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[♔ ABIGAIL WINTERS]

there is a part i can't tell. about the dark i know well.

Three years. It had been three years since she’d been back here. Three years, two of which had been spent getting regularly hospitalised by the man that she loved, an attempted rape, falling apart, breaking down, being nothing. Three years, and Abby was not the same person that she had been last time she’d seen her sister in person; she was quieter, jumpier, afraid of everything. She apologised too much, she freaked out, she had no self-esteem, and knowing that Ellie hated her made everything almost impossible for her. She’d had a panic attack in the airport, after talking to her sister online, wondering if she was making a huge mistake, by coming back; she wanted to show Angel where she had grown up, she wanted to see her dad and step-mum, she wanted to try and make amends with her sister, but Ellie obviously hated her, and Abby just couldn’t deal with that. She tried to avoid conflict at all possible costs, and hated the idea that someone was mad at her...but Ellie wasn’t just mad, she didn’t want to talk to her. She was her sister, and Abby loved her, and she knew that she’d been terrible, recently, but she’d been focussing on not falling apart at the seams, not wanting to just throw herself down the stairs and be done with it all, on getting better instead of clinging to the past and getting worse. It hadn’t been easy, not even slightly. Some days, she didn’t know how she got out of bed, and Abby knew for a fact that she wouldn’t have been able to be here at all if Angel hadn’t been there, holding her hand, if Ben hadn’t been so supportive when he found out why she’d disappeared. There were no words to explain how difficult the past few years had been for her, how easy it would have been for all her progress recently to just disappear, all because her little sister hated her. Abby couldn’t stand it, if that were really the case. She’d go back to her room and cry and beg Angel to take her home, or at least away from here, if there were no flights, and she’d never think of this again, even if it wouldn’t actually be the worst Christmas she’d ever had. She wanted to go home already.

This wasn’t home, anymore. New York was Abby’s home, and she might have been born here, she might have been staying in the room she’d had in her teenage years, even, everything might have been familiar, but it wasn’t home; it was strangely disconcerting, to be somewhere that was so familiar, and yet have everything be a little off, too. She’d go for a walk, later, and she was sure that she would discover how much the town had changed, how much everything had changed. But this wasn’t home for her, anymore, and right now, all she wanted to do was go back to her apartment and cuddle up to Angelo and never have agreed to come back here, because she wasn’t ready for this, yet. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t explain to her sister what had happened to her in person, why she’d been so absentee, she couldn’t tell her father, because he’d probably cry and be unwilling to let her go back to America, and she’d have to be the child, for a little while, and Abby couldn’t do that; she didn’t want to be a victim, she didn’t want to be a child. She’d needed to be taken care of so much, recently, and she wanted to be able to take care of herself, even if there was no way that she was actually at that point yet. Christmas was supposed to be fun, and she was actually feeling capable of that, this year, or she had been, before she’d flown out; she should never have agreed to come—but Abby knew that the longer she left it, the harder it would have become, and the more Ellie would have hated her, ultimately. She couldn’t deal with that; Abby did everything in her power to avoid conflict, and arguments, and being hated. Those things terrified her.

Honestly, a lot terrified her, and there was so much going on in her mind, so many things that Abby was trying to deal with but couldn’t that she couldn’t sleep. She was tired, definitely, and jet lagged, which meant that both her brother and her boyfriend were likely to be asleep, but she slipped out from Angelo’s arms, pulling on her dressing gown and heading downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe if she had a drink, it would be better – better than lying awake for hours, because Abby hated that. Either she couldn’t sleep, or she did sleep but had nightmares; they weren’t exactly brilliant alternatives. It was probably already the sort of time where most people would have been up, but the three of them were sleeping off the time difference, for the time being, or at least supposed to be, but Abby had to admit that she was pretty glad that she hadn’t come across her dad yet this morning, in her sleepy state; he knew that she had something to tell him, he knew that, and not just because he’d already seen how protective Angel and Ben were of her, how she was almost permanently holding her boyfriend’s hand, because she was so afraid, right now, and Abby really didn’t want to do that yet. She wanted to put it off until after Christmas, although she wasn’t honestly sure how possible that would be; she needed to tell. She had spent far too long lying about everything that had happened to her, and Abby needed to tell. Instead, she got a glass out of the cupboard, and went to the fridge for some milk; maybe a drink would help her sleep, instead.

tag: ellie. words: 987. notes: <3

© SUMMER AT A THOUSAND FIREFLIES

[ELEANOR WINTERS]

England was part of Great Britain. It had a Queen for a Monarch and a Prince who recently underwent emergency heart surgery to have a stent in place due to a blocked artery. The operation was mildly invasive and done in local anaesthetic. At ninety years old the Prince was still going strong an still making comments that bamboozled, embarrassed and entertained the nation. On the whole it was a chilly year for Eleanor Winters who had lived in England her entire life. She had managed only once to leave the damn country (excluding adjoining countries of Wales and Scotland) to go abroad, away from her parents with friends. Actually, that was when Eleanor Winters had friends. She didn't have any now. It was a fact she kept to herself and drowned her loneliness and anger in a haze of alcohol and drugs. England was home, but it held bitter and resentful feelings for the young brunette. As per usual, the winter had started so before hitting with a harsh chill, harsh winds and a dollop of snow. A few years ago it had seemed as though snow would be a foreign concept and that the children of her country would only read about it in books. It was not to be. England which had been graced with the mildest of winters was hit once more with plummeting temperatures - but not enough, thankfully, to freeze pipes. she was just glad that this time she wasn't bloody snowed in and unable to escape the festivities her parents forced her to endure year after year. In England, she was alone.

Eleanor Winters didn't tell people she had a sister, not outright anyway. She would say so when they asked who this Abby was that she mentioned. It was always followed by 'Abigail' in a disdainful tone, a terse explanation and most had the sense to drop the damn subject immediately. She did not talking about her sister, thinking about her sister nor did she like being told what to do by strangers who had never even met her before. Bastards. Eleanor Winters was alone in england with just a drunken mother, a prim and proper step mother and a father whom she loved but irritated her to no end. Like most teenagers Ellie spent the past five years just dying to get away and resenting their very existence. The interference in her life from positions of authority, AKA Mum and Dad, had Eleanor acting out and being a general pain in the ass. More so than anything, it was the constant 'why cant you be more like Abigail' that really had Eleanor Winters insisting her name was simply Ellie and that she would do things her way and not her sister's. Abigail was the resented sibling Ellie had to put up with. Once upon a time she had worshipped the ground that girl had walked on. She had tried to impress her sister and be useful butt what use was a girl five years younger than yourself? At eighteen you did not want to have your thirteen year old, barely pubescent kid sister hanging around. Then Abigail left. Eleanor's siblings dropped from two to one and she really only spoke of Benjamin, her brother by familial relation though not by blood. Her relationship with him remained strong and good though a healthy rivalry sparked between them. A small part of her always resented Benjamin too, for leaving, for picking Abigail over her but in the end, it was her big sister who got the brute force of Eleanor's feelings. Not only did Abigail abandon her, she incited that Benny do the same. They left her here, with parents who spoke of wonders of them and just told her she should behave herself and if they caught her once more she was out on her ear. Well she wasn't giving them that option to hold over her head anymore: Eleanor was jumping ship. As soon as Christmas was over she was going to America - Albany to be exact. It was the same city as her dear brother Ben and close enough to be an irritation to Abigail, but far enough away that neither of them had to see each other unless they wanted to.

In the hopes of cultivating a stronger relationship with her brother, dubbed upon drunken occasions 'Benny Bunnett', Ellie had jumped online onto a chat room she knew was an American one. There she met Cameron, twenty seven, unemployed and her kind of girl. She also met her f***ing brother Jason who liked to stick his f***ing nose into business that wasn't his and claimed it was because he cared about her sister. She didn't give a sh*t. Eleanor's relationship with her sister was none of his business, and the opposite was also true. Yet he was allowed to roam free all over things that had nothing to do with him. Ellie had raged, silently considering dropping out of moving to the United States altogether if people couldn't keep their sh*t to themselves, their noses or their opinions. But she had met Abigail there once more, who implored her simply to listen and since it would shut her parents up for a while Eleanor agreed. Abigail probably had some crappy excuse or tragic story she was expected to believe and care about which would make everything all OK again. She was determined not to bite. Abigail could take her truth, her lies, her expected sympathy had shove it - or so Eleanor was determined. They were strangers to one another. The blood they shared meant nothing at all. It didn't have to. She felt more like a sister to Benjamin than she had done with Abigail in a long long time. Benny could make anyone feel loved and warm. Online nearly everyone knew him and they all thought he was great. The ones that knew Abigail sang their pretty little praises and judged her because that's what good friends do. Good friends support those they love.

Her mother warned she would tolerate no crap, though her real other was currently out getting smashed somewhere. Eleanor always maintained that drunken no gooder was her real mother, only because she was constantly rebelling and mad at the insistent comparisons to a woman she didn't even admire. Benjamin's mother was her mother in every way but blood and damn she loved that woman to pieces. Yet she met her with scorn and contempt because really, if she wasn't being bubbly and getting drunk, it was the only way she knew how to communicate anymore. Eleanor didn't have anything. She didn't have people to defend her, or anyone who cared that much. If they had, then they would have noticed her weird behaviour when she was fourteen, pregnant and having an abortion. They would have realised that instead of not coming home because she was out all night drinking, it was because she spent the night in hospital after being mugged and nearly sexually assaulted. but no one wanted to notice Eleanor Winters: not when they had Abigail and Benjamin to fawn over. Were middle siblings ever noticed? It didn't matter. She was to be on her best behaviour for 'Abby and Ben' who had come home from America, (finally) for the holidays. Then her sister refused to go out with her, rejecting the half olive branch Ellie had extended with the buffer of Benjamin and a hint of 'I'll be good, no really, i will'. With that grating against her mind, Ellie prepared to meet her sister, who had something to say, apparently.

[♔ ABIGAIL WINTERS]

there is a part i can't tell. about the dark i know well.

She should never have come back. All Abby wanted to do was go home, back to her apartment in the city she felt welcome in, and hide away from the world again. She wanted to curl up in her bed and just be alone, because that was how she should have been, if her sister’s view was anything to go by. She should have been alone, and Abby was willing to accept that—she just couldn’t do it here. She didn’t think her sister appreciated how hard this year had been for her, how she had been terrified of coming back home. She’d escaped from her abusive relationship, finally, after almost being raped by someone she’d once loved. She’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t in the hope that it would make her feel better, until she fell apart so thoroughly that she hadn’t been able to go on, and taking that entire bottle of pills in her bathroom cabinet had seemed more and more like a good idea—but she hadn’t done that. She’d been unable to smile, to get out of bed, to find any reason to keep living, and when she’d been unable to name even five good things about her week, she’d forced her best friend to move away from his life in an entirely different state and come and stay with her instead. She hadn’t been sleeping, until Angelo had come to stay with her, she hadn’t been able to do a lot of things, but in his arms she was safe. She’d been forced to see a therapist – and run away from her appointments on more than one occasion, because she couldn’t stand to talk about what had happened to her, because she was so avoidant; it had been the only way that she could cope. She’d changed; she was apologetic and depressed and anxious and had panic attacks. She had PTSD. There were places that she refused to go, now, things she couldn’t do. She had nightmares, and they were better, now, but they still happened; they just weren’t so bad that she couldn’t sleep. She’d had to stop working for six months because she couldn’t cope...she’d had to go through being terrorised by her ex again and again, because the bastard wouldn’t leave her alone even with a restraining order. She’d had to go to court and see him there and he hadn’t been sent away for long enough; Christian was out of prison, now, and that terrified her, too. He was out, and who knew what he might do to her. The threats had been very clear; if he went to prison, she would regret it.

The Abby who had left Ellie was not the same person as she was now, and it wasn’t because she was older, because she was dating someone (and so dependent on them that she was pretty sure she couldn’t function without Angelo). It was because she was traumatised, terrified, broken. She was getting better, but she would always be a little bit broken – and that was what she kept trying to tell Angelo, every time that Abby doubted their relationship. He was always going to have to look after her, because she couldn’t cope with things that should have been normal. Coming home to see your family after so long would have been stressful for anyone, but she’d had a panic attack in the airport, she almost hadn’t gotten on that plane, that was how bad it had been. She and Angel had talked about this for a very long time, had left booking tickets until Thanksgiving, but she’d had to come back. She knew that Ellie hated her, and that wasn’t something that Abby could bear; it was one of the things she avoided like the plague, actually. She couldn’t deal with people being angry at her, or even in her presence, thanks to Christian, and she’d either beg them to stop, or just leave the room before she started crying; violence terrified her. Anger terrified her, and the fact that her own sister seemed to be doing everything she could to make Abby feel terrible didn’t help a thing. The longer she was here, the more like shit Abby felt, and she knew that Ellie had every right to feel the way that she felt, she knew that she’d left – because she blamed herself for everything, now, even though she’d had every right to study abroad, even though she had come back every holiday, until she’d met Chris, even though Eleanor hadn’t come to visit her once, when she could have done – but it was bringing her down. She could barely leave her room, now, and it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was that she physically couldn’t. Telling her father had been hard, but he and her step-mum had just held her tight and they’d all cried...and Abby knew he looked at her differently now, but she’d had to get used to that, and she had Angel and Ben here with her. But Ellie...she kept trying to make Ellie see, but her sister was so angry at her, and Abby just could not stand it any longer. She wanted to go home. Being hated from a distance was better than feeling constantly on the edge; any little thing was going to push her over into pure fear and panic.

She had tried everything she could think of to make things right with Ellie, she really had; it was all very well for Jason to say that her sister just needed to get over herself and realise that clinging to her anger was making Abby ill, but Jason wasn’t the one here. He wasn’t the one trying desperately to reclaim some kind of relationship with someone that he loved, and blaming himself for everything that had happened even if it wasn’t his fault. Abby always thought things were her fault, always apologised. She had tried so, so hard to sort things out, to make Ellie see that it had been circumstance, not anything personal, that had kept her away – and did her sister really want Abby to snap and ask if she would have wanted to meet the guy who’d broken every bone in Abby’s arms, who’d controlled every aspect of her life, who’d held her self-esteem in his hands, so that she couldn’t get out? Abby didn’t want to talk about what had happened to her, why she wasn’t the same as she’d been the last time she had seen Ellie, three years ago, but maybe she would have to. Maybe it was the only way, to be open and vulnerable and just...hope. Hope that her sister would see that Abby was killing herself, trying to make things right, killing herself with how bad she felt, being here, because of how Eleanor reacted to her, but that she’d keep doing it until she wasn’t sleeping, again, until she couldn’t eat or get out of bed or barely even breathe. When Abby had said that she couldn’t go out with her siblings, she had meant it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was that she hadn’t been able to leave her room. They didn’t understand what it was like to be physically incapable of doing that, however much they had wanted her to be there. Even if she hadn’t wanted to, Abby would have been there if she could, just for them, but she hadn’t been able to. She wasn’t even comfortable being here in the kitchen, right now, and this had been her house. She just wanted to go to the airport and go home. She felt better when she was at home; being hated...Abby loved her sister, and she wanted to make things right, but she had exhausted all the options. She just couldn’t try any harder than she already was.

Hearing someone else in the kitchen, Abby turned her head to look, and...oh. Butterflies filled her stomach, and she was pretty sure that it was getting harder for her to breathe, just from her sister’s presence; she was terrified of the next accusation, the next attack, and she concentrated on pouring her drink and putting the milk back in the fridge before she did anything. One step at a time, slowly, slowly. She’d be okay. This was a safe place for her to be, this house...but she wanted Angel. He was asleep, but God, she wanted him to be here; he made her feel safe. Of everyone, he was the one person who could calm her down properly; all he had to do was speak gently, hold her hand or wrap her in his arms and say reassuring things, and she would be okay again. But he wasn’t here; Abby had to do this alone. “Hello,” she said quietly, finally, turning around again, grasping the glass in her hands; she was pretty sure that she didn’t seem anything like the older sister, right now. Should she just...come right out with trying to explain herself? Should she wait, and see what Ellie had to say to her first? Abby didn’t know. She needed someone here to tell her what to do. Her friends always knew, even when she didn’t. “How are you?” Small talk. She could start with small talk. She could do small talk and not want to curl up in a corner of the room....perhaps.

tag: ellie. words: 1572. notes: <3

© SUMMER AT A THOUSAND FIREFLIES

[ELEANOR WINTERS]

Eleanor, quite frankly, could be, and quite often played the part, in being a selfish bitch. You know, the kind of girl that thought of herself first and dealt only with what happened to her, when it happened, how it happened and who had what part in the tale. It was true she was pretty blind to the world around her, despite being hyper aware of it at the same time. It often didn't make sense, the things she'd notice, and the things that would slip past her. One would assume she would be aware of how much her sister, Abigail, was in pain. And yet Eleanor did not really have much of a clue about that? She would defend herself, if you asked, and claim how could she? She and her sister had five years between them (give or take a few months), which was a significant gap growing up, and for Eleanor continued to be one. Her sister left when she was thirteen years old and on the verge of mixing up in things she should never have become involved in. Unbeknownst to to Eleanor, Abigail had her own deal with struggle with, which to this day plagued her mind like a fiend. Eleanor wasn't, per say, blind to the fact her sister was unhappy, she was blind to the extent of the pain she was in. The girl put up a pretty good show of being together and with it and happy herself. Yet she was mixed up, messed up and if asked what other people thought of her she'd reply she was a slut who needed a good slap from a parental figure and a severe telling off. Yet she seemed so happy when you met her.

Eleanor didn't know why Abigail left beyond wanting to go to an American University. The Winters children were all blessed with being inordinately clever and thus able to get into these big schools. Eleanor could have went to Cambridge or Oxford, occasionally called Oxbridge, but she chose a lesser school out of the country instead. Her life style choices were unknown to even her, so she couldn't possibly explain what she was thinking beyond the fact she no longer wanted to be in the same time zone as her parents, let alone the same country. She had been sat down and had a 'chat' about her parents fears and why was she running away from them? All their children had left them, as though everything were about them and so she was doing it to spite them (she was, just a little, or a lot - Eleanor wasn't sure). She couldn't just run away from her problems (who said she had any) and she wasn't nearly responsible enough to do as her big sister and little brother had done. Eleanor had rolled her eyes, was scolded for it, and told them she was going anyway. You know, anything Abigail she could do just as well, no, in fact she could do it better and they were just going to have to accept the fact she was moving out and away from home. They even asked at one point why she didn't love her sister ( it was obvious to anyone who meets Ellie she held great animosity towards her) which only caused a 'storming off' and a yell over her shoulder of 'I do love my sister,' as though it were a crime for anyone to think otherwise. Eleanor did have a funny way of showing it. But you know what, according to the girl herself, Abby had a strange way of showing it too so they were even, kinda. She was just mad and hurt that her sister had left. She had abandoned her after they had been so close and friendly. She was jealous too, because her parents didn't help any, since they always banged on about how great Abigail was and how well she was doing and wasn't it wonderful? Why can't you be more like your Abigail or Benjamin, Eleanor? When were they going to realise she wasn't her siblings?

They had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to behave this Christmas. They weren't going to tolerate any fighting or cat fighting or sniping or arguments. Little did they know, because Ellie hadn't felt inclined to inform them, that she had agreed to speak with her sister without jumping down her throat. OK, so normally Eleanor would claim she agreed only to listen, and not to the 'being good' part, but she figured, for once, since it was Christmas and all, to cut her sister a break. Believe it or not, whilst Eleanor liked arguing and heated debates she did not like being angry this long, and definitely not at her sister. Oh she did it well - so convincingly everyone thought she was a relentless, heartless bitch because of it. no one really took to the time to get to know her and Ellie wasn't sure she wanted people to do that. All she heard in her life was how great her sister was and how terribly awful she was doing - dropped out of university, always out partying too hard and why couldn't she be like they wanted? Ellie was good at being angry. She was going at being the bitch. She was good at it because she had so many opinions wrapped up inside that it was a relief to get them out. Eleanor was always the bad guy in every equation - it was pretty much expected so she was automatically defensive. her back was always up, her hackles always raised and if they weren't they were pretty quick to get that way. She was one for the mood swings that was for sure and as for PMT? Oh dear lord get out of the room she might explode. However now was not the time of undue or even overdue explosions. Now was the time to do as her precious sister requested and listen to what she had to say. An apology no doubt.

Ellie was no so selfish and wrapped up in herself to not know she was supposed to give one to Abby. In fact, she pretty much had to, but that didn't mean she wanted to. She had a burned self righteous sting going on here and it wouldn't do to drop the whole thing now, not after she had been burning that torch for the past eight long years. Her arguments were the same, her anger grew with each year but Eleanor wasn't the same little girl who felt so hurt and lost without her big sister there to bug and bother and cling on to. Eleanor got harsh. She got popular. She got out of control and really, she was a train wreck. She was going to take other poeple down with her sooner or later. So far she had been lucky in the fact the flames had only licked her skin, in the sense, all her friends had bailed on her and she had made new ones. But they weren't really friends: they were drinking buddies, fuck buddies, people to get high with, people to dance with, and scream with. She didn't really know them and they didn't know her either. Ellie didn't want them to. Eleanor Josephine Winters wouldn't tell a soul but she didn't think highly of herself at all. She sat in her room at night and stared in the mirror wondering what everyone else saw because she was positive it was nothing good. She came stumbling home every night, loose with alcohol, falling into bed with her clothes still on - sometimes her heels too - only to be found by her tutting mother and, not always but a lot, a slamming door of frustration and disappointment. No one was watching out for alcoholism, though Eleanor would deny she was addicted to drink. Yet they should be, since her birth mother was nearly constantly drunk and drinking too much wasn't Eleanor's only vice. She was having too much fun to stop and felt too ashamed to ask for help because she didn't like to be vulnerable, nor did she want to have to deal with their shame, their disappointment, their lack of hope for her. So she put up with their exasperation instead. She dealt with their frustration and constant harping on about being a 'proper lady'. Eleanor Winters was good at not dealing with pain. Did she really have to deal with her sister's too?

It was late and for once Eleanor wasn't drunk. She was all dressed up as if she had been out but really she had been avoiding the WELCOME HOME for her brother and sister (sister mostly) because she really hadn't felt like celebrating. Unfortunately she wasn't going to get to be Wild Ellie until tomorrow because her sister was already there in the kitchen, drinking mild (yuck) of all things. Her duties as the patient sister had apparently commenced the second the plane touched down at the airport. Wanting her parents to at least miss her a little while she was away in Albany, Eleanor bit down the retorts, nodded and said she had made plans (wasn't that unfortunate) but she'd see them when they got back. They'd have to deal with the fact she had a life of her own. She had had a couple of drinks, nothing major because she hadn't actually been out with anyone and even Eleanor knew drinking alone wasn't fun. She had met a guy, and apparently his girlfriend hadn't liked that, evidence of a slap on her cheek was forming. Was she a mind reader now? Seriously? Last time she checked telepathy was not part of the human spectrum of abilities. Jees, get a grip girl. The entire night her mind had been on Abigail and talking to him had taken her mind off it for a while. She had thought of nothing else on the way home.

OH good, her sister was up and in the kitchen. Jolly joys. Look at her she was grinning like a Cheshire Cat at the warm fuzzy surprise. Civility. You promised. Civility. Eleanor didn't break her promises.

"Fine I guess," she replied, not asking in return. Eleanor had said she'd be nice - this was her being nice. Be thankful she wasn't kicking off.

She wasn't going to kick off.

She had promised she wouldn't.



A/N sorry for the mahoosive delay on that! >.< Eleanor was being difficult and not at all as bitchy as required! <3<3

[♔ ABIGAIL WINTERS]

there is a part i can't tell. about the dark i know well.

This wasn’t who she was supposed to be, how she had been, before this whole mess with Christian. This wasn’t who Abby wanted to be, either, especially not now; coming home meant that her family still expected her to be the person that she had been three years ago, last time she’d been here, and she wasn’t, she really wasn’t. People could change a lot in that time, and it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to her family, the kind of person that she was, now; they hadn’t seen her for so long, so of course they didn’t know her, they didn’t know what she had been through. She might have mentioned having some trouble, recently, but she never went into detail, she never told them that her ex-boyfriend was harassing her, that he’d come into her apartment and hit her. She never told them that she’d had to write down every single thing he had done to her, and how much of a struggle it had been not to take every single sleeping pill on her bathroom shelf that night, and the subsequent nights. She never told them that she was in therapy, now, that she was on anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds. She never told them that there had been a court date, that he was out of jail again, two months later...she hadn’t told them anything, because it had been so hard, and the longer she’d left it, the harder it had become. And with her siblings, especially...she was the eldest, and she was supposed to be strong for them. That was how it had always been; she’d been the role model, the perfect big sister. She’d helped them with their homework, she’d always made sure she’d been to their school plays, she played stupid games with them even when she wanted to be laying on her bed chatting to her friends about boys. She was supposed to be strong, she was supposed to protect them, and she had failed so miserably, she had let this terrible thing happen to her when she should have stopped it...and how could she let them down more than she had already done? It had fallen on her boyfriend to tell Ben, because Abby hadn’t been able to get it out, not when all she’d wanted to do was protect her brother, and make sure that he enjoyed himself in New York instead of worrying about her all the time. She’d emailed Ellie, but she didn’t even know if her sister read anything that she sent her—and Abby knew that an email wasn’t a substitute for telling her something this major in person. She just...hadn’t been able to do it.

There was no way that she could describe what it was like to literally not be able to do something; most people would just say that she needed to pull herself together and do it, that she was being silly, that everyone had to do things that they didn’t want to do, but it was something inside of Abby that made her this way. There were some things she couldn’t do, some things that she would avoid like the plague, and probably would continue to do so for the rest of her life. But she had been doing so well, before she’d come here; she’d been more confident, she’d slipped back into her job with ease, she’d survived Thanksgiving with Angelo’s family, even with all the talks of marriage and babies and things that Abby just wasn’t ready for, and even the mere talk of them was enough to freak her out, because she knew that Angel wanted to marry her, wanted to have children with her someday—but someday, when she was ready, not now, because she wasn’t ready. She’d started doing the things that she enjoyed again, she had started going out, meeting people, being the way that she had used to be...and it would never be the same, she would never be the same, but Abby had always been confident, she had always been the type of person to be able to befriend anybody, regardless of who they were or what they did or did not have in common. But that didn’t show here; she felt like she had finally taken a step forward, back home, but now she had taken ten steps back. She was afraid, she was nervous, she wasn’t being the big sister that she should have been. She was afraid of her own little sister, because Ellie was so angry, and the idea that someone was angry at her was more than Abby could bear. She couldn’t be in the same room as someone who was mad in general, she couldn’t be around people who were yelling, or snapping, or even quietly angry. And Ellie was like this because of her. It was her fault, just like everything else, and Abby didn’t know how to make it all better again, how to make up for something else in her life that she had entirely fucked up. She had ruined everything, by being weak, by believing that she deserved what had happened to her. Maybe, then, she deserved this, too. Maybe she deserved to be this unhappy, to never have her sister forgive her.

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking like that. She was meant to be training herself out of it, to believe that she hadn’t deserved what Christian had done to her, that she hadn’t asked for it. She was supposed to believe that she deserved to be happy, because she did, didn’t she? Didn’t she deserve to be happy, and not be afraid of being in what was once her house, and not made to feel terrible because she couldn’t be the person that her sister wanted her to be? All Abby wanted to do was hide in her room, and it was Christmas, for crying out loud, she was meant to be having fun. She wished that she’d stayed at home, that she’d never found the courage to come here, because it was killing her. She was home for the first time in years, she had to tell her family things and ruin Christmas, and she had to struggle just to keep breathing. She wanted to go home. She missed her home; it was safe there, and she didn’t feel safe here. Even with Ben, even with Angelo holding her hand tightly every time she slipped hers into his, even with him cuddling her at night, Abby tucked comfortably against his chest, either not sleeping, or sleeping badly, Abby didn’t feel safe. She didn’t blame Ellie, but she wished that it wasn’t this way, and she nodded, taking a seat at the table, gripping the glass so tightly that her knuckles were white—and thankful that her sister hadn’t asked how she was in return, because Abby’s automatic response would have been to say that she was fine, and she wasn’t fine. Not even slightly. “Good,” she said absently, trying to figure out how to say this. Angelo had found out because he’d been listed as her emergency contact at the hospital. Jason had found out because he’d guessed, and pressed her until she explained. Ben had been told by Angelo, and it had taken weeks of her sitting in silence, on the verge of tears, before she had been able to tell her therapist fully what had happened. Here...she just needed to get it out, somehow.

But she was silent for longer still – and Abby had never used to be the quiet one. She’d liked talking, she’d always known how to fill an awkward silence, instead of creating one. Maybe it seemed as though she wasn’t going to be able to say anything more, and her voice was barely above a whisper, anyway, as if saying it softly would make it easier for her to say at all, but eventually, Abby spoke again, her gaze fixed firmly on her glass, ready to flinch away from any anger that might come her way. “I have PTSD,” she said, eventually, not even looking up at her sister. “Post—post-traumatic stress disorder. Probably for the past year. For the two years before that, my ex...there was trauma. So, um,” she paused, swallowed, blinking back the tears that always seemed to appear when she had to talk about this, trying to will herself not to go back to her room and lock the door; instead Abby stayed stock still, almost a statue, her gaze fixed on the same place, her hands remaining tight around the glass. “It’s why I couldn’t come back. Things are...difficult. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just—I can’t deal with this.” Better to hide herself away than force herself to spend time with her siblings because they wanted her to, and erase all the hard work she had put into getting better. Abby knew that Ben would appreciate that...she didn’t know if Ellie would.

tag: ellie. words: 1492. notes: <3

© SUMMER AT A THOUSAND FIREFLIES

[ELEANOR WINTERS]

Life was complicated. She got that. she new that. she understood that. Stop fucking telling her that everything's not black and white. She got it! OK?! Eleanor Winters, good girl gone bad, whatever, still managed to see the world in too simple a view for someone who had been screwed over by it a time or two. She was young, silly, and desperate to get away from herself because she was just...she drove herself crazy let alone everyone else. Her life was falling apart at the seams because she had been picking at them furiously for years now and, well, it was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner. She had wanted to be the fun loving girl with no cares are worries. For the most part she got her wish. She was always invited out. She always had fun. She drank a lot, smoked, did some drugs, had a lot of sex and behaved in a way that was not respectable for a girl of any age. On the outside she was having a blast but it had ceased being so fun and glamorous a long time ago. For the party girl image Ellie had paid a high price. She had lost her friends and the ones she had didn't know her, didn't want to know her and didn't care. The feeling was mutual. She can barely stand her own company for longer than two hours at most before she starts going crazy with restlessness, anger, frustration. Her own thoughts about herself clawed away at her skin only to be forced deeper and deeper until she had forgotten she had thought them. She raged at the world because she couldn't rage at herself. This destructive path she was on, was one she just couldn't get off of. And Eleanor wasn't sure she wanted to get off.

No one had thought to watch for mental illness or addiction in the family. She was coming to think this strange when they had a mother so clearly ill and unable to take care of herself. It wasn't just the drink Eleanor's mother had a problem with: it was herself, and it was everyone in it. Eleanor's mother, her true mother, was a lonely wretch of a woman, who cried every time she came around, and nearly always boxed her around the ears too. Once, Eleanor had taken a smashed bottle to the side of her arm, tiny slivers of scars running down her right one from where the glass had stayed in the skin just a little too long. She had told her father she had tried skateboarding again ( the last time she tried she came back with a huge nasty scrape down her left arm) and she had well and truly decided the little board with wheels wasn't for her. He had just shaken her head and told her she should have learned the first time. Eleanor honestly thought they didn't care too much about her. When she was gone, they wouldn't talk to each other about how Ellie Jelly's doing, or if she was alright. It was expected. They would still talk about dearest Abigail and brave Benjamin like they were the heroes of the tale and she was the wicked witch. She probably was. She came home late, she partied all night, she messed up her change at Uni, was cheeky and didn't do what she was told. She had issues with authority, particularly the parental kind and hated being compared to anyone at all. She could be in trouble, real trouble, and no one would come looking. It made a girl feel real small.

yet Ellie understood she had to sleep in the made she had made. She forged this image and now she was the one who had to live with it. Notoriety was never a good thing but that hadn't stopped her wanting to be famous for all the wrong reasons. One day she'd probably be in the news, a face with a name attached tagged with a tragic story of her untimely death. And would there be weeping relatives? No. The words would be: we know this would happen, we tried to tell her. Eleanor Josephine Winters had this coming for a while. She was just like her mother, and yet not like her at all, but no one had stopped to look. No one stopped to look at her mother, her birth mother, the one that was drunk all the time for a reason Eleanor could never find. In the end, she had put it down to a mental or emotional illness which she had tried to stop gap or fill or even eliminate by drinking an inordinate amount of alcohol. she wasn't right. It wasn't right. And Eleanor feared, knew even, that she was the same. Why try make something of herself when all she was going to be was a drunken, sad old woman, childless and alone, or more likely dead before she hit twenty three, her face a fractured cracked mess, body broken.

All defiance and anger, but loneliness and despair, Ellie stood in the kitchen. She should be nicer. She used to be. She used to be this nice loving girl who would have sat down in earnest and asked her sister why she looked like she was going to cry and that she shouldn't because that would make her sad. But if she needed to let it out, then she should cry, and cry and cry until there was no more tears left to shed. Then she'd promise to kick whoever hurt her's ass and take a picture for her to see. But that eleanor had vanished a long time ago. That Ellie had been twisted into something dark and bitterly stubborn. She huffed. "Sure," She replied in a disbelieving tone. "I know what PTSD is, Abigail," she bit back, irritated. Why was everything so intent of thinking her thick, and knowledgeless? "I'm sure it's long and complicated and wouldn't bear getting into," she added in a tired tone. So that was it? Sorry, I'm emotionally and mentally hurt? Pull the other one, Abigail.

[♔ ABIGAIL WINTERS]

there is a part i can't tell. about the dark i know well.

Ben had been amazing, when she’d told him what had happened. It had been better than Abby could ever have expected, especially considering how determined she had been to keep the truth from him; she still saw him as the little boy he’d been last time she’d been home, not the tall young man he had grown into, and Abby was incredibly proud of the person that he was, that was without a doubt. She wished that she could have been there to see it happen, but that didn’t change the fact that while she might not have wholly recognised the person that Ben had become, he had grown up well. And he was still Ben. Taller, more mature, sure, but he was still the person she’d been close to, who she’d teased and played with. He was still the person she’d read stories to, the little boy who’d brought her the stories that he’d wrote, because Abby had always been the writer, ever since she learned to write. She might not have realised that she wanted to go into journalism until she’d been on her senior school’s paper, but she had always wanted to write. Abby had tried so hard to hide the truth from him, even though he’d been able to tell that something had been up; she was the big sister, and she had wanted to stay strong, to be like he remembered her being, instead of this broken let down of a thing that she had become. He’d been in New York for the first time in his life, she’d wanted him to enjoy himself, to get to see everything there was, not worry about her...but he’d had to find out. He’d been staying with her, it had been inevitable that he would find out, and he had taken it so well. Of course he’d been worried, but Ben had become so supportive of her, and maybe she hated the fact that she was more like the little sister, sometimes, the one that needed to be taken care of, but she was so glad that he was there. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and she needed to remember that. Telling him the truth had been so hard, but he’d just taken it in his stride, not treated her any differently to how he had before, but had made sure to look after her. Like it or not, Abby knew that she needed looking after.

A lot had changed. That much was clear, just sitting in this same kitchen in this same house that wasn’t hers, anymore. This whole country wasn’t hers; Abby didn’t belong here, and it wasn’t home. Her apartment was home, when it was just her and Angelo, where she wasn’t in a place where her little sister seemed determined to make her feel even worse about herself than she did naturally. It was hard enough being back here, and Abby had tried to do everything that she could to make Ellie see that she was here, now. She hadn’t been, even if she’d just been on the other end of the phone, no matter what time it had been, but she was sorry, and she wanted to be forgiven. But this...this broke her heart more than Abby thought she could bear. She’d cut herself off from her siblings, nothing more than calls and emails, because she had been afraid of what Christian might do if she took him home. She didn’t think that her brother and sister were in any danger, but she hadn’t known, had she; she hadn’t thought that she’d been in any danger, either, and she was in and out of the hospital like a yo-yo, she was terrified of pissing him off, she’d stopped fighting, when she made him hit her...and she had known that he’d been extremely unlikely to let her just go to another country on her own. He’d have insisted on coming, and he’d have been the good Christian that she loved, the charming, funny, gentle giant...but they’d have heard her crying in her room, or trying to keep him from getting drunk, or the way that she automatically flinched, sometimes, when he got too close, and they’d have figured something out. She couldn’t have told them. She hadn’t told anybody, she hadn’t asked for help. It hadn’t been personal, it had been her trying to save them the pain. The pain of maybe being hurt themselves, and the pain of seeing their big sister so weak, so broken down. But hey, they were seeing her like this anyway. She hadn’t been able to come back for so long, and she’d really had to force herself to get on that plane, hoping that she’d be able to mend those bridges between her and her sister. Instead, Ellie seemed determined to burn them, determined to make Abby afraid of her. She didn’t want to be scared of her baby sister.

She wanted to fix this, she wanted to make it better, and instead, it was breaking her heart. Abby understood why Eleanor was mad at her, she really did, but it didn’t change the fact that this was just...it was killing her, to see her so angry, so unwilling to listen, and Abby didn’t know how to make it better. She was trying. She really was, but just being here was hard for her; she’d have wanted to run away and hide even if Ellie hadn’t been so closed off and antagonistic. She was struggling, she was erasing the progress that she had made; she was jumpier, quieter, more desperate to hide away and not have to face the world anymore. Her nightmares were back, her hands trembled for no reason at all, and she knew this was her fault. All of it. She knew that it was, everything from Christian all the way through to her sister hating her, but Abby was trying. This was so much effort, and nobody seemed to see that. Nobody seemed to see how much just being here was killing her, let alone having to deal with Ellie’s anger. Anybody being angry made Abby want to run away and hide. Someone she loved being angry at her made her want to die. The world would be better off without her—and the fact that she was thinking like that again when she’d stopped, the fact that she was blaming herself entirely, that showed how bad this place was for her. Therapy was going to be hell when she got back home. “I’m sorry!” She shrank back at being snapped at, tightening her hands around her glass; stay. She had to stay. She had to stay for Ellie, to try and make her understand, to try and make things right again. She was the big sister here, she was meant to be strong, but Abby hadn’t felt weaker than this in her life. She was scared of her little sister. That was never meant to happen. “I’m sure you do...some people just don’t.” It hadn’t been that she thought Ellie was stupid, merely that she needed to explain it properly. She chewed her lip, blinked away the tears, and she could hear how much her sister didn’t believe her. Abby could hear it in her voice. Why in the world would she lie about this? “Would you believe me if I told you?”

tag: ellie. words: 1230. notes: <3

© SUMMER AT A THOUSAND FIREFLIES

[ELEANOR WINTERS]

Her relationship with her sister, Abigail, was terrible. It had slipped into decline a long time ago. Worshipping the ground she had walked on had done more damage to their relationship than good. Ellie had not taken it well when her beloved sister fled to the United States of America, leaving her behind in dreary England with the rain and the cold. She had wanted to write to her dear sister, but her mother had informed her that Abigail was too busy to be dealing with the trivial worries of her little sister. Any concerns she had to place she was to discuss with her parents. Ellie never understood that at all. Why would she? What teenager in their right mind went to their mothers or fathers about the thoughts she had in her head? Quite honestly, Eleanor was sure their heads would explode if they knew what she had got up to these past years. She was far from innocent though made out to be in their presence. She claimed her drinking was moderate even though every night she went out she came in steaming. She claimed she was aware of what sex was, yes, but being vague about details lead them to believe she had never done it against a wall with her clothes still on rather than hidden beneath the covers like it was 'supposed to be done'. She nodded like a good little girl to all the lectures though rolled her eyes internally and like an immature child made faces when they weren't looking. She had a lot of growing up to do despite her extra-curricular activities. She didn't want them to know she had been going at it like a bunny when she was fourteen, so much so that she ended up lost and pregnant. More than fear and filled her at the thought her parents would find out she was up the duff. She answered wrong to all the right questions and once managed to muster up a blush. It didn't quite have the effect she wanted because she ended up having to listen to a fifteen minute speech she tuned out after thirty seconds.

Visits by Abigail had been strange. Eleanor never did mention the letters she had been writing to her, unsent, for years. She never once managed to get the words out though when she had tried until she was fifteen. When Abby came home when she was fourteen, she was excited to have her sister around. But things hadn't turned out they way she had intended. It was awkward quite honestly. What does someone five years older have to say to someone who's essentially a little kid? Not much. The gap between them grew, and spread and festered. Bridging the gap would be difficult and it would be hard and it would take a of work. She never had forgiven her sister for leaving. Over time she had grown to resent Abby for leaving. Eleanor had forgotten why now. She felt abandoned, and lost and the things she would have told her she never did because she wasn't here and her mother probably wanted to read her letters before she sent them, resulting in a lack of privacy. (That was probably an exaggeration on ellie's part, which she was prone to). Things happened to her, her life was shaped about the people around her, and events which did occur might not have if Abigail had been around. Eleanor blamed her absence for a lot of things. It wasn't fair, but you know what, life wasn't fair. It was hard and it hurt and after a while everything hurt. There was nothing to be done about it. Nothing at all.

Eleanor didn't like who she was now. She couldn't explain it if you asked, though if you did she would never answer honestly. She made out like she loved her life and what she did. It was all fun and games and there was nothing wrong with what she was doing. She was up and happy and bright or she was sour and gloomy and angry. Her mood could change quicker than the wind could alter its direction. She could give you whiplash if you weren't careful. More than once she had snapped when she had not intended to. It was difficult reigning it in. Usually she didn't bother but she had promised that she wouldn't kick off around her sister who hadn't come home for the past three years (another thing she resented her for - not the mention the fact Abby took Ben from her too). She shouldn't feel this way, but she did. Ellie didn't just feel anger and then brush it off. Anger with her simmered and it grew into a grudge. It was hot and fiery and could explode at any moment. She was more one to scream out her lungs and turn red than to enter an actual physical fight though she had done so on three occasions (usually when someone forced her to). She always has the last word, even if it doesn't make much sense or impact and she always has to get her own back. She was too young to be this bitter.

Having a screaming match wasn't going to solve anything. She missed Abby more than she could ever say. She looked at her big sister now, and saw someone who was tired, strung out, edgy. Yet Eleanor refused to let any of these things factor into their conversation. She was a stubborn girl, who stuck to her guns and held her ground even after she had lost. It was only when she was utterly ruined, the bitter chilled wilderness growing frigid around her that Eleanor Josephine Winters con-seeded anything. She went down swinging and it didn't matter to her if she was missing or landing soft blows. Deep down Eleanor didn't want to hurt anyone, though she couldn't deny that when the time came, if you had hurt her or angered her (or someone she cared about) she did indeed like seeing you crushed. Vengeance was in her vocabulary and it was sweet and best served in an ice storm. But she didn't go about with that initial intention. She was quick to rise to bait, easily irritated and often took things the wrong way. Subject to many misunderstandings she had no friends of any great worth and still lived at home because she knew she'd go mad on her own. Yet she was moving out now anyway. Life at home had become more unbearable than the thought of living by herself and as mad as she was at her sister, she was still moving to the same country. Not only that she was living not far away from where Abigail was, which probably said a lot of anyone cared to analyse the situation. She wanted to be close to her sister, subconsciously, even if she was maintaining anger at her outwardly. She had been angry so long that it was easier than backing down. Ellie didn't know how to do that. She fought for things. She got peeved when someone brought up her birth mother because no one had defended her and more or less claimed she deserved what was coming to her. Ellie took it personally. Ellie drank too much. Did that mean she was on the way to becoming just like her drunken, alcoholic mother who hit her the last time she saw her (the bruise on her arm was still there) and always had a drink, at the very least, in her line of sight? Perhaps. Perhaps that was why she was so angry no one bothered with her. The woman wasn't right. Wasn't it their duty to keep trying until she accepted help? Abigail was still trying with her. That might all change soon. It might not. Shunning her sister was easy but it always left Eleanor mad at herself too. she wanted to hug her and cry on her shoulder. Was that so bad? But weakness wasn't something Eleanor admitted too: to anyone.

So when her sister retreated from her, almost physically though not quite because she didn't actually get up and move, Eleanor felt a little lost. Did her sister honestly think she would hit her? Eleanor might hit other people. She might slap them hard on the face or scratch at them with her nails but she would never physically abuse either of her siblings. It never once crossed her mind. She frowned, though at this point, wasn't facing her sister for her to see it. She was setting down her glass at the sink, discarded (just like she felt - like Abby felt? - ). She had thought she might by lying, but this, this was going somewhere Eleanor didn't like. It was...sensitive. It was, dark? This didn't sound like it was going to be an excuse. She still had her doubts though. People made their excuses to her all the time and thought it was good enough. She had to hear this out, whatever it was: she had promised to make an effort after all. eleanor didn't recant her promises if it wasn't that much of a pain to go through with it. She moved to sit down next to her big sister and kept a straight face. "I'm not going to hit you Abby. Who taught you to always expect violence with anger? She asked. She wasn't thick. She could have done her degree just fine if she had actually put the work in. The reason she picked english language was because she figured it'd be easier and that she wouldn't have to work so hard (and thus still able to partay). Tact, also not her strong suit. she probably should have waited for Abigail to say something about it first.

[♔ ABIGAIL WINTERS]

there is a part i can't tell. about the dark i know well.

Under different circumstances, Abby would have been a better sister for her siblings. She’d have been here for them, she’d have been there to listen to their problems and help them with their homework. She’d have heard their complaints about their teachers, she’d have listened as they cried because their friend had done something mean, and she’d actually have been here, instead of thousands of miles away. She had never thought about how her leaving would affect them; she had assumed (hoped) that nothing would have to change, that the only difference was that their communication would be through email and over the phone, instead of in person. And she had tried to keep that up, she had. She’d sent emails, but her replies from Ellie had become less frequent, until she didn’t get any replies at all. Her calls weren’t answered, even requests to Skype...Abby had always had contact with Ben, and maybe that was why they were closer, now, because they had kept in touch, but it wasn’t for lack of trying, with her sister. She had tried, and she’d known that she’d not been there in person, and that sometimes, it had taken her weeks to reply to an email because she’d been caught up in studying or writing for the paper or parties or general college life, but it hadn’t been because she didn’t care. She had still wanted to be there for them, and maybe it had been selfish of her to go...but it would have been selfish of them to ask her to stay, too. Abby was well aware of the fact that they had only been children. She had known that they’d looked up to her, but she would have been unhappy if she had stayed in the country when New York was the place that she had wanted to be, more than anything else. She wouldn’t have ended up with her dream job – something that she still had, despite everything – she wouldn’t have met the best friend that had saved her life, and maybe the bad things would never have happened, but maybe something worse would have happened instead. Abby didn’t know, but she knew that she had had to go. Whatever way she looked at her life, New York was where she had always wanted to be, and it would have killed a part of her if she’d been at university here instead.

Ellie could have contacted her any time. Abby knew that she had been extremely reluctant to initiate contact, even with Ben, the past few years, but she had always tried to make it clear that she still wanted them to talk to her, that she was still available if they needed her to be, as long as the time difference didn’t mean that it was the middle of the night for her. But then she’d met Christian, and then things had gone downhill, and there had been very little to her life outside of the relationship; he’d never been particularly happy when she’d wanted to do other things, and Abby hadn’t wanted to upset him. And not talking to her siblings was easier, because it meant that she wouldn’t have to lie to them, she wouldn’t have to pretend that everything was okay, because she did enough of that whenever she and Chris hung out with their mutual friends, or she was at work – and it was wearying. It was great, because he could genuinely be the sweetest person she knew, and he took her out, and they had fun, but it didn’t change that Abby was carrying a dark secret. She’d barely even spoken to her best friend in that time, and when she had, she’d cut their conversations short and lied to him, and she was always going to feel terrible about that. If she had just found some way to ask for help, everything might have been different. She’d have been happy, not mentally traumatised, Christian would have been in therapy, and Abby wouldn’t be afraid of her sister. And Ellie...this wasn’t the way that she remembered her sister being, and the thought that she might not have been so angry and sad if Abby had been around churned in her stomach, making her feel sick. It wasn’t her fault, just as it wasn’t her fault if Eleanor was unwilling to accept the apologies and try to reconnect, despite the fact that Abby was killing herself trying, but that didn’t change the fact that Abby felt like it was. She blamed herself, and she wished that things were different, she really did.

She wished that they were different now. She wished that she wasn’t sitting here in the half dark in the middle of the night, afraid to tell her sister what had happened. She had to tell her, because admitting it was a part of moving on, but that didn’t change how difficult it was for her, especially when she was completely expecting Ellie to dismiss it, either by making it out to not be such a big deal, somehow, or thinking that Abby was lying completely. She didn’t know why anybody thought she could be so heartless as to lie about something like this, but that absolutely wasn’t what she wanted them to think. If she’d had her way, then she would never have told anybody except Angel, but then she probably wouldn’t have moved on, and while she was still in the process of that, and it was something that was likely to take a very long time and a hell of a lot of therapy, she was glad that it was happening, now. Living in denial had been great, and she had been so, so frustrated at the people who had insisted on bringing her out of that, hating them for all the pain that they were making her feel, but that pain had been inside her anyway, she’d just been denying its existence. It wouldn’t stop hurting if she didn’t deal with it. She was still waiting for it to stop hurting—she was still waiting to be able to be in the same room as someone who was angry, even when she wasn’t the one they were angry at, without having some kind of panic attack, but Abby wasn’t sure that was going to happen any time soon. And now, Ellie was angry at her. She knew that she was, and her skin was crawling with it, her stomach churning into so many butterflies that she thought she was going to throw up. Her hands were tight around her glass, although she wasn’t drinking, anymore, and she was staring at them as though they held the answers to everything, because she couldn’t look at her sister. The only thing that was stopping her from retreating back to her room right now was the fact that Ellie would hate her even more for it. She had to try and mend some bridges with her sister. It took her a long time to speak – and she hadn’t thought that Ellie would really hit her, except that she made people do things they didn’t mean to do, when they were angry, and she couldn’t be near angry people. She dropped her hands to her lap to wipe the sweat from her palms, still looking at her glass as she spoke. “My ex.” And she’d let him teach her that lesson. She hadn’t stopped him – he might have killed her if she’d tried. “He...it was...I’m not lying.” So much for an explanation, but she didn’t have anybody here to hold her hand and guide her through it, this time. She missed the support.

tag: ellie. words: 1284. notes: <3

© SUMMER AT A THOUSAND FIREFLIES

[ELEANOR WINTERS]

French, wasn't so easy. But Eleanor was trying. Well, she was trying to try. It wasn't that she wasn't clever because she was. She was pretty darn bright, but that wasn't enough. University, language learning, getting on in life was about hard work, working hard and going for the throat of the beast. But getting herself to work wasn't an easy thing. Eleanor, was a great many things, and one of them was lazy. It was true. You wouldn't tell by looking at her immaculate appearance or her spotless room but she didn't like working. She didn't especially care for waitressing and most definitely not for university work. But she was trying to make a better go of it this time around. She didn't want to be complete failure. All her 'friends' were doing well at University, and the ones she used to hang out with were going places. They were all doing so well and sometimes on Facebook they'd ask her what she was doing and she always felt a bit crap when she replied with 'between jobs', 'living it up' or 'born to be wild'. And Eleanor liked her life, she did. She liked partying, drinking, dancing, fucking, screaming, singing and all the wild, raving parts of life. And she had messed up sexual relationships, her friendships and her familial ones too. She had nothing much but a love for chaos, a small job and a place at university. Now that was what a lot of people had, but before then, she had just a job and a reckless life. They always managed to make her feel really small.

Her relationship with her sister Abby, in particular, was in wreck and ruin. Eleanor had taken a sledge hammer to it whilst it was whole, and when the pieces were chunked asunder, she brandished a chisel and then shaved down the pieces. That was her fault really. But it was, in all honesty, easier to blame Abigail. It was the better of the two options available to the young wild girl, whose idea of a great time involved going out and getting so drunk that she could hardly see the lock on the door when she came in, and perhaps, twisted an ankle in the attempt to walk.. Her life, in varying ways, revolved around loud music, dancing and getting blind drunk, creeping around the house late at night (she had long since perfected not bashing into, even the walls) and falling on her bad, already asleep, shoes kicked off in a corner. It wasn’t a decent way to live, she knew, but she didn’t give a shit either. She was having fun and wasn’t that what life was all about? Fun? She didn’t want to be dragged down to the depths of the over articulated. She laughed, she screamed, she fucked and she drank. She might, in the spaces between eat, drink, sleep and occasionally glance at the nearest newspaper. In fits of rage, she’d bash about Abigail’s name like it was the most natural thing to do, and most things that were wrong in her life were her fault, even though Eleanor knew she was just trying to deny she was such a fucking screw up and that she couldn’t realy be nice to anyone at all. Apparently her form of niceness, wasn’t matching everyone elses which was causing her a lot of difficulties. And when she tried to be nice, they all called her fake and tossed to the kerb. It was probably karma.

Her problem was she concentrated too much of her efforts on having a real good time. And she was successful in ninety nine per cent of her endeavours to do just that. Whether she woke with a pounding headache that felt like a tiny tiger was trying to eat her eyes from behind, or that her stomach was a roiling sea filled with aniseed, she counted it as a good time out. Even if Eleanor couldn’t remember what she had done, which was more often that not, to be so blind drunk that her brain couldn’t cling to the memories it was making, was another stamp of a successful night on the razz. She wanted to change all that, but then, she found academic life she fundamentally boring and geekish. Eleanor wanted a great many things she didn’t necessarily understand. And at the same time, she didn’t know what the hell she wanted either. She didn’t understand herself, or the world, her parents, her brother, her sister or her peers. She was small, lost and alone in a world that didn’t want her, need her or care for her. And Eleanor wasn’t sure she wanted it to. She just wanted to be Ellie Josie Winters, the party girl with good friends and a fun life. Only, she didn’t have any good friends, and her life certainly was fun, but ultimately empty. Now, Eleanor didn’t think she needed a man to make her life meaningful, nor a job, nor a degree or a sister or family....she didn’t know how to make it mean anything, but she knew none of these things were vital to make her happy. What she needed, was beyond her comprehension and that made it all the more frustratingly desirable. If only she knew (and) understood just what that was. Her life was a tangled web, and she couldn’t even find the beginning of it. Did it start with Abigail leaving, or before? Or at all? Did it have anything to do with that moment in her life?

Eleanor did not like questioning her existence, or her sanity, but she did it everyday. Her parents had no idea how she worried about her birth mother, and the fact she was probably going to end up a drunken lout just like she is. They told her not to worry about it, that her genetic parent had chosen her path and now Ellie was to chose hers. But lineage was a big part of anyone’s life whether they knew it or not. Genetics was a powerful thing and Eleanor was not related to the woman who had raised her. Sometimes she felt she wasn’t even related to her father. She felt alone. She felt isolated. She felt like...there was nothing for her here. Her relationship with Ben was now becoming strained and her relationship with her parents more or less involved being lectured any time she came into view (and yet they complained that she avoided them vigorously. Why were they surprised about this?) But a promise to behave was a promise to behave. She had to.

So when Abby flinched like she was going to fucking hit her (for what exactly?) Eleanor felt like fucking shit. Well, wasn’t that great? Her own damn sister was afraid of her. Just fucking great. It did take effort on Eleanor’s part not do rage, for however small a reason, because really, she was annoyed her sister thought that. But more so, she was annoyed at the fuck shit that made her feel as though everyone damn person who had a semblance of emotion other than calm or happy meant she was about to have her face coloured purple. Jeeez. She wanted to kick the guy’s head in. Eleanor stood, mad, because someone had hurt her sister. There was a difference, between not liking one’s sister much and not caring if someone else caused her pain. It might be a bit twisted, but then Eleanor hadn’t been easy to understand for quite some time. She stood, so as to distance herself from Abby. She didn’t think she was lying. It wasn’t the kind of thing you just made up. And her big sister did look genuinely afraid. Ellie knew crap when she saw it, and this wasn’t it. ”When?” she asked, from the other side of the table. It was good, this distance. Her hand was clenched at her side, her tips tight, her frown drawn deep and dark. This was why she was never going to fuck the same guy more than once. You just never knew if what you were getting was real. Damn. Well she was never going to have kids unless it was an accident. Big whoop. She wouldn’t be a very good mother anyway. Besides, Ellie was entirely sure she hated children. Tehy were loud, obnoxious, sticky and irritating. Give her a kitten. Kittens were cute.

[♔ ABIGAIL WINTERS]

there is a part i can't tell. about the dark i know well.

A part of Abby was exceptionally glad that she had never come back here during the time that she'd been with Christian; he would have come too, of course, and as her long-term boyfriend that she was living with, everybody would have expected him to, as well. It wasn't like anybody had known the things that really went on behind those closed doors, and there were times when she had been surprised that the neighbours hadn't heard the yelling or the crying, but if they had, they'd probably just ignored it, considered it not their problem. People tended to do that, unfortunately; if someone had heard the first few times, if they'd sent the police round and seen Abby with a black eye or a bright red slap mark across her cheek, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she would have come home sooner, maybe she wouldn't be so broken now, maybe her sister wouldn't have hated her for everything – for things that had been out of her control. She could have come home during that time, after all, she could have brought Christian with her, and things would probably have been okay, at least until everybody else went out and they were alone in the house. But she would constantly have been afraid of saying the wrong thing, and there was a lot that he could do to make her cry without touching her; he had always been so good with words, with tearing her down and then building her up again, so that she begun to believe that he really was the only person who could make her feel good about herself. He'd held her self-esteem in the palm of his hand, and she knew that even if he didn't hit her for the entire trip, he would still have hurt her. And there were so many places that she couldn't go to, now, because she'd been there with him. Restaurants, even entire streets that she avoided. There was one theatre that it had taken her a long, long time to be able to go back to, because he'd taken her to a show there for her birthday, one year. What would she have done if she'd been unable to come here because he'd been here? This was her home.

Actually, no, it wasn't. This was her parents' home; Abby's home was definitely in New York, in the apartment she lived in with Angelo. That had been her home for years, and anybody who knew her knew that despite the accent, she was as much a New Yorker as anybody who had lived there their entire lives. It had been, what, eight years now? Abby couldn't imagine ever coming back to live over here, regardless of what went on. She had her work visa, she was looking into getting dual citizenship, and she didn't have any desire to return. It had been effort enough coming back here to live, and she was sure that her father would want her to come back so that he could look after her, or something, but Abby couldn't do that. She didn't want to be looked after; that would make everything worse, when what she needed was to continue living her life as normally as she could, to continue with the same things that had kept her going after the break up, before she had completely fallen apart. Her life was in New York, that was just a fact, and it wasn't going to be changing any time soon. Her dad's heart would probably break a little, but Abby couldn't stay here. It was hard enough just being here now, when she wanted to get back to her house and normality and the routines she had that kept her sane and stopped her falling apart. It had been the right time to come back, Ben had wanted her to, she'd needed to try and patch things with Ellie up, but that didn't mean that it was easy, because it was far from it. Honestly, she felt as though her progress had been set back a bit, and there was a reason that she had been so reluctant to come, that she'd even freaked out about it at the airport, before she'd forced herself onto the plane – and then they were over the Atlantic and she wouldn't have been able to get off if she'd tried. Now that she was here, she was determined to stick it out—but she was counting the time until she got to go home, that was without a doubt.

Right now, she was counting the time until she could get back to her room and bury her face in Angel's chest and have him hold her until she felt better again. She knew that she could have left right now, that there was nothing physically stopping her, but Ellie would have hated her even more for it, and Abby couldn't bear that thought. And...she was afraid. She knew, logically, that Eleanor was hardly going to hurt her, that she was her sister, and even if they weren't exactly getting along right now, that was still a line that wouldn't be crossed – she might not really have known who her sister was, anymore, but Abby doubted she had changed that much. She hoped she hadn't. But that didn't change the fact that she was afraid of anger, especially when it was directed towards her, and Abby just couldn't be in the same room as someone who was angry. She couldn't. Ellie hated her, she was angry at her, and Abby was killing herself trying to remain in this room, because everything she had was telling her to walk out, to go and hide somewhere until things were calmer and her sister wasn't so angry. But if she left now, would Ellie take that as her abandoning her again? Abby couldn't risk that, and while she could barely stand to be here, right now, she remained, gripping her glass too tightly, her teeth pressed into her lips so hard that she drew blood, licking the droplet away so quickly it might never have been there. She could barely talk about this to somebody that she felt safe around, and Ellie might have been her baby sister, but right now, Abby really didn't feel safe. She needed Angel, or Ben, or Jason, or even her fucking therapist. They knew how to make her stop panicking—and she needed that, because right now, she was quietly freaking the hell out. “When I stopped coming home.” She looked down at the table, because it was easier to talk to it, instead of Ellie, her voice barely above a whisper. “The first holidays I missed, i-it was because it was new and exciting and I was in love...I-I think we decided to go away somewhere, and I thought that I'd come home the next time—but he'd already started by then, and I couldn't.” She should have come home before then, but she'd wanted to wait until the school holidays so that she could actually spend time with Ben and Ellie because they weren't at school...but she'd left it too late. “For two years he—” She shrugged, shaking her head, glancing to the door before she looked back at the table, obviously close to tears. “I-I couldn't come back sooner. I couldn't leave my apartment for months. And I'm sorry I fucked everything between us up.” It wasn't her fault, not really, but Abby was always inclined to take blame for things that had been out of control. She was always inclined to apologise too much, when it wasn't necessary. She thought that it was, here.

tag: ellie. words: 1284. notes: <3

© SUMMER AT A THOUSAND FIREFLIES