Redemption

A/N: Blargh, crappy title, I know. This is actually a new story for once, and I just wrote it today. Putting the author’s notes at the top for once because I’m paranoid no one will fully understand what’s going on here. This short little story is based on a couple of characters I have- two sisters. Tara (the eldest) is about twenty-two, while Wren, the younger, is seventeen. Tara walked out of their home four years ago, something that hurt Wren badly. Now that Tara has come home, Wren wants an explanation.

Tara hates graveyards.

She glances around awkwardly at the headstones, trailing reluctantly after her sister. She wished that sister could’ve picked somewhere a little less… serious, for this talk.

And it’s funny, because four years ago, baby sister would have done. She would have gone to every length to make sure Tara was happy and content, and not at all awkward or uncomfortable.

Now, Tara has a feeling she’s doing it on purpose.

She knows how Tara hates graveyards.

“… Wr-wren.”

Baby sister glances back round. There’s no smile on her face, though there would have been, four years ago. She’s only bothering to look at Tara because it saves having to speak to her.

“Does it have to be here, little bird?” whispers Tara.

The little pet name Tara used for her cuts no ice, and Wren simply goes to sit down on a tomb, her face expectant. Tara represses a sigh, and comes to sit down next to her.

The younger doesn’t say a word, but she shifts away from Tara slightly, to avoid skin contact.

Four years ago she would have cuddled into her for warmth.

Tara doesn’t really know what to say, but she tries. She really, really does.

“I’m sorry I left,” she murmurs. ”I’m sorry I left you on your own.”

Wren’s not even looking at her now. She’s gazing away, across at one of the fresher graves that’s just been dug.

Part of Tara wants to scream and shout, and grab Wren by the shoulders to shake her hard. To make her look at her, to make her pay attention.

The other half just wants to hug her. Ask forgiveness.

Beg, if necessary.

But abandoning your sister for four years with a lecherous stepfather just isn’t on.

“Wren, I-“

She chokes slightly on the words.

“I was gunna come home! It’s just that- that-“

Wren cuts in. Her words are cold and caustic.

“You were having too much fun.”

There’s nothing to say to that.

Tara still remembers what it was like out there, and there’s no way to deny it. It was fun. Late nights in a bar in California, dancing with men she’d never met before and probably would never meet again. Smoking cigarettes, or marijuana all the night through, enjoying the high and nothing else. Four years of non-stop parties and clubs and boyfriends.

Four years of forgetting about a little sister back home. Just thirteen years old when she’d left her. Seventeen now. Not a little girl. A woman, almost.

She’d missed seeing her grow up.

Tara fights for words. Fights for something to say that might make Wren love her again.

“If you really love me, you’ll forgive me.”

Wren fixes her with one, long look. And suddenly Tara wishes she wouldn’t look at her, because the gaze strips her to the bone. Tara can’t hide anything. Can’t hide the truth. That while she did love little sister, she really was having too much fun. That she’d convinced herself everything would be fine. That she’d come back next week. Or the week after that. Or the week after that. Always next week.

Wren sees all of that, and her lips curve up into a bitter smile.

“I still love you Tara. But I’ll never forgive you.”

Wren gets up, looking towards the gate of the graveyard. The wind whips back her long red hair, and Tara suddenly notices how pretty she’s gotten. How much she’s grown up.

Tara’s face is a silent plea.

And Wren walks away.

- Isilthrar