Children of the Tilts (ON HOLD)

VI

((A/N:

Hola, Tilters! I just want to apologize for the lack of updates on this story, but hopefully this'll make up for lost time :)

This chapter is told in Candace's point of view, but it's some time before the last few chapters, it actually takes place right after the Tilt took Caden from his house.

Enjoy!

--FFC))  

CANDACE

"Caden!!!" I screamed, so clobbering loud that I was certain to be hoarse the next morning. I hunched over, thick tears rolling down my face as I wept into the broken wood of my stair case. My face still ached from Caden's outburst, and the tears and regret weren't helping.

The front door swung open, and Dad stumbled out, clutching his bleeding arm. It had been sliced open numerous ways when he flew through it during the Tilt.

He fought to catch his breath, and I was silently thankful that the Tilt had stopped. "Wh..." Dad gulped in air. "Where's Caden?"

I glared at him and wept harder, clutching my stinging face and trembling. "He's... gone. The Tilt took him."

I felt a thud on the wooden balcony, and I could tell it was my dad, keeling over from the fierce grief that was gripping his gut. I risked a peek at him, and saw him clutching his face, sobbing silently as he bent over on his knees.

There were a few tense moments of mourning cries as Dad and I shared our grief.

___

I hunched over on the very edge of the couch, a plastic cup of piping hot tea was clutched in my shaking hands. I was thankful that the electricity still worked, and I could guess why.

During the Tilt, I noticed the lightning was more broad and greenish than regular lightning, and when it hit the ground everything seemed to hum and vibrate with fierce energy. I'm not sure how electricity works or how it powers everything-- I didn't really recall anything from school about that-- but I assumed it had enough electric power to give everything what it needed to light up.

I sighed into my tea and took a cautious sip. It burnt my tongue, and I felt a hot flash of burning pain run down my throat as I swallowed it, but I paid no mind to it.

"Dad, what are we gonna do?" My voice sounded like I was talking through a throat full of gravel, and dregs of pain went through my wind pipe and chest, but as long as I was still audible, Dad and I needed to plan.

"I don't know." Dad breathed, his face looked like a wrinkled deflated balloon, and there were night-black circles around his eyes from exhaustion, stress, and God knows what else. I noted that his hair was starting to go to salt and pepper territory.

I buried my face in my hands and wept some more.

Some time passed.

I felt a foreign flare of courage in my gut and stood, grabbing his shoulders. "Look at me," I demanded.

A creepy pang of dread hit me when I saw his eyes, clouded over and full of tears. "No..." I murmured under my breath. "No, don't do this to me, Dad." His eyes were pitiful, full of grief and despair. He looked like a character in a movie or television show, the character that jumps off a bridge.

"Don't do this to me," I repeated in a limp tone. "You have to help me with this," I pleaded. The flare of courage had been extinguished. 

I waited for a while, but there was no response from Dad. "Dad, you have to help me!" I screamed, shaking him violently, avoiding his injured shoulder.

No response.

I balled my hands into fists. "I can't do this on my own!!" I took a deep breath. "You can't just sink into a shell, I need you!!"

Silence.

"Dad!" I screamed, shaking him harder.

He didn't even flinch. My deep sadness simmered into intense anger as my fist uncurled and I smacked Dad across his face with an open palm.

No reaction.

I made an odd crying sound of frustration and ran to the bathroom, pacing around in the room while tears strolled down my face. I sucked in air, fighting the pressure to hyperventilate.

I was having a panic attack. I clutched my stomach, sitting on the closed toilet and gulped in the humid air of the bathroom.

I looked at the ceiling, weeping silently while trying to catch my running breath.

Be strong, Candace. I heard my mother's voice  echoing in my head. Somehow, the memory of my mother, calms me down some.

I see a glimmer of metal in the corner of my eye, and tilt my head in the direction. I see Dad's clipper among the shards of broken glass from the mirror Dad smashed into during the Tilt, and flip the switch the turn it on.

It takes a moment to boot up, the Tilt lightning gives us electricity but it's not good electricity, and after it does it hums and vibrates excitedly in my hand, ready for use.

I sigh inwardly, and before I can stop myself, put it onto my scalp and shave a row of hair off. I suck in breath as the humming vibration of the clipper sinks into my skin and soothes me, blonde tendrils raining down around me. I release the breath I'd been holding and shave another row off, and repeat the process until the only thing left is a stubble along the top of my head.

I breath slowly, looking at the bits of my reflection that showed through the horrendously broken mirror. I looked completely different, like I was staring at a completely different person.

But, oddly enough, with my hair shaved, I felt more comfortable in my own skin than I ever had in my entire life.

I smile, tears still rolling down my face as I run my sweaty hand along the shaved stubble, and I manage a dark laugh as the freshly shaved bristles of my hair tickle my palm. I take a deep breath, and come to the conclusion that has been staring me in the face ever since Mom disappeared, but it just now shifted into focus.

I am no longer Candace Bellroy. That's who I was before the Tilts. Candace Bellroy was weak, fickle, naive, she couldn't fight her own battles and wouldn't know the truth of the world if it punched her in the face.

Candace Bellroy is not who I am anymore. I'm no stuck up valley girl who wouldn't know depression in a thousand years of her sugar-coated suburban life. I've tasted grief and depression, I've lost and gained, but lost everything all over again.

I've killed someone as they begged for mercy, and sang to them until the life echoed away from their fear-stricken eyes. The killing felt good, because I was taking what this cruel world gave me and kicked it in the teeth and made it my own. 

I am no one's bitch. Candace Bellroy was everyone's bitch, taking what was given to her and asking for nothing else. Candace Bellroy was pathetic.

I am not pathetic.

I am Eris, goddess of chaos, discord, and strife. Daughter of Zeus, sister to Ares, god of war. I carry the Golden Apple of Discord, and I take shit from no one.

Candace Bellroy is dead, I killed her. And I, Eris, will rise from her ashes and make the world my own.

"I'm coming, Caden." I promised under my breath, "I'll find you, if it's the last thing I do."