Thread: The War Zone [Assficianado & YellowSmoke]

Lara's eyes fell shut again and in the darkness she found comfort - in the darkness, and in her brother's embrace. He was right about everything, and she was suddenly deeply grateful for his presence. Their father had gone off the rails, and as much as she hoped that he would find his way again - that it would only be a spell which would pass when he'd come to terms with the grief - she feared that it was anything but. It could too easily be the swaggering of a man broken, never to healed again, and his flirtation with alcohol what an understatement it was to consider his affair with the substance to be mere flirting could all to easily be imagined as a swaggering man on the precipice of deep chasm, yawning wide and calling him to its depths, like the patient antlion waiting for its prey to fall to its demise. Her slender fingers meshed with Tom's larger ones, and she squeezed his hand, sighing as she relaxed from a build-up of tension she hadn't previously noticed betaking her. It was likely to have been present for days or even weeks, and she wondered if she weren't unhealthily stressed all of the time. She couldn't live like that, but what could she do about it? Her father wasn't helping, only Tom seemed to care for her as much as she wished - as much as she needed . His arm around her softened all of her resolve and denial of her state of mind during the days she would put up a stern front but it was all a lie, and even she didn't realise it, it seemed that her brother did . He was growing up so fast... she too realised now the dynamic shift taking place in the house, and that Tom was set to be her most natural source of comfort. How long had he known her so well? How did he know how sorely she needed him, when even she herself denied that need? And what of his needs? Did he need her as much as she needed him and his unending comfort? She squeezed his hand again. I don't know either, she whispered, as though she were afraid to embrace the subject out loud. But we'll be ok. We have each other, don't we? The strength of the rhetoric was not enough to keep her from feeling a great sorrow at the thought of their mother's passing, which now seemed so probable - just one more thing she had been denying to herself. She did not shed a tear, but she did swallow to force her trembling emotions to be as still as her body was, warm and slight, curved as she lay with Tom like an entwined pair of quotation marks, their communion framing the lack of support they received from their father. In truth, he had grown more and more distant with each passing day, and with each empty bottle of liquor. At the dinner table conversation was scarce, and in the evenings they each retreated to their rooms more often than not, though the sitting room was Ray's place of habituation, the television on and a whiskey bottle open before him. This couldn't go on. Tom's promise - one of those which until now had seemed hopeful but empty - carried a little more weight now that she acknowledged his ascent within the walls of the family home the home which still seemed foreign to her. She wished they were back in London, but all she had of her childhood home now was memories... memories, and a brother grown into a young man a protector. Of course, Tom had his own life to lead - and who knew where it would take him in years to come? - but for now at least, she was happy to think of him as her guardian in times of need. She whispered goodnight to him, punctuated with a soft rendition of his name, and curled herself a little more tightly into a near-foetal position, clutching his arm close to her breast and settling back against him, her legs drawn up to round the curve of her behind, and she felt the warmth and security of his chest against her back. It'll get better... we'll make it good... you'll be happy again... I promise you, Lara... go to sleep...