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a/n maybe a few more bea-ish entries to come. maybe.
Bea scuttles through her borrowed room in a hurry, fingers dancing over each of her possessions as she stumbles about in a dress Ivy managed to get her to agree on wearing.
It's a little offending that Ivy refuses to let her wear the dress -- well, really, a top and some shorts so Bea should have seen it coming -- that Bea had been planning on wearing. However even she can appreciate the older girl's tastes enough to agree when Ivy suggests something different to her in her offhand tone that suggests Bea doesn't have to. (Except she does, but Bea doesn't really mind.)
So it's not earrings or bracelets or anything particularly girly that Bea is looking for when she peers underneath her bed, and she gives a little squeak when she feels her phone drop. She reaches out for it, contemplating texting Vicky before she finds herself shrinking away. Bea wonders if her dear Rosie is mad at her.
They manage to do most things together, so Bea reasons that she's in good mind to be worried. She desperately wishes for the cold chill of anxiousness (that's always, alwaysalwaysalways been there ever since she realized that fake happiness was going to be her selling point) to melt into the fuzzy fond feeling that she'd like it to be. (The kind of feeling that she pretends about, because she may be a liar and a coward but she can be a happy one.)
Bea exclaims an "A-ha!" without really meaning to (she never really means to) when she finally spots the item she was looking for after tugging one of her nightstand's drawers. The junior lets out a happy sigh of relief, the fear of her hard work unable to be showcased finally disappearing from the pit of her stomach as she sets her phone down.
Packed in compact cylinders are the Bea's precious specialty, the ones that give her her codename. (The one that nobody really used, and Bea wishes they did because Bea is a fine and good nickname but ever since summer break it's been hurting like the knife wound in her side) Calloused, scarred hands grab them with a victorious 'aw yes', and Bea gives herself careful seconds to make sure they're perfect.
A tiny, hopeful exhale drags it's way out of her throat when she confirms that they are, indeed, in perfect form. This is it. In her palms are the very items that will ensure her future, the items that will blow everybody away in awe so Bea never has to see the doubt exchanged in secret looks or has to deal with the fear of everyone realizing that she's been lying.
Bea's hands tremble.
"Bea, we're going to be late!" A voice shouts for her from outside of the dorm rooms, and Bea doesn't even recognize who it is as she stands up in a hurry. All at once her firecrackers are being stuffed in a safe place, along with a lighter and her phone. Bea allows herself an excited giggle as she skips out, the vibration of her phone going (Bea, we found them, we've rounded up the guys who hit Red with the car thanks to the files you sent you have to get here right away Sapir said he's sorry for your stomach wound he isn't mad I swear to ******** god just get your a** over here please Ian and Gina are gone) unheard.
This is going to be the best night of her life.
 Siyaahi · Sun Dec 01, 2013 @ 06:55am · 2 Comments |
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