If You Don't Open This Door
Like mother, like daughter, right?
Like mother, like daughter, right?
Like mother, like daughter, right?
The sentence echoed in her head, over and over, as she stumbled to her room.
Like mother, like daughter, right?
Her hands trembled as she fumbled for the doorknob.
Like mother, like daughter, right?
The moment the door was closed, she crumbled like a pile of sand. Her knees folded out under the pressure of her body, and her head thunked against the door.
Like mother, like daughter, right?
A flash of pain went through her skull, and she winced.
Her head had hit the door pretty hard. She’d have a bump.
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“Mom? Does God really hate gay people?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Kate.”
“...Okay, Mom.”)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“Mom? What if… what if I was gay?”
“Hm? Oh, Kate. What’s that?”
“What if I was gay, Mom? You guys would still love me, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, honey.”
“...Okay Mom.”)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“Momma? Can you help me with my homework?”
“Ask your father, hun. Mom’s busy.”
“Okay Mom.”)
(“Dad? Mom… Mom doesn’t hate me, does she?”
“....Of course not, darling. We both love you very much.”
“Okay Dad.”)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“You did WHAT?!”
“I- I didn’t mean to, it was an accident-!”
Her words were cut off by a ringed hand.
She tasted blood.)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
She buried her head in her hands, and lost herself to memories.
(“Dad… it hurts…”
“I know it does, honey.”
“Momma hates me…”
“No she doesn’t, Kate. Don’t ever think that. Momma’s strict on you because she knows you could do better.”
“...Dad?”
“Yeah, hun?”
“Would you still love me if I was gay?”
“Of course I would, honey. And so would Momma.”
“...Okay Dad.”)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“Dad - you know Max, right?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah, the Caulfield girl. Yeah, I know her. Nice kid.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you ask, honey?”
“I was… just wondering.”)
(“Mom? Can I go to Max’s house tomorrow?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, honey. We’ve got a sermon to attend tomorrow.”
“But Max said-”
“Don’t talk back to me, Kate.”
“...Okay Mom.”)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“Oh - heya, Kate!”
“Hi Max.”
“Wait - you’ve got… a bruise…”
“Oh. Right. Uhm - I’ll get that cleaned up. Sorry.”
“Kate? How did you get that?”
“I… walked into one of the doorpole things.”
“Heh. You always were my clumsy Kate.”
“And I always will be.”
“...Yeah. Let’s go put some ice on that, huh?”)
Like mother, like daughter, right?
(“You’re my daughter, and you will do as I say!!”
“I can talk to whoever I want to, Mom!”)
(“Oh - over here, Kate!”
“I’m coming, Max, I’m coming.”
“Slowly. You’ve… got a lotta make-up on today.”
“I’m trying out a new look.”)
Like mother, like dau-
“Marsh, if you do not open this door right now, I’m going to break it down.”
Kate blinked, and looked up for the first time in… seconds? Five minutes? It was hard to tell.
“Who… Brooke?”
“Yes, that is my name, Marsh. Door. Now, preferably.”
She shuffled to her feet, and flung the door open - wiping her face with her sleeve and sniffling.
Brooke glanced up from her phone - and blinked.
“...Oh.”
There was quiet for a moment.
“...Interesting new look, Marsh.” Brooke said, shouldering past her into the room and running her eyes over the place. “I must say, I wasn’t aware the ‘miserable wreck’ appearance was back in style. I’ll have to note it down sometime.”
“I’ve never been in style, Brooke.” She said, automatically adjusting her bedsheets a little. Her room was pretty meticulous, but it never hurt to tidy up a little.
“Right. I forget.” Brooke stepped towards the bathroom door, and gestured to it. “This is the bathroom, then?”
“...Yes?”
“Alright. Get in.” She ordered, flinging the door open.
“This is my room, Brooke.” Kate couldn’t help but point out, sending the girl a look.
“Astute of you to notice, Marsh.” Brooke said, meeting her glare with a delicate lack of response. “Now get in this bathroom before I force you.”
“As if you could.” Kate muttered - but went to the bathroom anyway.
She didn’t know Brooke very well. They were in the same history class - and, since neither of them had apparently had any friends, they’d partnered together now and again. Brooke had never seemed to pay her any attention, and often did the majority of the work herself without consulting her.
And yet, here she was - knocking at her apartment door and taking over the place.
She stepped into the bathroom - and Brooke flicked the lights on.
“Chin up.”
Kate tilted her head up.
Instantly, Brooke took a comb and began to work on her hair.
She blinked.
“...I can comb my own hair, Brooke.”
“Your hands are trembling.”
That shut her up. She glanced down - and, indeed, her hands were ever-so-slightly shaking.
“I said chin up, Marsh.”
Kate sent her a mild glare - but her annoyance was mostly for show.
“What-”
She hissed, as the comb met a tangle in her hair.
“Sorry.” Brooke said - and she actually did sound the tiniest bit sorry.
The tiniest bit.
“What are you doing here?” Kate managed, gritting her teeth - Brooke was really not gentle with a comb.
“You’re always outside at six o’ clock to hand out church pamphlets. You missed your mark - and I apparently had such a depressing lack of entertainment that I decided to investigate. I decided the door with the bible verse was yours, and well. Here we are.”
Brooke seemed to decide her hair was done, and reached forward to tilt her chin back down. Kate sent her another mild glare, which Brooke ignored.
“Where do you keep the paper towels in this hovel?”
Kate sent her a glance.
“...Hovel?”
Brooke rolled her eyes.
“Yes, hovel. It’s a good - and frankly, fitting - word. This place is awful.”
Kate sent a confused - and slightly worried - glance around her apartment.
“It is?”
Brooke raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, Marsh, it is. But now isn’t the time. Paper towels.”
“I’ve got wipes in the cabinet.” Kate said, gesturing to the cabinet in question - which happened to be right in front of her, under the sink.
Brooke only acknowledged her by crouching and opening said cabinet.
“...Mm. You’re meticulous.” Brooke said, with a distinct lack of prompting - standing straight and putting a pack of wipes on the countertop.
“Meticulous?” Kate said, with a confused blink.
“Meticulous, 1A: showing great attention to detail; very careful and precise.” Brooke said. “I was referring to your organizing habits. Most people have their cabinets in disarray. Same with their dorms.”
Brooke tilted her head so she was staring at her face, and wiped her cheeks. Kate scrunched her face up a little, and shied away from the childish treatment.
“Still.” Brooke ordered, holding her by the chin and trying again. Kate - reluctantly - stayed still.
“Did you… know that definition off the top of your head?” Kate said, trying to ignore the way Brooke stared at her face - like she was studying a dissected animal.
“Yes, well. We all have our hobbies. I needed something to occupy my time - school was unfortunately not up to the task. So I decided to expand my vocabulary a bit.”
“...I knew what meticulous meant.” Kate felt she needed to clarify.
“I’m sure you did, Marsh. Now keep your mouth closed - I doubt this wipe tastes good.”
...Kate did.