Dead Girl Walking ― Aaron Minyard

59. laura palmer

the night was all you had
you ran into the night from all you had
― bastille

[trigger warnings: suicidal ideation/implication; references violence/abuse

♦

WHEN THEY RETURNED TO CAMPUS, they stopped at Abby's house first. Abby had left the front door unlocked, as she tended to do, so the Foxes let themselves in without knocking. Dan called out a greeting on her way inside so Abby would know she had guests, and Abby answered from further down the hall. 

They found Abby and Wymack seated at the kitchen table. Dishes on the counter and crumpled napkins on the table said they'd just finished lunch. 

Abby cleared away the mess and took Mara and Kevin down the hall to Jean. 

"He hasn't said anything to me since he got here," Abby told them quietly. "I'm not sure if that's because of what he went through or because that's just who he is." 

Mara wasn't sure herself anymore. 

Abby tried for a smile, but it was more grimace than anything. "Maybe you being here will help." 

Mara and Kevin shared a look, neither particularly hopeful. 

Abby stopped at one of the bedrooms, door closed. She lifted a hand to knock, but Kevin stopped her. 

"Can we have some privacy?" he asked quietly. 

Abby nodded. "I'll be in the kitchen." 

Kevin didn't knock until she was out of sight. 

There was no answer from inside, though Mara hadn't really expected one. She let Kevin knock again, then grabbed the doorknob and announced, "Jean, we're coming in." 

She gave him three seconds to shout a protest, and when there was only silence, Mara made good on her promise, pushing the door open. 

She couldn't even see Jean at first in the darkness of the room. The curtains were drawn, the overhead light off. The man of the hour was sitting on the bed, blanket around his shoulders as if it could block out the world.

It was too dark, too like the Nest, too much like the hell they'd grown up in. 

Mara flipped on a lamp on the dresser and endured Jean's automatic glare. 

The glare faded into surprise in an instant, and as Mara's eyes readjusted to the light, her own face melted into something mournful at the sight of Jean, her friend, her brother, her family, huddled on the bed like the small child he was never allowed to be. 

There were new scratches on his face, new bruises coloring his cheek and the hollow of his eye. His nose must have been broken again, and there was only so much Abby's bandages could hide of the damage Riko had wrought in his tantrum. Mara wouldn't have been surprised if Riko had clawed at Jean's face with his own fingernails in his blind rage. 

Mara lasted two seconds before she was surging forward, eyes aching with unshed tears as she climbed onto the bed and went into Jean's arms, stretching out just moments before she reached him. 

It hurt to hug him, the movement tugging at tender bruises and delicate stitches, and it must have hurt him, too, from the muffled groan she heard against her ear, but he hugged her back just as fiercely, just as desperately. 

When they pulled apart after just long enough, Jean studied Mara's face and said, "How do you look worse than me?"

Mara swallowed hard. "Our father caught up to us."