𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐚¹- hp.

𝐱𝐢𝐯. the last goodbye.

(brief mentions of child abuse, please read with caution.)

꧁—— ❦ ——꧂

Humidity weaves with her lungs in shallow breaths, arguments bouncing between the walls of the house that left the Vinke siblings drowning in their mothers alcohol, desperately swimming to stay afloat, robotic movements as she fell into her new routine, detached from reality to ignore Harry's vacancy. 

Harry hadn't been around since the day Matthijs had arrived, going as far as running into the house every time she so much as showed a strand of hair in the garden. Lavinia couldn't bring herself to blame him though. Being around Matthijs was like being blindly guided to the edge of a cliff, ghostly whispers that instructed her to jump. There were more than a few times where she had wondered if she should have come clean to Harry about the type of person she really was, if only to save herself from the presence of her brother. But then again, everything she had ever done was only to save herself, wasn't it?

On the second day she locked herself in her room, optimistically staring out her bedroom window at his home. On the third day Matthijs broke the door down, and instead of laughter echoing throughout the home, all that could be heard were her screams. On the fourth day tears streamed down her cheeks as she longed for the way things were, wistfully staring out her bedroom window. On the fifth day a battered and bruised Lavinia internally fought with herself to not leave the house, tempted to knock on his door until he answered. On the sixth day she spat a puddle of blood, softly gripping her sides with a sob as she drew the drapes shut. On the seventh day, the shadow of who she was earlier in the week laid in the dark room, spiritless as she stared at the wall; the hours blended into days, days blended into weeks, and she was a prisoner within her own home once again.

Her only saving grace was that it was finally the seventeenth, and even if it meant he was leaving, she was at least able to see him one last time. She chewed her lip and bounced her knee, staring at the small gift on her bookshelf she had been too afraid to give him on his birthday. His canvas still laid on her floor, anxiety wracking her brain as she contemplated bringing both over to him. She had accepted that he most likely wouldn't want to be her friend anymore, but the small sliver of hope buried in her bones tugged at her heartstrings, telling her to at least try.

Mind made up, she pulled on a pair of soft trousers, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Sleep had not been an easy feat, puffy eyes and the dark bags underneath betraying her so easily. It had been a long time since she had last seen herself so sloppy, certain that if she were to stand out on the streets she could easily panhandle for money. Harshly rubbing at her face she picked up the canvas from the floor, grabbing the small gift and a picture of them she'd had developed, and opened her door with a pained grunt. She steadily made her way through the hall as to not worsen her injuries, tucking the canvas underneath her arm she as she traced the knots down the banister for a sense of reality, quickly walking past the living room in hopes her brother wouldn't notice.