#i am so tired of constant fluorescent lights and concrete walls

[girlscience]

dear god the men you put on this earth to wear ratty clothes and work on the farm are living in the city and wearing skinny jeans 😔

[livingmybestfictionallife]

The Other Harrington--A Memory

Warnings: language

Tag List: @hippie-taco-lady, @lilo-1398, @1-birdie-1, @desertsivan1995

A/N: Tag list for all stories are always open! also, feedback and reblogs are appreciated so I know how I’m doing :) feel free to message me

Previous Chapters:

The Other Harrington 

--Damn Horny Teenagers 

--A Nice Thing Going 

--...Harringtons 

--I Want the Opportunity 

--Bowling Alley Pacts 

The Harrington’s house was a labyrinth of walls and windows, decked in elegance and apparent wealth. It was clear that Steve’s mom had taken to her role as a home maker--it also didn’t hurt that Steve’s father was successful in his line of work, bringing enough income in for her to entertain her hobby of decor and design. Initially, the home was sickening; the idea that some people lived so affluently while others, like my father and I had lived, were in immense poverty. The house didn’t feel like home to me and it was impossible for me to grasp the concept of this lifestyle being considered ‘home’ to some people.

Aside from the master bedroom and their only child’s room, there were at least two other bedrooms in the home in addition to a work room for Mr. Harrington and a small workout studio room for Mrs. Harrington. The room I settled into was tamely decorated, meaning it had more cold and earthy tones as opposed to the bright, vibrant colors and floral decorations that the other guest room possessed. I was ensured that I could do whatever I needed to make the room more comfortable or feel like home, but in reality, it was more than I had before. The walls were painted a light grey color with a gentle, complimentary blue accent wall. The furniture was made of real wood and added a rustic feel to the room. Though it was one of the more sparsely decorated rooms in the home, I was glad. I wasn’t one for flashy decor so the plainness of the room reflected my temperament. Other than the bed frame, desk, and dresser, the only other major item in the room was a record player. 

After coming home from the bowling alley, everyone gathered around the kitchen table and had dinner as a family. It was a strange custom that most families take for granted, but I hadn’t realized how much of the little things I had been missing out on. Around seven-thirty, I called it a night and took a shower then rummaged through my belongings and slipped into a Guns N Roses t-shirt and a pair of old, baggy sweat pants. I was glad to have stashed the few records I had in my possession in the bottom of my duffle bag and put the newest Scorpions album on the turn table before lowering the needle. The guitar riff at the beginning of ‘Bad Boys Running Wild’ blasted through the speakers louder than I expected. I jumped and reached for the volume dial before hurriedly turning it down to a descent level I could fall asleep to.

“I didn’t know you were having a party in here,” Steve said as he leaned against the door frame leading into my room.

“I didn’t expect it to be that loud,” I admitted.

“I didn’t expect you to go behind my back and see Billy after telling you to stay away from him,” Steve said with a more stern look on his face.

“You’re not my dad or my mom. I get that you have my ‘best interests’ in mind, but you can’t control me,” I said calmly, too tired to give into any combative nature.

“Then why did I find out about it through Dustin?”

“Because you’re nosey,” I said while walking from the record player across the soft carpet and pulling my legs onto the bed. “I think you’re just afraid to think that maybe, Billy and I are more alike than you and I are.”

“No, I don’t want you getting hurt,” he corrected. “He’s not a nice person.”

“Last I was told, neither am I,” I said with a smirk. 

“Seriously, Judy, you don’t...you don’t have a thing for him, do you?”

“Steve, I already told you I’m not interested in any relationships besides friends. So no, I’m not interested in Billy.” I looked over to Steve who looked at me with concern and disbelief in his eyes. “Like it or not, he’s in a lot of my classes and, once I make the team, we’ll all be teammates. It’s easier on me to be friends with him than to hate him because you do.”

“Fine, but don’t hide shit from me, okay?”

“Why does it matter?” I asked genuinely interested in his reasoning.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m a jerk. I’m your cousin. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Sounds like you’ve taken to your big brother role quite extensively,” I laughed. Steve rolled his eyes and then smiled.

“Night, Judy,” he said with a wave before walking down the hall.

“Good night, Stevie,” I called after him as he shut my door. The only light illuminating the room came from the lamp on the bedside table. It cast a warm glow through the room and even highlighted the fresh flakes of snow that were beginning to fall.

I slid my legs underneath the covers and pulled the blanket that rested on the foot of the bed up to my shoulders. Moment by moment, I watched the snow dust over the window sill outside until my eyelids grew heavier with each passing gust of wind. My breathing steadied as I nestled deep into the warmth of the bedding and soon, the sight of snow faded into the blackness of unconsciousness.

A single, blinding fluorescent light hung in the center of the room; under any other circumstances, the light would offer little ability to see, but it’s hue reflected on the dingy white tiles that lined the walls of the room and made the walls unbearable to look at. A mirror resided on of the walls across from the cold, metal table I sat at for observation purposes. That much I knew. Time wasn’t a concept I was allowed to know in this place. A memory of my hopeful self remained, but I refused to let her influence me. I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself; I had learned that the hard way. This place wanted me to forget who I was, diminished me to a number, stripped me of my identity and beat me senseless for protesting the maltreatment against me. 

The hopeful girl trapped in my heart was locked there in order for me to focus on the memories of torture, pain, and humiliation. I was only going to build enough courage and strength to escape if I focused on all that hurt me. Images of my seven-year-old self crying out for my mother and screaming as needles were pierced into my the veins on my inner arms and into my spine. The recollection of eight-year-old Judith biting one of the people dressed as nurses as they came to take me to the testing room, only to be slapped and strapped to a gurney in order to “safely” transport me. I remembered when I was nine and I had asked the man who took me from my family how he could hurt his sister like this by hurting me, her daughter. His response was chilling and concrete as he stated that no one was looking for me--that this was my home now. I remembered how when I started to fill out, when my body started to become more like a woman than a girl, roughly around eleven, and especially coming into the months leading up to this, the probing and needles and medicine and tests became more in depth, more uncomfortable, and more painful.

Pain pierced through my head but I couldn’t tell if it was due to the painful lights straining my eyes, or if it had something to do with the contraption attached to me. Wires were attached to my back along my spine and a crown of sensors lined my temples. A wall formed in my brain between what they could see on their monitors and what I could hide.

“Do it again,” a man with thick white hair who insisted on being called Papa said. My eyes drifted over to the man in the corner and his stone cold expression reminded me I would never receive the sympathy I had begged for from the man I thought was family. “I said, do it again.” I narrowed my eyes at the man and focused. I could feel energy leave my body as the table in front of us rose into the air. Hot liquid I knew to be blood flowed over my upper lip. The barrier hiding my true potential and ability was withering and I released the tension pulled across my brain. The metal table that once sat in front of me landed on the ground with a crash along with the filing cabinets that resided in the corners of the room, and the man’s hand flew across my face.

“You wait until I say you’re done,” he yelled and grabbed my arm in his hand. “Remember who made you.” His thumb pressed sharply against the three small zeros that shown on the inside of my wrist. His eyes narrowed and his fingers dug into my skin as his hand rose above his hand again until everything stopped and time around me stood still. 

Running was the last thing I remember from the dream I have every night. I would run and run until everything went black and without fail, I would wake up in a cold sweat. For five years the same dream plagued my sleep and not once have I discovered what happens after I pass out, but night by night, it feels less like a dream.

I rolled over and pulled the string to the lamp on the nightstand and glanced down to the underside of my left wrist. Nothing was there besides the burn mark my father told me I had gotten when I was young. I pressed my thumb against it and closed me eyes. Breathing was difficult and my heart had started beating faster, but these were typical things that followed this dream. “It’s just a dream,” I tried to tell myself, but the constant reminder was nowhere near reassuring and it certainly wouldn’t keep my demons from surfacing during the night. 

Continued Chapters:

TBA