Chapter Text
It’s pouring outside.
Wet and dark.
The short walk from Christine’s car to the door of the house — mansion — she’s just arrived at feels ten times longer than it should as she clutches tightly at her upper arms, her skin prickling under her fingers.
She’s highly underprepared for the weather. She had left home in such a hurry she didn’t have time to grab much. Just her phone, and a backpack. Her entire life, thrown together in five minutes and slung over her shoulder. It feels weird to be starting over at twenty-six years old, if that’s even what she’s doing. Her mind feels fuzzy behind her eyes, probably from the tears. She had cried the entire four hour drive getting here — so hard that her throat feels raw, and she knows her eyes are swollen. Her nose is so clogged she can’t breath out of it, so instead she takes deep, wavering breaths in and out of her mouth, sucking in the chill of the late October air.
When she reaches the door she drops one of her arms and raises it to press a large doorbell button. It chimes once — a song that sounds familiar to her but she can’t be bothered to try and remember how.
She feels awkward, chattering, and shaking on the doorstep. It’s been one year since she, and all the others, escaped The Amazing Digital Circus, and yet she still remembers it as plain as day. The feeling of being sucked back into the real world, of smelling the mildew of the old building she was trapped in.
Meeting the others all over again was strange. It had been like she knew them, but didn’t at the same time. Trauma had bonded them all, that much was very clear. So when they had all exchanged numbers, and agreed to stay in touch despite the distance between them, Christine had truly believed that was what was going to happen.
But overtime, their group chat fell silent.
Jax — or rather, Felix — was the first to drop off, although he never really messaged to begin with.
Then Zooble — Riley.
Then Gangle — Zoe.
Kinger — Grant — still sends the occasional message to check in, but it’s really only Christine and Ragatha — Susan — who responds.
For a while, the lack of connection made Christine feel weird. It wasn't like she expected a lot from the others, but she had expected…something. The circus had carved something so deep into her that she couldn't ignore it even if she wanted to, but there wasn't anybody who she could talk to about it. Her parents didn’t understand nor did they want to try, and her friends could only understand so much. She wanted to lean on the others, she wanted them to lean on her, but instead it seemed like everyone was content on moving on, leaving her stuck in limbo all by herself.
Christine’s eyes flick up to the window above the door as a light turns on, and she hugs herself a little together — for warmth, or for comfort, she’s not quite sure which.
The door opens and she’s instantly met with the deepest green eyes, and the reddest hair she’s ever seen. Out of everyone, Susan’s appearance is almost identical to her ragdoll avatar, Christine thinks. Her red curls are pulled tight into a messy bun that sits on top of her head, and she's dressed in blue satin pajamas and fluffy slippers. Even in the dim light Christine can see the freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose.
Susan’s plump lips press into a frown as she holds out her arms toward her friend, and Christine instantly falls into them, though she feels too exhausted, too dry to let out the sobs that she knows she still has deep inside of her.
“Oh…Pomni,” the older woman mumbles as she presses her face into Christine’s hair and hugs her tightly. The use of her circus name makes her feel comforted, in a strange way.
The two women go back into the house and Susan lets go of Christine, looking her over for a moment.
“Do you need to get anything from your car?” she asks quietly, one hand still resting on Christine’s shoulder.
Christine shakes her head quickly. “N-no. It’s just my backpack.”
Susan nods and leans toward the door to close and lock it.
“Thanks for waking up so early,” Christine continues, reaching up to rub at her eye. “And for…letting me stay.”
When she left her house at midnight, she had absolutely no idea where she was going to go. She had burned too many bridges in the last six months, so her friends would never take her. And her parents—
— she couldn’t go to them.
So, as she drove onto the highway, she dialed the first person who came to her mind. Someone who she knew would be there for her, despite not seeing her in a year or speaking to her in months.
Ragatha was that kind of person.
“Oh my God, of course, Pomni. It’s no trouble at all. I’m happy to help. Always.”
She offers a small, sweet smile that whips Christine back in time for a brief moment. She was worried about calling when she did, but now she thinks maybe this was the right decision. She needed this. This…was home to her, in a way she didn’t really understand, but it was.
Christine nods and tries to smile, herself, but she isn’t sure if it works or not. Her face feels numb, and she realises how cold she actually is.
Susan seems to notice too because she snaps into action, grabbing the shivering girl by the arm and leading her toward the large imperial staircase in front of them.
“C’mon. Let me take you to your room and get you warmed up.”
As they walk, Christine takes in her surroundings for the first time. She’s only been in the foyer, but it’s bigger than her entire apartment back home was. The walls are off white and don’t have much art or decor on them — no family portraits, nothing. The floors are a beige marble.
When they reach the top of the stairs, they come to enormous houseplants surrounding a large leather sofa. On either side of the sofa is a hallway which has way more pictures than downstairs.
Susan turns down the left hallway and Christine follows close behind, though she can’t really feel her feet hitting the floor. It’s almost like she’s floating. Is that how tired she is? Or how cold? Or maybe she’s just far too mesmerised by this house. She knew Ragatha was rich, but this wasn’t her family home. Right after leaving the circus, when they were all in contact more frequently, she had told the others that she and her two sisters went in on a house together to get away from their mother. Naturally, Christine figured the house wouldn’t be as elaborate as their parents — hell…maybe it wasn’t — but this seemed pretty elaborate.
Halfway down the hallway, Susan stopped at one of the doors on the left and pushed it open. “Here we are. Make yourself at home.”
Christine took a step forward and peeked inside of the room. It was smaller than she thought it would be, but still bigger than any bedroom she’d ever had. A large bed with a fluffy, red comforter sat in the middle, two bedside tables sat on either side with two lamps that had horses woven into the fabric of the shades. At the end of the bed was an old looking chest that had a few blankets folded neatly on top, and across from that were two doors beside one another. Both closed.
“The door to the left is a bathroom,” Susan says, nodding her head toward it. “I left some pajamas folded on the vanity for you. There’s an outlet on either side of the bed, so whichever is your preferred sleeping spot, you have somewhere to plug your phone in!”
She chuckles quietly before clearing her throat. Christine notices her green eyes shift down to the ground, like she isn’t quite sure of what else to say, and an uncomfortable silence surrounds them.
Christine reaches up and shifts her backpack higher on her shoulder and takes a step into the room. She knows how awkward this must be — just showing up out of the blue for the first time in a year looking like the way she does. She doesn’t blame Susan for not knowing what else to say.
“Well, I think I’m going to try to get a few hours of sleep. I’m pretty tired.”
Susan snaps out of whatever daze she’s in, and her gaze snaps back to Christine. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes when it stretches across her face. Christine knows it well.
“Of course! I’ll let you get some sleep. Don’t worry about waking up at a certain time. Maria always keeps food in the kitchen for whenever you’re hungry,” her eyes widen. “Oh! The kitchen is downstairs, just to the left of the foyer. My room waaay down on the other end of the hallway. My sister Celeste goes to work pretty early, so you probably won’t see her. But chances are you’ll see Grace at some point. Her room is right across the hall.”
Susan lightly claps her hands together. “Aaand I think that's all you need to know. But of course, if you have any questions, you know who to ask.”
Christine smiles. “I do. Thanks again, Susan.”
“Goodnight Po—” she stops herself and swallows. “I guess…I should probably call you…Christine?”
Christine thinks about it for a short second, the only amount of time her brain will let her. She can feel time catching up with her, and knows that the moment her head hits the pillow, she’ll be out.
“Whatever you want to call me is fine.”
She knows how hard it is to get into the habit of referring to everyone as a different name now. She wishes it wasn’t, but it is. So, for the time being, Pomni or Christine is fine with her.
Susan nods her head. “Okay. Goodnight then. Pomni.”
With that, Susan walks away, and Christine closes the door to the room and presses her back up against it. She allows herself to exhale, and suddenly, it feels like a weight is lifted from her chest — blown out with the very air she’s breathing.
Her lungs pulse as she inhales. The last few hours don’t even feel real. Were they? Part of her didn’t believe that she was going to make it here, that she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to leave everyone behind. But she did.
“Okay,” she sighs, and forces her feet to take her to the bathroom.
It’s nearly the same size as the bedroom, though it's quite sparse. Intracate black and white marble floors, egg shell pinstriped wallpaper, a large jacuzzi tub, and a deep oak vanity surrounding the sink. It was a beautiful bathroom.
Christine lets her backpack slide down her arm until it hits the floor, and she quickly strips herself of her wet clothing, rushing to drape them over the tub. Carefully, she situates the bathmat right underneath in order to catch any water that might drip onto the floor.
She debates having a bath — the jets would be nice, and relaxing — but quickly decides she's far too tired. Maybe when she wakes up...whenever that will be.
She turns and walks naked over to the vanity, taking hold of the nightgown that's folded there and pulling it over her head. It's soft and smells good —- like the expensive laundry detergent she would never be able to afford.
Man...to live life like this must be nice.
Before heading back into the bedroom, she stops in front of the mirror. Her eyes focus on the faucet of the sink for a moment as she wars with herself about looking into it or not. She hasn't looked at herself at all since she left, and it's been eating her inside to see how bad the damage is, but she's also scared. If it’s bad…it makes it more real. Even though the fact that it’s real is why she’s here in the first place, so it really shouldn’t matter anyway.
Taking a deep breath she forces her gaze upward, and barely recognises the woman looking back at her. She has the same blue eyes. The same pale skin. The same button nose. But her eyes are swollen, and sink into her face more than they should, and the corner of her lip is split and dried with blood. Instinctively, her hand raises to her face and her fingertips brush along her cheek where the skin has already started to purple. She stares at the cut, feeling the burn behind her eyes as the tears that had refused to fall earlier threaten to leak free.
Never in her life did she think she'd be in this predicament.
She's smarter than this. Stronger than this.
Not to mention…Ragatha had just seen her like this. God, what does she think of her?
Dropping her hand she reaches for the tap and turns it on. Cupping a bit of water in her hands, she leans over and splashes her face before rubbing slightly at her lip, desperately trying to scrub the blood away. It stings beneath her touch and she winces.
Almost too quickly, she dives back toward a bottle of soap, squirts some onto her fingers and repeats the process, this time more vigorously, as though it's her very skin she’s trying to wash away.
“Shit!” she hisses as the sting intensifies and shoots through her face.
The cool suds suddenly turn warm against the pads of her fingers and she looks up to meet her eyes again only to see that tears are falling down her cheeks. She looks so much younger when she cries, so much more vulnerable. She doesn’t like it. She never has.
Giving herself one final splash in the face, Christine pulls herself together and grabs the hand towel that hangs on the side of the vanity, drying herself quickly before grabbing her backpack and heading back toward the bed.
Before she burrows herself beneath the covers, she opens her bag and pulls out her phone and charger, plugging it into the wall quickly.
The sheets are even softer than she had imagined, and the comforter and pillows are even fluffier. This bed is heaven, and she knows damn well that she will stand no chance when it comes to the sandman whisking her away. Which is great, she needs all the sleep she can get. In fact, she feels like she could hibernate.
Pulling the blankets up to her chin, Christine raises her phone below her nose and clicks it on. Her heart immediately drops.
Davie
47 missed calls
125 unread messages
Click. She turns her phone off again and rests it on the bedside table, anxiety spreading through her like a weed, taking root in places she couldn’t protect even if she wanted to. Her chest becomes tight and she has to take slow, deep breaths in order to keep herself from spiralling.
Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay.
The mantra she repeats over and over again in her mind somehow becomes her lullaby, and her swollen eyes become heavy.
They flutter closed, and she can still feel tears clinging to eyelashes against her cheeks. She doesn’t bother drying them. She doesn’t have time before her exhaustion gets to her and she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.