15 | flickering (part two)

PALE FINGERS OF LIGHT CREEP across the carpet, shifting and changing in metamorphoses of ethereal colours flitting across Ebony's face and gently illuminating his impassive features and engraved scars, bathing them in hues so soft and intangible that the cold of the space between us feels distanced from us now, lost in flickering sparks of light.

He shifts in place, across the sofa from where I'm sat, legs folded and elbows braced on knees, and fingers knotted in the dishevelled fringe hanging low over his eyes.

I hug myself in the oversized hoodie, slipping my fingers under the cuffs of the sleeves and scratching at my arms; targeting an itch that seems to manifest itself all over my body, in horrible, relentless vibrations that refuse to be satiated.

Beneath the extra layer, I shiver, my body loosely knotted together beneath a blanket. The sensation of alcohol and vitality still shoots through my body―a hundred fireworks combusting beneath my flesh―but it feels disgusting to me now, like a skin I need to shed.

I draw the blanket to me tighter, lifting my gaze to meet his in the dancing light.

"How was the party?" His words are soft-spoken, a blaze of the Ebony that is a flaming contrast to the one before, in the volatile presence of Archer Finley.

"It was good." I lick my lips, though they're dry and worried to shreds beneath my tongue. "At first, at least. I mean, we were just doing our usual thing. You know, drinking and talking. Worshipping Rebel. Yeah, things were okay at first."

"So." He swallows, clearly uncomfortable. "What happened next?"

"We were just...chilling. In our circle, inside the mansion. It was around midnight, and―and Rebel kind of just realised that it was time to...you know, do her thing. And I didn't even ask before she decided. She was already set on Finch, and asked me to come with her. She, um." I clasp and unclasp my fingers, knotting them together. "She tried to get him. To do it with her. He wasn't particularly interested, and she was getting frustrated, and he accidentally let it slip that he'd prefer me, and―she didn't like that. We had a fight."

"And she ripped your dress?" He asks for confirmation, though the ruined dress sheltering the kitchen bin is living proof of the same.

"And she ripped my dress," I clarify, pinching the skin on the inside of my wrist, "and I said that I regret becoming a Witch again. I mean it, Eb. I regret it. Rebel made me realise that you guys were right. I really don't have a personality."

"Ivory…" Ebony expels a sigh. "We never meant it in a bad way―,"

"I know," I interrupt, his guilt seeping into my skin. "But it's just the truth. And it means that I've been being horrible for no other reason than that Rebel would have wanted me too. I just...hate the thought."

His hand finds my shoulder and I shudder, scratching at my arms again.

"Stop." Ebony's hands grab my wrist. "I think you need to sleep, Ry. It's kinda worrying―you look like you haven't slept in months."

Drawing back to hoards of sleepless nights and illusionary mornings; dark rings under bloodshot eyes and coffee-induced energy that had felt fake in my bloodstream, I manage a mute nod, forcing out a yawn.

"You too, Eb. I think we both deserve a good night's rest," I say, running my fingers through my hair in some semblance of brushing it. Unfolding my legs from beneath me, I stand on unsteady feet, and the blanket sheds from my body, forming a heap on the floor.

The two of us stare at it, disentangling its hidden metaphors with deluded minds.

In it, I see broken friendship; shards of blood-slicked glass crunching beneath my feet.

But I can't stand in it, and not acknowledge the words that need to be said.

"I'm sorry for what happened that night," I say, as his back turns to me in the dim light. "I should have been on your side, not Rebel's. Archer shouldn't have been the one helping you, it should have been me. Because you wouldn't have been there in the first place, if it wasn't for me. I'm really sorry, Eb."

He stays in forced silence at my apology, staring at me as if he expects me to take it back with rapid reflexes; hold it tauntingly out of his reach with a deadly smile on his face. With the events of the past two weeks, I don't blame him for not being able to put it past me.

Then, he heaves a sigh, and his shoulders deflate. "I'm not like Archer. We're siblings, and I'm stuck with you. That means, if you screw up, I'll always be there to forgive, even if it's only because if I do the same, you have to forgive me too."

His words, though not entirely what I expected, are genuine, and coax a smile out of my lips.

"Thanks, Ebony."

"No problem, Ivory."

☆☆☆