Paige; breaking

[x-foliate.livejournal.com]

A narrative. The party is thinking about ending, and Paige's final grasp on sanity decides to follow.


It'd been at least twenty minutes since some woman with white hair and a giant hat had informed her to keep her feet off the furniture. Paige hoped they'd finally given up. The first couple of times she'd been sheepish enough to blush and put her boots back on the floor, but at this point, if her accuser got off with a steely glare, they could consider themselves lucky. It wasn't like she was putting them up on the table.

Paige had retreated to one of the back tables, her own kind of corner, and stretched out on her legs, ankles crossed, to rest on an empty chair. Her posture argued her out of any questions regarding her use of the chair, as well as any dance requests. It also seemed to be a secret beacon to all the waiters. "Please get me drunk!" in large, flashing lights. So, Paige held a champagne glass limply in her hand, not really drinking any more, but occasionally looking down to watch the bubbles rise and pop at the surface.

You brought down champagne that night. Sarah called it a pussy drink and laughed at you, but you'd been expecting worse. You hadn't expected the little smile of delight, quickly hidden by her hair, as you pulled out the glasses from behind your back.

"Too good to drink it out of the bottle?" she'd asked.

"Too classy."

Sarah couldn't argue that. And when the two of you had collapsed into Sarah's bed, giggling, and you had poked at the gold sticker on her nose, calling her adorable, she couldn't argue that either. You wouldn't let her.

Raising her head, Paige found her gaze landing on Alison and Haroun, swaying gently together. The music had turned slow, and the lights dropped to a dusky blue hue while Paige had been away in her own head. The two of them had dropped the niceties of 'proper' wedding dancing, Alison pressed close against him and her cheek resting against his shoulder. With one arm around his waist and the other up and around to grasp onto his shoulder, it was obvious who had asked for this dance, but Haroun didn't look like he minded too much.

His head was tilted just enough that he could rest his nose in the soft, blonde curls of Alison's hair. She smelled of summer; of sunshine and berry picking and the wind through the grass and it curved his mouth ever so slightly, even with the remnants of his headache. Every now and again he would open his eyes, peeking down at the woman in his arms. There was a soft glow around them, warm and content, with a twinkle of star shine; it was no wonder that Paige had picked the two of them out of the crowd.

She'd always been tough. Fierce and unwavering. You remember her eyes so clearly from that night; soft and concerned and filled with a kind of determination that had managed to shock you back inside. The way she warmed you with her light, that same star shine light, and held you when you cried. The way she tucked you in, piling on extra blankets to keep the chill that you thought you would never shake from returning. The way she sat by the side of the bed and made pictures on the wall until you couldn't hold your eyes open any more.

Her girl. Alison's little girl.

And now, you imagine her lips parting ever so slightly, whispering into Haroun's collar. You can't hear her words, but you know that while you keep your gaze so fixed on her mouth, Haroun is glancing at you quickly. She's telling him the plan. The plan to unhinge you. You've had a couple drinks, it wouldn't take much to get you to cause a scene. Then they'll be rid of you. No one will want to associate with you after ruining the wedding, and Scott will have to take you off the team, and when you're all by yourself, Alison will have her little girl back.

Right after this song...

Paige abruptly got to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor noisily, but there was too much fog for her to hear it. She had to get to the stairs, she could remember that much. Her boots that had been difficult to walk in before were now near impossible, the panic setting in and causing her to shake, and she uttered many pardons as she wove her way through the crowd, keeping the stairs in view.

A shriek of laughter caught her off guard, and Paige whipped around, eyes wide, towards the source. Meggan was giggling, her soft slippers sliding off the leather of Angelo's shoes as she tried in vain to stand on them. Chuckling fondly, Angelo scooped the girl up, cradling her in his arms a moment, before creating a seat of sorts out of his clasped hands. Wrapping her arms around Angelo's neck, the two of them set into a dance of their own, twirling to the music, lost in each other's smiles.

Amanda came up behind Angelo, tapping on his shoulder. There were words exchanged, but Paige couldn't hear them. Meggan shook her head, pouting, and Amanda tried again, but to no success. Finally, some sort of agreement was made, and Angelo shifted Meggan to his side, as Amanda took his other hand. It was a strange sort of dance, Amanda and Angelo, and Angelo and Meggan, and Amanda and Meggan and Angelo together, but it worked. They couldn't do much more than rock a little to the beat, but it worked, and as a bonus, Meggan's eyes were beginning to close, snuggling against Angelo.

You were joking with him on the roof only weeks ago. About the officer uniform and the handcuffs, remember? Remember how the two of you teased and laughed and pretended you were oh-so-mature? That this was exactly what you wanted? You didn't remind him of all the things that could go wrong if he left, and he answered the few problems that did come up with false promises.

But you couldn't promise him this. You almost did, didn't you? You almost promised him a family when he came home. A ring, a house, a fence. A place for the dogs to run, and for the twins to explore. It's what he wants. He wants this, what he has right in front of him. He wants normalcy. He wants that life he never got to live. He wants his life.

She could give him this. Without you in the picture, one day she'll go running to him instead of out of the mansion. Amanda had brought it up herself; Angelo was one of your folk, but out of the picture? Manuel and Amanda fought so often, it would only be so long before the brother/sister relationship frayed into something else. This is what he wanted. He wanted a family.

He doesn't want you. It was only a matter of time.

The champagne glass that Paige had still been holding shattered on the stone as it fell, causing more than a few heads to turn in surprise. Blurting quickly something about towels, she raced to the stairs and up them, two at a time. Her boots pounded loudly as she ran down the halls; or was it her heart? She couldn't tell any more. She just couldn't tell anything.

The door to her room slammed closed behind her and Paige tore at herself, needing to get out of her clothes as quickly as possible. She was burning, itching, choking; nothing was making sense, making too much sense, making her crazy. Her tie was yanked over her head and thrown to the ground, the buttons of her jacket suddenly incredibly small for her large, and clumsy fingers, but it soon followed. She didn't have time for her shirt, too many buttons and not enough air, but she had enough strength to tear it open, sending buttons scattering. The rest of her clothes followed in the same kind of fashion until she was naked in the middle of her room, trembling.

A bruise ran the length of her forearm, ugly and purple-green. It had been there for a while, the same with the ones on her legs, but now they were mocking her. They had to go away. She had to clean herself of them. Taking a hold of her hair, Paige tugged quickly, the usual 'shrip' noise more of a painful tear, but somehow she found release in it.

But the bruises had not gone away. Instead there were more. Dark, fresh bruises, the size of a baseball on her hip, another on her shoulder that reached... yes, looking in the mirror, it ran all the way down her back. This wasn't right. This wasn't possible. Pulling again, Paige discarded another skin, this time revealing long, angry welts along her abdomen. Again and there were more, crossing her arms and wrists. Again, and they opened, shallow slashes along otherwise pristine, cream skin. Blood welled up, like the scream in her throat, and she shoved her knuckle between her teeth, biting down.

Her back found itself pressed against the walls of her room, a corner, and she slid down, pulling herself as close inwards as she could muster. Her cheek on her knees, Paige listened to the muffled sounds of the party bellow and the steady drip of her own blood hitting the floor.

Note: No worries. Paige manages to clean up by morning and spends the rest of her visit by herself, either pretending to read or listening to music, usually outside. She will, however, return to the mansion without incident. Good thing she's so good at this avoidy thing; can do it even without a functioning brain it seems. ;)