sweet child of mine.

[esperanza lillian buganski]

She refuses to wear shoes when she's home. It's crossed her mind a few times that she should probably invest in at least a pair of socks, but every time she goes to put them on she just stares at the drawer with a lifeless sort of gaze that makes people back away from her or put their arms around her shoulders and squeeze. Unwilling hugs make her nauseous, but not as much as the thought of hardwood floors beneath her socked feet and so she doesn't wear them now, as she walks around the house aimlessly, all dressed up with nowhere to go and no shoes to take her there. She can't drive, mostly because she didn't wait for the ambulance to get to the house before she spilled Caro's lifeless limbs into the car and tried to get her there, but she backed out too fast and slammed into the street light behind and that's how they found them, Ezzie passed out and Caro dead and flopping around like a fish out of water as the neighbors watched her being pulled from the wreckage. Her car was totaled and due to her incredible substance abuse they took away her license and now she's of age but it's ironic because she couldn't drink legally if she wanted. So, day after day, she bums around the house with a sort of vague loneliness, waiting for Steele or Len to get home and for something to happen even though she knows with the sinking feeling in her stomach that as long as she stays sober, she will have to find something to occupy her time other then television shows and discovering new rooms in the house she's spent every other summer in since she was six. Occasionally, she pulls a cigarette out of a stray pack or pours a drink and stares at it, willing herself into not wanting it. But she does want it. And she hates herself for it.

Now she sits with her legs dangling over the arm of a chair, and she hears a door opening in the far end of the house, hears it shut, follows the pitter-patter of feet. It could be anyone. The thought is exciting for her. She pushes herself to her feet, straightens her belt. She hates her new clothes, the cremes and hazy browns and taupes that she bought in place of the ripped, leathery blacks she's grown so fond of over the years. It's not fair to think she has to ignore herself like this but she knows it's better, because she doesn't want to die. She wants to wait for Caro, she wants to sweeten her return with the burning sensation of death as she waits endlessly to see her gapped smile once more. And so, she does stupid things: she pours alcohol and watches it settle, she lights cigarettes she's never going to smoke, she turns her eyes from naked figures, she abstains from sex and she wears taupes in perfect outfits that are adjusted when she stands.

she is wearing this.

[marlene helen hamilton]

Waving at someone who had just greeted her, the brunette finally made it to the mansion; letting out a sigh of relief, Len finally felt allowed to put the smile which had been plastered on her face aside. Pretending to be fairly okay was not only wearing her out emotionally, but it was starting to take its toll on her features as well, since she could feel the corner of her lips aching from all the fake smiling. It was stupid, of course, she was well aware of it; no one there would have really cared whether she was happy or not. Still, the habit of trying to look pulled together and proper had settled in so deeply that it was hard to get rid of it; she was home, though, so that meant the act was over for the day. Ezzie and Steele both knew about her real state of mind, so it didn't matter; she could not actually fake being okay 24 hours a day, could she? Slowly removing her cinnamon coloured coat, scarf and gloves, the brunette silently placed them on the hanger, knowing someone would have cleaned them up and brought them back to her room; one of the many perks of living in such a wealthy mansion. As everything in life, though, there were downsides too; for instance, it being so large that one could feel lonely inside it most of the time. It was almost like everyone had their own flat, with a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room, and whilst that would have been considered a privilege by most people, it accentuated the loneliness inside her. Marlene was also fairly sure Ezzie felt the same way; she was going through a tougher time than she was, fighting her addictions and self destructive habits.

Had she been her usual self, the girl would have probably tried her hardest to help her, feeling like such issues could never happen to herself all the while; after the last couple of months, though, Marlene wasn't so sure about anything anymore. She could barely pick the pieces of her life up, let alone help someone else in the process; all she could do was sympathize with Ezzie and hope her being close would have been better than nothing. "Good afternoon." The brunette said, as she pushed the door open and glanced at the blond inside the room; smiling slightly at her choice of clothes, she looked around to see if Steele was around. "You're wearing a lot of tame and classy colours lately, I noticed." Of course, Marlene was well aware of the reason behind it; feminine and harmless colours reflected the change of lifestyle she was trying to obtain; still Len didn't feel completely comfortable about it. "You know...you don't have to completely change everything about you, Ezzie. It's alright to wear black and the clothes you used to like; I think it'd be easier for you if you did not try to change every little aspect of yourself, but to gradually adopt a more health life style instead." Taking a seat next to her chair, Len gave her a small smile and started chatting about the day, to take both their minds off their issues. "I met Val today, she was hanging out with her son, Levi...whilst i'm usually not fond of kids, he's so cute. He called me auntie too! After that, I ran into Lena, who was bickering with...someone, as usual."

[esperanza lillian buganski]

She’s annoyed by the advice given to her by her old friend, so annoyed that she wants to tear off all of her clothes in response and step into the pool in the back yard even though it’s thirty degrees outside and drown herself. It’s irrational but it’s how she thinks, and for a moment Ezzie is resigned to the idea of dying in an icy pool of frustration and anger. Then, she realizes that her shirt cost her four hundred and forty dollars and she decides she might as well wear it one more time before she ruins it, and so she just continues fixing her belt and stares at her feet while Len tells her how she should be reacting. She doesn’t understand, Ezzie thinks, blue eyes watery and tired and rimmed in red where she forgot to sleep, again. She doesn’t understand that the reason for my existence killed herself and no one knows because I’m not allowed to talk about it and she really had no reason for dying to begin with except for the profound selfishness she always, always held before anything else. Even before me. Especially before me. And sometimes Ezzie shakes in the night knowing that someone could ignore the person who would die for them - who almost did die for them - so easily. Her toenail polish is chipped and she can’t be fucked to fix it because she’d rather smoke a cigarette and down a fifth of vodka then do absolutely anything else and she can’t sit still in the manicurist’s office because she thinks it’s awkward and she never knows what to talk about. She wiggles her pinky toes and looks back up when the speech is over, and finally she sits back down even though she fixed her clothes already and watches as Len goes on about her day like anything actually mattered. She’s trying to make things better, to ease the painstaking carefulness that Ezzie suspects automatically arises whenever she’s around, but she’s not doing a very good job of it and Ezzie’s mind drifts back and forth between trying to pinpoint the sweet scent of Caro’s skin and trying to focus and respond to what Len is saying. She’s not really listening. She can’t really listen too much, or her head will fall off of her shoulders and she’ll forget what it was like to be all right for a minute. She hasn’t been all right for so long that she aches to recall a time when she didn’t need drugs or cigarettes or anyone to be happy.

“I like the name Levi,” she says absently, then: “Who’s Lena?”

she is wearing this.