the base drum of our hearts
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────────────── xxx THE BASE DRUMS OF OUR HEARTS xxx ──────────────── |
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| x | 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭. |
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XXXXX𝕶eep running.
Sodden, sorrowful boots slapped across the pavement. The ground was black and wet. Dark shadows curled around her, as she sprinted. She could hear the pounding of her chest in her ears.
She hugged herself tight. The vast darkness seemed quite impenetrable, even a weak Lumos couldn’t see much past her own palm. She ran on, slight misty rain sticking her jumper. Hearing the uneven jogging behind her.
Shit. Keep going. He's coming.
The young girl could hear everything here, and it seemed odd. Chills slid down her spine. The creaky echo of spindly branches scratching, the ragged, alarmed breathing.
A stretched shadow crept out from the darkness, and for some reason, that grotesque silhouette was easier to see than the few feet in front of sopping wet shoes—
Who is that?
The fluttering throb of her heart did a swift double take, because she swore that form was familiar. It approached her. With a lanky, out-stretched arm. It limped towards her. Before the brunette could scream or open her mouth, the scene quickly switched, fading like a fever dream around her.
As her vision adjusted, she took a deep breath. She was in her cozy house, and her family members were all around her. That’s new. She thought, and the girl tried to smile.
Even despite her laboured breathing and who had just came for her. She took in a deep inhale. Exhale. She looked behind her; someone was watching her. She knew it. Even in the warm light of the den, where she spent most of her days in, she felt unsafe. Someone was coming for her.
Wait!
She was suddenly back in the darkness. The Ravenclaw’s breathing became louder and harsher. She needed to calm down.
Calm the f—
Someone is coming. Someone was coming—
He’s coming.
There he was. Light flashed like some dramatic movie, and that figure appeared right under her nose. And just like that, he reached for her. Eyes bulging, she tried to evade. She couldn’t. He grabbed her shoulder and his lips parted, as if to say something. Mouth wide open, she gasped.
***
With an enormous intake of air, Brookline shook herself out of the horrible night terror. Fingers shook and she exhaled. Heart still slamming, similar to a base drum, she grabbed the scratchy blanket she had been given earlier and chucked it. Being a flimsy, thin piece of cloth it didn’t make it quite far. It landed on the far side of the couch. Brookline stared at it.
The Welsh girl then glanced around, trying to make sense where she was at. Oh, right. She was in London, at her father’s new (or not so new) place. And she was on a couch. Brookline had expected to go home with her sisters but her dad had came to the station. Apparently he wanted to spend Easter Holiday with his daughter. She remembered being angry at him, and spewing some naughty words at him. At least she was being forward with her dad.
I swear, I hate this place, she thought, and padded around for her wand. The room was dark and Brookline didn’t trust to put her wand anywhere else. She knew that some parents stored away their magical child’s supplies. The wand was under her pillow. She had found it. That was good.
With a quiet “Lumos,” her wand tip turned a bright white, giving some light to the room. Pointing the light towards the clock, she read it. 4:15. She scoffed. Of course it was still the middle of the night. With the counter spell for Lumos, she settled back into the threadbare pillow. Chase Quinn was really on his own here. He barely had anything nice in this odd hovel.
Brookline Isabella Quinn started to cry. The nightmare was just too much for her. She hated this and she hated her father. Why did he want her to visit him? He never even liked her anyways. The young Ravenclaw hoped Chase couldn’t hear her sniffled sobs. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he cared when she was a little child who needed her Hufflepuff father’s genuine love?
She turned to her side, and curled up. Hopefully her father would just think she kicked her blanket aside. Brookline hoped he wouldn’t come wake her up. Waking up your daughter and she has red, puffy eyes. Nope. No way. He was nor supposed to come and wipe her tears. Not like he would do it anyway. He never participated in parenting, so why would he start now?
My childhood is more than halfway over and Lizy’s is almost over.
If there was anyone he should try to help and be a good father, it’s Cash and Chase Jr. Even how much it shattered her heart, Brookline would rather her little brothers actually know their dad.
A boy should know his dad. A boy should play catch with his dad in the yard. A boy should play games with his dad all afternoon. A boy should learn with his dad together. A dad should never turn his back on his sons (or daughters).
A dad should go play with his children.
As Brookline silently cried, she drifted back to sleep. She hoped Chase would leave her alone today. There was nothing more she would wish for. He’s just a bastard.
***
Egg-shell yellow drizzled through threadbare curtains. God, Chase had to be so much cleaner and organized when he lived with them. Perhaps it was just living alone that took a toll on him. A yawn escaped her lips, and Brookline stretched.
Honestly, it was a miracle she survived the night. Those bad dreams weren’t giving her such a peace of mind either. She knew that this wasn’t going to end her anxiety either. Probably going to make it worst.
Shuffling to her trunk, she pulled out her wooden brush and satchel. The Welsh girl hurried to the dinghy restroom with the satchel hung haphazardly around her shoulder. She slid down the hallway, her socks sliding and catching on protruding splinters. Brookline would not be surprised if she had to take a million soaks to get everything out of her hair and toss out this scent. The foul odor was the first thing Brookline noticed when she followed her father into the house.
The lavatory was absolutely horrid. It had bland plaster, for one, and for two, the porcelain sink was dirty as a muddy horseshoe. The floor seemed like it hadn’t been scrubbed in days and the mirror was foggy as ever. And the tub was a different story. Not to mention the stained towels and linty washcloths. Brookline wanted to puke. She turned on the running water once, yesterday, and reserved to using the Scouring Charm. Problem solved for that.
Once she latched the door, she went to work. Using her brush, Brookline combed through her hair as best as she could. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t taken better care of her hair so when clumps of frizzy, brown hair slowly drifted to the floor, she didn’t care. Chase could clean that up. Or leave it. Whatever he preferred. Brookline was not going to be a maid. That is not the reason she came, even if that’s why Chase wanted her to stay.
With the spare hair bubble on her wrist, Brookline used it to twist her brunette locks into a messy bun. Sticking her wand inside the tangled twist, she made sure it was tucked securely. Dipping her palm into the satchel around her neck, she grabbed some spare clothes and switched her sleepwear for her extra clothing. Hoodie and baggy jeans. Hopefully, Chase would have a fit. Apparently he never liked the Muggle clothing when he lived with the Quinns, and he still doesn’t prefer it. She crossed her fingers.
Once she thought she was finished, Brookline had forgotten to put on her boots. She exhaled. The Ravenclaw unlocked and exited the restroom door and she slid back to the den where she had her trunk and where she had slept. Tip toeing all the way there. She did not want to wake her father right now.
Pulling on her ankle boots, she froze when she heard a noise. A unknown sound. Ocean eyes turned to ice as every body part stayed motionless. Ears perked to the sound. Brookline didn’t know this house. She had to stay high alert at all times, no time for slacking.
Under a cold wave of sheer anxiety, Brookline’s shivering hands fumbled inside the satchel. Once she had grasped onto the cool handle, she whipped it out. Her knife. Her lifeline; the thing that kept her safe and made her feel safe. Like Tigeress. Oh how Brookline missed her beloved pet. At the station, yesterday, the Ravenclaw verbally gasped when she had seen her father. Under the flight or fight response, she shoved Tigeress’ crate into the nearest twin and told both girls to flee. To get out of their father’s target zone. If anyone was going down with him, it would be Brookline. She only hoped Lizy, Minnie and Marie were taking care of her dear kitten correctly. She ought to send Lizy a letter soon. Thankfully the holidays didn’t last that long.
Shoving the Locksmith’s Knife into her boot, Brookline carefully approached the sound. She hoped it was anything except her father. Hoping and wishing. The poor girl was so afraid of her own dad that she didn’t want to be in the same house as him. As the noise grew louder, Brookline realized it was it the kitchen. With her boot-clad feet, she trod as slowly as she could.
It could be anyone. Out to kill you. Hurt you. It could be Chase. Plotting. Silence. Plotting again.
Heart drummed. It pounded and pounded. Hand on the ready, Brookline set into her fight mode. Whoever this was, she was going to give them the element of surprise. She knew magic was not allowed but she could make an exception. She knew adults wouldn’t but she would.
Rounding the corner, Brookline opened the door to the kitchen. Rapid breaths was the only thing you could hear as she entered the room. Eyes and body bracing for a serial killer or a dangerous person, she gasped when she saw the person at the kitchen table.
This person was not male nor was she Brookline’s father. The person was a middle-aged woman with long and big platinum blonde hair and had a wand tucked above her ear. She was eating porridge out of a glass bowl and the lady smiled ear to ear when she saw Brookline. Brookline could not believe this. Her father had really done this. This was probably why the man left. All of a sudden, the Welsh girl felt weak. In a way, her heart had stopped and she felt worthless.
Studying the woman again, Brookline wondered how long until Chase had met this lady. She didn’t seen at all mean, considering the woman had decided to grin this super big smile at her as if Brookline had met this girl before. Long time no see. As if, The young Quinn thought as she mentally sneered. She stared hard at the older lady and pondered. Why the hell did this hurt so hard? Did she not care about him? Did she not care about what the foolish bastard had done?
Clearly Brookline does.
“Oh, bonjour¹ !! Good morning, chérie². You must be Miss Brookline.” The woman started speaking. Of course she did. She wanted to become oh so elated gal pals with Little Miss Brookline so she can get closer. If the young girl wasn’t so speechless right now, she’d been thinking something like, don’t be sweet talking me now!
As Brookline internally processed the lady, with the rich French accent, at the table, the woman had already stood up and was expecting to shake the Quinn’s hand. And for one thing how in Merlin’s white beard did this older girl know her name? All Brookline could do is gaze at the lady’s fair complexion, dark maroon lips, and watery green eyes. Not because of attraction, but because of disbelief. “Chase has told me a great deal about you. I’m Isabelle. Yet, everyone calls me Belle. Feel free to call me Belle, honey. I have a feeling we're going to become such lovely friends, Brookline.”
Brookline could of fainted. This was Isabelle and she was supposed to call her Belle. Heart in her chest, she grapples to the nearest object and nearly falls into Isabelle.
Oh, God.
[ coded by elena clark ]
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occ notes: ¹bonjour - hello, ²chérie - sweetheart
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