❝Love isn't soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.❞

STEPHEN KING

✩

2.8 : strawberry sugar cookies

FIN DRIVES HER OWN CAR HOME FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A FEW WEEKS. It feels strange driving in silence. She misses Spencer's company. But tonight is serious. Tonight is personal.

The night that Lars snuck into her apartment, Fin had no choice but to explain the situation to him. She would've asked him to leave, but he opted to go before she could've said a word. He gave her a quick hug, wished her a happy birthday, and then disappeared out into the chilly night.

But Fin couldn't bring herself to talk to Lars that night. Not on her birthday. Not then. So they went to bed without speaking.

But tonight is different.

Tonight they have to talk.

So she bought all the ingredients to make Lars' favorite cookies–strawberry sugar cookies, the kind they used to make as kids from a can–and a DVD of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, one of their favorite movies as kids. Oliver had the best Willy Wonka impression. Fin smiles as she remembers the time Lars laughed so hard she snorted chocolate milk out her nose.

When she walks into the apartment, Lars is lying on the couch wearing one of Fin's t-shirts, a blanket Fin recognizes as her childhood quilt from their grandmother resting on her legs, a battered copy of Through the Looking Glass in her hands.

"Hey, I'm home," Fin says, hanging her keys on the peg by the door and kicking off her boots.

Lars looks up from her book. "Oh, hey. How was work?"

"Fine. Pretty boring, actually. Lots of paperwork."

"Eugh." And she returns to her book.

"Do anything fun while I was gone?" Fin asks, setting her grocery bags on the counter.

Lars shrugs. "Read. Organized your closet."

"Hey! Which one?"

She points to the hall closet. "It was a mess."

"Um, there's a method to my madness, thank you." Fin marches over and opens the hall closet door. Sure enough, all the blankets are folded neatly on the shelf, the boxes of old photos and shit are nicely stacked, and a skateboard that Fin's never seen before leans against the wall. "Is this your skateboard?"

"It's not yours."

"I didn't know you skated." Add that to the list of things I don't know. "I have to admit, the closet does look nice. But you can't leave until I know where everything is." Fin walks back into the kitchen and pulls the strawberry sugar out of one of the bags. "So... have anything fun planned for tonight?"

"Not really."

"Well, I bought everything for strawberry sugar cookies and I grabbed Charlie, so I thought we could bake a little and maybe talk about what you're doing in my apartment." And there's the point. Fin braces for impact.

Lars lowers Through the Looking Glass, her eyebrows furrowed. "I can't just visit my sister?"

"Lars, it's April. You're supposed to be in school."

"Not a fucking kid anymore."

"You know I'm talking about college, asshole. What are you doing here instead of at school?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Fin sets the butter down harder on the counter than she meant to. Lars flinches. "Lars, when you show up unannounced in my living room late at night after having broken into my apartment, you don't really get a say in whether or not we need to talk. Now get your ass over here and help me make cookies."

Lars rolls her eyes, drops her book on the sofa, throws the blanket off, and pads over to the kitchen. "Are we seriously making strawberry sugar cookies?"

"I thought they were your favorite." Fin hands her a mixing bowl and the bag of strawberry sugar.

"Yeah, maybe when I was five, but not anymore."

"Well, what's your favorite now?"

"Coconut rum."

"Lars, you're not old enough to drink."

"That's the beauty of spiked cookies," Lars quips, throwing a whole stick of butter in the mixing bowl. "It's not drinking."

Fin sighs. "What happened to staying sober until you graduated?"

Lars doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to.

"Is it that asshole?"

"Tyler's not an asshole."

"On the contrary, he is the asshole." Fin digs the electric mixer out of the cabinet and unwinds the cord. "Lars, I thought you were broken up!"

"We got back together."

"He's an abusive alcoholic. Why the hell would you go back to him?"

"Because I love him," Lars snaps, tossing sugar into the bowl and grabbing a wooden spoon from the holder by the oven.

"Does he love you?"

"It's none of your business."

"I'm your sister. It's absolutely my business."

"Yeah, well, you're not my mom."

Fin knows Lars didn't mean it like that, but her shoulders tense just the same. Lars inhales sharply as she realizes what she said. "Fin, I didn't–"

"I know. Can you please just tell me what's going on and why you're here?"

Lars sighs, stirring the butter and sugar together slowly. "I...sort of got kicked out."

"What?" Fin almost drops the carton of eggs. "What the hell? Why?"

"A friend–well, sort of a friend–was over studying and saw my–well, my stash–"

"Of alcohol?"

Lars nods, avoiding eye contact; instead, she focuses on the mixing bowl in her hand. "And she reported me to the dean. They kicked me out a week after."

Fin can't believe what she's hearing. "You're telling me you were stupid enough to keep alcohol in your dorm room? You're serious?"

"Hey, don't you think I'm sorry enough already?" Lars shoots back, all of a sudden defensive. "I don't need your criticism, too."

"How long has it been since they kicked you out?"

"A few months."

"So where have you been? Why didn't you come straight to me?"

"Because I'm not a child and I don't need your help."

"Lars, we're family. I know you don't need your help, but I want to know when things happen." Fin hands her the vanilla extract. "And I love you. I care about you."

"Then why don't you ever call?" Lars looks up at her, and Fin hates how hurt she looks. "Why don't you ever text?"

"I–"

"You expect me to just come to you with my shit when we haven't talked in months?"

"No, I expect you to let me know if you're going to show up on my couch when we haven't talked in months, and I expect you to let me know if you get kicked out of college," Fin snaps. "And I expect you to tell me that you have a problem with alcohol!"

"I don't have a problem with alcohol!"

"Yes, you do!" Fin raises her voice, not intentionally, and Lars recoils. "You had a stash in your dorm room! You're underage! That is a problem!"

"Well, what do you expect?" Mixing bowl forgotten, Lars throws her hands in the air. If she weren't wearing ratty sweatpants and an old Care Bears t-shirt, she'd look vaguely threatening. "Our family's pretty screwed up, so it's pretty normal to have screwed up kids, right? I'm just a stereotype!"

"Lars, I don't want to talk about our family–"

"Well, when you accuse me of being an alcoholic, you don't really get a say in what we talk about," Lars sneers.

"Don't turn my words back on me." Fin sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Look, I get that you're pissed at me, but you screwed up. That's on you. I promise I'll help you get back into school–"

"I don't want to get back into school!" Lars yells. "Don't you get it? I'm done! I fucked up! I'm so fucking tired of everything!"

"So you're gonna throw away your whole life?"

"I'm not–"

"Yes! Yes, you are! You're ruining your life! What are you gonna do, be a greeter at Wal-Mart for the rest of your life?"

"If that's what I want, then yes! It's my life!"

"Ollie would've wanted–"

"Don't you dare guilt-trip me about this." Lars shakes her head, eyes filling with tears. "You know damn well I miss him just as much as you do, but you don't get to play that card. Ollie's gone. He's been gone a long time. It doesn't matter what he would've wanted."

Fin's stomach is churning and her eyes sting. "You don't think it matters?"

"No. I don't."

"Our brother was murdered and you don't think it matters." A single tear makes its way down Fin's cheek, and she scrubs at it with the back of her hand.

"Don't guilt-trip me," Lars whispers, shaking her head.

They stand there, staring at each other, cookie dough forgotten, and then Lars swears under her breath and walks into the hall. Fin hears her open the closet. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

And before Fin can do anything to stop her, the door opens, shuts, and it's quiet in the apartment.

Fin throws the half-finished cookie dough away.

~

sorry. ;-;