Roots - A Rosalie Hale Story

An Interlude

"One day, someone will love you the way you deserve to be loved and you won't have to fight for it" - Ruby Dahl
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Tatia's steps quickened. One foot in front of the other. Left  right. Left. Right. She hurried down the worn-down cement steps, only stopping to turn back once. Her eyes glazed over the house, its beaten-down roof which had recently begun leaking, and its cracked porch. The only thing that made it remotely nice was it's freshly painted siding, which her dad had done before he left them. Forever.

She scoffed, returning to her original plan. To get away from her anger-ridden mother. She went quietly, not wanting to alert the neighbors or disturb any passerby. Tatia calmed as she made her way to her comfort spot.

Deep into the forest lies the falls. An original name she and her sister had given that over compensated for what truly was.

There was a mini waterfall, connecting to the river that moved ever so gracefully. It was surrounded by trees and rocks. A few flowers scattered about, but not enough to be a flower patch. A ghost of a smile danced on her face as she gently sat against a tree. Their tree, she called it. When she and her sister were young they carved their initials on it. TG and MG. Tatia Chase and Mayson Chase.

"Do you think we're hurting the tree?" Tatia asked, glancing over at her sister.

"I'm not sure." Mayson grabbed her sister's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"To make up for it we'll plant more, give it some friends," Tatia assured, dragging her sister along and pointing out all the places for the tree's friends.

They'd never get the chance to plant more trees.

Now looking back, Tatia grew sad. Mayson was gone and she had to start thinking of her as just that. Dead. Her sister's death had torn her family apart. Ripping open the already cracked persona of a perfect family her mom tried so hard to project. The loss of a child wasn't something easily dealt with, but neither was being the child left behind. The one who was left to pick up the pieces themselves.

Tatia Chase was only a shell of the person she once was and she knew that, but she hated to admit it.

Tatia hops up from her place beside the tree, picking up a rock. She gripped it tightly in her hand before throwing it as hard as she could, chipping away at the tree's exterior.

She rolled her eyes as she realized the rock had cut into the palm of her hand.

'Fragile' she thought.

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"Where have you been?" Eleanor Chase's voice pulsated through the house, sending shivers down her daughter's spine.

When Tatia first took off, she failed to think about the consequences of running from her mother's berating, wanting to shield herself from the sharp words that were sure to cut deep.

Eleanor was like a knife, a freshly sharpened one, wielded by someone whose only purpose was to hurt.

"I'm sorry." Was the only response the girl could muster as she tried to make herself smaller. She wished she could shrink herself down to the size of a marble and flush herself down the toilet.
Anything to get away from her bitch of a mother.

Eleanor raised her hand in a flash, striking Tatia across her left cheek.

"Sorry isn't enough this time." Her mother finalized, grabbing the girl by the wrist, and forcing her to look into her eyes. "You are not to leave this house. To school and back, that is all."

Tatia mustered a meek 'yes' before carrying herself up the stairs and into her bedroom. No matter how upset she was, she still managed to shut the door quietly, afraid to upset her mother more by shutting it just slightly too loud.

The punishment didn't bother the girl, it's not like she had anyone to hang out with anyways. Her friends had stopped inviting her since her sister's death.

Tatia had closed herself off from the world, in turn pushing those closest to her away. Of course, they still talked to her and would let her sit with them at lunch, but she noticed the way their eyes followed her as she left the room, and how their whispers followed soon after. And the way they talked about their plans in front of her, failing to pass along an invite.

Alone. Utterly alone.

Those were her last thoughts before she drifted off to sleep, tear stains marking her face and pillow.