𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒; jj maybank ² [𝐎𝐍 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃]

XIII. eyes wide shut

— ⚓︎ ⚓︎ ⚓︎ —

   OAKLEY FORGETS HOW TO THINK for the next hour or so. Amidst the mayhem of police cars going and coming, ambulances, the Pogues trying to figure out if she was actually still in complete shock or about to explode, and watching Topper escort Sarah away from the crowd, Oakley stands in the middle, watching but being unable to respond with words. She nods and she shakes her head, and she finds her only comfort in the way JJ's hand rubs down her back in an even rhythm to calm her down. She's lost right there, not quite being strong enough to process the severity of the situation, or to cope with the sight of her uncle being blown to shreds.

It's terrifying, even to write.

She doesn't even realize that night has fallen, and the chaos around the dock of the Cameron residence is yet to cease. The Pogues are gone, but the hand that soothes her is still rubbing hearts on her back and she is still equally as enamored by his presence right beside her. He stayed, even when all her people had eventually called it a night, he decided it was better not to leave the grieving risk-taker alone in the middle of a casualty. Oakley is grateful for his persistence, though she might've once felt overwhelmed by it. She's silent in her adoration for him, but he can read the million thank you's stuck on her unmoving lips.

The girl doesn't feel alone when he's beside her, for the simple reach of his aroma tickling her nostrils is always enough to remind her of the less sinister side of her life. She's not at peace either, naturally, since things are crumbling again and not a day can go by without some sort of cloud of black settling over them. But for the time being, she's thankful she isn't sitting in the middle of the grass by herself, wallowing in her own self misery and forgetting how to breathe without JJ's patting of her chest.

But something tugs at her heartstrings still, and she only manages to put a name to it when she hears her name being called out and a car door being slammed shut.

   "Oakley!"

The girl in question didn't know she wanted her mom's voice to call out to her so desperately. She didn't know that the crack in her heart was due to the unattached string that connects a mother to her daughter— A desperate mother to her unhinged teenage daughter. The blonde's head looks up for the first time since it happened, and when her eyes lock with the woman's tendered and tearful gaze, she realizes it isn't just a want— She doesn't want her mother, she so very hopelessly needs the embrace of loving arms molded to her liking, the smell of antique rose perfume, the dingle dangle of her golden pendants— Oakley needs Beatrice more than she thinks she does.

That's why as soon as their gazes lock, the girl jumps to her feet and sprints towards her, slamming her body onto hers with such potency it causes the woman to stumble backwards before holding her daughter's head and pressing her even tighter against the crook of her neck. She presses her nose down on her hairline, breathing in the distorted scent of the little girl she would sacrifice herself for. The smell of her is lost in the one of salty, unwashed hair, but a mother knows her child's scent even when it's bleached and out of her reach.