two dissecting seeds of doubt

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         THOUGH HER MOTHER'S JOURNAL WAS IN HER POSSESSION, SHE DID NOT OPEN IT. She was ready before, more than ready, desperate for any piece of information about her father and why exactly Elena Nelson felt like she had no choice but to end her life. It was those mysteries of her origins that she could never forget, even though she had tried.

And she did! Truly, Maddox did try to forget about them because that was her past and even though they were involved in the making of her, they weren't apart of her life. Maddox could barely even remember what her mother looked like, only flashes of the same red hair and some freckled skin, and she hadn't the faintest idea of what her father could resemble.

Natalia and Joanna told her that they didn't matter, because she had a family with them. And wasn't it wonderful? Yes, it was wonderful. The best parents she could ever ask for, with an annoying but lovable brother. It was right from a sitcom.

And it was enough.

...Well, it should've been enough. Because in a perfect world, maybe she would've been able to forget all about them and not care about her origins. Or in a perfect world, she would know everything. And maybe there was a universe where she was raised by her birth parents and the names of Joanna, Natalia, and Foster meant nothing to her. There were many possibilities, even if she didn't exactly like the last one.

But it wasn't enough for her. Maddox loved her life and her parents, their house, their neighbors, her school, her friends, and everything there could be to love...but this still lingered in her mind. She needed to know. It was unexplainable, but she had to know.

So she would reach for the journal, see her mother's name, see the warning message, and she would stop. Hesitate. Then a seed of doubt would be planted in her head again, and she would stop, close the book, and occupy her mind with something else. Anything else.

The warning startled her. It made her hesitate and question everything; whether or not she wanted to know the truth, whether or not it was really worth it. Some secrets were best left in the dark, sure, and maybe this was one of them. But she knew she couldn't live not knowing either, so there lies the conundrum.

It fed at her endlessly, disrupting her daydreams and taking her focus again right before bed. Sometimes when she watched movies with her family, or ate dinner with them. And she would think, what if Elena was there? What if it was the two of them? Or what if her father in the scene as well? And how would her life be different then?

It never left her alone.

But summer was coming to an end, only a few more days, and soon she would have endless distractions to keep her from the journal. There was be schoolwork, there would be parties, there would be Zenia and the Weasley twins, and classrooms to spray paint in rebellion.

"Out of all the outlets for your art, why do you choose the illegal one?" Fletcher asked her, sitting on the ground as he stared at what she was in the middle of creating.

She shrugged. "It's more fun when there's a risk of getting in trouble," she answered, because there was such a thrill. Sketching and painting was fun, a great representation of her artistic expression, but nothing quite captured her essence as this. Tagging a wall, using spray paint, and defaming a building.

It felt most like her than anything else.

"Oh no, completely safe and legal expression of art. How terrible," Fletcher rolled his eyes, standing up and crossing his arms, standing beside Maddox. "What are you even spraying?"

"You'll see," she gave him a wink, laughing a little at his unamused expression.

He looked around nervously and she scoffed at him. "No one's gonna notice us. We're on top of a building, it's dark, and no cops patrol the area."

"That you know of. Maybe this one evening they felt like taking a stroll and notice us and we don't have the chance to run away," he rambled, "Then mum'll be pissed at me and ground me forever, probably beat me too, and I really don't want that."

"Fletcher, I highly doubt that any of that will happen," she told him calmly, "You're being paranoid again."

"And you're doing something that could get us in a lot of trouble again," he jabbed back at her. "Excuse me for not wanting to go to jail so young. I have dreams, Mads, ambitions for the future which I can't do if I go to jail."

"We're not going to jail."

"We could."

"But you're not."

"You can't be sure of that."

Maddox gave him a look, "I promise you that you will not go to jail tonight or ever while you're with me."

"You can't promise me that," and at that point, she thought he was just being difficult for the sake of it. "Dean, you're not omniscient."

She jabbed him with her elbow in his ribs, smiling a little when he yelped. "It's Dean-Valance, you dick."

If anything, her move got him to shup up about being arrested and he took another seat on the ground. She got back to work without distraction and there was silence between them. It was a warmer summer night and this made her feel alive. Fifteen, sixteen in a new months, and alive right here and right now.

Fletcher may not enjoy this thrill, but it made her feel alive. She reveled in every second of this; in the night air, the starry sky, the fumes of the paint, the masterpiece in works before her, and a breeze. This was what she wanted forever.

"So, started that journal? From Elena?"

Maddox turned her head slightly to look at Fletcher as her cheeks flushed. "No," she admitted in an embarrassed low.

He blinked at her. "Are you telling me that you made me go into your mother's closet for you find this shit and you haven't even looked at it? I risked being killed by Natalia for you to just keep it in your room to cuddle with at night and nothing else?"

"Ma wouldn't have killed you, and I don't cuddle with it. That's weird," Maddox frowned, "I just...I don't know where to start."

"The first page is always where I start reading," Fletcher said in a tone of artificial helpfulness, "But I think that's where you're supposed to start, so I doubt Elena would've put the beginning in the middle."

"That's not what I meant," she rolled her eyes, "I just don't know anymore."

"Maddox, in the entire time I have known you, you have wanted to know more about your dad. Even though I thought you were joking half the time. Now you have the opportunity to get what you want, so why are you waiting?" Fletcher asked.

"Because Elena left a warning," she admitted more, "Elena said that he's a very bad man so I don't know if should read her journal. I don't think I'll like my answer."

"But at least you'll have an answer."

"Thought of that too. I don't know, I'll read it eventually. I just need to work up the courage to do so," Maddox sighed. She kicked herself mentally because courage was what she excelled at. She never had any fears or hesitation; she just did. But now...now, she was hesitating, and for what?

Because her father was a very bad man, because she shouldn't go looking for him? Maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe Elena was exaggerating. Maybe he was a fine man but he just wronged Elena. She didn't know what was true, or what she wanted to be true. But she was still scared of knowing the truth and not liking it.

"Mads," Fletcher snapped his fingers until she turned around to look at him, "Whether or not he's a bad guy, you're still a good person. If that's what you're scared of, you shouldn't be."

She gave him a weak smile, very un-Maddox Dean-Valance of her, but it was all she could manage at the moment. "Thanks," she told him, because that helped a little. It didn't clear up everything, but it was something. She cleared her throat, "I'm going to do it. I will."

"Good," he nodded, "I need me sticking out my neck for you and almost getting murdered to mean something."

"You weren't almost murdered. They didn't even know what we did," she rolled her eyes, "Honestly, you're so dramatic."

"I could've died!"

"I wouldn't have let you," Maddox disagreed, "I wouldn't let you die, anyway."

"Maddox, while I believe you could become a spy and take over the world, I don't think you can talk Death into not taking me. When it's my time, it's my time," Fletcher shook his head softly.

"Well, Death hasn't met me yet, and I don't give up my friends without a fight," she disagreed, eyes ablaze, "And...do you really think I could take over the world? Because that would totally be cool!"

They shared a small laugh together, and she shook the can for more paint to come out before continuing her masterpiece. It was far from her best work, those always came during art class when she really took the time to make everything perfect, but it was one of her favorites. This was freeing...this was the expression she craved that nothing else could ever bring.

She wasn't a woman of many words, they always got stuck in her brain instead of flowing onto the page, and a painting always felt constricting – no matter how big the canvas. And there were rules, expectations, the way in which art was meant to be created. But here, on the rooftop of a building, with just a wall and her best friend, the possibilities were endless.

The only things she couldn't create were the ones she couldn't think of.

✧

SHE SNUCK BACK inside the house too late in the night. If either of her parents knew she was gone, they would probably have filled out a missing persons report or gone around town searching for her. Joanna would be in hysterics while Natalia would be threatening her life in Russian for scaring them half to death.

Foster would probably laugh knowing that Maddox wasn't taken or running away, just sneaking out for some less than legal activities. Red paint was on her fingertips from the spray cans and she muttered a curse to herself, knowing that no amount of scrubbing in the shower was going to make it disappear without raising suspicion.

Still, she scrubbed her hands relentlessly in the sink and rubbed her fingers raw. There was no sound in the house other than the ones she was making, creeping along from the bathroom into her room, closing the door softly – or as softly as a creaking old door would go.

When she turned around into her room, her eyes darted to under her bed where she hid the journal in a box with other items just for herself. She bit her lip, feeling the tiniest bit of guilt rise in her for stealing the journal when clearly her parents didn't want her to have it, but angrily shook off the guilt quickly.

Elena left it for her – it was her journal now, and she was meant to have it but they were keeping it from her. They were debating about whether or not to ever give it to her. She didn't have to feel guilty for taking what was rightfully hers.

Yes, she took it without them knowing. Yes, she wasn't planning on ever telling them that she had the journal. Yes, she went into their room and mum's closet to get it – but it was hers. She was only taking up what was meant for her, nothing that belonged to them.

She may have done some wrong, but it was for her own good. For hers.

Without thinking, she pushed herself down to the ground to get out the box and then the journal. She was going to read it. She was going to learn the identity of her father because Elena left it for her to know, and she had the right to know.

I met your father while my mother was in the hospital. I had been there night and day waiting on her because she was so sick and they didn't know when she'd pass, but one of the nurses convinced me to get a coffee. I needed one because I hadn't slept in far too long, and I was delirious enough to be convinced, and that's where I met him...