apathy | fillie.

¹⁾ bust your kneecaps

[TW: LANGUAGE. VIOLENCE. SEXUAL ASSAULT. HOMICIDE.]

❝ might you recall, we've got a small family business, and the family won't like this ! ❞

━ CHAPTER ONE.

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DATE：june 2 1995
- PRESENT DAY -

THERE ARE moments that find us at unexpected times- moments that take us by the collars and spit in our faces, dumping us in the nearest alleyway as we gasp for air and a chance that we could have foreseen such an attack. moments that hit us in the side of the head, that can sting in an instant, in a flash of light, and change our lives
forever.

the moment that millie brown caressed the chalky card-stock paper with the beds of her fingertips, smudging the ink ever so slightly of the quick etchings of her father's address, was exactly one of those moments.

the moment that finn wolfhard gripped the leather wheel, bracing for impact as the force of gravity jolted his body forward, tearing his feet from the break pedal, was exactly one of those moments.

the moment that the two panted in-front of each other, their fingers slippery against the glass and mouths salty with a mixture of blood and wine, vision clouded with the red substance and hair splattered and sticky, was
exactly one
of those
moments.

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"WHAT'S THAT, mill?"

"nothing," millie answered back quickly, as she clambered to stuff the card into the dresser drawer at her left, her reactions cat-like and breezy as the words seem to slip out of her mouth like a fish out of water.

giving her an eyebrow raise, her mother's fingers rested against the metal knob of her white bedroom door, she cleared her throat knowingly and watched as her daughter scrambled back to her seat on the bed. "right. well, get dressed, then. big day and all."

"right," she replied to her senior, not even stealing a glance up as she made big strides over to the door where her mother stood, taking the other side of the knob in her own hands and pushing gently– shutting the door in her mothers face. a deep breath fell out of her mouth directly after, her shoulders raised and nerves tight. her mother often had a tendency to make her feel like at any minute, a piece of her could just snap. it was quite a familiar feeling that had popped up ever since she had been scooped up from her childhood home and dropped into the very large and strange one she resided in now, leaving every trace of her father and what once was a happy family of three behind, just as he had left them.

she didn't blame him, though. she couldn't have. he left for good reason—hell, she would've done the very same if given the opportunity. her mother's whoring and prying at older men with bundles of money in their pockets was bound to drive him out at some point. frankly, it was all her fault. her mother was to blame.

bits and pieces of fragmented memories was really all that millie had left of him. she remembered the smell of his t shirts and the way his face could crease up when a guffawing laugh had taken over his body. she remembered his strong arms, the ones that would pick her up and twirl her around as a musky voice would hum their favorite tunes. she remembered his prickly chin and his reading glasses that would often slide onto the very tip of his flat resting nose. she remembered how different he was to everyone else. he wasn't desperate for attention or for others to accept him, unlike her mother. he was his own person–something of a hero, a god, in her eyes. a mighty one who didn't need to swim in the same direction as the others, who didn't play by the constricting rules that wrapped around society like a snake hungry for dinner.
he was everything she wanted to be.