Disagreeing Dialogue

Brienne didn’t snap awake as much as she slowly shifted from nearly-asleep to nearly-awake. The calming monotony of the game on the television and her parents murmuring to each other in the living room room was muffled and hadn’t paused in its droning. But the loud, staccato beeping sound followed by the bang of someone’s leg against the bed frame startled her enough to open her eyes. As soon as she did, Brienne could see the source of the bang, her sister’s silhouette standing at the foot of the bed, rubbing at her recently bruised shin.

“Are you alright?” she whispered, words so quiet that she worried for a moment they couldn’t be heard, but Clara still whipped around to face her. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could a muffled voice called out from the living room, drawing Clara’s attention.

“Did you really heat up the chicken in the microwave instead of pulling out a pan?” The voice was clearly Clara and Brienne’s father.

“We can’t all be master chefs! If it upsets you so damn much, why didn’t you get up to do it? Or you could’ve left some on the burner after the kids ate!” Clara straightened back up, and carefully started slinking towards the door to their room. Brienne quickly reached out, blankets slipping to the ground from the bed as she grasped Clara’s wrist tightly.

“What are you doing?” she mouthed, as Clara turned to face her, surprise and light annoyance on her face.

Their father’s reply, his careful enunciation slipping into the layers of insulation between them, cut off Clara’s words. “Well I would’ve if you’d told me what you were doing, and I knew you wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to keep—what is it this time, going over projections for next quarter?”

Clara jerked her thumb at the door, before cupping her hand to her ear. Brienne tilted her head and frowned. “I want to know what they’re saying! It could be important!” Clara mouthed, one arm sweeping wildly outwards. The voices in the other room were growing louder, vowels sliding together, but words sharply upright, tightly packed and claustrophobic. The exact message wasn’t clear, and it was still barely audible through the walls, but Brienne still had to resist slamming her hands over her ears, as the indistinct tones echoed through her head. Instead, she tugged back on her sister’s wrist, pulling her back towards the bed.

“Come on! We’ve got class tomorrow, go to bed,” she whispered.

Clara glared, and leaned closer, free hand cupping around Brienne’s ear as she spoke. “I want to know what they’re saying!” she repeated, joyful enthusiasm seeping into her tone. “Mom and Dad are always so careful to not wake us up, and Dad said they were probably going to fall asleep watching the game just a little after us but they didn’t!” Her voice broke with enthusiasm on the last word, coming out as a deafening squeak that had both girls turning to face the door, hands covering each other’s mouths.

The tempo of the words stayed the same, indistinct anger beating against the walls. The game’s announcers echoed out of the speakers, pace picking up as they spoke for the highlight reel. The crowd was silent, anticipation on the tip of their tongues.

“Come on Bri, they’re clearly distracted, they won’t even know we’re there! And I’ll go along with whatever you want next time!” Clara pleaded, head turning back towards the door even as she whispered. Brienne sighed, and let her fingers loosen, letting go of Clara’s wrist.

Up until then, their father had been nearly yelling. He had sounded angry. But now his tone shifted, the anger that had previously been matching the tone of the conversation suddenly pitched down, still shouting, but slower, more intentional, more real. “Don’t you dare imply that I’m not trying for the kid, or that any of this is because of her.”

The words faded slightly, the distinct edge of anger muffled by walls and a staticky cheer from the game, still playing from the same room. The words themselves slid into each other, and the lack of punctuation blurred everything but the residual anger. The girls stood up together.

As they crept through the door to the hallway, moving slowly so the creaking of the door was barely audible, the words became clearer again “I’ll do my best. Let’s just… let’s just watch the game for tonight, try to set it all aside.”

“You’re fucking deluding yourself if you think that’s gonna change anything.”

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