IT FELT GOOD to be in control of something for the first time that whole day. Nothing better, truer, or simpler than your hands on the wheel of a car, aware of nothing but the road surrounding you. Driving to the airport, waiting to pick up your mother. Watching your sister idle in the passenger seat of the car, stretching, yawning. If only there wasn't an undertow of uncertainty to what would otherwise have been a pleasant, mundane moment.
Philippa is watching Hadley. Hadley is watching Philippa. She tugs, absently, on her sleeves.
"So," Hadley says.
"So," Philippa repeats.
And that is about as far as their conversation goes, for now.
Traffic logged roads give way to relatively more open highways; buildings grow fewer, but the large snow swathed stretches of white in between them grow larger. Overhead, an airplane flies by, the noise it makes piercing through the mechanical silence of the car. That plane might be carrying their mother. Or it might be a plane carrying strangers away from here.
Philippa sighs, tugs on her sleeves once more. "You're not going to, uh, ask about the bruises?"
Hadley considers the question. "Would you answer me if I did?"
"To the best of my abilities."
"Promise you won't open the door and jump out of the car?"
That gets a laugh out of her, at least. "Have you seen the weather outside? Wouldn't risk it."
A car drives right next to them. The child in the passenger seat makes funny faces at Hadley. He doesn't notice.
"Where did you get those bruises?" Hadley asks, careful to keep his tone light.
Philippa draws in a breath, holds it, considering.
"My dreams," she says.
Silence stretches out between them. Despite the lance of shock that pierces Hadley's body, he manages to keep the car in the lane at the same speed it was going at before, without any sort of interuption. Hands on the wheel, mind on the conversation. Gregory had said given him that piece of advice, under much more pleasant circumstances.
"Your dreams," Hadley repeats at her.
"Yeah, I—yes. My dreams. Do you believe me?"
Hadley doesn't even have to turn to look to know she's looking at him with an earnestness that doesn't befit her. Of course he believes her. He has no choice but to believe her.
"Sure," he says, more lightly than he means it to sound. "I believe you."
"Cool," Philippa says, just as lightly. "Cool."
More silence. The airport now looms in the distance, and with it, the reminder of their mother's presence. It's good, in a way. Catherine Hadley is a reassuringly solid woman, and with her comes every fact of Hadley's life. School, awkward silences with your sister, more school, graduation some threat in the back of his mind. These are what his life is supposed to be. Not nights spent watching the sunlight dance over someone's dark brown skin in the cold early and lazy mornings, not buildings that changed their shape of their own will, not flashy mysterious guys and mysterious ex-girlfriends and not—
"I'm cursed," Philippa says.
Hands on the wheel. Mind on the conversation. Hadley's grip on the wheel tightens so hard his knuckles feel like they're going to split open.
"How did you—" and then he has to repeat the question, because his voice breaks, but Philippa answers the question before he can ask it.
"Someone told me." Philippa digs her thumb into the pulse at her wrist, hard. "A breaker. You know what a breaker is, right?" She doesn't wait for Hadley's affirmation. "The dreams got really bad, and I told one of my friends, and you know Jolene, spiritual type, kinda weird hippy? No? You slept with her. Anyways, she said something about seeing a psychic so I did and this breaker, lady-girl—" Philippa sighs, breaking off her own vague and disjointed explanation. "—just told me. So simply. She said it the moment I walked in into her dingy little place."
"Who was she?"
"I don't know," Philippa says, shrugging. "Didn't bother asking her name." With determination, she adds, "I will be going back to her. I have to fix this. I'm not going to keep suffering like this, alright? It's a recent development."
Hadley thinks of his own passive reaction, how proactive Philippa seems in comparison to being cursed. How he admires her for it. How he hates her for it.
"How recent?" he asks.
"A week."
A week. David showed up a week ago. How curious that Philippa be cursed too, at the same time. Hadley doesn't know what to do with this information, but it hooks itself under his skin, sits there. Uncomfortable. He can't consider this now, whatever this is, not in a car driving to pick up his parents. Not on a road headed to normalcy.
That number from Tamara is still sitting in his pocket. And Charlie's helpful charming smile flits across his mind.
He is all too aware of Philippa's intent stare, as if waiting for his acknowledgement. Sister staring at brother, twin staring at twin, reflection staring at reflection.
"Philippa," Hadley says, "do be careful."
She relaxes. "I will."
"If anything goes wrong—"
"Don't worry about it. Not now. Look. Mother's already landed. Put on your best smile, Jimmy. For her."
Mother. For her. How quickly the both of them forget they have a father, Hadley thinks.
Hadley drives on, lost in thoughts of David, of how far away he seems. Philippa idles on, lost in half visions of saving herself.
Their mother stands there, with their father by her side. She looks as regal and commanding as ever, though Hadley thinks the effect is lessened, somewhat, by the thick jacket she wears and the luggage by her side. She looks completely and utterly unruffled by four hours of travel, and her gaze, as always, on some inscrutable point in the distance. When she sees Hadley and Philippa approaching, however, she breaks into a smile.
"Darlings," she says, when Hadley and Philippa get closer. "How I missed you both."
"Mother," Hadley says, the word a greeting.
When Hadley gets closer, to reach for her luggage, she surprises him by embracing him.
There is an awkward moment, where Hadley doesn't know what to do with his hands.He does hug her back though, however uncomfortably.
"I missed you," she murmurs, into his chest.
"I missed you too," he says back.
Somewhere in there, there is a sliver of truth.
***
i didn't know where to put this bad boy so im just dumping it here
im so sorry i havent been replying to comments or stuff but you know how it is. i got a life to live and shit and if you want to find me you can just message me and ill give u my tumblr
theres no real reason i put in the devilman opening apart from the fact that it absolutely slaps
on a more serious im not sure if i want to keep going with curse club or not so there's that to look out for
