shadows that chase., julianna

[alba castilla]

Alba Gabrielle Jimenez Soto Castillas, I want to pick up this phone righ- Message Deleted. Hey Albie, it’s your-Message Deleted. I am very disappointed in you Albana, shutting out you parents like that-Message Deleted. Um, hey… I don’t know if you remember me but yeah…I was that guy… don’t know if you remember but you’re friends gave me your number… I’m the guy with the curly hair and piercings… name’s Alex. Message Deleted. You have no new messages.

The tinny female voice had barely finished before she shut her phone with an audible snap and shoved it impatiently into the pocket of her oversized blazer. Mouth set to a contemplative line; she frowned at the floor, calculating how long it would take before her parents realized that no amount of pleading or threats would convince her to acknowledge them. Despite her best efforts, the phone calls never ceased and her voicemail was perpetually filled. Realizing this wasn’t quickest way, soon gifts began coming.In her hand, a brown bag filled with gourmet sweets jostled noisily for every step her black boots pounded on the waxed wood. Knowing how well his youngest daughter had a sweet tooth, her father had wasted no time to send them via courier to her room where she found it sitting on her bed, a brightly colored note attached to it by her roommate reading ‘This came for you!’ No doubt, Adele thought it was some thoughtful gesture but Alba knew quite well that it was only a manifestation of her parents’ guilt and a thinly disguised bribe.

They always followed the same pattern. First came little gifts, a box of sweets from a patisserie in Paris, a promise to take her shopping, another horse—she had gotten two this way—to ride whenever the mood struck her, a trip to some exotic locale, each gift increasing in monetary value until she finally relented. This time was different. She didn’t want their calls, care for their presents, or heed their threats. Alba just wanted to be left alone, free from remembering exactly who her parents called to atone for; free to exist with her feet planted firmly outside the realm of misery her parents were so eager to pull her into so that she also would come undone by guilt.

She had already faltered once before, and she wasn’t so apt to fit together the jagged pieces she had splintered into one day when she escaped midway through her class into a vacant bathroom, wiping away uselessly at the stream of tears .In the midst of her breakdown, Julianna Sellenger, a classmate she had never paid a moment’s worth of attention to had walked in and rather than leaving after seeing the sobbing mess Alba had been reduced to, she had touched her shoulder hesitantly offering her a small and simple comfort. Underneath Julianna’s quiet gaze, she had composed herself, hiding traces of her misery with a quick swipe of mascara and a flippant smile. “Allergies always get to me at this time of year,” she offered unconvincingly as she observed herself in the mirror. “But I’m better now, thanks,” she added before she turned on heels and left the bathroom seeking to put distance between her and what had transpired. Yet, she couldn't forget. What puzzled her even more was that the fact that Julianna had extended her a kindness she knew that she would, in most cases, rarely extend. A week passed before they crossed paths again and several times afterward until it no longer became coincidence for Alba to bump into Julianna. With the self-assurance of a person who rarely succombs to insecurity, she inserted herself into Julianna's life and unceremoniously cut herself from the lives' of her previous friends.

The brass numbers of Julianna's room gleamed as she raised a poised fist to beat the quick and short notes of a song she couldn't get out of her head. A few moments passed before the door opened and a pair of green eyes met her gaze with curiosity. “How do you feel about eating about ten thousand milligrams or so of sugar with me?” she promptly began foregoing any sort of trivialities such as saying hello. “See despite the fact I’m no longer ten, my father still likes to make up for his mistakes as a parent with junk food, which he knows is my only weakness in the whole planet. You have to help me eat at least some of it or I’ll look like one of those sad pathetic girls who eat their feelings and you can’t leave me to that fate. There is just about everything you could possibly want in here…” Holding up the bag for Julianna to see, she shook it hard with flicks of her wrist eliciting a medley of crinkling wrappers. “ So what would you prefer candy sushi or truffles?”

[julianna sellenger]

There was a crack in her bedroom window. She had reported it to maintenance at the beginning of the year, but they had assured her that it was only a surface crack, nothing to be worried about. If it grew, she should tell them, but there was really no danger. For now. Many times since then, she had stood before that window, looking out at sky and tree, only for her gaze to travel down, down, and to the left, to that small, angular crack. The light fragmented where it hit; colours distorted and twisted against splinters of fractured glass. It was things like these, small, unique bits of an equally fractured reality, that reminded Julianna of what had once been. In earlier years, she undoubtedly would have used that crack in a vast array of sketches and paintings. She could envision a younger her, feet balanced on the ledge as she slouched against the back of a chair with her sketchpad balanced on her knees. She could see the lines criss-crossing across the page, bringing the flat, colourless world of her most prized possession to life. She could imagine it, yet she could not cause these visualisations to become reality. She could not command her limbs to move a chair in front of the window, could not find the will to coax her fingers to grasp a pencil and move across an untouched page. She could, most of all, not bear to risk the possibility of failure when she had tried countless times to reignite the spark of life that had once flowed through her fingertips like a current. She could do nothing, in reality, to persuade her reluctant spirit back to joy, for her joy had run out long ago in the same way that, once a well runs dry, it cannot will itself back to producing water. She was empty.

Her days had taken on a quality of monotony. It was not something that she particularly minded, for it helped the time to pass. Each day that passed was one day closer to freedom, to escaping the world that she was tired of resigning herself to. There was a world far outside of France, distant lands that called to her as she strained helplessly against the chains that bound her to St. Michel. One more year, and she would be free. One more year… And yet, where would she go? She was a poor orphan at the mercy of her legal guardians. She had no money of her own to spend, no method of negotiating her freedom. Surely she could not get a scholarship to the prestigious art schools that she had once daydreamed about. What good was an artist, after all, when she had lost her ability to create art? It was worse, even, than a ballerina with a fractured toe or a violinist with a broken arm. Both could heal, in time. But an artist with no art? What sort of a cure could there be for such an ailment?

In her present position—again, before the window, with her hands clasped loosely behind her back—she could see a few of her fellow students saunter across the courtyard, heading to various destinations or perhaps aimlessly wandering in search of some amusement. Julianna could not imagine wandering for too long in such cold, but she had never been one for chilly weather. She would much rather lay out in the sun as she had as a little girl, one hand clasped in her brother’s as the sounds of a stream trickling past tickled their ears and the sun half-blinded them without outstretched hands to block its light. The thought of him no longer brought tears to her eyes, but her heart hung a bit heavier in her chest with the realisation that he had gone, and her happiness had gone with him.

Turning away from the window, she was about to sit down at her desk to work on her last bit of homework when a rhythmic knock sounded at her door. She sighed quietly as she crossed the room. Undoubtedly, whoever it was came in search of her roommate, who was currently gone off somewhere with friends. Juli was prepared to say just this when she opened the door, but quickly closed her mouth when she saw not a stranger, but a classmate. Her classmate. She had known Alba for some time, at least by name, but had finally come to know her after an incident in which she had found the other girl crying. What other choice had she but to comfort her in the only way that she knew how? But Alba had apparently taken even further meaning to the action, becoming what might, under normal circumstances, be considered a friend. But Juli no longer had friends.

Behind the half-closed door, she did a quick sweep of her torso to scan for any skin that ought not to have been exposed. Thankfully, her slight frame was adequately covered, neatly hiding the shameful blue-green patches of skin that betrayed her apparent innocence. She was hardly glamorous, in baggy, pink sweatpants and a white tank top covered by a long-sleeved grey sweater, but she was well covered. In the end, she supposed that this was truly what mattered. Slowly, she slid the door fully open, nodding both her hello and her response to Alba’s sudden rambling. She did not mind the chatter. In fact, she welcomed it, grateful that she was not being made to talk, for she truly had nothing worthwhile to say.

“You have to help me eat at least some of it or I’ll look like one of those sad pathetic girls who eat their feelings and you can’t leave me to that fate.” No, she supposed that she couldn’t. So, she nodded again, stepping aside for the girl, then stopped to close the door before silently perching on the end of her bed.
“So what would you prefer, candy sushi or truffles?” She bit her lip at the question, tugging a little nervously at the hem of her sweater before declaring softly, “I don’t mind. I will take whichever you don’t want.” She only hoped that she had given the right answer, this time.