Sacrifices

"Anne," I whisper outside our room.

"In here," I hear her announce as I slowly unlock the door. The reflection that mimics my posture, saturated in the corner of the room, makes me question the painted image staring back at me. The girl's paled complexion and stripped of color is full of fear. Why did she look so lost in oblivion? So intrigued to let her shame slide through her skin, joining it to my blood. Why couldn't I trust myself? To realize that we have become the prey of the predator.

My stillness must have been odd, or Anne wouldn't take it upon herself to say something about it. For which I found it hard to be thankful.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?"

Anne points out, standing up immediately. Before putting down the book, she was reading, which caught my attention. The title "Little Women" brought me back to the meaning of such stories and how the book's moralities reflected a connection among us. The March family's vigor was very similar to ours, except that those four humble sisters possessed parents who loved them no matter what. I could see why it was her favorite book and the countless times she read it—always compared to Beth, who was very calm and virtuous, even if she did her best to please others. But I knew Anne longed to be more like Meg's nature, whose weakness was a life of luxury. I never thought to judge her for dreaming of a life beyond the dignity of an orphanage. Since it's been every orphan's dream, plus it would be cynical of me, even when I too yearned to be a member of the March family.

"It's nothing. I'm fine, I promise." I smiled to reassure her. Something I've been doing enough lately to make me believe that everything will be okay. Maybe Anne was right, and Jo March and I had a lot in common. Acting our best to disguise our feelings and avoid worrying others is our charm—a gift with a price to pay.

"Are you sure? You don't look or sound like you say?" Anne places her hand on my forehead. Possibly the lack of fever made her unbothered.

"Alright, I'll let it slide this time, but knowing you, I'll never get an honest answer. Wait, what are you wearing?" Anne gawked me up and down, allowing me to close my eyes in despair. In the acts of exhaustion, I would like nothing more than to lie down and rest a little instead of retorting silly questions when their clues were obvious.

"It's nothing. It's just a dress." I peeked at the mirror one last time before looking away. Nothing had faded away, neither the exterior nor the agony. Barely turning my attention towards her, I found resentment in her gaze even when they did not weigh her integrity.

"This can't be just a dress. Where did you get it from?" She proclaims as if the remark offended her. I guess she wasn't wrong, and this was more than it was supposed to, given the garment had a history with an unforeseen ending.

"It's just a gift Paulina's brother has given me," I noted her curious state of mind even if it wasn't enough context to satisfy the greed.

"Why are you wearing it then? Couldn't wait to try it on or what?" The change in tone surprised me; it hissed somewhat envious. Something that I have gotten used to overtime. I consistently told myself not to say anything about it because it was her way of finding herself. But how long will it take for her opinions to cross boundaries? How long will I have to tolerate criticism after criticism without a remote possibility of redemption?

How many more occurrences will I ignore just because she's my friend? And that tolerating is something that friends do no matter what.

"Don't drown yourself in your poison, Anne. Jack asked me to try it on to see if it fit me. And if you made attention, you'd realize it's a little too big for my stature; I'll have to mature or adjust some portions." I clasped some extra material for the display. I wonder if I altered it a bit, will it break off the magic of the outfit?

"Yes, I see. It's not that flattering now that you mention it." I looked down at the dress before raising an eyebrow. The dress is not dreadful. Her attitude, on the other hand, is an understatement. Anne rolled her eyes as if I were too blind to discern what she did before brushing her hair over her shoulder with a sneer. Honestly, I didn't have to point out the dress's flaws to make her dislike it. She had a mind of her own to think for herself, didn't she? But sadly, things have been this way all along, with no way to turn the handle. Sometimes I worry about what will happen if we ever go our separate ways. How will Anne navigate life without someone to cling to?

"Where is everyone? I reckoned you were with them." I ask as I sit down before someone pushes me. The drop hurt my knees, but it didn't matter. What mattered was knowing who dared to test me? Looking back, I came face to face with Tom. God, why do I always have to encounter him? How long has he been there without me realizing it?

Tom cheekily perked up from the comic he was reading, "Why would you sit on my bed when you have yours?"

"Thomas, despite popular belief, the bed does not have your name on it. Unless the inscription means the impression of your butt, then you are fully entitled. But now that I think about it, you have lived here long enough to leave your mark."

"Make no mistake; it's still my bed, and I can do whatever I want with it."

"I'm not going to discuss it with you," I huffed wearily. I was an idiot, even when I didn't know why he was acting defensively.

"As you did when Jack made you wear that without argument ..." He leaned towards me, forcing me to avoid his gaze.

"How dare you."

"Sorry," he muttered promptly. "I didn't mean to say it that way ..."

I hesitated his apology with the palm of my hand. "It's ok. Sooner or later, you were going to rub it in my face, so I was inclined. Now would you please leave? I like to be alone."

"Wait," Anne broke the silence, directing her interest to Tom, "How do you know about the dress and that Jack gave it to her?"

Tom stood silent, holding one arm with the other. Something about the way he glared at Anne struck me as unpleasant. Almost as if her presence irks him like mine at times.

"I was there," he replied, uncaringly. Or it could be, I was the one who mentioned it to him a few minutes ago, I whispered as I rolled my eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me when I asked? You said she hadn't received anything interesting!" It may have been belittling for him, but for me, it was more than any other, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Tom shrugged nonchalantly. "It wasn't my interest. And besides, it isn't my place to tell you anything." He seemed a bit bitter but quickly hid it. Like all emotional traces, and with it, the mask he put on before subsiding what he was reading.

"Candy, you didn't say he was there."

"And how was I supposed to do that? When you haven't even let me decipher anything to you."

"Well, proceed then?" Anne crosses her arms.

"There's not much to say anymore. I got this dress, and that's it. There's nothing else to say other than how I got in trouble because of you."

"That's rubbish, and you know it," Tom's clamor shatters my calm state.

"Why do you say that?" Anne asks him.

"Shut up, Tom!"

"Why should I? Am I wrong? Why don't you show her the necklace I gave you?" Anne turned in search of the said necklace as I looked down in embarrassment. Not that I disliked the gesture, but the way things went on.

"I suppose your lack of wording sums things up. I should have known you wouldn't have appreciated the gesture after receiving that stupid dress."

"You know nothing."

"Then why don't you explain it to me."

"How considerate of you? You think I'd say anything to you after this."

Why does he always conclude what I think or feel? His demeanor over me is one of the many reasons we quarrel all the time. It's like he can never let go of his perspective over me. Like I was giving him a right to define me to what I am not.

"Why are you always the root of chaos between the two of you?" Anne hums, taking away the right to uphold the truth. A great example of what arose when someone tried to find fault between us. Betrayal and anger were some of the many things I felt at the moment. I wanted nothing more than to cry and vent, destroying everything in my path.

"Shut up!" I hissed in a moment of weakness.

"I just ..." Anne proceeded to defend herself but then fell silent. For the first time, her serene act was broken by guilt, leaving her with nothing to say. Sadly, I was happy about it. The truth hurts.

"Just go," I told them, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"But?"

"You said what you had to say; now I want to be left alone." Anne did not insist further and left. I noticed the threat of tears in her eyes but did nothing to stop it.

"Candy," Tom insisted, but I stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Thank you for the gift and everything you have done for me in the past. From now on, I'll be sure to acknowledge my appreciation when you do something for me. I don't want to appear insensible once again," I said. I tried to drive Tom into silence, banishing him forever from the world.

"Thank you. But I wish to be alone." Without a response, I began to feel the weight of my tears. I prayed that I wouldn't collapse in front of him.

"Please, Thomas!" I begged him.

When he finally withdrew, I could gasp in relief, letting the suffering explode through my body. Being drained emotionally, I put my beliefs aside and sat at the desk, drowning them in my journal.

If my tears soaked the ink throughout the pages, I didn't care. Word after word disclosed me from the world to a life of literature and promise.

~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~

Tom's point of view

I didn't want to close the door and leave her alone. What happened to the hyperactive girl I knew? Her way of treating me was a slap in the face for what I had said and done. I never imagined things would get out of control like today. A part of me understood I was at fault for being so jealous. But it wasn't easy to stand there and not do something. It never occurred to me that I would fight for her attention in the past.

But now, I had screwed things up. I need to fix them before I leave. It didn't matter where I finished up; I only cared if Candy will be okay after I go. I learned a long time ago that the world is cruel, even harsh. I lost count of the times I got humiliated by those people who were there to support me. Therefore I wish Candice doesn't go through the difficulties of life that I went through.

~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~

Candice's POV

Waking up can be very difficult, especially if your dreams are better than your reality. However, the saddest part was not remembering anything by letting the memory fade into ignorance. Even if you were lucky enough to remember, you are left with the loneliest feeling when exploring the emptiness of said emotion. The only proof that you were ever happy. When I awoke suddenly, I knew that I had fallen asleep on top of my journal. Looking around, I notice everyone was fast asleep in the dark. Did I sleep that long? A glance at the clock showed me it was already ten past eleven. Why didn't anyone wake me up or at least told me to go to bed? I guess I deserve it after how I behaved. Well, there is nothing I can do about it unless I acknowledge relief.

I quickly stripped down to nothing and put on my pajamas. I knew it would be difficult to fall asleep again, so I bore to the kitchen, searching for my favorite drink.

On the way to the kitchen, I came upon the gleam of a burning candle and the faint sounds of crying coming from the study room. As I neared, I could perceive Paulina sitting alone in the dark, exhausting her emotions. It wouldn't feel right if I disturbed her, so I figured it is best to head back. As I settle all my weight from one foot to the other, the stupid floors chose to creak from the force, making me curse in silent action.

"Who's there?" Paulina's voice trespasses the walls. Damn it!

"Don't worry, Paulina, it's just me," I announced, making my presence known.

"Candy, what are you doing up so late?"

"My dreams were disturbed, so I came to get a glass of milk to make up for the tragedy." I was so impatient that I laughed at my joke, which wasn't that funny.

"That makes two of us. Here have mine, dear, with so many things on my mind. I haven't had time to drink it." She handed me her glass of chocolate milk. If I were frank, I would say that I had never seen her in such a state.

"Did you have a restless night?" I asked while taking a sip.

"Something like that," She whispered with a brief smile.

"I didn't have a great day either," I commented, lowering my head as I ran my finger along the rim of the glass.

"I had a feeling something was wrong when you didn't come down for dinner. Anne said, you went to bed early, so I didn't give it much to fuss. But when I glanced at Tom to verify the information, he avoided me at all costs and took it upon himself to go outside and eat. I should have known there was more going on than was claimed. And from the looks of it, they are the source of your distress. Are you hungry, darling? If you want, I can prepare something for you to eat. " She offered as she got up. Even at her worst, she was still loving.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm not hungry." I thanked her, motioning for her to sit down again.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little over the top to be thinking about eating," I reassured her with one of my smiles.

"What's bothering you, Candy?" She asks me tenderly as she gets up to sit next to me.

"It's nothing to worry about." I tried to sound convincing, but with one look, I knew I wasn't deceiving her.

"Candy, I know you overheard our conversation this morning, and I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. I am not going anywhere," The coldness in her hands was as vacant as her lie.

"Why not?"

"Because it's something I don't want to acknowledge or dream of as a possibility when it probably isn't." I understood her reasoning. The act of getting hurt again was a persistent fear without restraint.

"I understand the fear, but if it were my mother they found, I would like to catch sight of her for the first time. And possibly meet her and resolve some doubts that I have colored all my life. I would like to understand her motives for what she did, even if the truth is as painful as reality. "

"What if, in the end, you don't like what you hear?" The doubt dissuades me from the present for a moment while I think about an answer, even if the fear in her eyes told me not to.

"That is simply something you will have to wait to find out. However, given the results, don't you think you can at least say that the mystery of your past is now set in stone, giving you a chance to heal and move on?"

"Candy, it's not that easy."

"Nothing in life is easy; if it were, people wouldn't have to suffer from life's decisions and betrayals." Paulina caressed my cheek warmly as tears fell from hers.

"You have a noble heart Candy, even considering the hardships you've been through, you always look for the good in people." My eyes started to water as she took my hands and placed them on her chest.

"Promise me something, Candy." Her eyes look at me indecisively. The predicament must be killing her inside, and I feel bad for encouraging her to do so.

"Sure, whatever?"

"Promise me that whatever happens, you will never let anyone change you for who you are. Even if people hit you where it hurts the most, don't let them see you at your lowest point. Please don't give anyone the satisfaction; always keep your head up high, and I swear you will go far in life; promise me. " The desperation in her voice made me agree without understanding — letting me know of her decision.

"I promise," I whispered as I clutched on to her. I knew that by dawn, she would be long gone. I would never blame her, as I would have done the same if I had been in her position with the opportunity.

"Okay, now finish your milk and go to sleep." She suggested while washing away her tears.

"Done," I said as I drank the last drop. "Goodnight and I wish you all the best."

"Thank you," she murmured, but not before I rush into her arms for one last time.

~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~

I slowly strolled into my room and shut the door behind life before collapsing on the bed. I refused to cry; There was no point in shedding a tear over such small matters. Instead, I chose to stare at the ceiling, shifting my thoughts elsewhere. The sheets under me felt so real, so cold, but I felt disconnected from them. Separated from reality, but I refused to move, fearing that if I moved a muscle, I would collapse. Hours later, I could hear a car crawling its way into the driveway, its lights flashing through the window. I wasn't sure if this triggered what I already knew was going to happen. But shortly after the car pulled away, the lump in my throat turned into a fit. My lungs screamed for oxygen as I gasped over and over again, yelling, "Hold your posture."

When a tear involuntarily slid down my cheek,

I was able to say goodbye to her.