‘fuck no’ is the elegance of how she’s putting this. it’s the only thing she can spit to the doctor’s irritatingly dulcet, quiet voice. there’s a sound in the background that’s louder than it— the end of ‘alright’ becomes ‘—ght’ and drowns out almost completely to a sound beforehand like a whole entire fucking river splashing down some rapids. it makes her ears practically sing.
it brings on the headache that’s been going strong for days now. on and off, on and off. the sometimes loss of hearing and then its return. and then, today, now, the tooth. it’s looking at her— one of her perfect, white teeth stained dark red at the root where it is no more. a spot in the back of her mouth where it used to be, and if she wiggles her tongue just there trish can feel the hole that’s probably going to kill her. is this a rare disease? is she going to lose all her body parts one by one? is this shit how ebola works? she hasn’t even been on a subway in—
what she declines to mention is ‘i don’t trust anyone else and my trustworthy person isn’t available’. she’d usually put on a show— the marilyn monroe husk— but she says it in a way that’s both sharp and frantic at once. it’s the kind of dagger to the throat plus grasping desperation trish is so well known for.
“come over. come over now.”
it’s demanding because the desperation shoots and shoots. no one’s ever known trish to leave out a please. (mother would’ve cracked her jaw.)
“ alright . . . just . . . ” victoria is reeling, attempting to think quickly and remain still at once. that voice, so familiar . . . it’s PATSY . . . and yet, it’s not . . . it’s the woman from their talks, their confessions, THEIR TIME TOGETHER. THE WOMAN FROM HER LAP. that burns against her cheek, pounds against her temples. she switches her phone from one hand to the other. I NEED YOU. it’s NOT exactly subtle ━━ patricia walker isn’t known for being subtle, at least not to victoria ━━ nor is it the type of statement that would normally be spoken so unapologetically aloud to her. I NEED YOU. victoria’s used to that in the undertones of things; i need you, i might want you, and i will grovel at your feet for one small window of your attention, doctor siebert, in exchange ; please, just listen to me. it’s all in the breathing, the eyes. the double-booked, early appointments. it’s a game, and it’s one victoria knows how to play . . . but her victory is usually COVERT . . . never outright, never this way. and yet, patricia walker calls, and there it is . . . all at once. that dependence, that warm, invigorating control; THAT NEED.
“ i’m at a dinner, ” she replies, still calmly. this isn’t a good time, she wants to say, and it’s in the soft inflection, the furrowed brow, for you to suddenly come back into my life. to make me face you after all of these years. but victoria cannot resist the pull, and so she doesn’t. IF PATRICIA WALKER IS IN TROUBLE, VICTORIA WANTS TO KNOW WHY; SHE ALWAYS WILL. “ i’ll need to hail a cab. are you uptown ? ━━ do you need to be admitted, miss walker ? ”