DOWN BAD | JULIAN CASABLANCAS

XII.

Flashes of her mother's face shone on her own as she watched TV underneath the covers. Parties, drugs, and incoherent nonsense from a string of nights before had all been blurred into one fuzzy memory that pounded incessantly in her head. With a click, Julian turned the bathroom light off, crawling into bed in his boxers. A low chuckle escaping him as he looked up, eyes meeting the woman who was supposed to resemble some sort of mother-in-law. "What's she up to now?" he shuffled beneath the covers, landing somewhere between her breasts and her stomach as she laid in printed pajamas. "The usual, again." 

The words barely audible as they rolled off her tongue. It hadn't been the first time she'd seen her mother slugging through a New York Street splayed on her screen. Every couple of months after making her daughters an empty promise, she'd rebound all over again. Courtney's erratic behavior created that all familiar whirlpool of anxiety in her chest that emanated off her body like some aura she felt everyone could see. "Fuck," he muttered, "You should call." Stella's fingers mindlessly twisted a strand of his shag, massaging his scalp after letting it drop. Her free hand gripped the sheet. It followed and it stuck, the shame trickling down her bones as she turned the TV off, leaving them in the busy London darkness.

"I won't." she mumbled, knowing there was no point in doing such a thing. It was in her genetic makeup, in the long line of beings before her and she feared it'd linger for many more generations of Cobains or Loves. As her eyes flickered to his peaceful face on her stomach, maybe a generation of Casablancas. The cycle was vicious and all-consuming, but it seemed to be a rite of passage. It was expected. Her debut into the new world she had to shape. The weight on her shoulders of one wrong move making her the tabloid's new Problem Princess. "At least for Frances, you should." He tried to stay out of her family affairs, that web was messy and sticky, and he'd be damned if he got caught up in it. He swore her father's ghost would haunt his ass.

The mention of her younger sister instantly made her eyes tilt downwards, cheeks softening at the thought of that thin blonde hair and those big blue eyes. "She's with grandma." She whispered, her mind clearly elsewhere. Her tongue scraped the inside of her cheek in deep thought. Maybe it really was biological. Maybe she was doomed from the start. Maybe the wild nights were part of the prophecy she was meant to follow. Her nose tinged at the thought like she had just done a line, memories of the dark spots in her mother's arms filled her mind. The nights of slurred bedtime stories and empty seats at school functions. The needles strewn and haphazardly hidden in the bathroom cabinet. She wondered if her children would also feel that void glow within them. If they'd answer the call, if there'd be children of hers at all.

The thought was interrupted by Julian's soft snoring as he turned on his side. With a soft sigh, she accommodated herself onto his back, nose digging into his neck. These months had been isolating despite the brand-new friends and lifestyle she'd found. The only person keeping her grounded was Julian and she'd come to adore him. She knew she was in over her head, but she had become attached to his hip. Her arms spread around his torso as she nudged him gently, "Jules, hold me please?" she murmured. With a quiet groan of acknowledgement, he rolled onto his side and wrapped her up in his arms, holding her back to his chest like a stuffed bear. Silence filled her ears as his warmth filled every corner of her body. "Goodnight, Stel." He quietly whispered, a gentle grin spreading on her face as she stared out the window, "Goodnight, Jules."