Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I want,” she says. “That’s my problem. I want and I want and I want.”   

“What do you want?” (...)  

“ Everything. Charm me. Rip me open. Ruin me. Go too far.”  

—Holly Black, The Prisoner’s Throne.   

Chapter 1: These violent delights   

Becky  

“Now, you two, split up!”  

Linda and I were both covered in blood as the teacher gave this shout and interfered between us. She jolted while trying to avoid our attempts to still reach one another to do something like rip our hair off, but even then an elbow -she couldn’t determine of which one of us and of course we didn’t want to assume responsibility on it neither- hit her nose, inadvertently throwing her to the floor as well.  

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Ten minutes later, miss Guiterrez, the gym teacher, was placing an ice pack on her face. Her expression was way too calmed for it to be nothing but severely contained anger. I’ve seen it on way too many people in my lifetime by now to know that.   

My face was mildly stiff because of the dry blood, and by one quick glance at Linda I was able to tell that hers was too. We were both silently looking down to the floor and the teacher was not having it.   

We got startled by the sound of the ice pack being thrown to the table of her office.   

“I want someone to start answering me now.”  

“Professor, we’re sorry.”  

I practically didn’t notice the way my jaw dropped as I turned my head to my right to look at her. Was Linda Murray actually apologizing?   

“It’s never going to happen again.” She continued, “We promise.”   

The teacher seemed to balance the outcomes in her head to know how much trouble this was going to cost her in the future, but there was a final sigh of resignation as she placed the ice on her nose again.   

“What about you, Barnes?”   

I blinked. “Oh, of course, professor. We… promise.”   

The teacher rolled her eyes. “Get out of here and go wash your faces, for God’s sake.”   

I couldn’t believe that we got out of that situation that easily, and I wondered if these would be the benefits of associating myself with Linda Murray, even if it just was in this particularly strange and circumstantial period in time.   

Linda Murray. There is a certain rhythm in the pronunciation and calligraphy of that name that I cannot believe I’m allowing myself to notice. A certain aura, if you will. Being around her is like being surrounded by some holy smoke you can’t describe and least catch in a bottle. Then you wake up and you realize you were but in a fever dream.   

Except this isn’t a fever dream, but I am actually and purposely feeding these thoughts about Linda.   

Did I just call her Linda and not Linda Murray?  

Fuck.   

But I tried to remind myself, at times like these, that we were spending way too much time together against our will. Was it really that surprising we ended up having a physical fight in the detention room? Can’t blame a cat for walking on fours and meowing.   

Still, I tried to reach for Linda while we were getting out of the teacher’s office. But she was fast and determined to avoid me.  

“Hey, I—” I stepped backwards while sensing the door of the bathroom being shut on my face.   

The sound of the drain reached my ears while I waited, resting my shoulder on the wall.   

Linda stared at me when she opened the door to get out of the toilet. That look seemed eternal, and I couldn’t determine one single thing behind her dead rock expression.  Then she started to wash the blood out of her face and hands in the lavatory.   

I walked to her, “So you’re not speaking to me?”    

She looked at me and shrugged with a gesture that said, what does it seem?  

The anger settled for a while in my chest before gathering the courage to let it out, and she was already by the door, on her way out, when I did it:  

“Fuck you!”   

She turned around almost in slow motion after hearing it. For a moment I feared that — oh God this girl could actually fucking kill me, but when she talked her voice sounded even gentle:   

“You know what, Becks? This is the best for both you and me and you know it. Let’s stop trying to pretend this Breakfast Club meets Grease or whatever the fuck we were doing, and just ignore each other until this nightmare is over.”   

“What if I don’t want to?” I asked. I was unsure if I had decided to give that step towards her or if it was some strange gravitational phenomenon suddenly affecting us.   

She breathed deeply once before saying something. Her eyes were dancing around before laying on mine.   

“We can’t always get what we want.” It upset me that she sounded so upset — redundancy needed. But before I could reply, she looked down for a sec and added, “You got some of my blood on your shirt, I think.”  

I clang to the look of her long after she was gone of the room. And I couldn’t really process her words and start to wash myself until minutes later. Did I just really say that? What if I don’t want to?  

What did I precisely not want?  

And what did I want?   

Of course, this was only the beginning of a realization I wasn’t even remotely close to admit yet, and it was that I was falling in love with Linda Murray. And that she was falling in love with me.   

But Linda was smarter than me and she realized this before I could find the words to express it, and as anyone can imagine out of such a situation, violent delights can only have violent ends. But there is something beautiful in not being able to look away from a car crash, isn’t it?   

And who am I to defy love?   

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Mariah Lynn is a skank   

Linda  

I was not always like this.  

And I wasn’t precisely proud of punching and getting punched by Becky Barnes that day. It sounds like something I should be proud of, but I wasn’t.   

But so you can understand, dear reader, my descent into madness, we have to start way before the incident in the detention room. Four weeks before, to be precise.   

I was already having a not-so-fun time during my senior year in Hatchetfield High. After months of rushed, secret meetings with Abigail, a girl from both the cheerleading team and the math team in Hatchetfield High (maybe this deal with both God and the devil was precisely our downfall), I had finally decided to come out of the closet, and confront whatever it implied to be what I was in a small town and with parents that had never heard the word therapy in their entire lives. It wasn’t the cliché scene those corny Christmas movies paint to you, but it wasn’t that bad as one might expect. The fact of being a homosexual wasn’t that wrong for my father as it was that I was a failure, and he made sure I knew this. These two factors would later merge in a catastrophic way I’d rather not get into yet. But for the moment, my father merely reclined into his seat, silent, the tip of his fingers circling his cup of wine, processing what I just told him.   

“It’s not a problem unless you allow it to be. Do you understand what I mean?”  

I nodded immediately. If people want to fight, you have to fight back.   

But Abigail didn’t seem to agree with this statement, and after only a few weeks of proper dating out in the wild, she didn’t feel like fighting for her own respect, for lesbian rights and not even for me. So after I had caused a scene in front of my family to prove myself, after standing whispers and pointing fingers in the halls of the school, I was now getting pathetically dumped for the entire public eye of Hatchetfield to see. Perfect.   

Oh no, and this wasn’t enough. A few days later, when I was still trying to handle things gracefully, someone threw a paper ball at me during science class. I was unable to catch where it came from, but it read:  

“Roses are red  

Violets are blue  

I heard you got dumped  

And got finger-cheated on too!”  

“WHAT THE FUCK?” It was the first time that I A) cursed and stood up in the middle of the class without deciding to do so and B) said a word in science class whatsoever.  

“Excuse me, Miss Murray, have something to share with the class?” Professor Hidgens asked, one hand still pointing at the board, and the other one on his hip. He seemed mildly offended that I was interrupting his class, instead of intrigued by my inexplicable loss of control.  

I shook my head slowly as I sat down. The laughs and whispers of my class were only in that moment sinking in, but they didn’t affect me as deeply as the echo of those words in my own head. The class continued while I tried to make sense of it all. Could it be true?   

The boy with glasses next to me stopped laughing when I shot him a dead stare (I was unable to remember his name). I showed him the paper, discreet enough to avoid catching the teacher’s attention.  

“Do you know what this is about?”   

Obviously, if it reached my hands this way, this business was common knowledge for everyone but myself. And even if it was a rumor, it was certainly worth to be of my concerns.   

“Oh, I’d rather not…” The boy avoided my gaze as he mumbled out.   

“Listen, you better start speaking or —”  

After this warning, the words came up like vomit. “All I know is her name is Mariah and she’s in the cheerleading team.”  

Okay. I could work with that.   

Even then, I called Abigail when I got out of science class, and can you believe that she didn’t answer? Don’t say I don’t give people the benefit of the doubt. People were rushing past me in the corridors as I used the palm of my hand to cover most  of what I could of both my mouth and the telephone —remember, dear reader, back in this day the concept of free will was not as widely known as it is today, and being able to afford one didn’t mean people weren’t trying to stop me from using it.   

“Abigail, I know, okay? I know. I found out already. Stop ignoring me. Call me back, we need to talk. I think I deserve that, at least, don’t you?”  

She didn’t come to class the next day, or the next day, or the next. Was she doing all of this to avoid me or what?   

Apparently Abigail transferred schools —Her mother called Jane Perkins’ mother who called my mother, or so I heard, which was an amazing way to hear about the person who told you she loved you only a couple days ago. People were quick to make up very creative stories about me, which were slightly inspired by my erratic outburst during science class —but could I really be blamed for this? It comforted me to know that strange things happen in this town, and it was a matter of time until they found the next scandal to rampage about. Until it didn’t anymore.  

I had had the first heartbreak of my life that week when everything started turning against me again, even more tragically so.   

I don’t handle breakups very well, you see. I become a bit... resentful. I wasn’t one hundred percent myself when I planned to sneak in before the cheerleaders team practice to write a… colorful, inspiring message in Mariah’s locker. And to… retouch her uniform, to put it one way.   

So I was doing my own thing when I heard Becky Barnes’ voice crawling from the door behind me, at the entrance of the locker room, almost an hour earlier than expected.   

“What are you doing here? This is the cheerleading team’s dressing room.”   

“None of your business.” I replied, turning around and expecting to cover my message, but realizing that my height and size was far from being enough. “It’s not rehearsal time yet, so I don’t know why you’re here either.”  

Becky started walking towards me, squeezing her eyes. She juggled what seemed a heavy backpack from one hand to another and then hung it from her shoulder as she got too comfortably close for my liking.   

“I came here to train a bit alone.” She looked down at the bag I had in my hands in the exact moment I was closing it. “What is that?”   

“Hey, Barnes, how about, you know what I just said — mind your own fucking business? Just once in your lifetime.”   

She didn’t seem particularly offended by my words. “I would, but I’m head cheerleader and it seems like you’re writing a lovely little note on one of my teammate’s lockers, which I know because you happen to have red paint in your Prada bag.”  

“It’s Gucci, you uncultured swine.”   

She held onto my purse to stop me, “You’re not going to be able to get away with this, Linda.”   

I pulled from the leather, but her grip was surprisingly strong, “Yeah, and no one’s going to believe you because I’ll be far from here in a minute—”  

“You won’t.”   

I had to give such a fierce jog to let myself free that I almost lost balance. I raised an eyebrow as I recomposed myself the quickest I could, “Yeah? And how are you gonna work that out, sweetie?”  

I didn’t have the intention to defy her as I had to demean her, but then Becky Barnes did the first thing that should’ve made me realize she was not the sane person I thought she was.   

She started screaming. A horrid, high pitched, impressively long scream.   

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes!” I cried, hitting her once with my purse.   

But she didn’t stop. She didn’t stop until the scream became a weak, raspy whimper, and she was out of breath. When she opened her mouth to gasp for more air to continue, I started shaking her by the arms. This didn’t stop her. I tried to put my hand on her mouth and her teeth clung on my skin.  

“Fucking bitch !” That was going to leave a mark. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…” I continued to pledge as she went for her second shout. Maybe it was all those annoying cheerleading commands they give that trained her for this moment.   

I should’ve maybe tried to negotiate in a more intelligent way, but I was so thrown off by her strategy that I didn’t know what to do. And before the end of her second scream, miss Guiterrez was at the door with an expression that seemed to expect the live dismemberment of a girl inside of that locker room.   

“What the hell is going on?! Barnes! Murray!”   

I pointed at Barnes at the same time she pointed at me. The professor sighed when she spotted the message in red letters behind us that read: MARIAH LYNN IS A GIRLFRIEND STEALER SKANK!!  

“She did this, professor. The paint is in her bag.”  

If eyes could dismiss fire, I was sure I would’ve instantly burst Becky Barnes into flames. She was still trying to catch air from her previous insanity momentum, but there was certain heroic pride in her stance that pissed me off even more.   

“Now, let me see, Murray.”  

I accepted my incoming fate as I opened my Gucci bag. The teacher pulled out the paint and the uniform that I had put in there during the hurry of getting caught. She raised her eyebrows at the crop top that had the portion of the nipples cropped out, and the glutes of the skirt.   

“Just a little makeover.” I explained.  

“Okay. Yeah, you’re getting two months of detention, Murray.”  

My eyes widened as I let out with an unexpected high tone of voice, “What? But that’s until the end of the year! It’s my senior year!”   

Not that this was my prime in the socialité events, precisely, but a girl sure does love a party, and I didn’t want to miss prom. I had expected to maybe have that picture up with mommy and daddy’s.   

“Yeah, that’s too bad, should’ve thought about it sooner.”   

Becky Barnes looked at me proudly and I snorted.  

“What about you, Barnes? What were you doing here?” Miss Guiterrez sounded just as pissed as exhausted.  

“Um, I come here early to train before practice, professor.”  

“Really?” Her eyebrows arched again and she crossed her arms. “And you’ve been doing this for how long?”  

“Oh, I don’t know… two years almost, I think. That’s how I learned most of the tricks I teach in my combos, which had earned us the 1 st place last year, remember, miss?” She let out a nervous giggle and I rolled my eyes.  

“Did not ask for a history lesson, alright? So two months of detention for you too.”  

“What?” Becky was suddenly out of breath again.  

Oh, I could not explain to you the smirk delivered on my face in a million years. Even there, at the worst of times.   

“Well, students can’t be in here without the presence of a teacher, that is written in the rules of the practice book that you should know firsthand since you’re head of the team, Barnes! And you’re lucky you’re not losing your position, trust me.”   

Becky seemed the amount of furious someone like her can possibly get— which isn’t a lot, but it’s still something. Then she looked down and the disappointment could be read from miles away.  

After getting designated our first task due tomorrow, which was to paint over MARIAH LYNN IS A GIRLFRIEND STEALER SKANK!! we were dismissed. I was gathering my stuff from my locker like one would get ready for a life sentence in prison. I couldn’t believe I was getting two months of detention because of Becky Barnes. Worse, with Becky Barnes. Effin Becky Barnes. It was like getting the sentence of an excruciatingly slow death by boredom. Maybe even worse than that.   

There was nothing more basic, lacking of personality and heteronormative than Becky Barnes. Even her name seemed to think so. She was head cheerleader, always had one of those bulky idiotic males as a boyfriend, and was the kind of popular that nobody could simply find one single bad thing about her —there was nothing either bad or interesting about her, it was as simple as that. She was the kind of girl who goes missing at the beginning of your stereotypical horror movie. But we’re not going to waste more time talking about the blandness of straight girls in my story, no sir. Besides, I was still hoping I could talk to father to find a way out of this. I needed to find a way out of this.   

I dialed Abigail’s number while walking out of the school. She didn’t pick up again.  

“Hey, you’re being a pain in the ass, you know that, right? I’m really trying to work things out over here… Listen, about this Mariah girl…. She’s not going to be in the way anymore, if she ever was. Okay? Now, pick up so we can talk.”   

I hung up and was putting the phone in my bag, when I heard voices around the corner. If it wasn’t because I picked up my name from that conversation, I wouldn’t have stopped to listen right there on the verge of the wall.   

“You think I’m not mad? Not only I’m stuck in detention for doing the right thing, but I’m stuck in it with Linda Murray. For two months.”   

“That’s just the fucking worst, babe.” A male voice answered. “She’s such a fucking prat.”  

“Not only that… she’s not just mean, Stanley. She’s a horrible person. A genuinely horrible person. Might just be the worst person I know. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to get through this…”  

The male voice was quick to interrupt again, “I guess you’ll have to release that tension with me…”  

Becky giggled and I guessed they were making out, but I never found out because I took the other exit.   

I was not always like this, you see. There are things that break a person in a lot of different ways.  

Becky Barnes would be one of those things for me.   

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Detention and bubblegum  

Becky  

And so there we were. Me and Linda Murray. Linda Murray and me. Both sentenced to what each one thought was presumably the most terrible fate possible: to be with each other.   

Of course, I was doing all of the work. Not that I had expected any better. So, after the second hand of paint was done and I sat in my side of the locker room to wait until it dried, I warned:  

“You know, I’m gonna tell miss Guiterrez you did nothing when she comes back.”  

Linda was looking at her nails, chewing gum and occasionally growing bubbles, although I’m not sure what could possibly be there that she hadn’t discovered in the past forty minutes.   

She giggled shorty, “Okay, Barnes.”  

“Good luck with whatever you have to do to make up for it.”  

She didn’t look at me when she said, “What’s she gonna do? Follow me to college to give me detention?”  

I bit my lip, knowing there wasn’t another possible punishment to put us through. We were already there the extra hour that the school was open, every day, until the end of classes. I might as well do the same and decide that I wasn’t going to cooperate with the tasks assigned to us. But I wasn’t sure I had what it took to follow through something like that.  

Besides, Linda had nothing to lose. But me, I was cheer captain. And the teacher had warned me I could lose my position. I wouldn’t risk this for nothing in the world. So I sucked it up, and did two hands of paint over MARIAH LYNN IS A GIRLFRIEND STEALER SKANK!! A message that had, in fact, nothing to do with me, and was part of some strange lesbian love triangle I did not understand.   

That one thing I admired about Linda. She was the very first girl that I knew in Hatchetfield that had a girlfriend and was open about it. They walked around in the school holding hands and touching each other's hair in a way you couldn't simply not stare at. Apparently her family had no issue with it. Occasionally some bully did attempt to joke about it or use it to demean her, but Linda was so scary no one would be stupid enough to do it in her presence.   

I wondered how that would go if I wasn't straight. I knew my family would be a problem. But what I hesitated the most about was how gracefully I could handle it myself. I like to think that, by now, I've outgrown my insecurities and I no longer depend so much on what people say, but I'm not so sure that was the case back then. So yeah, I admired Linda, in that way.   

Unfortunately, this was where my respect for her ended, since putting her lesbianism aside, she was made of nothing but pure and utter evil.  

And there she was, a few feet apart from me, making what was possibly the fiftieth bubblegum pop in the last ten minutes.   

“Do you really have to keep doing that?” I asked.  

She finally looked at me, shrugging, “ What? ”  

“That bubblegum. You’re driving me crazy!”  

“Okay, you were driving me crazy with that cling-a-clingy you were doing earlier, and I didn’t say anything.”  

“That cling-a-clingy was the brush in the box, because I was painting, which was your job, too. And, do I need to remind you, that it’s your fault in the first place that someone has got to do this.”   

Linda seemed incredibly surprised someone would come to this conclusion. Offended, she explained, “If you’ve never interrupted me, getting between what was none of your business, none of this would’ve happened. But noooo you always have to butt in to save the day, don’t you?!”  

The fact that she continued on and on with her rant didn’t stop me from raising my voice over hers to say, “God, Linda, why can’t you accept a breakup like a normal person?!”  

“Okay, how are things going over here?” Miss Guiterrez popped out suddenly from behind the door she had previously refused to close, and we turned around instantly, with a fake smile and lips suddenly sealed.  

“Perfect.” I said weakly. “We’re done.”   

She inspected the locker, apparently deciding it was sufficient for her, and then looked at the watch on her wrist.   

“There’s only fifteen more minutes until your time is over. Let’s go to the detention room and wait for the bell to ring.”  

I sighed and Linda rolled her eyes. We dragged our feet to the detention room, and sat on opposite ends of the place. The teacher said she was going to get her bag and would be back in a moment.  

Not even one minute after we were alone again, I heard a low pop! coming from the other side of the room. I slowly turned to face Linda. She looked at me defiantly and made another bubblegum pop again. I planked my face on the desk, knowing I'd have to gather some sanity from God-knows-where to get through the next two months.   

At that time, I felt extremely lucky to find Stanley and his motorcycle waiting for me across the street. Linda and I did not even say goodbye to each other before going our separate ways. I greeted Stanley with a kiss on the cheek and we went to Nando’s to have pizza and a beer. Luckily, I soon forgot about the troubles Linda Murray seemed persistent to put me through.   

The following days, it became more noticeable for the teacher that she had very little assignments prepared for us. She made us wipe the gym’s floor, and arrange the balls and mats. Even then, there were always still twenty minutes left before we had to leave.  So her expression was mildly disappointed to come back and find the task done already, finally deciding every now and then to just show up when the time was over.  

Linda’s attitude didn’t change. She'd drag her feet holding a mop or a broom with less energy than the mop itself while walking aimlessly around the gym as if it counted as cleaning. Whenever Miss Guiterrez would say something, she’d upbring the energy 0.2% higher and then lower it when she walked out of the door. I could not be bothered enough to insist. I had decided that the best for my own sanity would be to focus on my happy place, sing the lyrics of West Side Story in my head on repeat, and decide what I’d make for dinner when I got home. Would that night be mac and cheese or beef with salad?   

But as the first week ended, it did come to my attention that there was one thing Linda Murray seemed to like more than bubblegum, and it was her phone. Or something in her phone. I had never had a portable one, so I wasn’t sure how it worked, but she was sometimes minutes on end in the same call. She did it on the other end of the gym, so I couldn’t catch more than low mumbles, and I didn’t attempt to hear anything either.   

That Friday, I was laying on the floor playing with a tennis ball, which hit the wall in front of me and then came back to my hands as I extended my arms. Linda was on the benches, walking from one end to another, and I think she didn’t intend her voice to come out loud enough for me to hear it, but it did.   

“—because I need to talk to you, Abigail! I need you. Do you not understand?” She swallowed her spit, looking up to the sky. After a pause, she added, “Call me back.”   

Only after hanging up, she turned around to catch me staring. The tennis ball was still in my hands, which had stayed in the same place for a while, since the astonishment caught me unhanded. In an apparent defeated attitude, Linda walked towards me, reached the wall besides me and rested her back on it without looking at me directly. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh. I placed the tennis ball on the floor and started rolling it over, from one side to another, trying to diminish the tension.   

“I thought you guys were broken up.” I said, mostly because I couldn’t bear the silence anymore.   

“It’s... complicated.” Linda said, a bit quietly.   

“Did she move out?” I asked. If she had approached me after that call, it made sense to me that she wanted to talk about this. But you can never be sure of anything with Linda, so I tried to choose my words and tone of voice very carefully.   

There was a long silence until the answer came along.  

“I have no fucking clue. She hasn’t answered my calls.”  

My eyebrows arched. Well, that was unexpected. “Oh?”  

Linda was tapping her feet, impatient, “What I said. She hasn’t answered.”  

“So you keep calling her? Is it her the one you keep calling all the time? Do you just... leave voicemails over and over?”  

She finally turned her head to look at me almost violently. Her hair partly covered her face as she did so. She was breathing loudly, and she seemed mad that I was remarking this, but she also seemed to realize that she was caught in this truth, and she couldn’t find a way to absolve herself.  

“Why do you do it?”   

She bit her cheek and looked away again, “I don’t know.”  

The bell rang. I looked at her, but she was already on her way to grab her purse from the benches. It took me a few seconds to get up and do the same.  

Stanley was waiting across the street again, waiting for me. Since it was Friday, we went to his place and had a few friends come over. I snuggled up close to him on the couch. It was nice to finally have classes over, and I already told my parents that I was spending the night over at a friend’s, so this was my relaxing night. I guess I’m a pretty simple person when it comes to certain things. And a few loved ones and food were enough, at the time, to make my weekend count.   

Next to Stanley, his friend Jordan was smoking a joint, and Dylan in front of me was opening the second beer. They were both in college with him, which was pretty insightful for me because it allowed me to get a peep of what was waiting for me out there. Not that this mattered a lot, because me and Stanley had our plans prepared: after I graduated from high school, we’d leave Hatchetfield and start somewhere else. Maybe New York, maybe Los Angeles. Anywhere else. I was disposed to take any job to make it out of this town.   

“Did you hear the news about Luke Houston?” Dylan was suddenly mysterious as he asked this, examining our expressions, but Stanley and Jordan shook their heads, and this encouraged some sort of pride on his posture. I held my breath anticipating some possible answer. I hadn’t heard about them in a while. “Found dead in the woods this morning.”  

“What?” I muttered.  

“He had been missing for a few days, but the police hadn’t taken it very seriously. You know, they thought that he went on a really long after-party, as one does. But apparently Jane Perkins found him while taking a morning walk. I wonder if they feel even a bit of remorse now.”  

“But what happened to him?”  

“Details aren’t... um, allowed to be public, supposedly. I’d give it a few days until we know.” He raised an eyebrow and continued drinking from his bottle of beer.  

“It must be something nasty if they aren’t letting us know.” Stanley observed. He looked at me. My lips were barely opened and I was breathing lowly, “You okay?”  

“Um, yeah, I’m just a bit... shocked.” I shifted in my place. “When’s the funeral?”   

“I guess in a matter of days. It has been... unexpected. And I have no idea who’s going to take care of it.” Dylan explained.   

“You’re not thinking about going, aren’t you?” Stanley looked at me, and there was something strange in that question, as if the possibility felt a bit of a threat for him.  

“Oh... I don’t know.” I pulled from the sleeves of my shirt, uncomfortable with the places my mind was wandering off. I really didn’t know Luke Houston, but I did come to his house quite a few times while I was dating his son, Tom, last year.   

Would Tom be coming to the funeral? How was he handling this situation? We had broken up in good terms when he decided to join the army and we parted ways, but I didn’t know how each one of us could handle meeting again, and even less in this strange situation. I felt I should reach out to him and give my condolences, but I didn’t have his number.   

I lost track on the conversation for a while until Stanley called my name.   

“Anyways... how was torture today?” He handed me the bottle of beer. His now free hand stroked my back, and then he explained to his friends, “Guess who is in detention with her? Fucking Linda Murray.”  

“Oh shit, girl, good luck with that.” Jordan shook his head, letting out the smoke and then starting to laugh lowly.   

“I’d honestly kill myself.” Dylan added, catching the joint Jordan handed. The atmosphere of the previous conversation seemed to vanish quickly for them, but I was still oddly uneasy.   

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not that bad.” I tapped the bottle of beer with my fingers. I was unsure of what I was saying, since I previously had to literally train myself with techniques to entertain my brain so I could bear spending time with her. But it didn’t feel right to let them make fun of her after hearing her have a hard time just hours earlier. I couldn’t put my finger on what was going on with her, but I knew there was something wrong.   

“Please, Becky honey, enlighten us with what could be so great about spending time with Linda Murray.”  

I knew I could not find the way to do that, so partly, I was grateful at first that Jordan interrupted whatever I was about to make up, “Okay, yeah, but hear me out. She might be a bitch, and her family’s disgusting, and I’d honestly love to see the karma get to all of them... We all agree about that. But that doesn’t mean I’d not bone her. I mean, have you seen her with that cheerleader girl? Man, that’s so hot. I’d so do her right.”  

Stanley tilted his head, “I mean, yeah, you’re not wrong about that...”   

“Stanley!” I turned my head to him. I wasn’t close enough to Jordan to discuss with him, but Stanley? Seriously?  

“What?” He was shrugging as if he found nothing problematic in that statement.  

I couldn’t begin to explain all of the things that had upset me, so I decided to get up and leave. After brushing my teeth so hard they bled a little bit, I changed into my pajamas, but the noise that came from the living room made it pretty hard for me to fall asleep, and the anger in my body didn’t abandon me quickly.   

I was half conscious when the warmth of Stanley’s body reached me, his hands holding my belly as his body pressed against mine, under the sheets.   

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”  

“Mmm,” I wasn’t sure this was real or a dream and had way too little energy to find out, so I let this be my response.  

Stanley softly kissed my earlobe and then my neck, “Do you forgive me?”   

“Stan...” I said, hoping this would make him fall asleep with me.  

“Tell me you forgive me.” He continued calmly, his fingertips caressing the bare skin of my legs. “Or I’ll wake you up.”   

I laughed shortly, “You’re forgiven. Now let me sleep, you creep.”   

I was glad to have that discussion over, but my brain soon fell into unpleasant dreams that I recalled vaguely the next morning. The reminiscence of the tall figures of the trees from the woods, Tom’s voice calling my name, and a distant popping sound seemed to want to grasp my memories as I woke up, but I shook them off while I got up to make breakfast for us. I wasn’t sure which one of those three matters was the one that concerned me the most, but I knew nothing healthy could come out of worrying about a lost cause, and I had plans prepared for the future.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Goodbye, Becky Barnes  

Linda  

I didn’t conceive it to be metaphysically possible, but second week of detention was somehow worse than first week of detention. At least, during the first one I still had some hope to get out of this hell of a situation.  

“Daddy, I promise it wasn’t my fault. Everyone’s turning against me.”  

“I won’t be hearing this any longer.” Father was reaching for his suitcase on the desk of the living room to leave for work as he answered. “I don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be a role model for your brother, but things are coming out backwards. I think you should learn from him.” 

I looked at Brandon, my little brother, as the door slammed shut when father left. He was lying on the couch reading a book while finishing his coffee, and there was a contained smirk on his lips. 

“ Everyone’s turning against me? Really? That was the best you could come up with?” Brandon mimicked me. I let out a sigh as he started laughing.  

“Oh, shut up.”  I knew he had a point, but I always failed to manipulate daddy. The words got intertwined in my discourses and he was far smarter than me. I pushed lightly Brandon’s legs to make room for myself on the couch, next to him, and I took the cup of coffee our maid had left for me. “You know, it was the same for me when I was your age. Sixteen, young and pretty, you are innocent and devious in all the right ways. Wait until you’re older and you’ll get daddy’s worst side.” 

We were both reaching the age in which we would be old enough to start working in the family business, which consisted in a small opium plantation. I knew I was either going to college or joining it after graduation. Although I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight, Brandon was the only person in the world that I got along with well enough to think of the possibility to work with. We’ve never discussed it, but I was pretty sure he thought the same.  

“At least I wasn’t the first one to come out of the closet. Thank you for that.” 

“Yeah, good luck taking away from dad his last hope for genetical grandchildren. That’s going to be fun to watch.” I crossed my feet on the coffee table, feeling how the drink slowly awoke my body up. “When are you going to come out from under the stairs though?” 

“When there’s a boy cute enough to make it worth it.” He stated, like if the answer had been sorted out in his brain this entire time. He closed his book and left the mug on the desk, “No luck so far. But what about you, sis? Still calling that girl like a freaking psycho?” 

I opened my mouth to answer, and then closed it again.  

Brandon stood up and pulled from my wrist. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get going, we’re gonna be late.” 

I could not control it. It was like a disease. You don’t point fingers at a person with a stomachache and tell them how stupid they were to eat something bad. I had eaten a cheater that ghosted me, which was far worse.  

Becky Barnes was the second person to know my secret, and this was only my own fault. I should’ve hidden it better. Now the only thing I could do was to pray she kept it to herself, at least long enough until I knew something dirty about her as well. But what could I possibly find? That she mismatched her socks? Even that sounded highly unlikely. 

And then second week came along.  

It was a particularly rough day. I had fallen asleep at four in the morning, which made me oversleep the next day and I missed the chance to have my morning coffee. The remarks of father about my futility made appearance once more, with the usual touch of Brandon’s brilliance regarding school. I stared at the clock behind father’s figure while he talked on and on, until he finally handed me the keys of my car so we could leave.  

“Just to be clear, I’m actually failing  gym’s class so...” Brandon tried to joke as he got inside of the car in the passenger seat. 

“Let’s just fucking leave, alright?” I spat, turning the vehicle on. 

Brandon got the clue and we were silent during the rest of the ride. 

We didn’t go to the gym at all that day during detention. Instead, we were told to stay quiet and be good, whatever that meant, until the time was over.  

I stared into the window for the entire first half hour, barely even moving. It was the first time that I was so strongly wishing to be somewhere else. I didn’t even have the energy to chew the bubblegum that annoyed Barnes so much. On her side, she seemed to be studying, leafing through her notes, eventually glancing at me almost in worry. But she didn’t dare say anything to me. Luckily so.  

I wanted to call Abigail, though I wasn’t sure what to say. But this place wasn’t as big as the gym and Becky would hear everything I said, and I’d just rather die a slow painful death than to do that.  

A few minutes later, after closing her notebook, Becky got up and opened the door. Peeping out of the classroom, standing on her tiptoes, she tapped the wall with her fingers. She closed the door and looked at me.  

“I need to go to the bathroom,” She cried out. 

I shrugged.  

“How is that my problem?” 

She looked outside again, ignoring me. By her body language I could tell she was being honest, but we had no way of contacting the teacher when we were in there. It was just that so-very-well-designed form of detention that just made this hell completely illogical.  

She waited five minutes by the door before finally letting out, “I’ll be right back in a second.” 

I was taking my phone out almost before she ran out of the classroom. Dear reader, I hope you don’t think less of me as I walk you through one of my less... glorious... moments. Please try to remember me as graciously as you did before. 

“Hey.” I said lowly. I got up to walk towards the window, my fingers running through the surface of the frames. “I know it’s been a while. I also know you’re not going to answer. Obviously.... But there’s a few things you should know. I’ve been in detention with Becky Barnes for almost two weeks now. We got two months, both of us. Some... misunderstanding at the gym. Miss Guiterrez is such a mess. She doesn’t even check on us. She just lets us here. This school is so messed up. We used to say that all the time, remember? And then there’s... my father. Well, I’m sure you remember that. My father and Brandon. I’m never going to be like them, aren’t I?”  

“Hello? Linda?”  

I jumped in my place. I looked at the screen to make sure this was real. “Abigail?” 

“Linda? Listen... You have to stop.”  

“What?” My heart seemed about to pop from my chest when I asked, “Why weren’t you answering me? Why did you leave like that?”  

“Please leave me alone.”  

“Wait.” 

I jumped again when the door behind me opened. It was just Becky. I looked at the screen quickly again, but the call had been finished.  

“Fuck, Barnes!” I cursed, resting my back on the wall. If she hadn’t walked in during that precise moment, I’d have had one more second of that conversation that was now slipping from the tip of my fingers. It was real, she answered me! I wasn’t screaming into a void, she might’ve heard all of my messages...  

And she fucking hated me.  

“Sorry. That again, Linda? Seriously?” Becky said, uncomfortable, closing the door. “Why do you even call someone who clearly doesn’t want to talk to you?” 

I was pretty sure that she intended to say it like an out-loud thought, another one of those that wasn’t going to get to me. But the fact was that I was on the floor when she finished saying that and she had turned around.  

“Shit,” she whispered, walking towards me in a little trot, the worry suddenly increasing. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

I don’t know what happened to me. I recall that moment and it’s like recalling an out-of-body experience. I can say what happened, more or less, but some details I’ve grasped with a fist and others have slipped like sand.  

I knew that I was crying. Not like, a few girly tears, but full-on sobbing. I was grabbing my knees and hiding my face, because the thought of Barnes seeing my expression as I cried might be something that I could not recover from. I also knew that the air wasn’t coming in and out as it was humanly healthy, so that was a concern.  

Barnes seemed to notice this as well.  

“Breathe.” She asked, crouching in front of me so her face was the same height as mine. “Tell me what happened.” 

“I’m so pathetic.” I can still remember clearly the tone of voice when I let that out. I was wiping the tears off but they continued to fall one after another. God, this was a nightmare. “All of this is just so pathetic. I’m so stupid!”  

“Why are you saying that?” 

My voice was loud and I was still sobbing like a kindergarten boy on his first day of classes when I continued. 

“Do you know what it’s like to put yourself out there like I did? To confront my family, the people in here, to stand all the shit people say and do, and pretend you don’t care. And then the person you did it for just doesn’t care about you anymore! And leaves you! With no explanation. And then you... you try to reach out, and get no answer... And everyone is fucking laughing at you like the biggest fucking joke in the world. And you can’t give an explanation, because you don’t know what happened! I feel so pathetic. My father’s right. I am pathetic.” 

It was like verbal diarrhea; I just couldn’t stop it. But accurately to the analogy, I did feel like the stomachache was, at least, a little bit gone when it stopped. I wasn’t sobbing anymore.  

There was a silence until Becky’s voice reached the air, soft but strong enough to hit me.  

“That’s a real shitty situation.” At some point during my rant, she had sat down on the floor, legs crossed, and was looking at me with an interest and compassion that both made me uncomfortable and, at some level I didn’t want to admit, understood. “I think you have every right to feel the way you do. I know I would be mad too... But it’s not your fault she’s acting she way she is. You can’t control what other people do.”  

I rested my head on the wall and wiped the last tear from my face, “God, Barnes. Why do you have to be so fucking nice to everyone?” 

She grinned while resting her weight on the palm of her hand. She didn’t seem crept out by my outburst, but actually relaxed, and I could feel that energy reaching me slowly. This worked as a bit of a comfort for me. 

We both looked up when the bell rang, as if we had been caught doing something we shouldn’t. She seemed disposed to get up when I inadvertedly grabbed her arm. 

“Wait,” I called lowly, instantly letting go when I noticed what I did. “Don’t leave. I don’t wanna go home yet. Just a little while more.”  

“Okay.” Becky’s voice matched my whisper.  

She moved a bit to rest her back on the wall as well. I knew that miss Guiterrez would be coming back in any minute, but I valued every second I could gather to recompose myself.  

“Just for the record... I don’t think you’re stupid. Or pathetic.” Becky said. “Maybe not the most approachable person I know... but you can find people that actually want to talk to you, if you let down that persona you built a little bit.” 

“The persona?” 

“Oh, come on, Linda.” She kicked my feet lightly,  “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t think you’re truly like that all the time. At least... not one hundred percent. Maybe just eighty, but it’s not entirely your personality.” 

“I wouldn’t be so confident about that.” 

Becky laughed. Did her laugh always sound so melodic? Kind of like when a bird sings. Ugh, no. I retract that metaphor. I’m not letting myself down there.  

“Besides, not all of us are an extrovert rain of sun that just sparks joy and helps those in need and gives the other cheek and all that shit. Some of us just aren’t made for that.” 

“I’m not entirely like that either.” Becky warned, and she seemed suddenly serious. I examined her largely, maybe for the first time ever.  

Yeah, I don’t I’ve ever truly seen her before until that moment. 

“You mean... like when you get those bruises on your wrist?”  

Becky quickly covered them with the sleeves of her shirt.  

“It’s not what you think.” She said weakly. 

“Just for the record... I think even you deserve better than that, Barnes.” 

She stared into my eyes, and for the first time I didn’t defy her as I held the look. I couldn’t define what was holding that tension, but I knew it wasn’t that.  I could clearly observe how she breathed slowly, like if she was focusing a lot of effort on doing it so. She opened her mouth when someone walked in the detention room, cutting whatever words were at the tip of her tongue. 

“What are you still doing here? Time’s over. Come on, let’s go.” 

We got up, grabbed our bags and followed miss Guiterrez outside. I looked at Becky when the teacher split up from us to get her car. 

“Goodbye, Becky Barnes.” I said playfully, looking for the keys in my purse as we reached the sidewalk. 

“Goodbye, Linda. See you tomorrow.” Becky smiled at me.  

I got inside of the car and fixed my rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of her walking away. The wind was blowing that long red hair, drawing what I could only describe as a very distracting silhouette. Then I realized what I just did and bit my lip. 

Ohhhhhhshit.   

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Denial

Linda

“If you throw my pepsi on the floor, you’re dead.” I warned to Brandon as we walked through the crowd, pushing the people in our way.

“You could, you know, help me.”

“You’re the man, aren’t you? Make your father proud.”

He gave me a look and I simply shrugged. I couldn’t let it slip, I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault to be the favorite. I didn’t know if it was his personality, being the last child or the fact that he was male, but my parents loved Brandon. In fact, it seemed everyone else did so as well. Our entire family gathered around him to praise him during our family meetings, and he was starting to get kind of popular in the school as well. It kind of bugged me.

I knew I was popular, too, but not for the same reasons. People knew me but didn’t precisely like me. I didn’t really mind that. In general, they feared me enough to concede whatever I needed on a daily basis, so it’s not like I was actually alone or anything, when I didn’t want to be. I also had a few friends outside of Hatchetfield that I saw every once in a while and this was enough for me. But there were moments, like this one, where Brandon insisted to go to a game or something and it became clear to me how different people addressed him and me.

Then someone pulled from my hand when we were close to reach the benches.

“Linda.” The shock that was given to me to hear Becky Barnes voice calling my name like that was even more terrifying than the fact this happened by itself. “Hey. It’s nice to see you.”

And then she did something that terrified me even more, and truly hear this: she hugged me. She. Hugged. Me. It was a quick, superficial embrace, but her arms wrapped around me and pulled me in, swiftly, as her face leaned towards me. Her cheek grazed mine and I could smell something that resembled vanilla. I became sort of rigid as I couldn’t react in time. When she pulled away, she was smiling, seemingly unaware of my reaction –or the lack of.

“How are you? Is this...?”

“I’m Brandon, her brother. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” She continued, apparently not realizing it wasn’t normal I hadn’t said a word. “Listen, after the game, we’re all going to the bridge near the Eleven road and have a few drinks. You guys should come.”

I blinked three times before answering (or better said, attempting to).

“Um... Sorry, I —”

“We’ll see you there.” Brandon interrupted me, and I questioned him with a look.

“Great! I’ll see you there.” Becky looked happy. There was an announcement through the speakers calling the cheerleading team, and she added quickly, “I have to go. See you later!”

She seemed truly excited.

I resumed the walk to our seats very quickly to reclaim, grabbing Brandon’s arm, “What the hell, Brandon? I don’t wanna go hang out with Becky Barnes!”

He giggled, “Yeah, right.”

“What?”

“You totally have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a crush on Barnes. Are you clinically insane?” I turned around, almost violently, to check that no one heard this completely mental statement. We sat down and I grabbed my cup of pepsi, grateful to have something to do with my hands.

“I know you, sis. Besides, your face is completely pink. You’re not hiding it very well.”

“That’s because she’s the least person I wanna be seen with in public, Brandon, and she fucking hugged me in front of everyone. I didn’t know what to do. We’ve been public enemies since the first grade. How do you not remember this?”

“You are public enemies with the whole school. That doesn’t mean a thing. And I think she likes you back.”

His eyebrows where still dancing when I snorted. “She’s straight.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He took a sip from his cup, his eyes looking around as he searched for a way to reconcile the conversation, “Well, it doesn’t matter. This is also an opportunity for me to expand my social circle. I basically have as little friends as you do, sis, and that’s very sad.”

“I choose not to have friends.”

“Exactly. Now, think about it… Maybe we’ll both meet someone? Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s Hatchetfield. There’s nothing better to do.”

“I hate you, but I’ll drink to that.” I said and we made a toast with our pepsis.

The Nighthawks won the game with an interesting benefit, though I dissociated almost the entire game. I only joined the clapping whenever Brandon would start yelling and cheering and bring me back to earth. I put an excruciating amount of effort to divert my eyes from the cheerleading team, and their short skirts that lifted while their legs kicked almost reaching their noses, and red ponytails swinging in the air, and I sort of still couldn’t believe it myself that we were driving to the bridge to meet up with Becky Barnes. I parked my Ford near the rest of the vehicles and me and my brother got out of the car.

There was music playing and I couldn’t help but to roll my eyes at The Offspring ‘s Want you bad.

Becky wasn’t there yet but I spotted some of her teammates, as well as some of the players from the school. There were a few whispers joining that dozen of stares as we walked out, but I didn’t expect any less. I knew that it was kind of controversial to be seen in a mediocre hangout with random people.

I lit a cigarette as I rested my bum on the trunk of the car. Even though it wasn’t my favorite kind of people, the night was fresh and nice.

“Give me a cigarette.”

“You’re not smoking.” I warned.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Uh-uh. We’re here, be grateful.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. I grinned. We were brother and sister, after all.

I’d never admit it but I kind of held my breath when I spotted that red flowing hair grasping a figure on a motorcycle. They climbed down and walked directly towards us. I felt my body becoming sort of stiff again, but the nicotine helped.

“Hey, guess what I have for you!” She cheerfully announced and showed me a bottle of wine. It was red. I didn’t like red wine.

“Oh, I don’t really —” I started my explanation, but Brandon kicked my shin not very discreetly. “But this looks… I mean, how bad can it be?”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is thank you. Thank you, Becky!” She continued and giggled. Was she drunk? Or high? She seemed exceedingly cheerful, even for her. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Stanley, my boyfriend. Stanley, these are Linda and Brandon.”

“Hey.” This was the man’s only response as he greeted us with a nod of his head —apparently, doing more would be too much of an effort. He didn’t look our age. He didn’t look our age and he definitely didn’t go to our school. “Honey, my friends are over there, so I’ll be...”

“Okay. Oh, wait, wait, wait, wait. Open this up for us, please.” She handed him the bottle and he opened it with a pull. “Wow, my man is so strong.” Becky added and laughed -yes, she was indeed very drunk-, before they made out for a moment. I could really throw up right there, but I didn’t want to splash my tires.

Becky handed me the recently opened bottle, and I couldn’t believe it but I started to chug it from the spout, something I had never done before in my entire life. I didn’t like red wine, but I needed something to make this bizarre event more bearable.

I looked at Brandon, who had been staring at me with pleading eyes. I squinted, “Just a little bit,” I warned before giving him the bottle, and he smiled before taking a few sips.

“So… are you enjoying yourselves? It’s a really nice night, isn’t it?” Becky was swaying slightly in her place as she said this, her eyes dancing and her lips folding in a grin.

“Um…”

“Definitely. Thank you for inviting us, Becky!” Brandon interrupted me again. It was starting to get annoying.

“Of course! We always hang out here, and you’re always welcome. Partners of detention must stick together.”

I continued to chug from the bottle. I didn’t want to admit that I liked that she called us partners. The Nile is a river in Egypt, and I was doing my best to repress all of my newborn thoughts about Becky Barnes.

“Poor Becky, post school hours Linda mustn’t be very fun.” Brandon stole the bottle from my hands.

“Hey,” I warned.

“ It’s not that bad.” Becky smiled at me again, doing the same to Brandon, and I thanked God it was dark because I could feel the blood coming up to my cheeks.

“Mmmm. When our father gives us detention it can get pretty bad, trust me, but I better not tell or I’ll sleep in the garage.”

Becky and Brandon laughed in complicity, as if they’ve known each other for ages. This wasn’t much of a surprise, Brandon was almost as much of a social butterfly as her. Then he excused himself to go talk to a few of his classmates and Becky rested against the trunk of my car, next to me.

It came up like vomit from my mouth as soon as we were alone, the cheap wine that I continued to drink encouraging me I guess. Maybe getting drunk with the person I both despised and wanted to ravish wasn’t such a great idea as it first seemed.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

 Becky’s eyes showed the surprise that she attempted to hide.

“Because I don’t think you’re that bad, Linda.”

“Yeah, but why? I didn’t give you a reason to think that.”

She handed me the bottle. I didn’t look at it as I grabbed it, and was instead staring off into the distance, to a group of people chatting and laughing. My fingers grazed hers. Her skin was warm, and I hated that this touch was so ephemeral as I directed the bottle to my lips again.

“I don’t know. Don’t we all deserve a chance?”

I grimaced lightly. “I guess.”

I don’t know if we could ever understand each other. It seemed so, the other day, but maybe that was a temporary illusion.

Maybe some people are meant to be on their own.

Becky opened her mouth to talk, but we were interrupted by her cheerleader girlfriends, who were all very loud and intense and drunk. They, at some extent, did their best to include me, but it was extremely uncomfortable. The night continued with a few other contemporary rock songs, cigarettes and pretty much small talk. I spent most of it with Brandon, and occasionally Becky checking up on us. I think she realized I couldn’t find my place in there.

Everyone had started to take off when I realized Becky’s boyfriend had practically disappeared the entire night. That was until Becky practically carried him to our sight, his arm around her shoulder and almost a dead weight. Now that was being excruciatingly drunk, I should’ve taken back my previous statements.

He bent over to throw up on the concrete, next to us.

“Ew,” Brandon muttered. He put down our bottle of wine, regretting his actions though it was already almost done by then.

Becky didn’t le him go, and instead she asked with a pleading tone,

“He’s too drunk to ride his bike back home. Linda, I’m so sorry to ask this, but all of our friends left. Can you please get us home?”

Those didn’t seem such good friends. Neither this seemed like a very good boyfriend. But I guess it wasn’t my call to make.

I examined this tosser up and down, from his terrible haircut down to the puddle of puke at his feet. I answered after a consciously long pause, “He better not puke in my car, or I’ll rip his little-”

“SHE GETS IT,” Brandon exclaimed, surprised I had accepted, not so much by my fair warning.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Her gratitude was a bit off putting, but Brandon and I helped Becky carry this stupid man’s ass to my car. What a way to spend my night! Carrying heterosexual men back to their cozy homes with their Becky Barnes, while I’d spend my night making sure Brandon wouldn’t also puke his own guts out. Cheap wine would definitely destroy his stomach.

Becky gave me the indications to Stanley’s house, and we agreed we’d later drop her off. I ordered Brandon to stay in the car, so I could carry that sack of a man, but he refused to let us help. Instead, he insisted he could walk on his own, even though he walked in zigzag lines, crushing onto the door, furniture and the walls. When we got to the stairs, Becky insisted and tried to grab his arm.

“I said leave me the fuck alone, Becca.” And he pushed her with that arm, throwing her a bit off balance. Becky didn’t say anything to this, and merely followed him through the stairs.

I was taken aback by this for a moment, and then it hit me.

I followed them both to the door, and Becky told me to wait in the living room of that messy, dirty apartment. I didn’t even look around to try and see what was this guy’s deal. It was as if I kind of doze off. I couldn’t not hear the voices fighting inside of the bedroom, and Becky came back with teary eyes and suddenly looking very small, like a child.

“Thank you so much, Linda. I’m staying with him, so I can… you know, take care of him. Thank you again, you can just leave.”

It was all so fake it was almost funny, but I hadn’t even listened a word.

“Its him, isn’t it?”

 Becky’s lower lip was shaking, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I was so furious I was trembling. I looked at her for what felt like hour before I stormed out and closed the door with a slam.