pengychan:

pengychan:

Yes hi daily reminder that I have no self-control and also I am a dick.

pengychan:

I might once I’ve finished the fic!

“All done,” the clerk announced, and smiled at her. “Your son is going to be overjoyed to see you, I’m sure.”

Celia blinked. For several, long moments she just stared, her brain grasping the words but refusing to comprehend them. Her fingers felt numb, the biscuit in her mouth turning to ashes. She swallowed it with great effort and opened her mouth. She realized, distantly, that the other woman’s smile had begun to fade at her reaction.

“What,” Celia spoke, struggling to get each word out. “What did you say?”

Now the smile was entirely gone, replacing with something that was much closer to alarm. “That… that your son… oh my, I am sorry, I thought you’d–”

“There is a mistake,” Celia cut her off, and hearing herself saying as much aloud was a huge relief. Of course it was a mistake. It had to be. She smiled, feeling immensely stupid for even considering the idea for a moment… but, in the back of her mind, something was ready to shatter. She was acutely aware of that when she spoke again. “My son turned sixteen two months ago. I know it because I marked it on the calendar, you know? I always mark it, so that I don’t forget. I forget when my birthday, but not his. Never. Would you forget the best thing that ever happened to you? The only right thing you did in life?”

“I… I believe it would be best if–” the clerk began reaching for the phone by her side, but she trailed off when Celia reached to grasp her wrist and shook her head. She kept smiling, but the dread was there, growing harder and harder to ignore.

“No. Listen,” Celia said, her voice raspy. “There is a mistake. I know that there is a mistake. He can’t be dead. He’s only sixteen. His birthday was two months ago. ”

“If you just let me make a call–”

“There is no need. He can’t be dead. He’s sixteen, do you understand?” Celia repeated, slowly, like she was speaking to a very dense child. She refused to let her voice crack. She feared that once that happened, she would crumble. “A sixteen year old has no business here. He’s in the Land of the Living. He’s still in school, he probably has a crush on a girl like boys his age do. Or on a boy, who cares? I love him so, so much. That’s why I let him go, you see? So that he’d be all right. And he is. He’s all right. He can’t. Be. Here.”

#ohhhh nooo

Sorry.