slowtown ↠ alice cullen

03 | self-destructive

Eliza had unsurprisingly landed in after-school detention. Even though it was her first day, Eliza felt as though she had accomplished the greatest feat she could.

It reminded her of home somewhat; sitting in a room with maybe five kids, desks covered in sharpie drawings, and an unhappy teacher watching over them.

The more she thought about it, the more she got The Breakfast Club vibes. It made her smile, before the teacher in front glared in her direction. As he called out names, with hardly any responses, Eliza glanced around the room, until she landed on a familiar face. Unfortunately, there wasn't one.

Slumping farther into her seat, she sighed loudly.

"Do you have something you want to say, Ms. Courtland," the teacher said up front. She had forgotten his name already and didn't care enough to ask again.

"No," she grumbled. She stared at her watch, watching as the minute hand slowly ticked by.

When the thirty minutes had passed, Eliza bolted out of the class. Once her blue eyes spotted her car, she smiled.

"My baby," she cried, pressing her hands against the door, only to pull away a second later.

"Fuck this cold weather, man."

☆

As Eliza pulled into her driveway, she groaned at the sight of the police car sitting there. Cringing as she opened the front door, Grant stared at her from the kitchen.

"Hi, Uncle Grant." He didn't respond, only raising an eyebrow. She never knew how he was able to do that, she had tried countless times in failure. Closing the door, the blonde shuffled into the kitchen, pulling another mug from the cabinet.

"You're home early," she said finally, pouring the leftover coffee into her cup. It was lukewarm, so she knew he had been home for a while already.

"How was school?" She faked a smile.

"Oh you know, the usual. I did make some friends though, they seem pretty cool."

"That's it?" She downed her drink instead of answering.

"So you didn't already get into a fight with another student?" Putting down her cup, Eliza smiled.

"Nope." Quickly running to her room, Eliza ignored her uncle's protests.

An unopened box laid at her feet; strange as she remembered putting everything away. It was small, but heavier than expected when she lifted it.

Hauling it onto her bed next to her, she pulled open the top, revealing dozens of photographs. Pictures of her and her uncle were littered throughout. After a few minutes of sifting through, she stops on a particular picture.

Before she knows it, her hands are shaking. A sobs rack through her chest so much it hurts. Wiping her face, Eliza shoves the photos back into the box roughly. The box tips over the edge of her bed, spilling everything onto the carpet. The blonde has half a nerve to throw the whole thing out the window. Maybe even light it on fire.

Covering her mouth with her hand, Eliza rocks herself on the mattress. Her other hand wraps itself between the soft blanket next to her.

A sharp knock on her door startles her, along with the rattling of her locked doorknob.

"Is everything okay in there? I heard a loud noise," Grant says past the door, his voice slightly muffled.

"Every-everything's fine." she clears her throat from the runoff snot. "I'm fine, I just fell."

Grant's hesitant to answer. "Okay, just tell me when you're hungry and I'll start cooking dinner."

"Okay."

Once he leaves, Eliza slides onto the floor, stacking the photos back into the box. Making sure they all face backwards, the blonde closes it back up. Shoving it in the back of her closet, Eliza moves some items around so she doesn't have to see it for a while.

☆

The way Eliza can pretend to be okay is astonishing, but also slightly unhealthy.

She sits with her uncle at the dining table, smiling and laughing, like she wasn't just having a breakdown.

Avoiding the topic, as she's sure he knows what had actually happened in her room, Eliza talks about her new friends and classes. She talks about the cafeteria food and the really pretty kids.

There's a look in his eye that she ignores, and he doesn't push her to talk. In fact, he hasn't said anything the whole time. Maybe in Eliza's mind the silence speaks more than she does when she talks.

Maybe that's why when she finally goes to bed, she plays music because the sound of nothing is too loud. Maybe that's why when her alarm clock goes off, she listens to it for a few minutes before turning it off. Maybe that's why she talks a bit more in class when no one answers the teacher. But it's all a maybe.