Hide and Seek.

Chapter 4

She has her eyes glued to the door for a few solid hours before the hunger it's too much to bare and she has to go downstairs and hopefully still eat some of Allan's delicious dinner. He is probably sound asleep on their room, already used to her crazy writing schedules, so he won't think any of it when she climbs in bed with him after eating. Lord knows she's done this enough times to become habit. She carefully picks her way through the stairs, avoiding the creaking spots from the old wood, and sneaks her way into the kitchen. She can be fast and furtive when she has to. She's got this.

Allan, bless his kind and gentle heart, left her a fully packed sandwich inside the fridge. Turkey, lettuce, tomato and a splash of Ranch. Just the way she likes it. But to avoid the unnecessary noises of the microwave, she decides to eat it cold. She even prefers it that way. It will probably do some good for killing the uninvited heat growing inside of her. She will water it down with some whiskey just for the hell of it and because they are out of the fancy wine she likes to drink with it. At least that's what she says to herself, but honestly, they are all desperate attempts to take her mind away from him, and the danger he represents. He's just a few rooms away. Don't fuck this up.

She's halfway through the delicious sandwich when a cold chill runs down her spine - like a warning - and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up like they had a mind of their own. He's there. He's standing right there. She knows it, and she doesn't even need to turn around to confirm it. But she does.

"Got hungry, huh?" he asks her, smirking.

Meeting his eyes for the first time after so many years is just as painful as finding Maddie's dead body inside the pool. It's pure instinct that has her crossing her arms in front of her chest like a shield, but Peter doesn't even flinch, just stares at her dead in the eyes. By now he knows how to play her game. His dark brown hair is longer than she remembers, and Sarah vaguely wonders what kind of fancy law firm accepts lawyers with such long hipster-like hair, and a blasé attitude about just anything that isn't him. Or her.

She swallows the last bite of her dinner painfully. It all tastes bitter like chlorine now, and it burns her throat on the way down her stomach. So much for being fast and furtive.

Finally, he ends the distance between them and sits across from her at the table. Right in front of her. Staring. She'd forgotten just how big he is, always towering over people. He has a new important job now - she heard from a distant relative last Christmas - and it's probably growing on him. He looks distinct, almost elegant, even for someone wearing pajamas. She takes yet another sip of the overly expensive whiskey and pretends she isn't painfully aware of every step he takes. Of how he moves, and how his eyes seem to be even greener than before. She sighs, feeling internally defeated. If only green wasn't her favorite color.

It's only when he scoops up the bottle of the amber alcohol, and takes an unapologetic gulp like she just did, that all her bottled up anger reaches the surface, and she can't hold it in any longer. "That doesn't belong to you."

He looks up and has the audacity to smirk back at her. "It's alive! What a miracle!"

She reaches forward and abruptly takes the bottle back. "That doesn't belong to you."

He smirks again like it's all just a fucking game to him. Like all that he did doesn't even matter. It's all water under the bridge. And Maddie's small body under the water.

"Now, that wasn't what our parent thought us, was it, Sarah? We share everything."

There is a mockery on his tone, but buried deep under it there's a whole lot of sadness. He tries to hide it under snarky remarks and clever comebacks, but it's still there. It sits on top of his skin like an old band-aid, just waiting to be pulled off to reveal a wound underneath that, somehow, it's still fresh.

"Not anymore..."

He waves his hand, asking for the bottle. "Give me this whiskey, baby girl. You know you're no good with alcohol."

Anger flares inside of her at the mention of the nickname. He doesn't have the right to talk to her like that anymore. "Don't you fucking dare to call me that."

"You used to like it when I called you that." He claps back almost instantaneously.

"I used to like a lot of things that were bad for me."

Silence. Peter seems like he is about to say something, but ends up deciding not to. Was there still something left to be said?

She used to like a lot of other things too. Things that she forced herself to forget about, to bury under layers of resentment and guilt. The self-delusion works when he is miles away, hiding behind piles of paperwork, playing the responsible adult with his other lawyer friends. When she only has to hear his name maybe twice every year and always very briefly. But It doesn't work with him standing just inches away from her, right in the middle of her kitchen like he belongs there. So all the thoughts come rushing back and she has to remember everything. The way his head went back when he laughed. How he and Allan would chase each other around the block to see who would get to be the prince to her princess, and how the three of them always seemed to just get each other. Nowadays everything was just so confused and messed up.

"Since when you drink whiskey anyway?" he finally asks after a long pause.

"Since someone murdered my little sister, I believe."

His eyes go wide at that. He never expected such a low blow from her. One thing is to say that he caused her death, it was a cruel affirmative, but it was the truth. It was his fault that she was dead, but to flat out say that he murdered her, was too much. Even for someone as bitter as Sarah. He loved Maddie just as much.

"She was my sister too, Sarah."

He sounds wounded, and that shouldn't bother her, but it really does

"Could've fooled me..."

Anger flares up deep inside of him, and he wants to break every single glass item in that kitchen and watch as all the shiny little pieces go flying across the room. Sarah sees that in him - the anger mixed with resentment and reckless abandon - so she starts to get all fired up herself. The fight that has been always in the making - gently resting on the counter like one of Allan's homemade loaves of bread - is finally about to start.

Lord help them all because they might set the whole house on fire.

"You're only bitter like that because you feel guilty!" he spits out like he's been holding this for far too long. And he probably was.

"Excuse me?" she asks, indignant.

"That's right. You feel guilty because you were off to God-knows-where, fucking Allan. Too busy to care about me and Maddie!"

Suddenly there is a hand rapidly approaching his face and he feels the cruel sting of her palm against his cheek. The sharp noise still rings inside his ear, echoing.

"Don't you dare say her name!" She feels her skin start to itch uncontrollably. That same itch that would only go away after having Allan buried deep inside of her. Sarah inhales, slow and steady, like a compass. Puts some distance between them, just enough so she will feel sane again. They won't look at each other, the tension it's too much to bear. "Don't you fucking dare come to my house, and talk about her like you have the right!"

They were so loud that she's afraid that the noise will wake Allan up. She waits to hear his rapid footsteps down the stairs, but she is met with silence instead.

"You never missed me, did you?"