#well in any case. im awake. ive forgotten much of my dream.

[orcelito]

Mmmmm I feel like falling asleep listening to mother mother While lying on my left side... not the best idea

[iphoenixrising]

Window Seat

My soulmate @satire-please deserves all the love, so a bit more little Timmy with the Bats from here.

 **

The house is always quiet. Even when his mom and dad were home or Mrs. Mac was in the kitchen when he got home from school, the upstairs is always silent, like the museums where his parents donate what they find on digs. He thinks it’s always been like that.

No one ever goes to the upstairs attic, though. The dust is thick and settled, its’ own niche in Drake Manor. There’s one window to look out the back yard and off into the sea (and if you looked really, really hard, you could almost see Wayne Manor up on the bluffs, a dark silhouette in the dawn). The nights he didn’t go out into Gotham with his camera, he usually wound up here, squeezed into the non-existent seat to watch for the headlights of the large, black car that was unmistakable even in full dark.

And tonight, a few days after Robin saved him from a bad fall, and the extraordinary turn of events that put him in their direct path rather than an outsider that just knew their secret, he’s still waiting. At the time, he grudgingly turned over the box of photographs when Robin (Jason) and Nightwing (Dick) brought him home. They were working a hard case and would be gone for a few days, so he did what he was probably expected to do: promised to go to school and stay out of trouble.

He hasn’t gone out into Gotham, and hasn’t heard or bothered them since.  Which…is okay. It’s not a problem for him. He’s used to these kinds of things. Promises from grownups that never come to fruition. Coming home for his birthday. Taking him with them during Christmas break. Being there for the Science Fair.

Sometimes expectations fail. Sometimes you need another plan. Sometimes other things have to take precedent. All the real world truths.

So, it’s really okay. He gets it.

The vigilantes didn’t expect a kid to figure them out, not when they’ve got the whole world fooled. It makes sense they would want to give him something to look forward to, a “reward” for keeping quiet about their secret identities. (And it isn’t like he doesn’t realize how dangerous it is to know, how many of Batman’s enemies would come looking for him just to get the secret, how dangerous he is to them now just because he was too smart for his own good. He’s…he’s a liability.)

By the second night with no word, he’s convinced himself the whole thing is going to amount to checking in on him quarterly to make sure he keeps out of trouble, doesn’t call any attention to himself or them. It’s the adult thing to do. So, he’s going to give it a few weeks, wait until they’ve all but forgotten, and go back to his old haunts. He’ll have to be more careful they don’t catch him so he can’t slip up and accidentally almost kill himself again.

It’ll be fine. He’s got darker clothes to stay closer to the shadows and has been tinkering around with a shooting grapple gun like Robin used. He thinks he might have figured it out, but testing is really going to be the problem.

And…and it is fine (it’s disappointing but inevitable). They didn’t need some kid hanging around when they had criminals to stop and a city to save.

He’s sleepily convinced himself it was all for the best, he already had the one chance to live the life and shouldn’t be too greedy because the reality is nothing but trouble could come from stepping into their world. He could get hurt or die, he could get them hurt if he got caught and they had to come save him. Or they would finally get tired of dealing with him, his endless questions and terrible hand/eye coordination, his fanboy awe and clumsy stumbles, the odd moments when he can fit in the most awkward spaces to hide (like right now).

Eventually…it be the same as with his mom and dad. They’d just start leaving.

Tim sighs and forces himself to be reasonable because of course it’s better this way. Nothing would change (it’s okay, it could be worse). Besides, it was better than never coming back.

Right?

When the rumbling goes by the house, goes further, deeper into the woods, toward the only other home, he can let his eyes slide closed, glad they made it back from another night, and let himself drift off a little. No school tomorrow, no Mrs. Mac, no reason to get up early and make an appearance.

He’d probably read more on the coding manual he’d picked up from the library, ride his bike into the city for pizza and to hang out with Ives, then come back home before his curfew. He would wait it out a few weeks and then jump back to old habits, keeping out of their way, and staying in the shadows. Life would just—

Go on.

The world gets fuzzy and soft and dark, and even with the minor ache in his neck and back from the odd angle, even in the quiet upstairs, even though he knows it’s too cold to be sleeping up here, the dream starts out anyway…

“—glad we found him, Big Wing.” That’s…that’s Jason, isn’t it? (Jason, here? Nah)

“I wonder how long he’s been up here all alone?”

(It has to be a dream because they came looking for him…)

“Musta been a while. He’s freezin’.” The dream hand is warm on his forehead, so nice, not enough to make him want to come to reality, so he just snuffles against his arm and hums, not trying to swim to the surface of awake, not yet.

“Okay, okay. Not leaving Timmy by himself at night anymore. Check.” Dick sighs, his breath a puff in the cold, and cranes his neck to eye the configuration the kid squeezed through to get to the wide window ledge.

“B’s gonna talk ta his folks when they make it back ta town anyhow.” And Jason shakes his head, burrowing a little deeper in his jacket with bare face (doms keep the eyes warm, you feel him?). “Kid his age shouldn’t be left alone anyhow.”

“Nope, just circus brats and street kids, right Little Wing?” Dick glances over at his replacement with a wide grin (and if B is serious about keeping Timmy now that the business with Two-Face is over, he’s going to have to come around more to help corral two younger brothers).

“Yeah, some a’ us can take care of business, Dick. This kid? He don’t need ta be in a house alone like this. Ain’t right.” The current Robin just frowns at the small silhouette, eyebrows drawing together.

“Alfred has his room ready, so at least he’ll have somewhere warm with a window. How did he even get in there?” And Dick? Is an acrobat and this configuration is making him flinch.

But Jay just smirks back, “Wiry little shit, apparently. Already fittin’ in.”

“Apparently. Let’s get him out of there, shall we Robin?”

And he huffs drowsily, swimming in and out of consciousness, the lack of sleep in the last few days making him sink further down where the voices are muffled, muted.

He might make some grunting sound when dream hands lift his heavy limbs, weightlessness like this a foreign concept, but it’s not like dreams where you step down abruptly and jar awake. It’s warm and smells like leather, Kevlar, and musk. And his brain gives him what he wants in the dream, soft cotton to fist his hands into without having to do anything more than sigh.

“Poor little guy is tuckered out. We shouldn’t have left him so long. It doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping.”

The transition is down, steps, his blurry mind supplies.

“He chases us through Gotham, yeah? Sleep probably ain’t even in his vocabulary.”

“He’s so small, Little Wing. He needs to sleep.”

“He needs goddamned parents, Dickie.”

“It’s okay,” is breathed against his hair, “he has us now.”

“Sure, sure. Lotta grown ass men what dress up in tights n’ masks. Normal as they come.”

“Hey! It’s not a bad life, you know. I turned out just fine, thank-you very much.”

A grunt in reply and something warm tucked around him before the air shifts and it’s cold, making his small body tighten again, start to swim a little closer to consciousness. But he’s snuggled higher, closer to strength and warmth.

(All the good things)

“Ah. I see you two have managed to ferret out the missing Master then?”

“Shoulda seen ‘im, Alf. Alla way up in the attic window.”

“You have a similar propensity for small spaces, Master Jason. Master Dick as well if memory serves. Very high, small spaces to be precise.”

“Not my fault there’s so many in the Manor, Alfred. Those are the perfect places to explore.”

“Hm,” the car doors close as Alfred Pennyworth shuts his young charges in (three now, not including you, Master Bruce. He is not getting any younger, you understand?) and moves to the driver’s side through the chill.

Master Jason and Master Dick continue a quiet conversation while the child sleeps on and the dark forests pass them by. Alfred inputs when necessary with the usual plans on the next few nights of patrol ahead of them sans the Batman, and it does the butler’s heart good to see them finally getting along. Just as he told the worrywart that is his eldest charge, the two needed time to find their own way. Time and exposure, more appropriately.

As Alfred is well aware, the life his family leads, one of the night, one of pain and bruises and burns, one of trauma after trauma with only the strength of will and people in need to drive them, it required a certain amount of humanity to maintain. The strength of their bonds, to lean on one another in times of need, had been the hardest lesson for Master Bruce to learn as the Batman,, and one he would daresay he failed to pass it down to his sons. Fortunately, when a certain little robin that lost something so precious so young, the lesson for Master Bruce had begun and would continue for a second so in need, he would take on any fight just to survive, and would, of course, extend to the small one they are carrying up the staircase of Wayne Manor as he sleeps the sleep of the innocent.

Alfred and Master Dick take his shoes off and manage pajama bottoms, tucking the little boy in with care.

Only once did he wake up slightly, blinking fuzzily without move his heavy head from the pillow.

“This is such a nice dream, Mr. Alfred.”

A gentle hand to his head, smoothing down his too long hair, “go back to sleep, Young Sir. We shall be here when you wake in the morning.”

And Timmy hums again, smiling, snuggling down into the comfortable mattress and pillow. He’s fine sleeping until morning, to keep the dream for as long as he can (and maybe….maybe it would be okay to just not have to wake up).

[artificialqueens]

Church of the Poison Mind (Trixya) Ch. 7 - Dahlia

A/N:

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I’ve been going through a lot of pretty heavy real life stuff, and have just basically been overwhelmed, but I am so OVERJOYED to be writing again! And I thank you so much for your patience in waiting for this chapter! Here’s hoping the final chapters follow in quick succession. Thank you so so so much for all of your kind words and messages, they keep me going!

ALSO I’M SO SORRY THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER IS JUST ANGST. You’re welcome. :)

I would not have made it through this chapter, or life in general, without my lovely lesbians DjoodiGarland and Matilda_Queen. Thank you for always being there for me and loving me through this. And to Rosie, my beautiful, sweet love. Thank you for everything, I don’t know where I’d be without you.

“What kind of daughter are you?”

There had been a lot of shouting those days, a lot of name calling, a myriad of misspoken insults that sank into her skin like injections of lost faith.

Trixie spent most of her time calling rental agencies, shaking her mother awake, getting turned down by realtor after realtor because she was, well, she was too young. And truly, how could she expect any respectable adult to take her seriously?

“You have to be at least 18 to apply.”

 I’m not.

“Is this a prank call? Where are your parents, kid?”

Hell, if I should know.

”You have to file a credit report, first.”

What’s a credit report?

“Okay so, why can’t your mother come to the phone again?”

She’s ill.

”We’ll get back to you.”

No, you won’t.

Homeless. Trixie kept thinking, homeless . If it continues on this way, the sheriff will come and evict us and we’ll be homeless. Countless nights she’d lie awake, obsessively checking her emails, relentlessly disappointed, and she’d think homeless.

She’d stopped going to school, stopped trying to wake her mother in time for the truancy officers, in time for CPS, and family services. And nobody looked at her the same, they always held the same disgustingly patronizing eyes. Poor trixie, her mother doesn’t care, her mother can’t care, her mother had forgotten to care.

But still, they shrugged her case off. Afterall, there’d been no evidence of physical abuse. Trixie appeared well fed, well kempt. And this allowed for more time, for more phone calls and rejections. Allowed for more empty booze bottles and prescription refills, piling sinks full of dishes and dirty carpets.

And soon she found herself asking, “What kind of a daughter am I?”

—

“I’m very sorry, we… I should not have done this. It was inappropriate of me.”

“Katya…”

Through the fog of lost sleep and Russian folk flowing tinny through the car speakers, Trixie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stealing glances from her seat on the passenger’s side. Katya’s eyes were narrowed and stolid as she drove, focused on the road, pale hair spilling out in heaps over her thin shoulders. And neither of them spoke, the ever-thickening gravity of the night before weighing on them like a fever dream. Trixie felt tender but weary, fearful. She wanted more, so much more than the situation could allow.

Somewhere, on some plane, Trixie knew that this was fleeting; that any feeling Katya might’ve held for her, couldn’t be sustainable. And she could feel the regret, hanging bitter in the air between them, that even though they hadn’t done anything measurable, it was the tenderness that stung the most. The cloying need for sweetness, need for more, contradicted by the wavering inability to act; but still, she yearned for Katya’s touch, for that laugh, and those wide, curious eyes.

The sun came into full view then, but the hour was still just as pale blue as the shine in Katya’s eyes. And as they pulled up to Trixie’s house, much to her surprise, Katya didn’t look over, but stayed steely, eyes cast over the dashboard. And Trixie sighed complacently, as the warmth had seeped out of Katya’s smile somewhere between Main street, and Beacon drive.

Trixie sat for a moment, quiet in her breathing, searching the side of Katya’s face, silently willing Katya to turn her head. Her sight followed the deep plunge of Katya’s cheekbones, down her neck, her freckled chest; and Trixie wanted nothing more than to reach out and let a hand fall to the back of Katya’s neck, but she resisted.

And just then, with a subtle haste, Katya sent her arm across the center console, over Trixie’s chest, and opened the passenger’s side door.

Confident there was nothing more to be said, she flipped a brief nod of thanks and turned in her seat to step down, but before she could, the light brush of Katya’s fingers found her cheek. And Trixie turned her head to meet Katya’s eyes, just as bright and heavenly as they were the night before, but riddled now with penitence. Trixie closed her eyes, leaning her cheek into Katya’s palm, a deep exhale leaving her like a calm under the waves. Softly, she opened her eyes, took in one last glance, and stepped out of the car, closing the door gently behind her.

Soon Trixie was watching Katya pull away, her car stalling at first, and then kicking up dust as it descended the graveled drive. A chill ran through her, smooth in the November air; and Trixie found herself, bleary eyed and sullen, missing the cardigan she’d forgotten in Katya’s back seat. All the while hopeful, incredibly hopeful, that its presence would carry Katya back to her.

With a forbearing sigh, Trixie carried herself up the porch steps and pushed through the front door. She entered, closed it quietly behind her, and tiptoed through the kitchen, kicking off her shoes by the basement door.

“Well, aren’t we getting in late…”

Trixie turned with a start, her heart skipping a beat. Kim was sat at the kitchen window seat, spooning heaps of sugar into a steaming mug of tea. And as the steam crept into the air, an image of last night’s coffee churned in the pit of Trixie’s stomach. Then she was desperate for it, remnants of that memory still latent on the burnt tip of her tongue.

“Or should I say,” Kim spoke again with a curt grin, “early? Given it’s 5am.”

“Okay, mom. I could ask you the same thing. What’re you doing here so early?”

“Waiting for you.”

“What, why?” Trixie chuckled, scanning Kim’s face.

Trixie crossed the kitchen floor and headed for the coffee maker, her hip brushing Kim’s protruding knee as she passed by. Her head ached with exhaustion, and while she was thankful for the comforting gurgle of coffee brewing, she felt irritable, raw; unsure if the coffee would help or hurt. Trixie laid her upper body over the center counter top, her elbows resting on the surface; and she closed her eyes, self-soothing, rubbing slow circles into her temples.

“So, you did forget?”

“Forget wh-” Trixie stopped, slowed, “oh, shit. Kim, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot we had- I just got so caught up in… wait, so you sat here all night… waiting for me? Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Well, no dummy, I’m not a freak. I woke up a little while ago. And I did call you, last night. But your phone was off.”

Trixie patted around her pockets, and upon finding her phone, ran her fingertips over the surface; the tips of her nails catching in the cracks of last year’s shatter. And while she powered it on, a soft silence hung in the air between her and Kim.

↳ Kim: hey, i just got in, pearl’s cooking again, im whispering tiny prayers for the safety of your kitchen. you leave school yet?

↳ 1 Missed Call: Kim

↳ Kim: Violet said she hasn’t seen you all afternoon, are you okay?

↳ Kim: say yes to the dress is starting in like 5 mins, do you want me to wait… or???? should I just assume I get to indulge in ALL of these facemasks by myself??

↳ Kim: yoooooo my skin abouta be TIGHT

↳ 6 Missed Calls: Caller ID Restricted

↳ Kim: ok it’s literally 1am, where tf are you????? im getting kind of worried here. ive had to stop violet from calling the police like 6 times

↳ 2 Missed Calls: Kim

↳ 11 Missed Calls: Caller ID Restricted

She shook a wave of anxiety and returned her gaze to Kim.

“I… I’m so sorry, I just, my-”

“You were with her again, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“Listen, I’m worried about you, Trix,” her tone softened, and Trixie met her gaze through clouds of coffee steam, “you-”

“Listen Kim, I’ve had kind of a shitty morning and it’s like dick o’clock and I really don’t have th-”

“You’ve just, you’ve been spending a lot of time with her, Trixie.”

“Excuse me? Are you policing who I spend my time with now?” Trixie said, still joking, but a little sharper than she’d intended.

Speech suspended for a moment as Kim drew in a long breath, and exhaled on a quiet sigh.

“Okay. First of all, chill. I just mean that… Listen, Trix, she seems sweet, she really does, but there’s some nasty stuff going around about her and I just don’t want to see you mixed up in that.”

Trixie could feel a bubbling heat rising in her chest, up her neck, spreading into a rouge across her cheeks. She poured the coffee into a mug, some splashing onto the countertop, and found herself rifling through the spice rack for cinnamon; she needed something to shake Katya’s impassivity, to bring her back to last night’s loveliness; but the scent alone burned Katya’s image in the back of her mind, a picture so clear of her face, so cold and distant.

She sipped slowly, cinnamon catching at the back of her throat, and somewhere in all of the coughing, Kim’s patronization had crept beneath her skin and set the surface ablaze.

“Honestly Kim, I love you, but it’s too early for this shit. And thinking about it now, literally none of this is even remotely your business. You don’t know anything about her,” Trixie said, biting. Her headache raged on, a sour pang radiating from the back of her neck. And she could tell she was overreacting, creating something out of nothing; but she couldn’t help but fall farther into it.

“Trixie, I’m your friend. I’m just saying, you always do thi-”

“Well, don’t just say . I’m stressed enough about this as it is, and I don’t need you, of all people, making this harder on me! You’re always on me about this kind of shit, and I don’t need it right now!”

“Wow, okay. You make plans with me. Break them. Fuck your teacher. And somehow, I’m in the wrong? Since when is carin-”

“I did not fuc- did you ever stop and think, for maybe even a millisecond, that the reason I’m spending all of this time with her is because you keep ditching me?”

“Trixie, do not put this on me. You always do this.”

“Do what?” Trixie snapped.

“You always turn things around on me! I’ve literally done nothing wrong here!” Kim stood then from the window seat.

“Oh, so it’s perfectly okay for you to promise me a ride, and then leave me stranded like three times a week, but the one time I make a human mist- “

“I’ve done so much for you, Trixie! This is not one human mistake . I knew you’d find some way to fuck this up. You know, I bust my ass day and night, and everyone fucking wants something from me. I give, and I give, and all you do is take,” Kim interrupted, throwing her hands into the air, and letting them fall hard to her sides.

Trixie watched the argument unravel from a space outside of her own body. She could see the anger leaving Kim in harsh waves; and though the salt water stung, stirred bitter words in her own mouth that threatened escape, she was able to rationalize, self sooth. She couldn’t fully give herself to the argument, knowing that this was long awaited for Kim, that maybe all the stress and chaos had finally gotten to her.

A person could only bend so far before it broke them, could only expend so much before they were due. And Kim, generous and giving as they come, had spent countless hours of her life twisting and contorting her time to fit the moulds of other people; but the words still hurt, still rang of distant memories of her mother’s disappointment, of rage and of acid.

“Fuck what up?” Trixie took a step back, her mind racing.

“Nothing, just forget it.”

“No, you have something to say, say it. You’re not my mother Kim, I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Oh, that’s rich! You know, I might as well be your mother. Who the fuck do you think found you this place when your actual mother threw you out? Who got you the job you quit because it was,” Kim pulled her fingers into air quotations, “too much? Paid your rent when you couldn’t. Who busted her ass getting you into this school? You can’t commit to anything Trixie, and now, NOW, you’ve gone and figured out the ONE way you can fuck up school, too! I hope Katya’s worth it I really do. Because when administration finds out, you’re both fucked .”

A knot twisted tightly in Trixie’s stomach.

“Stop bringing her into this! You don’t know anything about her! Or me for that matter, clearly. But obviously , you have a lot to say,” Trixie said, almost shouting.

“You think she cares about you? You’re wrong, Trix. You need to grow up, really. She’s using you, just like she did Phi Phi. And when this all blows up in your face, like everything always does, you’re gonna come crying to me. And you know what? I won’t be here.”

Just then, a small noise from the staircase caught their attention. They turned their heads to find two thin figures perched at the top, eyes wide and watching. And Pearl opened her mouth to speak, but Trixie was out the door, leaving her coffee steaming on the counter.

—

Kim’s words, heated and stinging, followed her like a phantom down the darkened halls of her university. And while it hurt, ached a sore plight down the center of her chest, she knew that everything Kim said had been right. She’d been a bad friend, taken too much and given too little. And she could hear her mother’s words too, fresh as the day they were spoken, like silent criminals come to steal her composure.

Autopilot carried her to Katya’s class, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, in the same cracked makeup down her cheeks. Their eyes met and unmet constantly, knowing, each glance holding space a little longer than it should’ve. And Trixie felt as though she could cry at any moment, as the dull ache in her head echoed through the back of her skull, and the glaring need for escape ravaged all the spaces in between. She felt trapped, cornered, unable to escape Katya’s eyes; though she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to. She wanted someone to see her, that she was sure of. Someone to see passed the façade and tell her that it was all going to be okay; and she wanted that someone to be Katya; but some things just couldn’t be, and she was learning then, slowly but surely, that she had to make peace with that. Maybe they could come out of this on top, settle for glances and smiles, chats after class, and maybe, just maybe, Trixie could forget the rush. And if not forget, then settle for a dull ache of what could’ve been.

5 Missed Calls .

Class flew by in a blurred rush of muted anxiety, Trixie auto piloting her way through the motions, all the while hoping she could slip out near the end unnoticed; but much to her dismay, as Trixie had anticipated, the end of class found Katya beelining for Trixie’s desk, and any interaction between them became suddenly unavoidable.

“Listen, Tracy, I’m… I’m very sorry about last night, about this morning, I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Katya started.

“Katya don’t, really. It’s fine, you haven’t don-”

“I think it would be… in better interest, if I didn’t drive you home anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” Trixie said, picking absently at the corner of her thumb nail.

“We can’t do thi-”

“We haven’t done anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

Trixie stood for a moment and let everything sink in, their eyes meeting.

Katya reached for Trixie’s left hand and brought it gingerly to her lips. So tender, so domestic. She placed a soft kiss on Trixie’s knuckle, then let their hands drift together to the left side of her chest. And through the cotton of Katya’s blouse, Trixie could feel the quick drumming of her heart, could see in her eyes a great fear, but also a great acceptance.

“I know,” Trixie said quietly, pulling her hand back.

She turned on a slow heal and started for the door; leaving Katya, small and teary eyed, stark in the middle of the room. And as Trixie stole a final glance, the light of the projector cast her silhouette like a specter across the back wall that sunk into the floor while the door swung shut behind her.

She’d only gotten a few steps down the hall before tears began spilling down her cheeks, probably carrying mascara with them. And Trixie blotted the space beneath her eyes, covertly avoiding eye contact with Jinkx as she passed her down the main hall just before the stairs.

7 Missed Calls.

 —

 She found herself outside then, heading toward the employee parking lot, under the usual tuck of trees that arched against the rain almost protectively overhead. Though many of the leaves had fallen and sunken into the grounds, there had been just enough to provide her shelter, and she stood for a few beats before realizing Katya wasn’t going to come; then again, neither would Kim. Trixie shivered as the cold hit her, her breath evident in the brisk, and she coiled into herself, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her hips.

She patted around her pockets and produced a crumpled twenty dollar bill, that she smoothed against her books and tucked into the side of her bra, the very last of that week’s allowance. While she scrolled through her phone in search of a taxi company, though they were sparse in these parts, she watched as cars puttered by her, subtly hoping to see Katya’s round the drive.

Before she could hit call, her phone lit up again, buzzing in her palm; a contact photo, her at a young age, eyes bright and glittering, a cheesy smile. And her mother, younger, less weathered, hair still long and curly, thin fingers pinching Trixie’s cheeks.

Until then, the calls seemed more like a minor nuisance, just a permanent fixture on the dashboard of her notifications, but now it cut deep; reminded her of all that she’d lost, all that she’d never regain. And she did something she hadn’t done in months, hadn’t done since Kim had found her and brought her here, she answered . And it went just as swimmingly as she might’ve guessed.

“I’ve been calling you for weeks,” a gravely voice slurred through the phone line.

“Are you, are you drunk?”

“What kind of daughter would ask that?”

Soon there was shouting. And Trixie lost all awareness of her environment, her surrounding; but she knew people were watching, she just simply forgot to care. And tears were spilling out of her, falling onto her shirt, tangling with the rain water washing down her skin.

The air was cold, her fingers red and pruning, phone pressed firmly into her cheek. Everything was spinning and far from sound, and as her mother continued her lamentation, Trixie grew more tense, more unabsolved. She felt trapped suddenly, by all of the forces outside of her own body, controlling her, prodding and pulling like the strings of a marionette. And she came to a startling realization; her life, wasn’t hers. This wasn’t what she wanted, this wasn’t who she wanted to be.

Before she could even hang up the phone, someone was tugging at her arm, pulling her gently from the rain, and from the watching eyes. Guiding her down into a car, her boots finding the comforting crush of empty coffee cups and to-go wrappers. And her phone found its way back into her pocket, as did her fingers, numb from the cold that she pressed into her thighs.

They drove in mostly silence, down familiar roads that were slick now with sleet. And the squeaking of the windshield wipers held an almost deafening stance against the silence.

“Tracy… Ar-”

“Please, Katya. Please , don’t.” Trixie said, drying her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I just… You can still talk to me, you know.”

“No, I can’t. I really can’t.”

Just then, Katya pulled her car swiftly off of the road, hitting the curb and throwing the gears into park. She took off her seatbelt so she could turn to meet Trixie’s gaze.

“What are we doing here?”

“I want to talk to you. I want you to talk to me, there’s n-”

“You know what,” Trixie said, unfastening her seatbelt, “I really can’t. And you know damn well why I can’t.”

“I am not understanding this.”

“Because, Katya! I fucking want you, I want us, I want…” Trixie threw her hands into the air in exasperation, “this! And I’m so sick of everyone in my life telling me what to do, and who to be. Even you! Everyone is always… god, I don’t know! I’m so fucking overwhelmed all of the time by this expectation of who I’m supposed to be, how I’m supposed to act. I have never, ever, not once in my life, not had to fight for every single thing that I have and I’m sick of it. I’m my own person, we are both fucking adults and we can make our own decisi-”

Before she could finish, Katya’s hands were over the center console, pulling her face close, their lips finally meeting.

—

And suddenly her fingers are on me, in my hair, running down my neck. Our mouths meeting like it’s the first time, gliding swiftly over one another, melding us as one exchange of impassioned energy. And her breath is warm, and sweet, intoxicating . Everything I need. Devastatingly, so. From the light of the cars in passing, flickering across her skin, I can see every unspoken word, escaping into the expanse. She wants me, and I want her, and this may be fleeting but I’ve forgotten to care as her hands stroke passed my hair and down my back, sliding with a quick and heavy rhythm like she’s striking a match. Every ounce of angst in me cries out for her, yearns to be closer, to be deeper, to love long and speak sweeter. And I’m falling into her hard, like I’ve never fallen before-

 —

Their lips parted as Katya pulled away with haste, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Trixie, Trixie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have, we can’t do this!” Katya tensed, her accent thicker than ever.

And all of the spinning inside of Trixie stopped, her expression blank, eyes blinking quick and without rhythm. Her skin flushed, hot embers fading into gray coals.

“ Trixie ?” She said in a hushed exasperation, realizing that it was the first time she’d ever heard the name leave Katya’s lips.

“We can’t, I’m so sorry. I just, I care about you so much but we… we can’t Trix-”

“Why not? WHY NOT? You just said it, you care about me! Katya, please, not you too, you can’t do this to me, too. I can’t handle someone else telling me what I ca-”

“Trixie, please try and understand… I’m so so-”

“You know what. Save it. ”

And with that, Trixie was climbing out of the car, the garbage underfoot kicking out onto the sidewalk.