i measure every grief | sissy & kaylan

[dovey]

KAYLAN WAKE

It's hot, hot, hot out, and so bright that at first Kaylan can look at nothing but the pavement, and that through slitted eyes. He gets himself out of the way of the kids still pouring out of the building behind him, sitting down on a bench at the edge of the school’s front courtyard before leaping up again with a yelp – the metal slats are hot enough to scorch him where the fabric of his shorts doesn’t reach to protect him. He remains standing, rubbing ruefully at the still-stinging backs of his knees while he waits for his eyes to adjust to the afternoon sun.

He’s walking home by himself today; Aileen’s got work, so she can’t come meet him. They don’t live that far from school, but he still wishes she were here to talk to on the way. He hates the hot weather, hates the sensation of his sweat trailing stickily down his skin and soaking into his clothes, and without his sister’s presence there’ll be nothing to distract him from how miserable it’s making him feel. He’s got a book in his backpack he’s midway through, and he’s tempted to get it out and read while he walks, but last time he did that without Aileen there to guide him he got too absorbed and almost stepped out in front of a moving car. So he’s decided he maybe probably shouldn’t do that anymore.

He'll just have to think of something to daydream about while he walks. It'll be fine.

He runs his hand through his hair, squeezing off the sweat from the strands between his fingers, wincing at the way it feels on his hand. His vision is adjusting; he can look at the pavement now without squinting, though raising his eyes any higher still makes them sting. He makes little feints at looking up, letting the sun dazzle him for a moment at a time before lowering his gaze again, trying to encourage his pupils to contract more quickly. Do other people have to do like this when they come outside on a bright day? He knows he’s more bothered by some things than normal people are – the heat, for instance. But it’s not like he can look around right now to see if anyone else is acting the same as him.

Another thirty seconds or so and his eyes are adjusted enough that he can see where he's going; it's time to head home. He hitches his backpack higher on his back, wipes away the line of sweat that’s trickling down his forehead, and briefly considers going back into the school for a drink at one of the water fountains, before realizing that if he did that his eyes would adjust back to the dimmer indoor light, and when he came out the sun would dazzle him all over again. Resigning himself to walking home thirsty, he makes another attempt to settle the weight of his backpack more comfortably on his shoulders, and is just about to set off when he catches sight of something that makes him freeze.

Someone. And her expression drives a spear of almost-physical pain straight through him.

[bailee]

sissy caro

The awkward sound of the chair squeaking against the tiled floor. The concerned smile of the teacher illuminated by the fluorescent lighting of the classroom. The stares of all the other students in the class staring at the subject of the interruption. The school counsellor assuring the student that they weren't in trouble, that they just wanted to have a conversation. This was a routine that Sissy had began to notice after each year the Reaping came around. The counsellor would pull the family members of the reaped tribute away from class suddenly, leaving just an empty chair where that student used to sit.

It was the last period of the day when it finally happened to her. The stares, the awkward shuffling, the concerned looks. She imagined this is what stage fright felt like. She was never one to feel insecure, but suddenly she felt so small, like her classmates would swallow her whole with their judgemental eyes. She was usually the student that teachers tried to avoid. That Sissy Caro, she's a handful, they'd say underneath their breaths. But now, she felt she had to fight the sympathetic remarks off with a stick. 

She hated it. It made her feel pathetic and weak.

"There's no rules as to how you're supposed to feel," the counsellor would tell her. The aura of her office smelled of chocolates and lemon aerosol, and her walls were lined with posters about success and achieving. "this is an extraordinary situation, and no one can tell you how you can and can't feel."

"I'm fine," she would reply, harshly. But she wasn't fine. Usually, her mind would roam in her daydreams of being rich and famous, becoming Panem's next top Olympian, relishing in the accomplishments of being the District's top doctor. Now, images of Bubby being violently stabbed in the back by a demodeer haunted her brain. Bubby running away from the battlefield as this years top tribute was stabbed in the neck by that random guy from seven.

It all haunted her brain, and she felt everything, yet nothing at all.

That was, until she finally was dismissed from the counsellor's office and her emotions flooded her brain in the form of a tidal wave of tears. Sobs echoed throughout her, aching through her chest as she rushed through the courtyard. Sissy Caro was not one for showing her emotions; she was tough, the toughest girl on the playground, and she wasn't going to let any of her peers think otherwise, even as the tears streamed down her face. Crying was for the weak, and that was not Sissy.

That was, until she scanned her surroundings to see if anyone was watching, and she found Kaylan Wake staring at her show. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment as she quickly wiped her tears away, a trail of snot still trickling down the bridge of her lips as she walked up to confront him.

"What're you staring at?" She said, as she tried her best to throw on her tough-girl exterior, despite her emotions desperately clawing through the surface in the form of tears welling up at her cheeks. Kaylan was in the grade above her - a quiet, reserved type of guy. The type of boy Sissy would normally find herself picking on if she hadn't been too busy avoiding any kind of human contact in the fear of being the subject of sympathy. "Otherwise, be on with your day," she continued, scoffing at the older boy.

[dovey]

KAYLAN WAKE

Kaylan takes an unconscious step toward the girl, his own eyes prickling with the threat of tears as the sight of her sorrow sinks beneath his skin. She’s sobbing, her cries tearing free of her throat so violently it’s like they’re going to rip her open from the inside. Kaylan doesn’t know her at all, but he doesn’t need to – he couldn’t ignore someone in this kind of pain any more than he could cut his own heart free of his chest. He’s got to help her somehow –

She raises her head and sees him, and her whole demeanor changes.

Roughly wiping the tears from her face, she approaches him, her shoulders squaring and her expression hardening from distraught to aggressive. Involuntarily, Kaylan leans away from her a little as she approaches. He wasn’t expecting this anger. Is it directed at him? Why? What did he do?

She comes to a halt in front of him, planting her feet hard on the pavement. “What’re you staring at?” she says – an accusation, not a question, and her tone is harsh. But she’s near enough now that Kaylan can see the tears still welling in her eyes, the way she fights to stop her mouth from trembling, and he realizes her sadness hasn’t been replaced with anger after all. She’s just pretending, and if he mulled it over for a few moments he might be able to guess why, but the pain he knows she’s still feeling pulses in his chest with every heartbeat, and the only thought that can find purchase at the forefront of his mind is that this is an emergency and if there’s any way that he can help he has to find out what it is and do it now.

The girl’s mask of anger might be cracked, but it stays in place. “Otherwise, be on with your day,” she tells him, still in that tough, unfriendly tone, and follows up the words with a scoff. Kaylan blinks at her in confusion, only half-hearing her words, the other half of him still preoccupied by trying to think of some comfort to offer.

“Um,” he says. “No, I – oh!” He cuts himself off, distracted by a sudden recollection. “One second.”

He shrugs off his backpack and brings it around in front of him, slinging the straps along his arm and bringing up his knee to support the bag’s weight while his other hand unzips the front pocket and rummages awkwardly through it. Wasn’t it in here that Aileen put – yes! There! His hand closes on a pack of tissues, a recent addition to the pocket, untouched and unopened. Letting the front of his backpack hang open, he sticks his arm out stiffly with the tissues in his grasp, presenting them to the girl. “Here,” he says. “Um.” And he hesitates, because he thinks the question he wants to ask might be a rude one. But doesn’t he have to ask it? How else is he supposed to know how to help?

“Um,” he says again. “What happened? Except – not if you don’t want to say.”

[bailee]

sissy caro

He was so kind. Why? Sissy wondered, as her scowl stiffened at Kaylan’s outstretched hand. How could someone be so kind in a world so cruel? A world that could tear her older brother away from her so quickly, without any thought or hesitation. They didn’t know Bubby. They didn’t know his softness and the way he always knew what to say. They didn’t know him like she did, and Sissy thought maybe if they did, the Capitol wouldn’t have taken him away from her.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

 She reluctantly took a tissue and muttered a quick thanks, blotting the tears which threatened to burst through her toughened exterior. For a second, Sissy felt her guard lower as she crumpled the used tissue up and stuffed it in her pocket. Kaylan was kind. Kaylan shared the same aura as Bubby. Their sheepish posture, their slightly awkward way of speaking.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

For a moment, the scent of blueberry muffins wafted in the air, reminding her of the last day she saw Bubby. It’s been a week and two days, yet it felt like an eternity. She was already mourning the loss of someone who hadn’t even passed yet. Grief made the passage of time so much slower, the gears of the clock churning with every excruciating moment that she watched Bubby on the television. The hands moved slowly, almost as if they could feel Sissy’s breath hitching with each day that passed by.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

As the nauseating smell of blueberry muffins subsided, she vowed to never eat blueberry muffins again.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

Kaylan asked her what was wrong, his voice showing genuine concern. He greeted Sissy’s hostility with kindness, and it somehow upset her even more. Her mother always told her that the best way to get back at someone being mean was to kill them with kindness, and she never understood what that meant until now. Kaylan’s response to her was like an annoying scab that just wouldn’t go away. She felt irritated with him, that he could be so caring for a stranger in times like these. Didn’t he know better?<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

“Sissy,” she responded, the only way she knew how. “Sissy Caro.” She emphasized her last name with the hopes that he would connect the dots. She didn’t want to admit that her brother was fighting for his life at a glorified murder camp – no, that would put them both in an already awkward situation.<o:p></o:p>

<o:p> </o:p>

She just wished Kaylan left her alone in the first place. She thought she was perfectly capable of handling her problems herself.<o:p></o:p>

[dovey]

KAYLAN WAKE

“Sissy,” the girl says to him. “Sissy Caro.”

Kaylan pauses, bewildered, in the middle of zipping shut his backpack pocket. “Kaylan Wake,” he replies after a moment, following her lead, but he still doesn't understand. Why is she introducing herself instead of answering his que—

Caro.

His arm falters beneath the weight of his backpack. It dips lower and lower until the straps slip past his nerveless fingers and the bag drops the last few inches to the pavement, where it topples sideways with a quiet thump. He hardly notices he’s let it fall.

“Oh,” he breathes, and “oh,” again, and falls silent.

The worst thing that can possibly happen to a person has befallen Sissy Caro, and there’s nobody in the whole world who can fix it for her now.

He feels unsteady on his feet. Aileen is safe, is old enough that she’s been safe for practically Kaylan’s entire life, but he thinks of her in Bubby Caro’s position and the world tilts dizzily around him. If it were her, he wouldn’t be able to watch. He has a hard enough time watching already – every year, when they’re showing the recaps during lunch at school, he gets caught at least once plugging his ears and squeezing his eyes shut – but if it were Aileen on the TV he couldn’t look at all, not even for a second. He’d get sick if he did. He’d die.

“I hate the Games,” he blurts out. Then his mouth goes dry and his heartbeat thuds in his ears as he realizes what he’s just said. “I – I – I mean I hate watching them!” he hurries to correct himself. “Because of – because I – you know.” He gestures, vaguely and awkwardly; he’s acutely aware that Sissy Caro likely does not in fact know what he means, but he can’t figure out how to explain it to her without either rambling on about things she probably doesn’t want to think about right now, or else making himself sound even more like some kind of rebel.

Or both. It’s very very possible that he’d manage to do both.

He shuffles his feet, embarrassed now as well as grieved, and still twitchy with the adrenaline that shot through him a moment ago when he realized how thoughtlessly he’d spoken. The emotions tangle together in his gut, queasy and overwhelming, and he drops his gaze to the ground, blinking back the tears that begin now to gather in his eyes. He still wants to help, but Sissy isn’t like an injured animal, just needing bandages and food and water and somewhere comfortable to heal. Kaylan doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about this kind of hurt, with its source unfixable, like a knife that just keeps digging deeper and deeper into a wound.

But he still wants to help. And maybe it’s the memory of bringing home that hurt kitten last year, of digging through the kitchen for scraps to feed it, that gives him the idea. But didn’t Aileen bring food over to the neighbors’ house a few times when one of their relatives had died? Sissy isn’t like a hurt animal, but even so, maybe offering her food wouldn’t be a completely stupid thing to do.

“Um,” he says, ducking his head a little. “My sister and me baked cookies yesterday. If you want you can walk to my house with me and I’ll give you some. Aileen won’t mind. They’ve got chocolate chips.”

[bailee]

sissy caro

The thought of freshly baked cookies made her stomach churn with anticipation, but then the memory of her and Bubby in the kitchen baking on a Sunday afternoon, the smell of chocolate filling the air, laughter and smiles shared between the two. Her stomach turned against her, and nausea took over, rushing through every inch of her body.

A part of her wanted nothing more than to go over to Kaylan's, feel a true sense of camaraderie that she had not felt since before Bubby got reaped, to avoid the sympathy and the stares of her friends who did not know how to handle her grief so they left her to her own devices. Kaylan could be exactly that - an escape, from all of the emotions trapped inside of her, for just one afternoon. A friend; one who shared the same loving and caring nature Bubby did.

But another part of her wanted to hit Kaylan, to unload all of the emotional trauma she had been feeling into her fist and transfer her pain onto him. The feeling of desperation and lack of control seethed through her as she raised her hand toward Kaylan, a gesture that represented her resentment towards Kaylan. Resentment for being so nice to her, when she had shown him such hostility. Resentment for not feeling the same pain as her. Resentment for being there for a stranger when they were in need.

Yet, her hand could not strike. Her hand shook with every second it was raised. Then, her emotions took hostage of her, coming down in a rainfall of tears down her cheeks, her breath hitching with every sob she let out. 

She slowly lowered her hand. Her sobs continued to echo throughout the streets. Her lack of control forced her to forget about her feeling of superiority over Kaylan as she let go of every hostile thought inside of her.

[dovey]

KAYLAN WAKE

Sissy raises her fist, and Kaylan’s eyes widen. Is she going to hit him? What did he do? He takes a quick couple of steps back, poring over the content of their brief conversation in his head as he tries to figure out why Sissy would so suddenly decide she wanted to hurt him. Maybe he misunderstood, and the anger on her face when she first approached him wasn’t an act after all? Or has he offended her somehow? Did he say something that sounded like he was making fun? He doesn’t think so, but he doesn’t always notice when he says something that sounds different than how he meant it. The thought that Sissy might believe he’s teasing her about something this horrible makes his stomach turn. Should he apologize, just in case?

And – does she mean to hit him? Because if she does, she’s taking kind of a long time to actually do it.

Her fist still hovers between them, and it’s moving, but not toward him. It’s shaking, more and more dramatically every second – and now, as he watches, lost in confusion, she bursts once more into sobs.

His breath catches in his throat. “Oh no,” he says without meaning to. She’s crying so hard – he thinks even harder than before. He watches her fist dip lower and lower, finally uncurling to rest at her side, and she’s still sobbing, so loudly, tears streaming so fast down her cheeks. Now the tears gathering in Kaylan’s own eyes are too big to blink away; one rolls down his cheek, another down the side of his nose. His hands flutter through the air in front of him, fingers catching anxiously at each other.

What is he supposed to do?

He bites his lip, then crouches, pulling the front pocket of his fallen backpack further open and fumbling through it. Again he removes the pack of tissues and holds them out toward the crying girl. “Here,” he says hoarsely. “Um, take – take the whole pack. I’m – I’m sorry I said about the cookies. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t know why it did. Um, hurt your feelings. But I’m sorry.”

Slowly he clambers to his feet, leaving his backpack where it lies. Tears are still rolling down his own cheeks; they’re far fewer than hers, but even so he can’t stop them. He catches himself by surprise with a sniffle.

“Um,” he says. “Actually.” He hesitates for a moment; then another sniffle decides him. “Actually, can I have one of the tissues back?”

[bailee]

sissy caro

As her fiat lowered, so did her guard. She sunk into Kaylan's kindness, and took his tissue with a shaking hand, offering it back to him as the sniffles began on his end. She almost felt solidarity with him - her emotions impacted him in the same way they impacted her, with no control or baring on them. They were as reckless as a wild animal - their emotions next move unpredictable with each move. She hated feeling like this. She hated feeling so vulnerable, yet she felt she could around Kaylan.

As her body exasperated with every sob she took, she gave into her emotions and let instinct kick in. Bubby holding her as she cried into his shoulder, her pressing her tear stained cheek against his cotton shirt as he bandaged her scraped knee. Bubby reassuring her after her crush had rejected her after the school dance. Bubby holding her hand as they made their way to her first reaping. Bubby.

She collapsed into Kaylan, hugging the teary-eyed boy as both of their tears became one, their cries becoming a chorus of sadness and grief and sympathy and all the emotions their preteen brains couldn't handle. He was so warm, so reassuring, she didn't even think about the oddness of the situation, how she was hugging someone she had just met that afternoon, that Kaylan just had that gentle soul that touched Sissy.

After seconds turned into minutes, Sissy finally let go, realizing the state of her vulnerability had lead her to hug a boy she approached with hostility. She thought about how that was her first time ever hugging a boy, and maybe if she wasn't so stricken with grief, maybe she would be blushing and feel butterflies erupting in her gut with the feelings of an adolescent crush.

"S-sorry!" She blurted out, embarrassment taking over. Her sobs had turned into sniffles as she wiped her running nose with Kaylan's tissue. "Yeah... maybe. Maybe cookies would be good."

[dovey]

KAYLAN WAKE

Thanking Sissy sheepishly, Kaylan takes back a tissue and begins to blow his nose. So occupied, he doesn’t realize Sissy means to hug him until her body collides abruptly with his.

He stumbles, nearly falling; only her arms wrapped tightly around him keep him on his feet. His own arms come up, folding about her by instinct alone – his mind still hasn’t caught up with what’s happening right now, that the girl who was going to hit him a second ago is now clinging to him like her life depends on it. The passing moments do nothing to clarify the situation, but Sissy is crying on his shoulder, and that’s more urgent by far than Kaylan’s confusion. He clutches his crumpled tissue in one fist, trying to keep it from touching her shirt, and lets bewilderment give way to the work of comfort.

He rests his chin on her shoulder, sniffling violently so as not to drip snot on her shirt, but letting his tears fall freely. Some of her own tears run ticklingly down the inside of his collar. He feels her shudder with the force of a sob, and he tightens the hug, the edge of one of her shoulder-blades prominent beneath his palm. His chest aches. Sissy’s grief echoes through his body like a heartbeat, but the warmth of her against him makes it easier to bear.

He wonders whether this is how it feels to be Aileen, opening her arms to Kaylan when he runs crying to her, sweeping him up into the lap he’s grown too big for and holding him tight while he drips tears and snot onto her sleeve. This sense of protectiveness, this closeness that’s pain and comfort all at once. He doesn’t really have friends except Aileen, no one who would come to him like this to cry on his shoulder, and holding that hurt kitten felt different to now.

He wonders whether this is how Bubby Caro felt when he comforted his sister before they took him away from her, and the lump in his throat grows big enough to choke him.

A long time passes before Sissy lets go. Finally, when her sobs have faded to sniffles, she steps back from the hug. Kaylan releases his hold on her, but when she stammers an apology his eyes widen. “You don’t need – it’s not a sorry,” he says, surprise jumbling up his words. Why would she think she needs to apologize for a hug?

She blots her nose, and he remembers to do the same. While he’s fumbling with the crumpled-up tissue she speaks again, hesitantly.

“Yeah… maybe,” she says. “Maybe cookies would be good.”

Kaylan blinks. He doesn’t understand – a minute ago she was mad at him about the cookies, wasn’t she? Not that that made any sense to him either, but now he’s completely lost. That’s not uncommon for him when he talks to new people, though, and he’s relieved to learn he didn’t hurt her feelings after all, so he takes his confusion in stride.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, crouching to retrieve his fallen backpack. He zips it shut and straightens up, slipping both straps conscientiously over his shoulders – Aileen doesn’t like it when he only uses one – and beckoning Sissy to follow him. “It’s this way. It’s not far.”

At the edge of the school courtyard they pass a public trash-can, and Kaylan takes the opportunity to throw away his thoroughly used tissue. He wipes his hand off on the fabric of his shorts, just in case he got any snot on it. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he offers the hand to Sissy to hold while they walk.

It’s what Aileen would do.

Although Aileen would probably not have to wipe her hand on her trousers first.