There were times when Juniper White wished she were invisible. This was such a day.
The door was locked. It just being closed was something of a rarity but today Juno managed to barricade herself in the bedroom successfully. The dawn was breaking but she sat on her bed, unmoving, as the light tried to claim her face for itself. It missed; instead traversing the length of the room to reach the far wall where it illuminated the photographs she had taken at various stages of her life. Her head turned, the dull brown eyes, rimmed red, searching along the collage of pictures. She brushed her hand through her hair, flicking away the maroon dyed strands as she stood up. Her gait was ungraceful as if she had only woken up and she swayed from one side to the other as her feet led her closer to the wall. A pale ghostly hand reached out to touch the picture of her and her mother.
She was five and she remembered that day though her face showed no signs that she did. The thing she didn't remember was why they had taken a photograph of that normal day. Surely the lie then was as present as it was now. The lie that took the form of her mother's words wrapping around the resented word 'adopted'. Juno's hand clenched around the photograph, effectively snatching it from the wall and, with a swish of the hand, threw it away. Her hand remained on the pictures that lined up the wall, as if she was touching glass that was preciously brittle. Her dull eyes moved on - she would not cry for that lie again. But she waited.
They stopped on another Polaroid, of a trio aged differently. The three didn't look any older than twelve though the oldest two would have claimed they were. Frail fingertips touched the printed faces carefully. They didn't look anything alike, she and her brothers. How could she not have noticed that sooner? The twins were too tanned, too tall and not at all like her, with her button like nose, pallid complexion and the midget factor. She was stupid. Stupid and oblivious. The Polaroid ended up with the first in the dark corner of her room.
She bit her bottom lip, chewing away at the chapped texture. It was a habit she has picked up as of late, something she did when she grew insecure. Her lips bore the many marks of her teeth. The other photos seemed so insignificant - birthday parties, concerts, hanging out at the art room with her friends, her birth mother. Her heartbeat stopped, its last pulse echoed, reverberating through her whole body. Eyes were shut and her form shook angrily. This was the woman who had willingly given her up, who didn't want her, who left her. Juno took the photo in her hands, not caring even as the tape she used stayed stuck on the wall. This time she could see the resemblance. Yes, they had the same eyes, cheeks and hair tone. But she couldn't see herself in this woman, even as she waited.
Juno fancied herself as the quiet brain at the back of the room who wanted nothing more than to capture art in the form of photography. This woman, her biological mother, didn't look anything like that, a fact easily derived from the sly smile that graced her seamless lips and the hair that seemed too tangled to ever be brushed again. Her face was a mask and her eyes - the same color hues Juno now shared with her - looked like the inside of a mausoleum. Empty.
She let the photograph fall to her feet in pieces. Her hands shook from the process and she couldn't quite keep herself steady. A step was taken and her back touched the rest of the photographs on the wall. Across from her, a mirror stood silently reflecting her broken form. She took in her image, blurred slightly by the presence of tears, and wrapped her arms around herself in vain effort to keep herself together. The sun streamed through the only window but its warmth did nothing to help the cold void she felt inside.
A lonely buzz interrupted the silence. It saved her from the humiliation of the hysterical cry she felt building in her throat. She reached for her phone, unseeing. She missed the picture of her best friend on the small screen but she answered it regardless.
"Hello?" There was a relieved sigh on the other end as she gave in, letting the tears brim over.
"… I didn't think you'd call," she said faintly. She heard his humorous chuckle, so different from the one she felt trapped in her throat.
"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I?"
"I waited for a long time," she answered. The broken piece inside her still throbbed painfully but his voice replaced it at the forefront of her mind. She held on to the promise he had told her all those months ago with reckless abandon as if it were a lifeline he had cast her. And to her, it was.
"It does get better, I promise you."
The silence, the distance, between her and the rest of the world seemed to diminish whenever they would have this call. It was the same every year and the dialogue didn't vary.
"I thought you'd forgotten," she whispered brokenly, a sob slipping in as she uttered the last word. She knew that he would know what she meant. He always knew.
"How could I forget? Every time I breathe I feel her. Don't you?"
"…Yes."
"She's dead, Juno. But you don't have to feel like it was your fault. I know you feel that way. Don't."
"How do you know?" She was so afraid of the answer. It seemed like her life balanced on the tip of the knife and she knew what he said now would either push her over the edge or save her.
"She was my mother as well, at least by blood. You're not the only one."
There were times when Juno wished she were invisible just so someone would try to find her. Being lost was something she didn't particularly admit she was but when her best friend, her step-brother, would find her she would be glad. Now hearing the words he always said on the death day of their mother, she heaved a sigh, unsure what it was for. The lifeless eyes returned to the normal hazel as her eyes drifted to her bureau. Another photograph was taped on the mirror, isolated from everything else. It was in near pristine condition and she never touched it in fear that the oils on her fingertips would damage the face of her one true best friend. That was the only photo she had of him and no harm would come to it as long as she was alive. She could do away with the others because they were replaceable and he had countless other ones of their birth mother. He would send her one every year.
She slid along the length of the wall, feeling as though her legs would give in from the pressure in her chest. It got lighter with every word uttered between them. Soon they would start to talk about trivial things - how're the twins; are your adoptive parents lying to you again? - But they never let go of the one thing they shared.
"She left me."
"She left me too."
There were times when Juno wished she were invincible. And every year, on this day, she wished. Those were the times she felt at her weakest.
A/N: This was written for Mr. Grace, my english teacher and it's not that long or good, for that matter.
Whatever.
I got a B on it *grin*
...
Yes, I am proud of a B.
Luurve,
EpicDreamer
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