Chapter Text
Days went by faster than expected, maybe too soon. It was September two weeks ago, now it was October, and she was on her way to visit her family as promised, which was an hour away.
She didn't mind the long drive.
Christine skimmed through radio stations before deciding that there wasn't good quality music and switched to Bluetooth; at least her playlist had better taste than whatever radio hosts sponsored these days. Most of the songs that were in her playlist were from the 2000s, so that explained it.
Thirty minutes in, and she glimpsed on the side where there were fields of fruits with a big sign on the side of the road that read, 'PICK UR FRUITS PER POUND 2.99!' There were different mixes that she saw at a glance. Strawberries, blueberries, and others that were assumed to be fresh market produce.
It was a nice change of scenery compared to the city she lived near, one of the things she missed whenever passing by rural areas. The nostalgia of when road trips were long yet comforting when Christine stuck her earphones in and stared out the window. Good times.
The weather, however, was a different story. The gloomy sky that sparkled with a fine drizzle of rain made the scenery a bit different. More so, she needed to be cautious.
Once she arrived in the town, it was a surprise to her that, despite being away for a while, her memory was as sharp as ever in remembering the directions to her childhood home. A few turns and corners it took for her to arrive at the place.
She remembered when she was a child, she would wake up to the birds chirping near her bedroom window. At the time, she had wanted the medium-sized room instead of the large room upstairs because the room she preferred had a window that had access to the front yard. Outside the window, there was a large oak tree that stood close to the window, a skimpy branch stood out, and there were House Finches.
She would watch the gray-feathered birds build their nest around, and eventually they would deliver their eggs, soon after. It was fascinating to watch how nature had worked. Whimsically, she didn't even bother to use her alarms since the birds had their biological clock.
Now, there wasn't a nest near her bedroom window. The branch was snapped in half, the oak tree stood strong, but there was no doubt that over the years, the wind and rain had managed to crack the branch.
She pulled the strings of her hood, securing her head to prevent the sprinkle of rain from dampening her hair, and walked up the steps. She entered the old password. It was ridiculous that the old password was still current and that her parents didn't bother to change it. She supposed it didn't need a change. The passcode clicked with the color flashing green before unlocking. She turned the knob and headed inside.
Christine was met with the warm air brushing past her face; the temperature in the house settled differently from the cold, breezy wind outside.
She walked past the hallway and glanced at the wallpaper. There was a pattern of colored blue feather palms. She skimmed her finger across the design.
The wallpaper remained the same. The design on them looked aged, though it still looked fair. The bliss of memories traced back to her when she would run up and down the stairs, getting ready for school, skimming her fingers across the walls, bubbling with excitement. The echoes of giggles escaped from her memory…
"I thought you disappeared in Europe with some dude."
Christine sighed.
She turned her head to where Owen, her brother, leaned against the wall. His eyebrows knitted together, his mouth creasing into slight downward lines. He didn't look too happy to see her, despite disappearing for weeks with no trace or update, or her mother telling her about his frantic worrying. That didn't sound like Owen at all, nope.
However, it was a relief that he acted somewhat the same.
"Nice to see you too." She said, dryly.
Wait, did he seriously assume that she left the fucking country with a dude?
"Why the hell would I be in Europe out of all places?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Beats me, I thought you got bored with that shit with accounting and decided to get a sugar daddy."
She didn't know how to respond to that. What was she supposed to respond? Thanks? Ew, no?
"… Right," Christine mumbled instead. It made her wonder how she and Owen were completely different from their parents when they both were supportive and loving, despite the frantic overworrying; she still hadn't figured out why her brother seemed closed off and different from the dynamic. He hadn't bothered to make much effort to be a brother; she didn't expect him to, but having an annoying little brother would've been nice.
In conclusion, she thought it was the age gap that strained their relationship, if there even was one in the first place. She was twenty-five, and he was twenty; what could they relate and connect on?
"So," She knew she was grasping at straws, anything to avoid the awkwardness, "anything new with—"
He leaned his head back, letting out a groaned noise, "Please, don't try sounding like mom, I couldn't care less about any of this shit, man."
Good to know they were on the same page.
"Right, sorry," Shaking her head, she walked past him, "Speaking of mom, I'm going to go check on her."
She heard a scoff from him before she disappeared into the kitchen.
She paused.
Her mother placed down plates, not aware that her daughter was standing a few feet away in shock at her presence. How long has it been since she really saw her mother? It was weeks to everyone about her disappearance, but to Christine, it felt longer than merely weeks.
Her eyes started getting teary, not bothering to wipe them, she rushed to her mother. All over, it reminded Christine of being eight, crying over falling and getting a scraped bruise on her knee while her mother patched her up.
"Christine!" She enveloped her in a warm hug, causing Christine to laugh breathlessly, "Baby, where have you been!?"
"You'll be surprised what a long hour drive does during the rain," Christine joked weakly.
Her mother chastised, "Now you know that's not what I meant."
If anyone had pointed out the stubbornness that Christine had, it wouldn't be a wonder that she had inherited that from her mother. She winced, knowing that at some point the woman wouldn't refuse to drop the topic, and the excuses grew thinner each time.
"Mom, I'm like thirty."
"You're twenty-five," her mother corrected, "and I don't care how old you are, you know I'll always worry about you. You're my daughter."
Her heart squeezed, and Christine pulled away gently.
She smiled, barely.
"You're right, Mom. I've been really busy, and I thought that being away from my phone would help decrease my stress, along with my work pulling me away from hobbies."
Her mother didn't look convinced, however, to Christine's surprise, she didn't push it.
"Okay," She said, softly, "In the meantime, would you help me set up for dinner?"
Christine nodded.
"Of course."
Christine reached the small stack of silverware, her fingers tracing the cool, polished fork. The sensations of the fork feeling real made her want to suddenly burst into tears. When has she felt this emotional? Oh, yes, being back at her parents' house, who were real, touching silverware that felt real, this wasn't an adventure. It was true-to-life. She remembered the last time she touched a fork; it felt weightless, and there was no temperature to the fork that she used to eat the food with. The numbness that she felt when she forced herself to eat the digital food despite no hunger being in the game, all she could do was force the placebo effect to take place.
"Are you okay, Christine?"
"Yeah," She grabbed the fork and placed it near the first plate that was set up before smiling, "Never better."
Christine didn't notice that shortly after her mother called the pair to come along. She noticed her father walking in first, before Owen shortly followed after. Her father beamed at her appearance as he hugged and kissed her head while mumbling his concern about her disappearing for weeks. However, it was different when it came to her parents; her father wasn't as stubborn and concerned, he was less reliant on her decisions and more carefree when it came to her life. He'd always believe that she deserved to have autonomy over her decisions, even if he disagreed with them.
Both of her parents sat in front of her while Owen sat next to her. It was nice being present, sitting in silence for a couple of minutes. She mindlessly moved her broccoli around and stared at the pork chop pieces that were scattered over her plate.
Owen peeked over, chewing loudly, "You goin' to eat that?"
She ignored him. Owen proceeded to use his fork to stab at her pork chop, ignoring that she glared at him. On another day, Christine would've swatted his hand away, but she wasn't hungry, so he made it easier.
"So, honey, what's new?" Her father began, "I heard that accounting stuff is good."
Small talk. Shit, they were really doing this.
She nodded, "Yup, my degree paid off well. There are boring parts, but I think that's the same with every job. I'm just glad that I'm good with numbers."
"Boring," Owen mumbled, earning Christine to glare, "How's that spooky shit you used to do with the whole exploring haunted places? Is that still ur phase or—"
"It's a hobby," Christine corrected dryly, "and the places I explored weren't haunted, they were abandoned, there's a difference."
"Well, Christine," Her mother smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, "even though it's nice you have interesting things… I think you should be careful because what if you encounter a homeless person?"
Technically, Christine already encountered those situations before. In her early run, she encountered an aggressive, drunk homeless man as she ran out, yelling her apologies. It kept her up and paranoid until she felt confident to return and start her vlogging journey.
She wouldn't tell her mother, though, for privacy reasons…
Christine took her cup and sipped some water.
"Good thing I haven't!" She chirped.
Owen snickered in response.
Her father looked amused, the way his eyes crinkled by her antics.
"Speaking of your personal life, have you swooped up an interesting man?"
She widened her eyes, her hands stilling at the fork.
"Uh, no?"
Owen mumbled, "More like a woman."
Christine's eye twitched.
Her mother looked confused, "What on earth are you—"
"Don't listen to him, he's being a jackass." She interjected immediately.
She hit his ankle with her foot under the table, causing him to yelp in surprise. It was well deserved considering that she didn't appreciate his brash comment. His mouth twisted, glaring at her.
Her dad also looked equally as confused before nodding, with an uncertain tone, "Okay… so you're not dating anyone?"
"Dating isn't my priority, my career is at the moment."
"Oh, an independent woman," Owen commented, but this time he stared at her with caution.
Her mother didn't seem too pleased by his comment.
"What's wrong with independence, Owen?"
"Nothing, mom, I'm just messing around, jeez."
Christine sighed.
She looked down at her plate again. The plate had still gone untouched, the steam evaporating a minute ago, so the food might've been cold now. It didn't help that her stomach churned at the thought.
"That's good that you take your work seriously, I'm proud, I really am," Her dad assured, "I just want the best for you, especially because I do want you to meet a nice man one day."
A nice man? One day?
Christine couldn't help but raise her eyebrow in surprise. She almost laughed. The idea of meeting someone new wasn't close to her mind at all; in fact, throughout her history with dating and meeting people, it just never seemed to click for her.
She preferred to be alone.
"What's with the dating talk?"
Her mother wore a tense smile, "We're worried about you, Christine. I know it's not easy carrying things and being your independent self. It's—"
"They're saying that you need to get a partner so they can get joy out of making more food and stop hovering." Owen shrugged, "Or maybe they want grandkids."
"Owen!" Her mother reprimanded.
Christine cringed.
Was she really dry with her dating history? She's had a couple of relationships before! But grandkids? Christ, she was twenty-five.
"It's not that." Her father looked at her brother with disapproval before settling into a tired look, "I just don't want you to throw your life away and not experience a chance of settling down with someone who can grow with you."
Ah, that makes sense.
"What about that nice young man, Tyler?" Her father mused, "The one that used to take you out every weekend, I heard he's back in town, I'm sure—"
"The one that cheated on me?"
Her father looked surprised.
Owen dropped his fork, creating an echo from the silverware hitting the plate. "Welp, this was awkward! I'm going back to doing whatever I was doing an hour ago." He stood up, "Nice meeting you again, sis. Keep up with those creepy buildings and being a mathematical nerd!"
He walked off, not letting anyone say a word and leaving them alone. The table turned silent, with her father sighing and her mother looking as concerned as ever. Christine decided that she needed to chase Owen.
"I'm going to go catch up with Owen," Christine announced, standing up and causing the chair to drift a bit.
Her mother glanced at her plate.
"Christine, you haven't eaten your food."
She looked down.
"Yeah… I'll save it for later."
Her mother opened before closing her mouth. Christine knew that she wanted to point out something, to say something, but nothing came out. Grateful for the opportunity, she walked away, off to chase that idiot.
The dinner was awkward, not what she expected, but Christine wasn't mad. No, never. Her parents had good hearts; they just didn't know how to stop worrying. She was a grown woman; Christine assumed that things would stop by the time she turned eighteen.
That was seven years ago.
Things don't change, she guessed. It was for a good reason since they were her parents.
Though she couldn't help it when she felt annoyed. There were a lot of things she kept private, things that she didn't want them to suspect or assume, because then they'll think it was their fault. She's seen the way they looked at her whenever discovering something concerning.
Which made a better reason not to discuss to them about the circus.
No matter how alone it felt to not confide in anyone about that part of the place that held a great emotion in her.
When she walked up the stairs, she heard muffled noises that sounded like Owen. The closer she got towards his room, the clearer she could make out the sounds.
"If you idiots don't know how to loot, then get out of my way because obviously you both are useless— can somebody at least use their perks?!"
She would've laughed if she weren't irritated by his earlier comments. The way he had casually mentioned—
Why would he even mention that?
Once Christine was near his door, she didn't bother knocking, twisting the doorknob, and his door opened, revealing him half lying on his bed with a controller in his hand. Headphones were lazily set on his ears, and his eyes were focused on the screen in front of him.
It took him a while to notice that she stood there because once he peeked over, he didn't look happy. Instead, he returned his gaze to the screen.
"Christian, if you don't kill that fucker you're dead."
"Owen."
"Oh, and you couldn't even bother to—"
"Owen."
"—fucking—"
Christine reached over to yank the headset off his head, not caring anymore if it pissed him off because she was standing there while he ignored her.
"The hell's your problem!"
"We need to talk."
Owen scoffed, his hands still glued to the controller and playing, "I don't see why since we got nothing to talk about."
Right, Christine should've embraced the moment she stepped in that she had family problems. In other words, relationship issues with her brother since he didn't seem happy whenever they had conversations.
Well, this time it was a serious matter.
"Actually, we do since you decided to drop a bomb on my sexuality. Did you seriously have to say that shit?" Christine crossed her arms, pissed as hell, stretched her face.
"Dude, I thought it was public knowledge that you liked girls."
"You know our parents don't know."
He snorted, "Oh, trust me, they know. It's pretty obvious. Besides, why are you hiding it? You do realize there's like, lesbians all over the place."
"Bisexual." She corrected, pissed.
"Bisexual, lesbian, straight— I don't care." He waved his hand, "Seriously, there's no shame to it, kind of assumed you were already married to one anyway."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Christine said in disbelief.
"The disappearing? the new life?" He said, "The tiptoing around the topic of you going AWOL?"
She narrowed her eyes, "Since when did you care about what I do?"
"I don't," Owen agreed, "But you're my sister, so I have to care."
"We never got along."
"True, I always thought your outfits looked stupid."
"You don't know basic facts about me."
"Ah, never really cared to ask."
"You purposefully make fucked up comments."
"Okay, stop," Owen held his hand up, finally looking at her, "Since when did you have a backbone? You never really pointed this shit out, and we avoided each other. I didn't think you would have a problem with the way I acted. "
That was true… since when did she care to point out her brother's flaws? All she did growing up was avoid him like he was a menace.
Flashes of the purple bunny with his Cheshire grin drew in her mind.
"Well, now I am." She crossed her arms, "Like I said, when did you care about me not talking?"
Owen sighed.
"Christine, just because I can be an insensitive brother doesn't mean I don't care. I thought you died when you stopped responding."
Oh.
Christine looked away.
"And now you're acting different, as if something happened." Owen scoffed, "So yeah, don't blame me for finding it weird that you changed."
She supposed she couldn't argue with him on that.
"Sorry, I—"
"I don't wanna hear it, Christine." He sighed, "Just leave my room."
This time, she hadn't argued or pressed.
Because in his perspective, he felt that she abandoned him.
It might've been painfully true.
The house felt smaller when she left.
The way back home was silent enough that she turned on the radio for some noise. A hit of old jazz filled the silent space, her eyes focused on the road. Exhaustion tugged on the corners of her vision.
She was tired… very tired. But she was close to her house.
There was a convenience store nearby.
Maybe she could get a refill of energy drinks. Coffee. Anything that can keep her up a bit longer.
She parked the car and headed inside, the bell chiming automatically.
Straight ahead, she paced over to where there were energy drinks. There were different bands, but Christine decided that zero monster drinks were enough to keep her awake.
She grabbed three cans, one she can drink and the other two can be saved for later. Espeically because of how late it is, work was going to be a pain in the ass later.
"A person who's up around 2 a.m.?" The cashier spoke lightly, "So casual."
Christine blinked, settling down the items on the counter.
"Uh, yeah, it's been a long day for me."
"Ugh, tell me about it. I've been stuck here since 10 freaking pm, can't you believe it?" She groaned, grabbing the items and scanning each, "graveyard shift is so ass, I don't recommend it for beginners, honestly."
Christine huffed a breathless laugh.
"I've done graveyard shifts a couple of times."
The girl shook her head, "Man, the only reason why I tolerate it is that it gets me paid, other than me doomscrolling for the past three hours."
She smiled.
"Wish I could say the same, they keep track of me," Christine added with a tone of humor, "Unfortunately."
She smirked, finishing the items before putting them in the plastic bag with a smooth, swift motion.
"I like you. What's your name, lady?"
"Christine," She answered.
"Christine? Sounds nice." She adjusted her tag, pointing at it, "And as you guessed, my name is Riley. Shocker, huh."
"You know… you're really social for someone that works graveyard shifts, do you get tired?"
Riley sighed.
"I don't get much sleep these days, and I would blame it on the caffeine, but I think without coffee, I'll still be restless."
"Do you have some sort of insomnia?" Christine asked with curiosity.
She shook her head, "Nope, I know why I'm restless, it's just…" She paused, "a can of worms."
Christine understood that it was a sensitive topic, one that hit home.
"Anyway, your total's going to be four seventy-eight," She said with a casual tone, "Would that be cash or card? Perhaps Zelle, if you got one."
Christine chuckled, "Card is fine."
She dug into her pocket, pulling out the debit card and tapping against the terminal. It beeped before turning green.
"You know…" Riley leaned over the counter with her hands clasped together, "If you come by next time around my shift, I'm honored to give you a discount, possibly for free."
"What? Why?"
"Because you're cool," She shrugged, "And I know I'll see you around because you seem like the type to come once in a blue moon, and I crave interactions because of this stupid job."
She laughed.
"Okay, deal. Won't your manager be upset for giving away free stuff?"
"He's laidback, as long as I'm honest because," She mimicked a deeper tone with a serious expression, Christine guessed it was a mimic of her boss, "honesty is the best policy."
Ain't that the truth.
"Okay, I'll pop by at some point." She grabbed her bags and waved, "Bye, Riley!"
Riley waved and smiled.
Christine couldn't help but feel a bit lighter after leaving.
Waking up was the hardest part of her day. Her eyes felt sensitive to the sun beaming over from her window, and she felt the aches all over her body. Her arm felt stiff, and her back was on the verge of snapping in half.
The reason was not only her rough couch, but also the lack of sleep. Last night, she could barely get any rest, thinking that if she watched a show or kept something on as part of white noise, then she would fall asleep eventually.
It turned out that it was something she was trying to convince herself of, an illusion.
She grumbled and stretched, to the fullest extent, it was nice to—
Immediately, she regretted that thought.
"Oh— shit." Christine hissed. She felt the cramps tightening her muscles. She had forgotten how different it was compared to how her body worked in the circus. Her limbs used to stretch ridiculously long in a cartoonish way, but in reality, it was different. She pushed herself too hard.
The faint memory resurfaced for her. Jax, stretching her limb out, solely to see how long her arms can stretch, which turned out to be pretty damn long.
She remembered being shocked and terrified by cartoon logic.
The entire morning, she rushed while grabbing her extra zero-energy drink and leaving on the way out.
She found herself in the breakroom before she remembered walking there.
Barely.
Her shift was going to be a long, full eight hours. Her energy drink was untouched. Her body felt restless.
Everything today sucked, and it just started.
In the breakroom, she lay her head against the cold tabletop and groaned.
Something plopped next to her, alerting her to raise her head and see who was standing there, with a sandwich that was barely eaten.
"You look like crap," Felix commented, then sat down across from her with a relaxed ease as if they were on casual terms.
She couldn't help but blurt out, "Are you always like this?"
He didn't look offended; he shrugged and stared at his sandwich like that was his answer to her question.
"Sounds like you have a problem with how I am."
"I don't—"
"But you do." He inserted, his eyes narrowed, "You're like, the most reactive person working here. The others dismiss it because they don't care, but clearly you do. Why?"
Because I've been through some shit, dickhead.
She decided to settle on more of a calmer answer, "Because I had a friend like you once, he was an asshole."
He snorted, "So not only are you afraid of headsets, but every asshole you meet reminds you of your friend? You're interesting."
"Interesting because I have trauma?" She responded dryly.
"No… you're an accountant with lore. Duh."
She gazed at him with disbelief. An accountant with lore…
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Accountants have boring lives, at least that's what I gathered from someone who worked as an accountant." He grabbed his own sandwich, attempting to equally split it into parts. With his poor attempt, he only made the crumbs spill over. "She had to do some weird side hobby because her job was boring."
"That's a misconception."
"Is it?" He leaned closer, "If that's the case, then I assume you don't have a hobby on the side."
"You know, you could just ask me if I have a hobby, Felix."
Dropping his sandwich on the wrapper, he placed his elbow on the table.
"Fine, do you have a hobby?"
It was obvious that he was curious. And her co-worker, being curious, seemed to be rare based on his past interactions.
Christine decided to entertain his question.
"I mean, I paint, but I haven't done it very often, no."
He frowned, "You don't have any other hobbies? Weird ones?"
"Um… no?"
He looked dissatisfied, like her answer wasn't what he had expected.
Something changed in his expression. His eyes, which were filled with interest, had faded; the deep lines tugged on the corners of his mouth. Christine couldn't help but think that he was disappointed.
Did she say something—
"Right, of course you don't." An unhappy sigh escaped his lips, his hand sliding the other half of the sandwich. "Anyway, you can have this other piece; you look like you don't eat often, so just take it."
"Wait," Christine called out, causing him to pause, "What's your hobby? Since you asked mine?"
Felix stared.
And stared.
"Doesn't matter."
"But you asked mine."
"And you answered."
"Right…" She agreed, "But you didn't answer yours!"
"So nosy."
Nosy?!
"Says the one who asked me all these questions! I felt like you were interviewing me, so wouldn't it be fair if I asked you a question?"
"Technically, I answered." He smirked, "Therefore, you can't say I didn't."
Her nose flared.
"Oh, ha, ha, funny."
An amused tugged on his lips despite her dry tone, "Thank you, Christine, I tend to be the funny one and all."
The funny one.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her body froze like a deer in headlights. The words repeated back to her, a familiar voice saying with eager confidence.
That sentence had too much authority over her without realizing it.
Her mouth felt dry.
"That's… a dumb joke."
He didn't look amused anymore.
His eyes were focused on her with a settled gaze.
And he kept it prolonged.
God, she had been feeling awkward lately.
Then, by some miracle, he looked at the clock past her.
"Time to clock back in."
He mumbled and stood there, eyeing her one last time before turning to leave.
She ignored the way her hands were shaking as she stared back at the half-broken sandwich.