) was easy enough as soon as Gadget sent the directions all while carefully reminding them that they only had an hour.

'Breaking in' was even easier since the route was already set. Dipper wasn't about to ask Gadget why he had a route planned out already, although he was all too curious. He had a few theories down; one being that Gadget didn't want his adoptive family to figure out his bad habits, and another being that Gadget was working a job. Dipper wasn't the only lost boy who excelled at conning people.

"This place is nice." Pacifica whistled loud and low as they stepped through the sliding door. They were in what looked like a dining area, everything was set to be too perfect, it probably wasn't even used. Even though it was years ago, Dipper could still tell. "How come your 'acquaintance' comes to live here?"

"Adoption, most likely." Dipper mused. Being in such a high-society house recalled tragic memories of his own life before hell reigned down on him.

"Are all your friends from —how did you say it?— the 'system'?" Pacifica returned her lovely gaze to him.

"No." Dipper replied, half-lying and half being honest. "You're my friend, correct?"

Pacifica ducked her head down, and Dipper could see the same sunset-pink spread across her face. "Yeah, yeah I'm your friend."

Dipper was unused to the concept of 'having friends'. The 'friends' he allegedly had were not so much of 'friends' as they were 'family'. Not entirely different concepts, but different enough to throw him for a loop.

Besides, friends broke into other friends's houses to play a piano for said friend, right? It seemed like a well-off place to start.

"Did your 'acquaintance' tell you where it was?"

"No." Dipper admitted. "I didn't think to ask." He probably should have.

"Where do you think the piano is?" Pacifica over-exaggerated a miming motion of peering around like a sailor.

"In a place as pretentious as this," Dipper began, surveying the layout of the house, it was all too familiar, "either in the sitting room, the sun-room, or, if they're on that level, a music room."

"Speaking from experience?" Pacifica teased, and Dipper could tell that it was truly only meant to be poking fun.

Yet, her words rubbed him the wrong way. Reminding him, without even the knowledge of it, that he had come from a place like the one before them. Verbally tossing it in his face that he didn't have it anymore because of both the actions of himself, and the ones of his parents.

With a clenched fist, Dipper sucked in a breath and tried to steady himself. Flashes from the past popped in and out of his mind, the floor beneath him began to sway.

"I'll check for the sitting room." Pacifica continued, undeterred or unaware of what was really transpiring next to her. "Wanna look for the sun-room?"

Dipper managed to nod as she skipped off, humming to herself all the way. As soon as she was out of sight and he heard what was —presumably— her footfalls running up the staircase, he whirled around and punched a hole through the nearest wall.

Breathing erratically, Dipper panted softly, everything else around him just static and white noise, blurring the lines between reality and illusion until all he could feel was the blunt pain spasming through his hand.