A/N: This is just something I stumbled across on my computer. Haven't a clue when I wrote it, but I quite like it. Cat's my favorite character in Loving Annabelle, but she really doesn't have much of a role, so I felt the need to show a bit of her story. *shrugs* This is just my interpretation of her.
Disclaimer: I do not own Loving Annabelle or any of the characters, places, people, etc. No copyright infringement intended.
"You've grown." Twitch.
"No. I haven't."
"Oh." He looks at his hands. Swallows. Twitches.
I lean back.
This is bullshit.
"You look awful," I tell him.
"The doctors say I'm getting better."
"They're supposed to tell you that."
"I know." Twitch.
"Have you got it?"
He looks up. Gives me a crooked grin. It looks wrong. All wrong. His face is pale. Sweaty. His eyes are red. There are circles underneath them.
He reaches into his left boot and pulls out a plastic bag the size of a matchbox. Slides it across the table. Twitch.
I take it. Slip it in my pocket. I stand. Walk away. I know he's watching me. I know he wishes he was better. I don't care. He let me down. I hope the silence kills him. I hope he knows he should have been the man we needed him to be. He should have been a father. A husband. Not a pothead. Not a rockstar.
I walk out the doors, to my car. The car my mom bought me because she felt guilty for being such a shitty mother. For raising me to be who I am. For raising me to be no one.
I slip in my car. My ancient, faded Mustang. I inhale. Lungs expand. The smell of smoke slips up my nose. I cough. Roll a joint. Light it. Smoke it.
Start the car and drive away. Away from him.
Back to school. Today's the last day of break. I like spring break. I spend it driving up and down the coast. On the beach, letting the waves break around me. On the pier, watching the sunrise paint the sky. Smoking. Getting drunk. Picking up people at bars. Sometimes girls, sometimes guys. It's all the same to me. Just mindless sex.
Back to school.
Before I know it, I'm there. I snuff out my cigarette.
Back to school. Back to Hell.
I'm retreating again. I feel myself pull in, feel my mind check the walls I've built. Patting every inch of them. They're sound and impenetrable. No one's getting inside my head.
Up to my room, pulling my bags behind me. Annabelle's in the lounge, flipping through a magazine.
"Have a nice break?" she asks.
"Fucking fantastic," I say. I step into the room I share with the other three. Drop my stuff. Reach under my bed. My fingers grasp the cool neck of the bottle. I stand and pop off the lid. Take a swig. It burns my throat. I drink.
My mind buzzes. The bottle's empty. I turn around. Collins is behind me. Watching.
"Did you just drink that whole thing?" Her voice is high. Sweet. Sickening.
I love her.
"No, dumbass. I just poured it out the window."
"Oh," she says.
And it reminds me of my father.
I hate her.
I push past her, going back to where Annabelle lounges on an overstuffed loveseat.
"Spend the whole week fucking Miss Bradley?" I ask, leaning against the doorway. Arms crossed across my chest. Cocky. Cold. Every bit the bitch they see me as.
I'm nothing more.
"Just stop, Cat," she says softly.
"Was she any good?" I smirk.
"Stop." A little louder.
"You know, I used to dream about her. I wanted her underneath me, moaning my name. 'Cat, Cat.' Still do. I think she'd be a damn good fuck."
"She's more than just a fuck." She's glaring at me. Threatening me with her eyes. She gets to her feet, hands balled up in fists. How cute.
"So you have been doing her?"
I feel Collins behind me. Willing me to stop.
"I knew it."
"Shut the fuck up, Cat," Annabelle hisses. She steps closer to me.
I tense up. Ready for a fight. One more jab outta do it.
I lower my eyelids. Not completely. Just enough to make them look shut. "Oh Simone," I simper and moan. "Simone…"
Through my half-closed eyes, I see Annabelle coming at me, and I'm ready. She claws at my hair. It's pathetic, really. Girls need to learn how to fight.
She claws at me. I sock her in the stomach, winding her. She falters, and it's all I need. I'm on top of her. Pounding her.
I hit her jaw.
That's for you, Dad.
Fuck you all.
Just fuck it.
What's wrong with me?
And then Collins is there, pulling me off her, shrieking. I could shake her off.
But I don't.
I let Collins drag me away from her.
"Stop," she pleads, putting herself between me and Annabelle. "Stop!"
Annabelle's on the floor, nose gushing blood. "Fuck you." She rolls to her feet. And she's gone.
Collins lets go of me.
My chest heaves. My eyes sting. The world looks blurry.
No one comes storming in the room. No one heard. Shame.
Collins is silent. Fidgeting. I can't look at her. I turn away. I know she hasn't moved.
"Don't you have to go cut yourself or something?" I snap.
My words sting her. Fuck.
I hear her feet on the carpet as she retreats.
And I'm alone.
My chest still rises and falls. My breaths are ragged. My throat is restricted. My eyes burn. But no tears fall.
I don't cry anymore.
I don't care anymore.
I am Cat.
But Cat is no one.