RP Return to Sender


Lark just didn’t look well. They kept swaying and unfocusing, almost like they had to consciously focus on being present, as if they were barely holding themselves together. They wanted to go back, to tell themselves that everything was going to be okay. Lily thought back, all the half-hidden flashes of something that had crossed Lark’s face, the smiles that hid a touch of something indescribable. With what she knew now, Lily realized what it was.

It was the constant reminder that their time was running out.

Lark had lived their entire existence knowing they were going to die. All those awkward moments when they had pushed her away, when she had tried to get close and they had put up their walls. It wasn’t that Lark didn’t want to be around her, didn’t want to be with her, didn’t want her…

They were doing damage control. They wanted their death to be as painless as possible, pushing the arrow out instead of pulling.

Lark gave the answer Lily dreaded, but suspected. A full-body shiver ran through their body and Lily squeezed their shoulder, trying to give them something to focus on. Silvery drops of mercury welled up in their eyes before turning clear and falling and Lily moved, wrapping her arms tightly around them.

“It’s okay, Lark. You couldn’t have known.” She spoke softly, hesitating before letting her fingers run through the tangled silvery locks. “I know it hurts. I know you’re holding yourself together by a sheer thread. You can let go.”

Lily kept running her fingers through their hair, making quiet calming noises as she held them tightly. She understood how they felt, the sudden feeling of everything dropping out from under you and leaving you in a freefall where you can only see the ground coming up to smash you. It was the same feeling she’d had when the Lotus had cut her out like a tumor, after everything she’d given them.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
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She reaches for them, and Lark nearly chokes on something that might be a hiccup or a sniffle or some other pathetic sound. Their first instinct is to pull away from the touch that isn’t their own, their second to brace for pain, but they’re so tired. Tired of fighting everything. Fighting for everything. After everything Lily has gone through for their sake, can’t they just trust her? Can’t they let go?

If only it was that easy. It isn’t acceptance but something closer to exhaustion that has them slumping against her, tears still running from their eyes and blurring their vision. Their eyes won’t focus anyways, so they bury their face in her shoulder, their skin feeling so cold compared to hers that they could almost believe they were existing in some sort of proper un-death.

God, they don’t even know what they’re mourning; the life they could have had, the assurance of a past or future self to turn to, themself? All they know is that it hurts, somewhere deeper than a broken bone but no less jagged.

They shake feverishly, but other than their ragged breathing they’re too quiet. And there’s something in the quietness that is wrong on a fundamental level. For pack animals, crying is supposed to be a signal that one of the pack needs help. Even babies know how to cry, how to wail and shout and insist that their needs be met. It’s instinctive, natural.

Lark has existed far too long in a pack of one, and somewhere along the line they convinced themself that no help would ever come. Even here, in Lily’s arms, some part of them is alert, waiting for a reprimand or dismissal. It’s a small part, but it keeps them on just this side of awake even as, eventually, their eyes droop and their tears start to dry up.

They’ve left a not-insignificant damp patch on Lily’s shirt, they note distantly. They lift a sleeve-covered hand to pat at it, and then consider how silly the gesture is and let their hand drop again, their arm awkwardly crumpled against their chest. They sniff one final time and move to sit up under their own power. Their eyes and chest hurt, but they try not to let it show as they pull away from Lily’s embrace.

They start to say something, but their throat feels tight and rough, and they just close their mouth again. They won’t meet her eyes as they scrub at their face with their sleeve. They don’t know what to say, and the silence hangs over their head like a sword.

That, at least, is familiar.

 

Lily smiled softly at Lark’s attempt to wipe away the evidence of their tears on her shirt. She didn’t mind, it felt good to help, to be useful in some way. Some part of her brain lamented when they pulled back, but she didn’t follow. They needed space. She knew that.

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” Lily said softly, rising to her feet smoothly and quietly, vanishing into Lark’s kitchen. Various sounds came out to greet Lark: running water, the opening and closing of cupboards, the soft clinking of ceramic, a quiet noise of contemplation from Lily. Eventually Lily reappeared, a steaming mug clutched in each hand.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I guessed.” She offered a mug to Lark before settling back into her original spot. “My dad always said that a hot drink helped chase sadness away.” She blew on her tea before taking a sip. There was an awkward moment between them as the air hung heavy and thick, waiting, begging to be cut and to have the tension released.

“I know how you feel.” Lily began, making the first slice. Mostly, anyway. You feel alone. Scared. Like your whole life up to this point has been a waste.” Something stirred inside Lily, but whether it was hope, remorse, or sympathy, she couldn't say.

“You’re the bravest person I know, you’ve been fighting the future for as long as you can remember, trying to make the most of every second, sometimes multiple times over.” Lily couldn’t help but chuckle at her own little joke before letting out a deep sigh and staring into the now-gray eyes of her favorite time traveler.

“You’ve spent your entire life trying not to die. But now, Lark Athlai, you get to spend your life living.”
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Lark pulls themself together while Lily is in the kitchen. It’s easier, without her eyes on them. They find their breath again, and wipe their face clean with their sleeves. They even find a half-empty box of tissues behind the couch and tear through another quarter of it until they can breathe through their nose. Maybe if they just… don’t think about it, then they can pretend to be alright for a little while longer. Hey, it got them this far.

They’re almost sane again by the time she comes back, and they curl their fingers around the mug she offers, nodding their thanks wordlessly. It’s still scalding hot, but they’ve already lost most of the feeling in their hands so it’s not like it hurts. They take a breath of steam. The tea smells warm and spicy, something like chai or pumpkin spice, and they can almost taste it from the steam alone.

Lily’s right, in a way. It does make them feel better, blowing ripples into their drink to try to cool it down enough for a sip. They’re pulled back from it when she starts talking, though, and they shift uncomfortably, making a face into their mug.

“You know, I’ve been to a lot of places,” they start, in a tone low enough to be called calm if it weren’t for the tense set to their shoulders. “Every place I’ve been, everyone I’ve met, they’re all just trying to get through one more day. That’s not brave, it’s just life. And I haven’t even done that.”

They don’t look at her, their gaze fixed on the dark liquid in their mug. The surface takes a moment to settle, but when it does it reflects gray back at them, and they set it down so quickly that tea sloshes everywhere, staining their carpet and skirt and the edge of one of the many blankets spilling off their couch. “Shit.”

They stand up suddenly, jolting to their feet like a jack-in-the box. “I’ll get a towel,” they say, already moving for their bedroom. Their vision fuzzes around the edges, tunneling into one bright spot surrounded by noise, but they refuse to stumble, moving on autopilot for the door and slipping inside.


It’s the smell that hits them first. Not to say that their bedroom smells bad, just… familiar. Like them, and also like the flowers wilting on their windowsill and the ever-shifting carpet of both clean and dirty laundry that softens the hardwood floor under their feet. They take another step inside, and the door clicks softly shut behind them.

Lark didn’t think they’d ever actually see this room again. It shows, kind of. They didn’t bother to empty the trash can or make the bed. The curtains over the window are askew, sagging around that one missing ring they never got around to fixing.

Another step, and something crunches under their shoe. They lift their foot and see two silvery shards, shiny but too small to catch much light. That’s right, they did that, didn’t they?

The mirror is covered by a sheet, but in some sudden burst of emotion they catch the corner of it and toss the fabric aside. Beneath its veil, the floor-length mirror propped against their wall has clearly seen better days. Cracks and missing pieces swirl outwards from where their face would usually be, and the gold paint of the frame is worn, chipping away in too many places to count.

They run their eyes along what was once one of their favorite possessions, stopping at the floor where hundreds of picked-off stickers curl around the base like old scabs. The hammer is there too, with silver dust still speckling its broad side. It seems to stare at them, accusation and recrimination written across its wooden handle. Haven’t you already ruined things enough?

It feels like clarity.

They can’t stay here, in this place that they once loved, with these things that they once loved. None of this was supposed to be theirs anymore. They ruined it all in anticipation of that, because not once in their entire damned life have they let something go easy. Why should they start now?

No, they played their part. Fate was the one who didn’t do it right. And she’s getting away with it. That can’t be allowed to stand.

The drop from the window doesn’t scare them anymore. They’re only on the second story, and they know how to fall from higher heights. They shove it open and drop, running as soon as their feet hit the ground.

It’s what they’re good at.

 
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“Life’s the hardest thing we have to do.” Lily chuckled softly, a half-chuckle really. “Most people I know would’ve given up pretty quickly if they were in your shoes.” She wasn’t sure what to say, they weren't meeting her gaze. They just continued to stare in their mug of tea before abruptly pushing it to the floor, tea climbing up and over the sides, leaping to cling to their skirt.

Lark bolted up like they had stuck a fork in a socket, and for a second Lily swore that their gray eyes were wide and panicked, like those of a cornered animal. But with a blink the look vanished, a mask sliding back into place. They moved smoothly, slipping into the bedroom and closing the door behind them.

Lily stared at the spot they’d left behind, at the tea staining the carpet, at the blankets Lark had been wrapped in. She didn’t realize how long it had been until she took a sip of her tea and found that it had gone cold. And yet still Lark hadn’t returned. Something gnawed at Lily, but she pushed it down. They might have just needed space. She rose quietly, leaving her tea mug behind as she retraced Lark’s steps, knocking softly on the bedroom door.

“Lark?” she asked quietly. She tested the knob, unsurprised to find that it wasn’t locked. She hadn’t heard a second click when Lark had gone this way, so it made sense that they hadn’t flipped the lock. Lily opened the door silently, opening it a crack at first, waiting for a noise of protest at her intrusion. Hearing none, she opened it further, wide enough to cautiously stick her head inside.

It was empty.

The room itself was filled with things, of course, just as it had been when Lily did her tour of the place. The clothes were still covering the floor, the bed was still in a rumpled state of disarray, just not one that looked like someone had lain in it in ages. There were two things in the room that caught Lily’s attention, though.

The first was a mirror propped up against the wall, old and worn. A sheet had pooled on the floor next to it, most likely the one that had been covering it until recently. It wasn’t hard to see why. Just a bit above her eye level is a massive impact mark, scarring the mirror and sending some pieces scattering to the floor. The culprit lays nearby, banishing any thoughts that what happened to this mirror might have been an accident. But that was only one of the things that caught Lily’s attention.

The other was the open window.

Sagging curtains swished limply in the cold breeze. Lily’s hands pressed against the sill as she stuck her head out. Slushy footprints beat a faint trail that led away from a larger mess. Something dark and bitter rose up within Lily, managing to slightly claw its way out of her throat as a choked gasp. She stepped shakily away from the window, sinking down with her back against the wall. Whispers filled her head, shadows clung to the corners of her vision, yet another person who left her behind. Lily buried her head in her arms and felt her shoulders heave, silent sobs that brought no tears, only pain.

When she came up for air, movement caught Lily’s eye. She saw herself, reflected in the cracked mirror. She was curled in on herself, her knees drawn tight against her chest. She looked small. Lily caught her own gaze and held it. Something clicked, and she relaxed. Her legs went slack, her hands pressed against the floor. Lily rose to her feet, a third thing catching her eye as she scanned the room. She moved to the trash can and took the bag out, tying it tight.

Lark would be back. And she would be here. In the meantime, she’d help prepare for the life they never expected they’d get.
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