Chapter Text
Dahlia's tired.
she really is.
sleep can't fix this exhaustion, though.
"YOUR CHILD NEEDS YOU, VIKTOR!!"
she really wishes someone were aware of it.
"ME?! IF YOU COULD STAY SOBER FOR MORE THAN ONE MINUTE, MAYBE YOU COULD FIGURE OUT I CAN'T DO EVERYTHING BY MYSELF ALL THE TIME!!"
"I DON'T SEE THE MONEY YOU SAY YOU'RE ALWAYS MAKING! YOU WORK EARLY SHIFTS, VIKTOR! YOU GET HOME AT 4PM!"
she's really, really glad headphones were invented. more
so that her dad thought to get her some.
it really does seem that he cares sometimes. she wishes she could say the same for her mom.
"IF YOU HATE ME SO MUCH, WHY DON'T YOU JUST LEAVE?!"
"I WOULD, BUT I DON'T SEE YOU SPARING MORE THAN A DOLLAR TO ANYONE ELSE BUT YOURSELF IN THE FUTURE!"
"NO, I'D BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO, BUT YOU AND ME BOTH KNOW I DONT BECAUSE YOU'D BE ON THE STREETS IF IT WERENT FOR ME!!"
(not that the idea of the old addict on the streets wouldn't appeal to him.)
"SO ARE YOU FORGETTING THAT-"
"DON'T USE THAT 'I'M HER MOTHER' EXCUSE AGAIN!! ALL YOU'VE EVER DONE FOR HER IS LEECH OFF OF THIS FAMILY!! WHEN WERE YOU EVER HER MOTHER?!"
dahlia really likes her headphones.
it might be the fact that they're noise cancelling.
she reaches for her sketchbook on her dresser and lifts the worn cover. man, this thing has been through thick and thin, hasn't it?
she feels of the worn chipboard for a moment and thinks, maybe she needs a new book.
or tape.
tape could work.
it'd save money.
(she'll never admit that she can't let it go. she's let too much go, and this is all she has to herself now. it brings her some sort of.. comfort, you could say.)
she stands from her bed-- still jamming out to `I Can't Fix You', by the way-- and grabs her tape on the dresser.
the walls shake for a split second.
"JUST ADMIT IT! DOES IT STING SO BAD TO SAY YOU'RE WRON-"
the phrase gets cut off by the volume getting turned up drastically. she has no reaction. she's used to this, after all. she has to be.
she's the glue that holds this place together. (barely.) Angie and Vik may have some problems, but if there's one thing they have in common (out of millions of things they don't- not anymore) they both love Dahlia. even if just a bit.
----
after drawing for a bit, she takes off her headphones for a moment. she didnt realize how long she had been drawing (or how long her parents had been fighting). now her ears hurt. some ibuprofen'd help, too. her head kind of hurts.
why are the walls-?
someone's stomping-
she listens-
down the hallway.
the steps are slurry and offbeat.
...
it's Dahlia's mom.
like clockwork, Angie has busted down the door and is now screaming at her daughter about everything she's done to this family, what a disappointment, mistake, curse, she was to them, how she doesn't ever listen, but it's nothing Dahlia hasn't heard before.
that doesnt mean it isnt scaring her.
doesnt mean it doesnt hurt.
doesnt make anything more apparent or easier.
doesnt change the fact that Angie has a broken beer bottle in her hand.
wait.
she isnt actually trying to..
------
her mom's appearance is more... disheveled than usual. don't get me wrong, she always looks pretty awful considering the facts that
1. she isn't employed (at the ripe old age of 48),
2. she gets drunk all the time, so she (and her breath..) constantly smells like she brushed her teeth with a skunk's tail,
3. she never showers, saying that she 'forgot again' (I don't even need to say it again, see 2.)
4. she downright is just not healthy. like at all
5. she nor anyone she knows remembers the last time she changed clothes (overstatement, but my point stands.)
------
before she has time to realize what's happening, the headphones are thrown off her head, she has deep scratches and cuts on her arms (she's pretty sure her head's bleeding), and she's backed against a wall being lectured about how she should pay more attention. those headphones cancelled a bit too much.. including her mom's calls for her.
but let's point out the obvious, this wouldve happened either way.
in an instant, Dahlia shoves her mom to the side- causing her to get motion sick, and grabs a pre-packed bag (just in case things got too rough, she packed it recently. she's been planning this for a while but never knew it would really have to come to this. Angie and Viktor's fights have been getting more frequent and.. violent, recently).
and then,
finally then,
the glue just doesn't stick anymore.
she doesn't want to anymore.
she just wants to run.
....
so she does.
she runs like her life depends on it.
actually, it probably does now that she thinks about it. just make her run faster though.
she bolts out of her bedroom, into the hallway, the kitchen, stealing some of her mother's anxiety medication because she knows she needs something for it but her parents always accused her of being dramatic- then the living room, and out the door.
it's raining. pouring, actually.
her mom manages to half scream (half slur-) "DAHLIA PHONELL.. GET BACK.. HERE!!"
her mom is still drunk, wouldn't you know it. she can't even run properly.
Dahlia thanks the higher powers that she has a good amount of stamina, and that she knows her town like the back of her hand.
--
after maybe 15 minutes of running, she's pretty sure her mom lost her. she probably gave up forever ago, but she couldnt be too sure. she tucks into an alleyway and under a small roof.
she's so tired. so, so tired. now that she thinks about it..
where is she gonna go?
"Come on, Dahlia, think of something! anything to get us through just the first 24 hours?!"
she pokes her head out of the alley too look around, still sopping wet, and spots an advertisement on a billboard about the pizzaplex her parents used to take her to.
...
that wouldnt be a bad place to.. regroup. yeah. regroup. regroup and totally not cope by drowning your sorrows in fizzy faz, pizza, and blinding your worries in the lazer shows and bright colors. totally not doing it to see the cool animatronics and hang out with other kids and run and play and dance and sing like its nobody's business and just feel better about your life in general.
....
regrouping.
right.