Centre of the Storm

Chapter Fifteen: Red Hair

A/N: I don't really know if this would be considered a trigger warning or a disclaimer, but there will be discussion of mental health in this chapter, including themes of overwhelming guilt, panic attacks, and overall being in a dark place mentally/emotionally. Just thought I should say that.

I looked down at the glass of water Beatrix had given me. The glass was tinted, with a crack at the top. I knew I should drink some of the water, it might calm me down, but I felt as if I would throw up if I ingested anything. I was sitting on the windowsill of our small motel room, looking onto the street below. A couple was walking a dog. Two kids were eating takeaway on a bench, while a watchful crow observed, waiting for them to drop something.

Beatrix touched my shoulder. I looked up in surprise. I had been too lost in my own thoughts to hear her come back from the bathroom and walk over to me. "How do you feel?" she asked gently.

"How do you think?" I responded, harsher than I had intended. 

She ignored it and put her arm around me. After a beat, I lay my head on her shoulder. "They will never find us," she whispered into my hair.

"The money from my job goes to your bank account, which has a debit card attached to it, which we regularly use."

She sighed. "We're living in a motel hidden in the middle of a huge city, far away from the orphanage. And besides the police don't have enough money for the resources to actually look for us. And why would they? Kids run away all the time and it's not like we have family that want us to be found."

We sat that way for a while, until Beatrix turned off the lights and we went to bed. I couldn't sleep. My thoughts were racing.

The body had gotten stuck on something while going down the river, and had stayed there, bobbing in the water. It had gotten off the orphanage's property, and someone had seen it and called the police. At first they couldn't tell who it was, since her body was so bloated, and so waterlogged, though the copper red hair had been unmistakable. But after the police ran tests they had released to the public that what had been assumed to be a runaway or a kidnapping, had now turned into an entirely different investigation.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. This meant there would be a funeral. And I wouldn't be at it. For some reason, this hurt me more then knowing that the police would now probably be looking for us, especially for me.

I had tried not to think too much about Alyssa in the past few months. Of course, she still crossed my mind often, but I had wanted to start a new life. Not one where I forgot about her, or thought of her as unimportant, but one where the mistakes I had made weren't my prime focus all the time.

But now, that she had pretty much been pushed back into my life, or, well, her death had been, I realized how much I missed having her as a friend. Even though I hadn't really appreciated her until the end, I had cared about her more then I had let myself admit.

Now I wished more then ever that I had been a better friend to her. That I had taken more opportunities to hang out with her, and I hadn't subconsciously judged her for her interests and the things she did.

She had been my first best friend, and our girlhoods were interchangeably entangled with each other's. We'd braided each other's hair and whispered secrets over pillows and linked arms as we walked. She had loved me simply, I had loved her and hated her, been jealous of her, she'd confused me and hurt me without meaning to, I would have followed her anywhere.