#worth heavy calloused hande slipping up under her shirt in a hazr

[starstaiined]

tara had never been good at grief, has never quite learned to let go fully. even with all the experience she's had with it.

she pauses every day at wes' favorite spot by their tree. touches the old friendship rings they had gotten from some stupid bookfair a million years ago. she carries him in her sardonic wit, in jokes she cracks and turns to see his reaction only to remember he'll never have one again. it guts her just as much as the first time, every time.

and dear, sweet liv. the guilt that never stops haunting her. to blood staining her hands. liv waa only in the friendgroup because tara dragged her in after a summer working shifts together. tara recognized something similiar in her eyes: the same sense of pervasive loneliness that she saw in the mirror. liv's woes are as much an open secret as tara's. parents who only ever care about finding the bottom of bottle, who don't blink when their daughter doesn't come home in days. or when she starts bringing vince around. liv is floundering, and it's a feeling tara knows all too well. so she folds liv into their group.

at the party, she's hiding behind amber's arm when she pulls the gun out and splatters live against the wall. tara can't help but think if she'd processed faster, moved faster, reacted faster, then she could've done something. she could've saved liv. she pulls herself together enough to throw herself at amber to save sam, why couldn't she have done it for liv?

when ny comes and tara realizes it's a chance to reinvent herself, she models herself after the girl who always understood more than tara said. her haircut, her wardrobe, the personality: she's holding onto all the pieces of liv she can.

and then there's amber. oh god, amber. where does tara even start there? amber killed. (amber killed for her.) amber lied. (amber lied to reveal the truth.) amber never cared. (amber always cared, maybe a little too much.) amber. amber. amber. amber, who cradled her face after tying her up and shoving her in a closet. ("sam won't put you first, but baby, i always will. i promise. just trust me.") tara hates her for the way everything went to. tara misses her more than anything.

it's amber who once said things only have as much power as you give them. words tara chooses to live by in six.

she over indulges her vices. she's had a little too much to drink when she hears it. put. it. down. you're better than this. wilting fingers lose their grip on the cup, and it tumbles all over some unsuspecting victim who scowls at her. but tara doesn't care, she's too busy searching for the voice. the voice she would know anywhere.

but amber isn't tucked away into the crowd, and tara is more than willing to blame alcohol for a momentary lapse in judgment. she draws in a shaky breath and refills her cup. and she hears it again. baby doll, you know better. this isn't you.

this time she catches sight of those dark dark eyes glaring disapprovingly. the breath leaves her lungs in one ragged move as she stumbles towards amber. but the vision is gone as quickly as it appeared.

tara starts seeing and hearing pieces of amber when she makes reckless decisions amber would never approve of. and, god, does it spur her to make more.

after all, tara's never been good at letting go