Once Bitten, Twice Shy

17

Anne must have fallen asleep at some point during her discoveries, as she woke the next morning to sunlight pouring through her window. Her laptop lay dead beside her, and the clothes from the previous day stuck uncomfortably to her skin. She got up to take a shower, noticing an envelope at the foot of her bed. There was another beside it, and two more wedged under her door. Upon closer inspection she was met with the name she wished would leave her head, and the signature of whom she assumed was her daughter. The temporary clarity in her mind was replaced with even more questions; ones that a simple google search would never be able to answer, and the ache in her heart worsened as she gazed at the perfectly sloping lines that made up the handwriting of the girl she never got to raise.

She tossed them onto her bed, and left her room with a slam of the door. She wasn't sure what Parr was trying to do, but she wouldn't play her silly little games. Last night had brought her at the very least some clarity, and she was starting to accept that maybe her daughter had been ok, no matter the traumas from her childhood. But she knew those letters would only make her long for her baby more, and she didn't want to get lost once again in the labyrinth of doubt concerning Elizabeth's safety. So the letters sat, untouched for the rest of the day, while Anne tried her best to block them from her head.

And the day after that.

And for one more day after that.

Each morning there would be another at her door. And each morning the small pile grew. It was starting to get tiresome. The days dragged on and on where they would sit, gathering dust in the corner of her room, calling out to her, provoking her to open one. And every time she resisted.

One particularly chilly morning, she trudged downstairs to find everyone already eating. Except one. It was the third day in a row that Parr had been missing from the table, and the empty chair taunted her. It poked at the thoughts in the back of her head, and deepened the pit in her stomach that she hadn't even realised was there. It made her angry, and she was starting to get impatient. Parr had no business feeling sorry for herself, or hiding away in her room and silently punishing Anne for her behaviour. After all, it was her fault Anne had acted the way she did. It was her fault Anne hadn't been able to get a good night's sleep for a week. It was her fault Anne had to beat herself up for her actions, all because she wasn't there to take the fall.

It was her fault.

So why did Anne feel guilty?

She slammed a fist on the table impatiently as she rose from her seat and marched out the room, tugging her hoodie tighter around her with a frown and pushing away her conscience. The anger that had turned to sadness in the last few days, was now very much back to anger, but not so much the blinding rage she had surprised herself with days ago, it was like a dull weight in the very centre of her, resenting and hating and making her sick to her stomach.

No matter how much she convinced herself that her daughter was eventually all right, it wasn't enough to heal the damage of knowing that for a moment she hadn't been. And it was enough for her to resent all parties involved.

She was angry at herself for not being there to stop it. She was angry at the world for letting her die before she had the chance. She was angry at everyone that had ever had a part to play in the events leading to this anger. But she was having a hard time getting rid of it. She had already beat herself up to a point of exhaustion where there was really not much more to beat, she couldn't very easily make the world pay for it's input and even if she could she wouldn't know where to start, and to track down nearly every person from her previous life was highly unlikely, simply for the fact that the vast majority of them were dead. When she whittled it down she was left with only one person to blame.

The others listened intently to her footsteps in wonder, until they heard the slam of a door.

Anne walked into the room and took a look around her; forgotten mugs of what was once coffee lay in various places, piles and piles of crumpled paper with scribbled markings sat on desks and shelves. Various notebook were scattered across the floor and in the middle of it all sat a sleeping Parr, curled up in a mess of notes.

Sleeping.

Anne felt the indignation rising in her. How was it that this woman could seem so peaceful, so tranquil, as to sleep, when she, herself had spent the best part of her nights staring blankly at her ceiling in dejection?

The audacity.

Though, while Anne stood there, she saw the smaller details: hair thrown up carelessly on top of her head, eyebrows set in a lasting frown, makeup smudged slightly, yet still giving her face an effortless glo-

And Anne realised she'd been staring far longer than she should have at the girl, forcing it back into her head why she was here.

"Oi dickhead!" Anne called, pushing her shoulder lighter than she intended to. Parr stirred slightly and blinked a few times, looking up at her visitor. Anne felt a lurch in her stomach and, convincing herself it was just because of the hatred she had for this woman, fixed a scowl onto her face before heading to the door, kicking a book out of her way in the process. "Get your ass downstairs, your missing breakfast." She said, and slammed the door behind her.

Parr sighed and stood up, brushing away the mess of papers into a pile. She picked up a small envelope from her lap, smiling weakly at it before placing it carefully on top of a pile of books. It was the last letter she hadn't yet given Anne. And she was having a hard time parting with it. She'd loved Liz like she was her own daughter, and though she wasn't supposed to have favourites, the two had always had an undeniable connection, and it broke her heart to think about the mistakes she had made. No matter how much guilt she held though, it would always bring a smile to her face at the thought that she had had the privilege of raising the girl, and any amount of sadness would be worth it for that.

Splashing a handful of cold water to her face, she braced herself and went downstairs, treading lightly down the steps as if any interruption would sentence her to execution. She felt like an intruder walking into the kitchen, like she didn't yet fit in, like she was still the newbie that threatened to impose on these people's lives and she contemplated running straight back out again until she saw Cleves give her a small nod, as if to reassure her she was still part of the family.

She poured herself a coffee and took her usual seat, zoning into the comfortable hum of chatter around her and for a moment, putting aside the crushing guilt that had been weighing her down for days.

Anne hadn't felt the same peaceful effect. She'd thought that seeing Parr's guilt would rest some of the remorse inside her own head, yet there was no visible regret on the girl's face. She seemed perfectly fine with what had happened, like she had already moved on and put it behind her even though Anne was dying inside and had been for several days. She wanted Parr to feel her pain, she wanted her to know what it was like to feel betrayed by the world, she wanted her to have at least the smallest bit of regret for her actions, yet, no matter what her words said, her face told a different story. She looked untroubled, and it only made Anne's hatred grow.

What Anne didn't know, was that she had it all wrong. It was the first time in days that Parr's mind had finally stopped. Her conscience had been weighing her down to the point that she could barely stand, and the constant voice in her head had been screaming so loud that everything else had been drowned out. She had been hiding away in her room because the sight of Anne's broken face made her simultaneously want to run away, and wrap her in the biggest hug. But she couldn't do either. So she thought the next best thing was space. That maybe, if she had the time to cool off, she would be willing to listen to Parr's apology. So the sight of Anne in her room had filled her with so much hope, until it all came crashing down again at the look in her eyes. The look that she couldn't begin to describe even if she wanted to. She'd thought she had come to let her explain, but it seemed there was no explanation necessary, and Anne had no intention of ever forgiving her.

By now Parr had lost hope. The untroubled look that masked her face wasn't one of happiness, but instead, a lack of energy to keep fighting. She had exhausted herself with inner conflict, and there was no more fight left in her.

Anne would always hate her; She'd just have to learn to accept it.