May 2nd, 1989
Raindrops thudded softly against the windows of the apartment. Aberdeens sky was grey and monotone, an occasional strike of lighting rippling through the bleak atmosphere and lighting the sky up for the slightest moment. The room Maggie and Cleo shared was dark. The old, dusty curtains were drawn shut, not allowing a sliver of light to sneak in.
The thick duvet was pulled over Maggie completely. Her body was curled into a ball position, knees pressing against her stomach. On that particular day, life felt more meaningless and dull than usual.
As a young child, May had been a joyous month, probably her favorite. Springs welcoming breeze embraced her. The sun shined through her and immersed every part of being in a sublime warmth. Nothing paled in comparison to the long-anticipated month.
But May took a steep turn on May 2nd, 1979.
Her father, Arthur Jolivet had committed suicide.
Arthur was a French man. He had grown up in Villefranche-sur-Mer, a quaint town placed alongside the French Riviera. He loved to draw and grew up to become an animator. He relocated to Paris for university, and that's where he met Maggie's mother, Nancy.
She came from New York City and was studying abroad. She and Arthur met at the dirty, crowded Metro, and became inseparable. Nancy soon left once her student visa expired, and graduated pre-med. The two kept in touch and Arthur eventually moved to New York.
Life seemed to be perfect, but Arthur faced an ultimately fatal affliction.
He struggled with depression and schizophrenia. He had taken medicine for schizophrenia and mostly kept it under control, but his depression ran rampant and infected every fiber of his body.
Nancy and Arthur got married once Nancy graduated from medical school, and she found herself pregnant with Maggie not long after. Arthur loved Maggie so much that it hurt. He was convinced that she was the most beautiful baby that had ever lived on the Earth.
The two were inseparable up until his death. Even through her bouts of teenage angst and depression similar to his, they always remained glued together. There was a deep understanding the two had for one another.
Life had been pretty decent up until the tender age of fifteen. Maggie remembered the day with horrifying accuracy. May 2nd of 1979 had been very average. Maggie had gone to school and came home at 4. She went to unlock the door of the home, surprised to find that it wasn't locked to begin with.
She opened the door and stepped through the threshold that led into the living room. She remembered calling out for both of her parents in confusion, assuming someone was there since the door had been unlocked.
She remembered slowly climbing up the steps of the townhouse and walking down the narrow hall towards her parents' bedroom. The door was half shut. She pushed it open gently with her fingertips, peeking her head in.
Arthur Jolivet laid motionless on the ground, a shotgun tucked in his arms, and blood splattered across the white wall behind him. A note was set neatly alongside his corpse.
Maggie remembered her body falling to the floor with a soft thud, her hands immediately muffled against her own mouth. She remembered the blood-curdling scream that forced its way out of her throat and could be heard throughout the house.
She remembered crawling into the hallway, her vision blurred as she fumbled for the home phone. She remembered how she could barely speak to the operator, merely whimpering that there had been "an accident."
That day had been ingrained into her mind and had not faded since.
Nothing was the same after that fateful day. The world lost all saturation. Any hint of color or light it held before had dissolved into complete darkness. On that day, Maggie realized the world was a dull shithole.
Cleo and Jenny knew the pain May 2nd brought each and every year, and they always did their best to support Maggie. They would mostly force themselves to give Maggie space and refrain from smothering her, but they checked in on the young woman every so often.
It hurt badly to see someone they loved hurting, but it hurt even worse to be the one in pain.
Maggie felt no motivation or empathy that day. There was no point in anything. Her life was a dreary existence, and she did not feel the need to change that.
Cleo sat in the cramped living room, trying to get her stripping bag packed. Jenny was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of tea for Maggie. Cleo managed to shove her boots into the duffel bag, then zipped it shut. She placed the strap over her shoulder and walked into the kitchen. "I'm going. I'll be home at midnight probably," she said, pulling the frail blonde in for a hug.
Jenny nodded, and warmly hugged Cleo back. Cleo left the kitchen and peeked her head into the doorframe of the bedroom she and Maggie shared. She eyed the lump beneath the duvet sadly. "Maggie? I'm going to work. Love you," she said. She heard Maggie let out a hum.
"Love you too."
She then left the apartment.
Jenny picked up the steaming hot mug and took it into the quaint bedroom. "Maggie? I brought you some tea," she said in a sweet, maternal tone. Maggie let out another hum.
Jenny sat on the edge of the bed, frowning solemnly. The frame creaked beneath her. "Maggie," she whispered, placing her hand on what she assumed to be Maggie's leg. "Please come out for just a moment and drink some tea," she pled, her voice desperate yet firm.
She heard the woman mutter something unintelligible, before peeking her head out from beneath the duvet. Her sleeping bonnet was still wrapped around her head from the previous night. She did not possess the strength to remove it.
She slowly sat up, every bone and muscle in her body crying out as she moved. Jenny handed her the warm mug. Maggie eyed her for a moment, before taking a sip. The steam from the mug warmed her face completely.
She swallowed, then set the mug on the nightstand. "Thank you," Jenny whispered, forcing a smile. Maggie patted her hand, then buried herself beneath the covers once again. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Jenny could see the tears that stained her friend's cheeks, and the dull look in her eyes. The sight broke her heart.
She stood up and felt hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She was quick to wipe her eyes. As she shuffled towards the door, she paid the balled up figure beneath the duvet one last glance.
Poor baby.
I know that nothing relating to Kurt really happened here, but I just wanted to show you guys some of Maggie's upbringing and trauma. thank you for reading❤️
YOU ARE READING
dumb
Fanfiction"my heart is broke, but i have some glue. help me inhale, and mend it with you."
