Explain It To Me
Sep. 6th, 2013 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holiday_pirner in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
birthright_rpgHolly had been dreaming of the Underground. She had first seen a tube station when she was little, maybe 5 or 6. Or that was the first time she remembered. She had been afraid of it, the trains, the noise, the air rushing around her. It was one of the last times her mum and dad had gone out together, as a family.
Her father held her hand on the train and started talking about the mechanics, the history, every single boring detail he could pinpoint. Because if Holly was bored, she wasn’t afraid. If she understood, she wasn’t scared.
Something violently hit the wall by her head, and she woke with a start. The brunette wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. For once, she had turned the television off before going to bed. Her other hand began searching for the lamp, but stopped when she heard muffled words.
A woman’s voice, then a man’s. A few soft thumps against the wall, then a sound like nails scratching which made Holly cringe. She thought she heard the woman gasp, and Holly breathed a sigh of relief. Living in a motel meant you heard your neighbors more often than not.
Holly began to lie down again, to pretend she hadn’t just been woken up by two strangers having sex, when the door slammed.
Footsteps, quiet but distinct, seemed to pause in front of her own door. Holly squeezed the pillow, not even daring to breathe. After a long moment that she couldn’t gauge, they continued toward the staircase.
She counted the steps.
14 stairs, 14 steps.
Still, Holly waited. The clock radio didn’t have batteries, so she measured the time by counting her own pulse. When she reached 300, she stood. Her bare feet found a plastic Bic lighter and she winced. Almost on autopilot, she found her way out of her own room, and standing in front of the one next door.
Why hadn’t she knocked? Could she have known, even then, it would have been pointless? Instead, she tried the knob, and it was unlocked. It brushed against the carpeting as she gently swung it open.
The thing that struck her first was that every light was on. The bedside lamp, the one over the bed itself, the bathroom’s. It allowed her to see the woman right away. She was lying on the bed, eyes open, one arm draped over her stomach, the other wrenched oddly above her head. Holly covered her own mouth with her hand, but a sound bubbled out anyway. She had never heard herself make that sound before. It had settled vaguely between a hiccup and a sob.
The brunette turned, afraid that maybe the assailant had come back, and was standing behind her. No one there. She ventured further into the room. Clothes were strewn around, and the tiny wastebasket had an overflow of crumpled, empty beer cans.
Why was this walk taking so long? It seemed forever had passed, until Holly realized she had kept starting and stopping. Trying to delay. She didn’t have to be here. She could run, call the police, they might even give her one of those nice, warm blankets like the one who had told her about her dad had done.
A chunk of time fell away from her, because she wasn’t sure how she got from the middle of the room to touching the woman’s wrist. Gently, Holly brushed her straw-colored hair aside. Her eyes found the spot on the neck.
Five minutes later, Holly was back in her own room, furiously packing her belongings. She didn’t know where she would go, but she couldn’t stay there. Not with identical furniture, not with her room being a mirror image of her’s.
Her father held her hand on the train and started talking about the mechanics, the history, every single boring detail he could pinpoint. Because if Holly was bored, she wasn’t afraid. If she understood, she wasn’t scared.
Something violently hit the wall by her head, and she woke with a start. The brunette wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. For once, she had turned the television off before going to bed. Her other hand began searching for the lamp, but stopped when she heard muffled words.
A woman’s voice, then a man’s. A few soft thumps against the wall, then a sound like nails scratching which made Holly cringe. She thought she heard the woman gasp, and Holly breathed a sigh of relief. Living in a motel meant you heard your neighbors more often than not.
Holly began to lie down again, to pretend she hadn’t just been woken up by two strangers having sex, when the door slammed.
Footsteps, quiet but distinct, seemed to pause in front of her own door. Holly squeezed the pillow, not even daring to breathe. After a long moment that she couldn’t gauge, they continued toward the staircase.
She counted the steps.
14 stairs, 14 steps.
Still, Holly waited. The clock radio didn’t have batteries, so she measured the time by counting her own pulse. When she reached 300, she stood. Her bare feet found a plastic Bic lighter and she winced. Almost on autopilot, she found her way out of her own room, and standing in front of the one next door.
Why hadn’t she knocked? Could she have known, even then, it would have been pointless? Instead, she tried the knob, and it was unlocked. It brushed against the carpeting as she gently swung it open.
The thing that struck her first was that every light was on. The bedside lamp, the one over the bed itself, the bathroom’s. It allowed her to see the woman right away. She was lying on the bed, eyes open, one arm draped over her stomach, the other wrenched oddly above her head. Holly covered her own mouth with her hand, but a sound bubbled out anyway. She had never heard herself make that sound before. It had settled vaguely between a hiccup and a sob.
The brunette turned, afraid that maybe the assailant had come back, and was standing behind her. No one there. She ventured further into the room. Clothes were strewn around, and the tiny wastebasket had an overflow of crumpled, empty beer cans.
Why was this walk taking so long? It seemed forever had passed, until Holly realized she had kept starting and stopping. Trying to delay. She didn’t have to be here. She could run, call the police, they might even give her one of those nice, warm blankets like the one who had told her about her dad had done.
A chunk of time fell away from her, because she wasn’t sure how she got from the middle of the room to touching the woman’s wrist. Gently, Holly brushed her straw-colored hair aside. Her eyes found the spot on the neck.
Five minutes later, Holly was back in her own room, furiously packing her belongings. She didn’t know where she would go, but she couldn’t stay there. Not with identical furniture, not with her room being a mirror image of her’s.