CORIOLANUS NO LONGER HAS HIS HAIR TRIMMED SHORT. It's grown out, but it looks nothing like before. It's straight and slicked back but his sides are still cut short. It's toned and not at all blonde anymore. Not golden like before, but almost white. Like snow.

The color somehow makes his eyes darker. But, that could also be from the shadow over his eyes that wasn't there before.

His voice is deeper—if that's even possible. It's gruff but his accent still remains thick over the words he pronounciates and looking at him here, in a blood red suit with his hair grown long, I hardly recognize him.

He's trying a new lifestyle on and he's no longer the slim-built boy I despised in the 8th Grade, or the one I loved in the 12th.

No, something has changed. Everything has changed.

His shoes are brand new, freshly shined and polished and I notice that they're no longer ripping at the seams, his toes are no longer barely fitting inside his old slippers.

But it's not about the shoes—it's him. He's different.

I pull my eyes away from his, to the hands in my lap. There's no polish to be chipped, or for me to chip, because I no longer own nail polish. Not the light purple I'd wear in my youth, or black, or even maroon.

I don't have a color to self-identify with because everything has been stripped away from me. I'm stripped bare and left to speak in personifications.

I'm running my tongue across the sides of my mouth as a distraction because I need something to prevent the tears that are threatening to spill down my cheeks.

I can feel my father's gaze on me, though, Coriolanus has averted his. It's belittling and makes me feel everything a person wouldn't want to.

Tucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I notice the meal the chef has placed on my plate--on all of our plates. There's well-done chicken parmesan and what appears to be a small tray of salad. It's simple, something Sejanus has favoured since our childhood and would always insist on each time he had his pick of dinner that day.

I sputter out a small, breathy laugh as I look down at the plate. "Chicken Parm?"

My mother meets my gaze, as does my father, watching my teary brown eyes fill with light at the memory of my brother.

She nods, slowly. "It's what your brother would have wanted."

I, too, nod, and a tear forms in the corner of my eye because this is the first time she's acknowledged me as Sejanus' sister--her daughter--since moving back.

I'm glad my mother has done something right because all I want is to relish in the memories this simple yet significant dish will bring me.

It falls silent once again amongst the table before my father clears his throat. "Shall we eat?"

I HADN'T EATEN A PROPER MEAL in weeks, but this definitely filled the void of my hunger. I was fulfilled in that way, at least. But my parents could barely eat a thing. They were wracked with grief and I almost feel bad for them.

Despite my best efforts, I find myself wandering to look at Coriolanus, and he, too, is hardly eating. It's ironic. Just six months ago he could eat three whole plates of this in a beat and wouldn't take a breath till it's finished because he was so hungry but now, he couldn't care less.

"So, Marian how are classes going?" My father, to my surprise, asks me after wiping the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief.

I swallow, eyes running to meet his gaze. "They're fine."

He nods, understanding. But I can't get past my father being kind to me. "And how's that boy of yours doing? Eliot?"

There it is. There's the blow. The punch in the stomach.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Coriolanus' posture stiffen and all eyes have now fallen on me. My father is looking at me with that patronizing look and that stupid snarky smile.

I clench and unclench my jaw. "Eliot's fine."

This was his entire goal tonight, to humiliate me. To degrade me. To prove something to himself--that he still holds power over me.

He nods once more, than rests his head on his clasped hands. "Wouldn't want any more accidents."

He's referring to Janus--to what I called her when I came and told him I was pregnant. My wording was a mistake, clearly, but I didn't know any better, and he is just trying to belittle me.

I pull my chair out from beneath the table and stand up, grabbing my plate off of the table and walking off into the connected room, where the sink had been just around the corner.

He's an asshole, and I cannot believe I thought he'd be okay with my presence for a change. For one night. For just my dead brother's birthday--

"Hey."

Fucking perfect.

I pretend that I wasn't just standing facing the window with my sweaty palms against the marble counter and turn the sink's faucet on.

I don't need to turn around to know who it is, I just wish I did.

He shifts his weight against the counter beside me as he towers over me and he's just barely close enough to where his cologne consumes me.

It's the same cologne he's always worn, the one I grew very fond of but what's most important about it now is that he hasn't changed it. He's seemingly changed every detail about him but not his scent.

"How is she?" he asks, his eyes anxious and his movements eager. "Janus?"

I don't know how he knows our daughter's name, but if I had to guess, it'd be from my parents.

I continue to watch as the food scraps wash off the plate and down the drain, avoiding his gaze to the best of my ability.

"She's fine."

He nods. "Could I see her sometime?"

I knew he'd ask eventually, but I'm not understanding why he hasn't asked sooner.

I think for a moment, my movements gone to a stop as I drown in my thoughts. I haven't had time to think if I want her to know her dad but on the other hand, I don't want her to grow up without one. I don't know if Eliot will be in my life permanently or if this i just some--

"Mare?"

I purse my lips together before responding, finally continuing to wash the ceramic plate in hand. "I'll have to think about it."

"What?" he scoffs, or snorts, or makes a noise that I'm not sure what it is.

"She's 4--almost 5 months old, Coriolanus."

He works his jaw back and forth before answering, leaning over me closer. "I know. I'm trying--"

I drop the plate in the sink and it shatters, sending a shiver down my spine as I jolt.

A joice of yelps comes from the dining room and I realize just what a mess I've made.

I'm suddenly in panic mode and I can't think straight.

I wipe my index and middle finger across the soft texture of my lips, deep in concentration before sparing him the tiniest glance. "I'll think about it."

I rush past him, ignoring the chills that spiraled down my body as my arm brushed against his torso and I grabbed my coat off of the rack beside the black door.

I don't say a word to anyone, I just shut the door.

I do what I do best, and leave. Running away.