#indulging my inner addams and it's great

[dragons-bones]

it is the most wonderfully, beautifully gloomy New England day today. heavy fog everywhere. gentle misting into drizzle and back into mist. chilly enough to need a light jacket but you can leave it unzipped. just close enough to the ocean to smell high tide as it rolls in, that salt-seaweed pungence cut by the rain enough to make it almost pleasant.

if the shadow of an elder god loomed out of the fog as it briefly stepped onto this plane of existence, i would be neither surprised nor frightened. just part of the ambience.

absolutely fucking glorious.

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (20/?)

AO3

Janis shifts a little on the armchair, giving Maddie more room in her lap and giving herself more space to breathe. They’re sharing one chair in the lounge, Maddie pressed against her chest and her arms around her waist, their eyes on the TV in front of them. Janis had almost forgotten about early afternoon cartoons, or had at the very least believed they were a part of her life she’d never revisit, but she walked in on some of the other kids watching them in and she’s happy to say they have the same effect on her eighteen year old self as they did her ten year old self. Even if she does constantly need them explained to her but hey, she’s old now. She has the sleep schedule to prove it.

“I wish they’d let us watch Netflix in here,” Maddie sighs. “They say we’re not allowed it because too many people would be taking advantage of it, and that since it’s a private company we can’t watch it on a public TV.” She leans her head against Janis’s shoulder. “And because they think we’ll watch age inappropriate stuff on it.”

“That’s a valid concern,” Janis tells her. “Because I just know you watched Insidious last week and then lied to your mother about it.” She squeezes Maddie around the waist, eliciting giggles from the younger girl. “Don’t even try to deny it. Besides, cartoons are more fun than horror movies.”

Maddie hums and doesn’t deny it nor does she disagree, her feet swinging innocently on the side of the chair. Janis rests her cheek against her head, the beanies and scarf gone today. It isn’t-or rather it shouldn’t be-something unusual. While it isn’t exactly common, she’s seen a few people around the ward hatless. Not like they have anywhere to go. Janis is just still getting used to this part, and wearing a hat every day is one hurdle. She supposes she’ll jump that one when-and if-she comes to it.

She heads back to her room a little later-the good cartoons are over and most people, including her, have rounds scheduled pretty soon. She wants back arm-in-arm with Maddie, a gesture she hasn’t taken since her middle school days. There’s a lot she loves about her new friendship with Maddie-it’s probably as close to having a younger sister as she is ever going to get-and one of the best parts of it is how she can fully indulge the inner 13 year old that still lives inside her. She hadn’t realised how fun letting that part of her out would be.

She throws herself down on the bed with some amount of grace when she gets in, twisting roughly onto her back and reaching for her phone with one hand while blindly getting a rice cake out of the packet with the other. She waits while the various social media apps alert her to new notifications-a celebrity posted on Instagram, someone liked her tweet, she’s gotten another anonymous message on Tumblr… the usual stuff, basically. She scrolls through idly, just about to all down the rabbit hole until-

“Janis!”    

“Never mind,” she sighs. When she switches off her phone, her mom is at the foot of her bed, her door still slightly open and her eyes glittering. Janis would simply offer a raised eyebrow and a dry remark, were it not for the two at her mom’s side, a man and a woman a few years younger than her mom, both dressed in white polo shirts and jeans. They give off slight camp counsellor vibes in those outfits. The man carries a cardboard box under his arm, stamped with black crowns, and they have the same soft yet ecstatic grin that the Cancer Centre people do.

“Uh… Hi?” she says, sitting up. She half-raises her arm into a wave. “I’m Janis?”

“Is this a bad time?” The girl asks in a low voice, and it’s not clear whether she’s talking to her or her mom. Any feelings of fatigue or lazy desires are chased away in an instant, and Janis sits up taller and raises her chin, her own smile plastered across her face. Just a hint of spite, enough to get her message across.

“Not at all,” she says, and she slides her phone into her pocket. “What’s up?”

“Oh well, we’re from the Rapunzel Foundation,” the man explains. Janis blinks for a second, and then

“The wig people,” she says.

“For convenience’s sake, you could say that” he replies and Janis’ eyes immediately fall to the box in his hand. It’s not overly big, but then it really wouldn’t need to be.

“Oh,” is all she can say. She swings her legs around the side of the bed and stands up, her hands shoved in her pockets. “Um… so I take it you… have it?” She shakes her head, huffing a laugh in the otherwise awkward pause. “Sorry, this is coming off like we’re in a drug trade.”  

“It’s fine, Janis,” he says. “But yes, we have your wig all ready for you. Well, wigs. We actually have a few you can look at.”

“Cool,” she mutters. He lifts the box, tilting it towards her, and it takes a second for her to nod. She slides back against the wall and wraps her arms around herself, taking a millisecond to check out her mom’s expression. She’s grinning like a mad woman; she thinks the last time she saw her mom that excited was at her last art show. She can’t blame her, she guesses, because it’s a big thing, isn’t it? After weeks of beanies, this is at least something new.

“Now we couldn’t get one that looked exactly like your hair before,” the girl explains. “You had a bit of a unique hairstyle.”

“Inimitable, that was the idea,” she says.

“And we aren’t allowed to dye these wigs for safety reasons,” she goes on. “But… we did make up a few others. Here, take a look.” Janis looks down and finds three wigs laid out on her bed. Her first thought is that they’re scarily realistic. They would be after all; they’re all made of real human hair. That’s why Regina now has a bob despite swearing to her once she’d never do that.

Then comes the terrifying thought-holy crap what if one of these is made from Regina’s hair?

Being bald might be better than wearing Regina’s hair. Scratch that, definitely would be.

She shakes her head. These wigs are darker than Regina’s hair; each one deep black to her brown, and she breathes. Her natural colour. One is long, curling slightly at the bottom. Kind of a Morticia Addams style, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth quirks up. The second is similar, albeit shorter and with side bangs, and then finally one that would reach to her shoulders, or just above, more waves than the first one. She remembers way, way back in middle school, before Regina talked her into another stupid decision. When her hair was dark black and held by sparkly silver hair pins.

“Can I try that one?” she asks, pointing at the third one.

She pulls up one of the visitors’ chairs, two pillows stuffed beneath her to reach the mirror, while the man-Anthony, she corrects-holds the wig behind her and brushes it out. It falls softly against his hand and her own itches to run her fingers through it. But her heart is in her mouth at the same time, and she has no idea why. She thought, when they first told her about getting the wig, that she’d be jumping at the chance. That she wouldn’t have the small but still present urge to tell them to pack it up and go.

“You ready?” Antony asks.

She closes her eyes and nods.

It’s heavier than she thought it would be. Antony’s fingers run along her face as he settles it and she fights the urge to flinch. She’s not good with this sort of contact at the best of times. He plays around with it a bit more, fluffing it and swishing it and who knows what else, as her fingers fidget on the arms of the chair.

“You can open your eyes now.”

When she does, the gasp escapes her mouth before she can stop herself. In the refection, she watches as she reaches up and fidgets with the stands that stop, as she thought, just above her shoulders. She looks at it for a long time, trying to work out how it looks. If it looks real or not.

“I look-”

She doesn’t want to say normal. It’s the closest word she can find to it and yet doesn’t want to say it. Luckily, her mom is there.

“You look like Veronica.”

“Oh no I don’t,” she sighs. “I do not look like Veronica.”  

“Sorry, who’s Veronica?” the girl asks.

“My younger sister,” her mom explains. “Janis’ aunt.”

“Who everyone swears up and down I look exactly like,” she adds. “And I do not.” Janis leans back in the chair and twirls the end strand round her finger. “I look good though.”  

“So does that mean you’ll take this one?” the girl asks. “You can still try on the others if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Janis replies. She nods, a little to them, a little to her mom and a little to herself. “This is it. This is the one.”

She doesn’t really leave her room for the next few hours. Or the chair either, for that matter. The only serious move she makes is when she realises her nurse is coming in five minutes and that sitting staring intensely at a mirror is probably not a good way to greet her. She feels strangely self-conscious when the walks in, like the elephant in the room is doing cartwheels on top of her head. She taps her feet on the floor, waiting for the acknowledgement that never comes. She wonders if nurses often do comment on people’s wigs, or if that’s strictly a no-go area.

“Mom?” she eventually asks, a barely-eaten sandwich sitting in her lap and her IV neatly tucked in the corner. “Is this weird?”

“Is what weird?”

“This. Me sitting in front of the mirror all day.” She shrugs and takes a bite out of her sandwich. “I mean… you have to find it weird. I find it weird and I’m the one doing it.”

“Not at all,” she says, and then she breaks out into a grin. “You do look good, Janis. It’s a great wig.”

“Yeah.”    

“And… it’s a bit of a change, isn’t it?” her mom adds. “I suppose it takes some getting used to.”

Janis nods again. To say it’s a bit of a change is an understatement. This morning, it was patently obvious what was wrong with her. Now, while she’s still stick-thin and alarmingly pale and sitting in her pyjamas, she looks healthier. That’s the word she’ll replace normal with, she tells herself. She doesn’t look sick, or at least not really. Not that sick.

Should she be this happy about it? Surely it’s a good thing, right?

“Mom I need you to promise me something,” she says.

“Anything.” There’s a serious tone to her mom’s voice that she shouldn’t find funny but does.

“If I am still sitting here an hour later, smash my head into this mirror,” she jokes. She takes another bite of her sandwich and brushes crumbs out of her wig. She hasn’t done that in weeks, she realises, and while it’s a stupid, tiny thing it, it excites her. The thrill sparks deep inside her chest and makes a laugh bubble out of her mouth. “Or maybe give me an hour and a half,” she adds.

                                                                                               *****

She FaceTimes Cady later that night and there’s no lying about her intention. It’s the same logic as Cady sending her a selfie of the cute shirt she just bought. There’s no harm in showing off.  Especially after she already spent most of today showing it off to her hospital friends. Melissa was polite enough about it, calling it pretty and commenting on how it doesn’t look like her hair from beforehand. But her words are short and carefully chosen, and Janis has to stop herself from staring at Melissa’s hair the whole time. Her real hair that hasn’t fallen out yet. She’s not jealous of her, it’s stupid to be jealous in circumstances like this, but she can’t help but feel awkward about it. Still, Melissa grins at her when she puts it on and pokes her in the stomach, telling her she looks “hot” and even comparing her to Winona Ryder’s 1980s years.

“Now that’s a compliment,” Janis had told her.

Maddie on the other hand is much more animated, stroking it with a careful hand and wide eyes which dart to the hairbrush on the bed three times before Janis takes the hint and hands it to her. She’s a little unsure about it really, but it’s sitting on a stand on the end of the bed and what harm can one little girl do to it? Especially when the one little girl is Maddie.

She checks herself in the camera once more, telling herself it’s the last time. She pulls it down just a little bit only to shift it back again. It sits comfortably on her head, the dark strands falling into her view when she bends down and the bangs ruffling when she blows up. She spent more time than she cares to admit sitting on her bed blowing them earlier today.

“You really need a hobby,” she tells herself, out loud, before she hits the call button. As she waits, she taps her fingers on the mattress and finds herself suddenly aware of the sketchbooks she slid under her bed. She told herself she needs a hobby, but doesn’t she kind of already have one? Or rather, she had one. When was the last time she picked one of her books up? A cold feeling settles in her stomach. Sometimes her life here can get pretty busy, but she was also kept busy outside of here and she always made time to draw.

“Janis!” Cady replies, pulling her out of her thoughts. The audio cracks and crickles as they move through their house, the picture freezing and jumping. “Hey, what’s up, sorry I was downstairs.”

“No, it’s fine,” Janis replies. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” they say. “Not I was just doing homework at the table. I just got in from tutoring a half an hour ago and I couldn’t be bothered walking all the way upstairs.” The wall behind them turns from dirty white to baby blue, and Cady’s bedroom door with a hundred jackets hanging on it closes behind them. “Okay, so what’s-woah.” Their eyes go wide, and Janis chuckles. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, it is,” Janis replies, pushing her hair away from her face. “I hope you’re talking about the wig and nothing else. Although it would be remiss of you not to notice the new lights around my bed.”

“I’ve noticed the lights. I suggested the lights,” Cady says. They flops down onto their bed, one knee tucked up against them and their chin resting on it. Their smile slowly stretches across their face. “You look good, it looks good. When did it happen?”

“Only today,” she says. “Which is weird because I was told about it a while back. You know it was made from real human hair.”

“Cool,” they breathe. “So is that… is that what your hair was like before you dyed it and shaved it and… did all that to it?”

“All that,” she replies. “You sound like my Catholic grandma.” She ruffles her wig and lets the hair land on her face. “But yeah. If we had met in middle school… pre-Regina, obviously… I would have looked like this.”

“Wow,” they whisper. “Imagine we had. You and me meeting in middle school. You’d have hated me.”

“You’d have hated me,” she replies. “I was Plastic, remember? Or at least, I was baby plastic. And I had some really embarrassing obsessions at that time. Had we been really good friends, I’d have forced you to come to Hot Topic with me.”

“Well thank goodness you’ve outgrown that,” Cady says dryly. They laugh, but then Janis imagines it, a much-younger her with a much-younger Cady, both more innocent in some ways, less interested in high school cliques. It might be pointless fantasizing about it, but it’s fun all the same. “It looks gorgeous Janis. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks turn pink and warm as she rests her face on her fist. “So how was school?”

“Oh, fine,” they reply. “I’ve… dropped some of my tutoring subjects. Today was my last day with little Ruby.”

“Oh no,” Janis says. “Um… why was that?”

“Well, if you want a visual.” The camera tilts and dips as she gets up, and for a second freezes on her halfway extended past it, before it jumps and she’s holding a piece of paper in front of it, practically covered in black pen and coloured marker. It hurts Janis’ head just to look at. “This is my schedule pre-cancellations.” They switch pages, now showing her a much cleaner page, more plain white blocks. When she looks closer and the camera focuses, she sees ‘free time’ written on them in lilac. “This is my schedule now.”

“Ah, I see,” Janis says. “You pencilled in some free time.”

“I was drowning,” they sigh dramatically, throwing their head back, tossing their hair and waving their arm for the full effect. “Now I’m just floating. Instead of being significantly more stressed than the average senior, I’m just normal stressed.”

“Aw good for you my little stressed fish,” Janis jokes, leaning forwards on her elbow and cupping her chin. “So? Stress huh?”

“So much stress,” they reply. “I just… no I’m coping.” They shake their head and Janis bets there’s a hundred, if not a thousand, invisible formulae and equations dancing in front of Cady’s eyes. “Once I get to winter break, then I’ll be good to go. And then I can direct much more of my attention to you babe.”

“Good, because I’m feeling real attention deprived over here,” she replies, only for the smile on Cady’s face to drop slightly. “Okay, no I’m not. Although having said that, my mom is starting to ease up on me and it’s a little weird. She hasn’t checked in on me in twenty minutes. I think she may be dead.”

“That sounds like a record,” Cady replies. “Oh! Speaking of records, guess what?”

“Um… you just broke the record for whoever can make their girlfriend jump the highest?”

“No,” they reply. “So the Mathletes and I have our first tournament coming up! We qualified for state championships and our first contest is on December 14th. It’s against the Saint Paul’s team.”

“Ah. The private school,” Janis replies, wrinkling her nose. While the main rivalry has and always will be between North Shore and Merrymount, there’s always been a lingering disdain for the private schools they compete against. “Make sure you kick them right in their plaid skirt covered asses. Also how did you get that from records?”

“Well, breaking records is like a contest, right?” they reason. “And I plan on setting the ‘record’ for the Mathlete captain with the most wins under their belt.” They grin then, and there’s a wicked gleam in their eye that while Janis loves, she finds it just a little bit unsettling. “Starting with those spoiled little rich kids.”    

“Oh this competitive streak of yours is so hot,” she whispers, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. It’s almost silky smooth against her skin and out of nowhere she wonders; had her hair beforehand ever felt like this? Her eyes widen as she realises she can’t remember. It hasn’t been that long in the scheme of things since she lost her hair, she just never paid attention. Why would she? Not like she could have seen this coming. If she had, would she have taken more notice? Would she have stopped taking it for granted? Stopped overthinking the way she looks? She supposes she can put those questions to bed now that she has this.

“Uh… Janis? Earth to Janis!”

“Woah, yeah, hi,” she says. She straightens herself up, her back squarely against the bed board, and shakes her head. “Sorry, um, went down the rabbit hole for a minute.”

“See anything nice down there?” Cady smiles, and their tone is light with a slightly sarcastic edge, but even with the poor quality video, Janis can see the worry around her eyes.

“No white rabbits, no mad tea parties either,” she mutters. “Beginning to think there was some false advertising going on.”

“Take that up with Disney,” Cady says dryly. “They lied to you.”

They talk for a bit more, about stupid, meaningless stuff like school and math and Maxie (that last one isn’t so meaningless), and over time Janis turns onto her side, her phone gently balanced between her mattress and her arm. Janis feels their time coming to a close; with her next round approaching and Cady probably having to go do actual productive stuff. Still she feels reluctant to let them go, especially when little nagging doubts hang at the back of her mind and desperately beg for reassurance. She bides her time even with them, waiting until they’re both quiet, when she can’t bring up something else and stop herself from asking. She feels stupid asking, but she can’t not ask it either.

“So…” she finally asks. “You like the wig?”

Cady smiles and Janis hears the rush of her exhale crackling against the mic.

“I do,” they reply. “I really do. You look good, Jan.” Janis grins at that, a weight lifted off her chest that she hadn’t realised was there. “And you like it too?”

“Of course,” she replies. “I mean, what’s not to like? I look hot. And it… feels good, I guess. It feels nice to have hair again.” She bites her tongue before she can say anything else. Cady doesn’t need to know about anything else, about how this is probably the closest to looking (and feeling) normal she’s gotten in a long time. All Cady needs to do is be happy here. “Kay, I’ll let you go, babe. See you later.”

“See you,” Cady says. But just as Janis is about to press the hang up button, Cady interjects, “Janis?” Her finger pauses a hair’s length from the screen. “I love the wig, seriously. But I also… you looked great without it too.” They shrug awkwardly at that, their eyes avoiding her. “Just… thought you should know.”

They hang up before Janis can respond, and all she can do is sit and wonder how she would have responded to that.                

                                                                                       *****

She spends much of the evening in her bedroom, curled up in a ball with her chin on her pyjama-clad knees. Her most recent round was-for some reason-a particularly strong one, and as it pushed its way through her veins it took more and more out of her in return. She’s been assured time and again that this is normal, standard procedure, and that above all it means the medicine’s working, doing what it’s supposed to be doing. She should be glad of that, if that’s the case. But oh boy, does it make her feel crummy.

“Okay. Kitchen’s nearly closed, last chance to eat something,” her mom says. She’s standing in the middle of the room, hovering between her bed and the door, her hands wrung together. “You want something?”

Janis shakes her head and turns onto her side as her stomach twists once again, a shiver running through her body. She looks at the wall, the TV on playing some show she’s long since stopped paying attention to.

“You sure, hon?”

In her mind, there’s a verbal answer, but in reality she only nods and pulls the covers tighter around her. Her mom folds her arms, her eyes flitting to the ground. Weeks ago she’d have insisted over and over again that Janis eat something, bargaining with her until Janis either finally gave in and agreed to pick at whatever meal she brought up or until Janis snapped at her and the argument fizzled out. Now though she just nods in understanding and brings her over a glass of water.

It’s less draining for both of them, but not by much.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she tells her. “Holler if you need anything.”

I’ll holler she means to say, but her throat is dry and tight and the words never make it past her cracked lips.

Her mom slips out the door, letting it click shut behind her and the sound of her footsteps is quickly lost in the evening buzz. Another thing her mom has learned about nights like these is to close the door on her way out and back in. You wouldn’t think it matters, but it does. The idea of talking feels alien to her at these points, and the only thing more impossible is getting up and shutting the door herself.

Quiet hums in the empty room, her ears ringing in it. It will pass, she reminds herself, like it always does, it’s just a question of when. In an hour, tomorrow morning, tomorrow night. She might spend the next 24 hours in this very same position, the only thing changing being the time on the clock. She has done that once or twice before. Lost whole days of her life half-sitting in a bed while other people flocked around her.

She takes a long, steady breath in as her insides roll again and goosebumps prickle on her white skin. She reaches over and manages to make herself lift the water sitting by her bed, taking it in in small, careful sips. She burrows further into the mattress and pulls the covers ever tighter around her as she searches for an extra semblance of warmth. As she wriggles, her wig slowly slides off her scalp, the longer strands sticking her pale, sweat covered neck.

With her free hand, she weakly reaches up and grabs a fistful of it; what once felt soft and beautiful now feels tatted and coarse in her clammy grip. She sits for a while, curling and uncurling her fist before, in one swift motion, she pulls it off her head and lets it drape across her lap, having no need for it now. It’s just for show after all, she realises, and who would she be showing off for now?                                                                                        ******

When she wakes up the next morning, she only feels a little bit better, and she panics when she realises the day that’s in it. It’s Friday, marked on the little calendar beside her bed as “Damian and Cady day”. She did that not long ago, when the support group suggested reminding herself what she has to look forward to. It felt like a good idea at the time, but now the glitter pen sits and mocks her. Cady and Damian are coming today, and she feels like she’s been dragged through a bush and then thrown in front of a bus.

She pushes herself upwards, blinking in the overhead lights, and rests her chin on her fist. Maybe she isn’t as bad as she thinks she is. Certainly, last night sitting up like this would have been near impossible, so that’s a win. And she feels up for trying to eat at least, although whether or not she could finish it is yet to be seen. Still, it’s an improvement, right? That has to count for something.

“Baby steps, Janis,” she reminds herself. “Just… baby steps.” She pushes herself around so that her feet dangle over the side of the bed, her legs stiff and sore from the lack of movement from yesterday, not to mention cold air nipping at them. The heaters should be coming on any minute now. She grips the side of the mattress tightly, her palms pressing hard into the surface until they hurt. Her eyes don’t move from one spot on the wall, a trick she learned early on. Although this time it isn’t to stop the room from spinning, it’s to stop herself from backing out. She breathes out slowly, the air creeping past her gritted teeth, and stands up.

She surprise herself, even with the near tumble she takes when she gets there. But not eating for twelve consecutive hours will do that to you, she supposes with a shrug, and she stretches out her body, not bothering to hide the groans and sighs of relief as she does so.  The feeling comes back into her hands as she shakes them out before checking herself in the mirror. She’s not completely fine with it; dark smudges still sit beneath her eyes, her skin still as white as the sheets on her bed, but she can work with this. She can build herself back up from last night.

Especially now that she’s got this.

She turns around and soon spots the wig sitting on the stand clipped to the end of her bed. Since she doesn’t remember picking it up and was certainly in no state to be doing so, she guesses her mom must have done so. When she picks it up, she finds it brushed out too, and makes a mental note to thank her mom for it.

She throws it on herself and pushes the bangs slightly out of her eyes before looking back up. It’s amazing, really, the difference this thing makes. With this, plus a few tricks with her make-up, she could probably pass for healthy. Or at least, not as sick as she actually is. The corner of her mouth turns up into a smile as she thinks about to; dares to dream about going out in public without sympathetic looks or pity-induced freebies being thrown her way. Is she wrong to be excited about this?

And the most important part; in front of Cady and Damian, she can look better, and that’s what she’s aiming for more than anything else.

                                                                                               ******

By that afternoon, she’s not where she wants to be, but she’s at a healthy middle at least. By that she means she can push through it and convincingly cover up the fact that her body is crumbling inside. It’s far from ideal, but she’s more than happy to stick with it. If it’s sucking it up for a few hours or losing one of the few times she sees her friends in person rather than on a video call, it’s a no brainer, really.

She keeps a bottle of water by her bed and another one close by, just in case, and spends the day carefully arranging herself in her bed, not so comfortable she’ll never get out but at the same time letting herself store up strength. It makes the day longer, all this sitting around and careful eating, and she has enough sense to know what she’s doing is ridiculous. And it makes her realise, again, how she can’t freaking wait for all this to be over. For there to be a time when she can hang out with her friends without having to feel like she’s putting on a show for them.

She just about remembers to put her wig on before they arrive. Gingerly, she lifts it from its stand and slips it on, her hands delicate and cautious, like she’s handling a live animal. She runs her fingers through it and pushes the bangs back slightly, away from her face. She does tend to look better when they’re like that. She tugs and pulls at it for a few seconds, and then the seconds become minutes, all the while she keeps an anxious eye on the clock. She can see them in her mind’s eye, crossing the lobby, getting into the elevator, the doors opening, and strangely she feels like she’s fighting against time as she gets ready.  

She’s just got it the way she wants when Cady pokes her head around the door, and she forces herself to breathe.

“Hey babe,” she says softly, tiptoeing swiftly across the floor and onto the bed, holding her hand out. A soft groan escapes Janis as Cady pulls her down and settles on top of her, equal parts careful and playful. Damian sits himself in the visitor’s chair with his feet up on her bed and his chin rested on his fist, giving her a small wink as he sits.

“Like the bandana,” she tells him, gesturing with her chin. Rather than a hat, his head today is covered by a yellow bandana, tied in a neat bow at the base of his head, and she vaguely recognises it, the memory like a fuzzy old video slowly becoming sharper. “Is that from Calamity?”

“Indeed,” he replies. “I was clearing out my closet and found it there. It’s neat, isn’t it?”

“Really neat,” she grins. “I’m just amazed it took you that long to fish it back out again. Wasn’t that show sophomore year?”

“Yes, and I feel horrible for neglecting her,” he sighs, fingering the edges. “I think I’m going to lean into the whole cowboy look now. I mean I already have the suspenders.”

“And an excuse to wear the funky hat,” Janis reminds him. “You know, I say go for it. If you can’t dress up like a cowboy during your senior year of high school, when can’t you?”

“Plus, if you get a boyfriend this year, you’ll be able to call him ‘partner’ without it sounding weird!” Cady adds in. There’s a momentary flicker across her face as soon as she says it, like she regrets it, but the moment Janis and Damian’s eyes meet they both bust out laughing, their eyes wide and their smiles even wider.

“Genius!” Damian declares. “I mean, we all knew you were a genius, but still. Genius!”

“Also does that make cowboys gay?” Janis adds. “If they had… ‘partners’?”

“Yes, cowboys are gay,” he replies. “That should be obvious to anyone.” Their laughter erupts again before slowly simmering down and Damian leans back while Janis swings her arm around Cady’s shoulders. Damian then opens his mouth only to close it again, his smile faltering and picking up again in the next second.

“And… speaking of headgear… might I say that the wig looks even cooler in person?” he says.

“Oh, this old thing?” She lowers her voice and imitates the old 1940s movie stars, tossing her hair over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes. She can’t deny the thrill that one of those actions gave her. “Oh, I just brought it out for you.”

“Well it looks stunning, doll face,” he replies, doing the same impression. Janis nods and hopes the glow on her cheeks is just in her mind.

“You know, those bangs really do suit you,” Cady remarks.

“Take your grievances up with eleven year old me who wanted to grow them out,” she sighs. “Eleven year old Janis made so many bad decisions.” Cady hums at that. Then her arm shifts behind Janis, and then her fingertips are touching the ends of her wig. It’s a discreet, delicate move, almost like she’s testing it out. In fact, it’s so light that Janis wouldn’t have known had she not caught it in the mirror. It’s not her hair after all. Just a replacement.

Her eyes meet Cady’s then, and hers are tinged with apprehension, a question in them. Janis replies with a smile and gently pulls her closer.

Even if it’s not her real hair, it feels almost the same.

Their time ends the way it often does, with Damian getting a text from his mom and looking sheepishly at the other two, giving them the silent signal that they have to go, even with half an hour left on the movie they stuck on. Cady sighs, dejected, but the unfinished movies have become a near-permanent fixture in their visits, so much so that Janis now knows not to put on a movie she had been meaning to show Cady, filing them for later.

“So I’ll call you tonight?” Damian asks.

“I look forward to it.” She pulls him into a tight hug, stretching on her toes only slightly. “See if you can find me a matching bandana in your closet, okay?”

“Deal.”

With that, and Cady’s goodbye kiss, she waves the two of them off, leaning on her door, half in the hallway, and watching them going. On a better day she’d walk them to the elevator, but just sitting down like that had depleted her. They both turn back to give her a final wave, and she has to laugh, and then they disappear around the corner.  

And then she lets out the most guilt-ridden sigh of relief there has ever been.

She turns around, groaning as the room tilts, and stumbles across to her bed. Her bedside water is nearly depleted, but the one under her bed is too far for her to reach. She can get it in just a minute, when the ringing in her ears stops and the room stops tilting, she decides. Even if she’d really, really love it now.

She buries her face in the pillow, her grip turning from tight to vice-like as she tries to block out her thoughts. Maybe if she falls asleep now, the water issue with disappear.

She must fall asleep, because when she opens her eyes again it’s an hour and a half later, and her throat is dry and cracked and her back is stiff. She pushes herself up into some half-sitting position and stretches herself out, her groan long and high and unapologetic. Not like anyone can hear her with the door closed and the people who could hear her probably don’t care. She pushes the curtain of hair away from her face before just pulling it off altogether and tossing it on the table. She’ll get round to fixing that sooner or later.

She wishes she could say that nap did her the world of good, but that isn’t really how it works. She needed it, yes, but now she feels like her brain has pins and needles and that her insides were shaken up. At least she won’t have any more visitors for tonight, she thinks, and so she leans back on her pillows, her hand clumsily reaching for her phone and her water.

There are two texts on the screen when she turns it on, one from Damian and one from their groupchat. She swipes the groupchat one away, seeing it’s from Gretchen and therefore probably not concerning her anyway, and after thinking on it for a second, she swipes Damian’s away too. She’ll come back to it when she feels like a person, she tells herself.

She blinks heavily and as she does, the screen comes into sharper focus and she sees the date across it. It’s the second last day of November, she realises with a sigh. Maybe she should have realised with the springing up of decorations and the darker skies and much longer nights. December is right around the corner and that thought brings none of the festive cheer it usually would. Instead all she can think is that she should have been getting out of here soon. If everything had gone according to plan, she’d be on her last few weeks. She’d probably be packing up to leave and throwing a goodbye party. Instead that’s all put off and she instead has another two months of this crap. And honestly, two months doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

Still, it’s at least halfway over, and when she feels up to it she’ll be happy about that.