bexwlsn

[bexwlsn]

aaliyahxquinn.

She was confused. By the change in tone, by the way she looked as if something terrible was gonna happen, impending doom hanging above her head. For a split second, she didn’t know how to respond. But then it all kicked in, her senses taking over, her real personality pushing through. The less polite, less well-mannered one. “Oh you’re a partnership, yeah? Excuse me, but since when does partnership imply one party making all the sacrifices for the sake of the other? And don’t even try to give me that ‘he goes to work and brings in the money’ bullshit because that’s not a sacrifice on his part, that’s just a fast route men take to control their wives and keep them dependent and trapped.” Aaliyah sighs, looking over her nails, growing a distaste for the beautiful jacket she’d eyed for a while. She’d have given it back, everything she’d ever gotten from her – she’d given it all back if that was the case — if Richard had used his wealth truly to keep her cousin on a short leash. “He wants you to stay here? Why? Because the rest of your family is ghetto trash? Please.” a scoff and she crosses her hands over her chest, anger boiling within as if it was about to swallow her whole. She had moments like these, where she felt like she was on fire and the whole world could feel it. But she wasn’t and they couldn’t and all that was left for her cousin to see was the obvious dislike that now grew within her eyes towards Richard. She fucking hated men. “What do you want? Be honest. You can tell me you know, you can tell me anything. You know I won’t tell anyone, right? I swear. Not even nana. Just…what do you want Bex?” there must’ve been more to life than this, she was made for more than being a wife, everyone knew that perhaps everyone but her. “That’s just…not even the point.”

She doesn’t notice that she’s been gripping the table tightly, fingers wrapped around the edge, until a shooting pain goes through knuckles that have gone pale from pressure, and she lets go. The tenseness then is in her shoulders — and her voice, as she speaks cooly. Colder than she’s ever sounded around Aaliyah. “ I understand if you ... don’t like my relationship with Richard, because it’s different than what you expected, or I’m not ho — back, as much as you’d like. ” This is your home, now, Rebecca. It was her voice this time, reminding her a shallow mantra she commanded herself to follow, and Richard’s, a cruel reminder. “ But he is my husband, and I love him, and I want to be here. ” If Aaliyah was fire, her cousin was ice. Poised, and cool, and so close to cracking under the vaguest sense of pressure. God, she was so closed to shattering. “ He doesn’t think you’re ... ” She tenses, again, somehow even tighter. “ Ghetto trash. He just doesn’t understand, “ Voice doesn’t soften, but eyes do. “ So I am begging you to, Aali. ” A pause. Then, her voice isn’t cold and stiff with anger, but it morphs into something different, so distinctly un-Bex-like. It sounds vaguely reminiscent of her husband.  “ If you can’t, it might be better if you left. ”

[bexwlsn]

aaliyahxquinn.

For the very first time, possibly ever, Aali could almost palpate the restraint in her cousin’s voice. Almost as if she were afraid to say too much, or anything at all. It was unlike her – to be censored in any way. If anything, it was Aaliyah who was more tamed, the shy one in the family — and it worried her, it made her feel as though something was off and there was nothing she could do about it. Richard had his flaws, as all people do, but never until this exact moment did she wonder if his flaws may have been entirely too toxic for her cousin to breathe. “I know he’s particular an’ all, but if he didn’t want a West-side wife maybe he shouldn’t have married one. He has no right at this point to even suggest you not going home, especially if he likes all of us, no?” she knew that was a lie and so she began to wonder what else the other felt compelled to lie about. Perhaps Aali was blind to him, blind to his charm and gifts and sweet words every time she came by. ‘Good to see you Aaliyah, looking lovely today’ and ‘hope you’re joining us for dinner, we love having you around’ — point was, Richard knew how to make you feel comfortable and wanted and even though the high-class superiority practically oozed out of his pores, she’d never actually thought he’d felt the same way about their family as he did about the restaurant staff he was pretty much always displeased with. Impossible standards, or so she thought — but incredibly persistent at having them met. “You know — since he’s so worried, you can always come without letting him know. I mean, I’ll cover for you – we can say, we can say we’re having a spa weekend or something. He’s not got a tracking device on you, does he?” she bit her lower lip, trying her best to remain civil no matter how displeased she felt with the guy right now. “I get you — they’re all rich and pretentious and not nearly as interesting as they think they are. Well, fuck them….” she rarely cursed, after all, adjusting to the Eastside meant trying extra - extra hard to be accepted in the first place. “…we can have more than enough fun on our own, right? We always have.”

rebecca’s frown deepens, and this time her voice is serious, almost commanding — “ aaliyah. ” she warns, because in spite of all of richard’s flaws ... it still rubs her the wrong way to hear him talked about in anything but a positive way. no matter how much she would say all of it herself. there’s also that tiny bit of fear, that he’d somehow apparate behind them, shaking his head sadly as he looked at her with the same kind of displeased, patronizing look he always did when she did something wrong. she could imagine it now: oh, how could you let her say those things, rebecca? don’t you love me, rebecca? don’t you? it’s enough to make shoulders stiffen, and sigh fall from her lips, even though it isn’t happening — the accusation is all too familiar. she’s still at the kitchen table, talking to her cousin. “ he’s my husband. i can’t — i can’t be dishonest with him, you know that. we’re a partnership. and if he wants me to stay here ... ” she hadn’t been listening to richard, however, and she hates herself a little at the rejection of family time in the day-light, when she’s become no stranger to a seedy motel on business trip weekends. it’s a double life she doesn’t want to be living — not one in earnest desire to have the best of both worlds, but one where she gets the worst of each. “ i’m not going to lie to him. okay? but — if you want, we can go on an actual spa weekend. i’ll talk to him about it. ”  throwing money at the problem — that was one trait she’d picked up from her husband. 

[bexwlsn]

aaliyahxquinn.

It wasn’t that she hated Richard, after all, he was a hard man to hate. He was charming and wealthy and confident, for a while, she thought Bex was finally getting the love and attention she deserved. But then she dropped out of school, she locked herself up in her fancy new apartment and her visits became scarce until they stopped. Aaliyah assumed that she got busy — new life, new man, new friends, new money. Enough to keep anyone busy, too busy even for family. And maybe, with this new life — she didn’t want to be seen back in the neighbourhood. Something Aaliyah could hardly blame her for as she, herself, often hid where she was from simply to avoid the looks and the instant judgement that came with it. But somewhere, deep down, she knew none of these reasons were good enough to explain her sudden withdrawal, her heavy smile. And although she wasn’t the one to pry, Ali was worried. She had been worried for a while. “Protection from what? Your own family?” she raises a curious brow, her dislike for the man growing with every following word. “He does realise you grew up at the west side, right? Like, he can’t just change where you’re from and who your family is and that. And even if he could, he shouldn’t want to. Maybe if he actually came down with you every now and then, he’d realise we’re not that bad. Even if aunt Marcy does talk too much about…genitalia when she gets tipsy.” she smiles in a poor attempt to make the conversation less tense. “Besides, we’re taught from a young age to always carry a pepper spray and a shiv so really and truly, it would be his ass that needs protecting down where we’re from…” now she laughs, and her hand reached out for her cousins as if to reassure that no matter how long it took – they’d always be there if she needed them. No matter what. “Well, I didn’t come all this way to depress you now, did I? Besides it’s not like you’re missing much, people back home are either getting pregnant or dying so — at least you’re free to avoid both up here.” another sip of coffee and she relaxes back into her seat, a smile entering her cheeks as she spoke. “Well? Tell me about you! How is this new fancy life treating you? Any hot new friends I should know about?”

“ aaliyah ... ” she counters, voice exasperated. there’s still a whisper of sadness, however, as if sorrow lines each syllable. “ you know i want to come and visit. ” she does, she wants nothing more. she wants to walk on the curb on streets filled with beaters, a six-pack balanced on the shoulder of whoever walked next to her, cigarette dangling from her lips. she wants to set off fireworks in a cul-de-sac filled with weeds, leaned against chain-link fence as kids ran around with sparklers. she wants to hear aunt marcy mumble vulgarities after another drink, and she wants to sit out in the sun and laugh during barbeques, until the older cousins go on a walk so they can share a blunt. she misses it, so much that it hurts. so much that she feels it deep, deep enough that it’s finally something buried in hollow chest. but she can’t go back. she can’t. “ but you know how ... ” there are so many words she could say, as she thinks of pinprick tears in her eyes each time he rips apart her childhood home. it’s not safe, rebecca. just because you got out unscathed — god know if you did, really. he said, pouring himself another glass of scotch.  what’s that supposed to mean? she would ask, through tightened throat. she knew what he meant: that she still wasn’t cut out for the life he wanted. but he never raised his voice more than once, he never laid a finger on her. and he’d always wrap his arms around her later, wiping a tear of her cheek. i love you, rebecca, i’m sorry. why don’t you invite aaliyah for dinner this weekend? she rips herself out of memory, tapping fingers against the table. “ ... particular he can be. but you know all of you are invited over here any time. i haven’t forgotten about you — and, and he likes all of you. ” she added, maybe too quickly. “ no hot friends. at least not anyone you’d be interested in. they’re all very ... ” she pauses, twisting her wedding ring absently. they’re all very much like richard. 

[bexwlsn]

aaliyahxquinn.

@bexwlsn

Bex had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. She was that older sister Ali always wished she had, the cousin that she could look up to and admire both from a distance and up-close. When her brother was sick and her mother focused on making sure he was alright at the hospital – Aaliyah would spend nights at her aunty’s house, surrounded by cousins and toys and laughter. It softened the blow of losing a brother, knowing that she still had a family. And Bex was brilliant – she would allow her to borrow her clothes, even if at the time they did not fit. She taught her how to properly take care of her hair, how to put on the eyeliner and walk in heels. She loved her, more than words could describe, and lately she worried for her. That spark she once had in her eyes, seemed to have been replaced by something else – something she could not qute understand. After trying on the branded leather jacket Bex had bought for her, she could not take the smile off her face. Luxury was still something she wasn’t used to, and deep down she felt guilty for not having much to give back. “Thank you, I really really love it! Honestly, it’s perfect. I’ll put it away before I make it dirty.” she chuckles, folding the jacket before placing it neatly into a fancy bag. Her eyes then move from the coffee cup, up to her cousin and back to her coffee once again. “Mom made you some of her famous chocolate chip caramel cookies, she would have come too but the hospital called so she had to rush.” a sip of hot coffee and she bites her lip. “So, how’ve you been? How’s Richard? When will you be coming down West for a barbaque? We miss you, you know…”

there’s a certain sort of sadness laced into her words — and her expression — as rebecca gazes at her cousin. she remembers sleepovers where she commanded all the younger cousins to build blanket forts and clean her room, aaliyah on the bed next to her as they giggled over scrambling baby cousins putting away shoes and makeup. rebecca had always been too big for her britches — though back then, she’d stolen eyeshadow palettes and high heels, and now they were bought with the swipe of a credit card, not so much as a glance given to total. it was strange, and it was different: it had made her different. now she saw worn tee shirts attached to fragile frame and brought gifts to replace them. in this case, a new leather jacket, but it was always something else too. a new set of makeup brushes, hardcovers of her favorite books, a new cell phone or a designer bag. you spoil her like she’s your kid, rebecca. we don’t have kids, in case you’ve forgotten, which my parents keep bringing up at every luncheon — she’s a grown woman, honey. richard would chide her, but he’d have already moved on by the time she opened her mouth to speak. if it makes you happy, i’ll drop it. i’ve already dropped it, actually, it’s your choice. the sadness in big brown eyes deepens as thank yous dissolve into where are yous, and rebecca can feel nausea brewing in her. “ well, tell her thank you. for making them and remembering they’re my favorite. ” voice was slow, gentle — she was grateful, but she’d be throwing them away. she knew richard would be looking at her with a raised brow, hypercritical as ever: should you really be eating that? “ i’m good. richard is ... ” richard. “ doing well too. ” she says tidily, hands folding together. then, her voice softens, and her eyes do too: empathy instead of sorrow. “ ali, you know i want to. but — rich, he doesn’t like me going over there alone. i’ve tried telling him i’m safe, but ... i can’t. and ... ” you know he doesn’t like going there, she wants to finish. he thinks it’s beneath them. and now, with diamond jewelry dangling from her ears, expensive cars in the garage, a prada bag ...  why doesn’t she ? 

[bexwlsn]

an introduction.

BASIC

NAME: Rebecca Aaliyah Wilson (neé Jackson) NICKNAMES: Becca, Bex, Beck. Nowadays, she’s solely called Rebecca. AGE: Twenty-eight. BIRTHDAY: January 1st, 1991. SPECIES: Human, GENDER: Cis!female. PRONOUNS: She/her.

FAMILY

MOTHER: Rachel Jackson. FATHER: Marcus Jackson. PARENTS: Together, stable. Currently living in the West side. FAMILY:   SIBLINGS: Two brothers, both older.

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

FACE CLAIM: Nathalie Emmanuel. RACE/ETHNICITY: Half Dominican, half white English. NATIONALITY: American. HEIGHT: Five foot six inches. BUILD: Slim/athletic. HAIR: Curly/coily, grown out. Dark brown. FACIAL HAIR: None. HAIR COLOR: Brown. EYE COLOR: Brown. DOMINANT HAND: Left. ACCENT: Basic American. ALLERGIES: Walnuts and cats.

LIFESTYLE

RESIDES: A penthouse apartment on the East side. BORN: West side, in a hospital. RAISED:  West side, in a single childhood home. VEHICLE: Formerly a beat up pickup truck she shared with her father, now a Mercedes Benz and a Range Rover. PHONE: The latest iPhone model, always. LAPTOP/COMPUTER: Again, whatever the latest and best is. PETS: None, but she’s always wanted a dog. Her husband says they shed too much.

HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: Graduated. COLLEGE EDUCATION: Undergraduate/Bachelor’s in pre-med, one year of medical school. CAREER: Unemployed. EMPLOYER: N/A. OTHER: N/A.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The East side, formerly the Anarchists. RELIGION: None, presents as non-denominational Christian for her husband’s sake. BELIEFS: Nothing, really. CRIMES: Trespassing and burglary as a child/teen, none recently. DRUGS: None currently, smoked pot in high school. SMOKES: Will sneak the occasional cigarette, has smoked since she was 15. ALCOHOL: Yes, but never to excess. DIET: Currently a vegetarian, used to be horrible.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual. MARTIAL STATUS: Married. CHILDREN: None, but currently being pressured to. AVAILABILITY: Is currently having an affair. LOOKING FOR: Someone to truly love her.

LANGUAGES: English, Spanish.

PHOBIAS: Spiders. HOBBIES: Nothing, she’d bored all the time. TRAITS: Dishonest, obedient, negative. SOCIAL MEDIA: All of them you can think of, perfectly curated.

FAVOURITE

LOCATION: Her childhood home, though it’s not admitted. GAME: She doesn’t have time for games. MUSIC: Classical nowadays, though she was a heavy metal fiend in high school. SHOWS: Now she watched mostly cooking shows, but not much else. MOVIES: She doesn’t really watch movies anymore, but she used to LOVE the Fast and the Furious franchise. Anything with explosions. RADIO STATION: She doesn’t listen to the radio, she has all the subscription services. FOOD:  It’s really macaroni and cheese, but she tells people it’s spinach. BEVERAGE:  Hot black tea. COLOR: Creme or burgundy.

CHARACTER

MORAL ALIGNMENT: True neutral.�� WESTERN ZODIAC: Capricorn, cancer moon.  HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin.  TV TROPES: Gold Digger.  SONG: idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish. 

BIOGRAPHY

GROWING UP, SHE WAS BEX. Skinned knees and raggedy clothing, a gap toothed smile as she could shimmy under or in between any gap to open gate latches for friends or steal something from an unsuspecting neighbor’s yard. She could jump off of high points and land gracefully, she could move with the grace of a practiced ballerina ... in beat up converse. You’d be a gymnast if we had the fuckin’ money, her dad would say, tired eyes and tight smile through his second pack of Marlboros. Or you could join the goddamn circus and make us more, on the trapeze, her mother would lament. But then she stopped running around so much, and limbs became more gawky than graceful, and she was more invested in her school-work than anything. Sure, she wasn’t exactly unaccustomed to running wild still, or smoking a joint, or wearing a particularly low cut shirt to smile at the cashier at the seediest corner store and buy a twelve pack for her and her friends ... but she was always smart. Not a genius, mind you, but she turned in all her assignments, did well on all the tests, showed up to class on time.

She did well enough, well enough to go to community college and then transfer to a four year university, where she was BECCA. Short, still, casual — matching her dazzling smile and the fact that she was still quick on her feet in more ways than one, but more formal. Something the engineering students she flirted with could call her through sips of watered down beer, or her roommate could call out to her before asking which top she could borrow. In college, she worked even harder. In the last year of obtaining her pre-med degree, recently accepted into medical school, she met a boy.

And suddenly, she was REBECCA. He was smart, and he was charming, and he was safe. Most importantly: he was kind to her. He didn’t care where she came from. His voice was always soft, hand light as he touched her shoulder. Rebecca, he’d say, in a voice that reminded her of sugar cookies. So that’s who she was then: Rebecca. The name on her birth certificate, certainly, but not one she’d ever been called before. But when whirlwind romance, a new penthouse apartment paid for by his family, honeymoon vacation in a country she’d never even heard of ... nice wasn’t so nice anymore, and sugar cookies spent a little too much time in the oven. They were burnt, and charred and he was controlling. Don’t wear that, Rebecca, I know you didn’t grow up with these kinds of ... sensibilities ... his voice was soft, gentle, but now it felt like he was trying to calm down or comfort something caged. God fucking damnit, Rebecca. You humiliated me at that dinner. It’s like taking a fucking toddler out of the house. He informed her of all sorts of social conventions: how it was embarrassing for him to have her continue medical school, to have it seem like they both needed to work. So she dropped out. Her life is dull now, and the shiny newness of the East side has lost all it’s silvery allure. She’s deeply unhappy, and lonely, and afraid.