“Bury my bones in the midnight soil, plant them shallow but water them deep, and in my place will grow a feral rose, soft red petals hiding sharp white teeth.” just an arcane obsessed writer
· · ─ · ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: your queerness seeps through the cracks, threatening to spill out to those who remain in the shadows. You confide in Callie about your seemingly unrequited desire for your brothers bestfriend. Ellie has a new friend. ── .✦ [ past + current pov ]
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· · ─ · ᡣ𐭩 content warnings: 8k words, reader is so delulu it hurts, s!her pronouns used for reader, age gap (2ish years), Callie is still here, Ellie is still here, and theres a new addition to the group, yay!…. Recreational (and technically underage) drug use, reader is pining for Ellie, Ellie is ??, themes of jealousy, self depreciation, sadnesss but not really angst, suspected unrequited love, reader is lowkey miss possessive, reader and Callie have a moment, mentions of blood (reader cuts her finger), unedited, im sorry !!!
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃. 〝If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.〞—ִֶָThe Notebook 𓂃⊹
The gooey face mask that Callie spreads all along your jawline burns and cools at the same time. Your hair is tucked up into a bun, with a fuzzy headband pushing your baby hairs out of your face.
“This is nice, the ocean water dried the fuck out of my face.” Callie announces, smoothing the spots under your eyes with the green substance. You hum in response, letting the cold release sink into the pores of your face.
The night was coming to a close, the sun all the way down and the voices of all have come down to the quiet hum of a whisper. The group drove home in your brother's jeep, music turned down into an inaudible buzz. The atmosphere was bustling with that after-beach calmness. Callie was snoozing beside you, her head craned onto your shoulder in a way that was sure to cause neck pain later on. Ellie was in the front seat chatting with your brother, her voice barely reaching a mumble. You smiled the whole way home.
“I’m fucking exhausted…” you sigh, falling back against your pillow, your head bounces when you land. You dip the tip of your fingernail into the paste, trying to claw the few stray hairs out from underneath the surface. You blow a raspberry when your objective fails.
“I know, me too.” The brunette hums, throwing her feet up onto your vanity. She sighs, a loud dramatic noise that leaves you wondering why.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, sliding your head off the pillow. She shuts the compact mirror she was looking in as you slide your legs off the side of the bed. Your hair is still wet, the heaviness weighing down on the top of your head.
“Nothing, I just—you know Ellie?” She turns to you.
Your heart drops, there was no reason for Callie to bring up Ellie. You cross your legs, palming your hand at the skin of your thigh. You can feel the sweat accumulating on the back of your neck. Why the fuck would Callie be thinking about Ellie?
“Uhh—I mean yeah, I know Ellie.” You throw back, an awkward chuckle spilling from your lips.
Now was the time. Callie’s going to confess her undying love for the girl you’ve been pining for since you could talk. She was gonna sit here and pretend that she hadn't just noticed her when she got hot, and saw her for the rambunctious, freckle covered surfer that you’ve always known. What did they really have in common? What could Callie possibly see in her? Your hand shakes against your thigh, you press your other hand into it to stop the movements. Your head is running, plowing through a very emotionally taxing amount of thoughts while Callie sits there and finds the words for her request. They would be a disaster waiting to happen, like the kind where only the cockroaches survive—
“Do you think she would have weed?….I saw her smoking earlier and, I dunno..” she asks, her voice unreasonably shy.
You place a hand on your heart, a loud sigh of definite relief plowing its way through your lungs. “Oh!”
Weed.
Callie wanted weed. Not your green eyed surfer girl.
She raises an eyebrow, shooting you the ultimate look of confusion. “Yeah, what did you think I w—”
“Yeah she definitely has weed.” You interrupt, slapping your hands against your thighs. You ignore the sting that spreads underneath your skin as you push yourself off the bed. The sheets crinkle and you chuckle, hoping to cover up your moment of weakness.
“The question is, if she’ll give some to us.” You step across the room in two awkward strides, grabbing your phone and opening up Ellie’s contact. You can tell Callie wants to press on the issue, but she refrains. But with the way you avoid eye contact you're sure she’ll have something to say later.
“Are you gonna ask? Wait—what are you gonna say?” She giggles, standing up from her chair and pushing herself up behind you, peaking over your shoulder.
You hum, your fingers and two pairs of eyes hovering over the keyboard. You shake your head no before tapping in a few combinations of a greeting. You grunt, too stiff, too formal, too much.
Callie kisses her teeth, wrapping her arm in front of you and snatching the phone without leaving room for objection. “Gimme this. You're a real idiot sometimes, you know that?”
She taps the screen with practised ease, her charisma leaking through with every letter. She adds a typo for nonchalance, and a lol as a cushion, just in case she denies your petition.
“Wait—let me see! That doesn't even sound like me!”you complain, reaching for the phone with the best of your abilities.
“It’s fine!” She finalizes, slamming her thumb down onto the send button.
You: hey lol, are u home?
You: like at mine. Me n Callie were wondering if you could possibly spare some bud…we’ll pay !
“We’ll pay? You mean me?..” you laugh, tugging the phone out of her hands completely. Callie laughs, playfully lunging for the device. She knocks you back into your wardrobe, letting the thing bang against the wall bound you. The two of you snort, your faces falling when you realize the volume of the noise you made.
“Dude..” she laughs, falling into a fit of giggles. You quickly follow, mushing a Hana’s against your mouth to stop you from waking up the whole house.
“We need to—wash these off our faces—c’mon!” Laughter weaves its way in between her words, she fails to stifle the noise as she grabs onto your wrist.
“We can check if she responded after, my phone needs to charge.” You plug the device back in beside your bed, letting Callie pull you into the bathroom closest to your bedroom.
The room isn't too large, a shower in the corner and a counter large enough to hold a couple of trinkets. The counter is a mess of Callie’s hair products and the few makeup products you both dipped on before heading out earlier tonight. The mirror has a couple of lipstick marks that you and your best friend left there a couple of years ago, you never bothered to try and wash them off and you're sure if you did now it would end up stained.
The both of you settle into a comfortable silence, the only sound that fills the room being the water running and the occasional giggles coming from either of you. It doesn't take you long to scrub your face clean, you were patting yourself dry after a couple of minutes. Callie, on the other hand, spends another ten minutes rubbing a plethora of different moisturizers and serums into her skin.
You quietly slip out of the room, your skin softening under the fat layer of moisturizer Callie had slapped on. The slight change in air has you sniffling as you enter your bedroom, the chill of the bathroom just barely managing to seep under the door.
It's only been a few minutes—maybe ten at the most—but when you pick your phone up off your nightstand, half expecting it to be empty, it’s not. The charger dangles from your grasp, lightly brushing against your leg as you gawk down at the screen.
Two new texts from Ellie stare back at you.
Els: I’m not at urs but i could bring u some
Els: free of charge, dude dont even think about paying
Els: and dont say bud lmfao, weirdo
You chuckle at the responses, the not quite nonchalance, the cocky tone. It was stupid of you to blush, really. But the texts were so completely her it was hard not to.
You pull your bottom lip back between your front teeth; its favourite spot, as of recent. Part of you wants to decline her offer, to be a burden was to put a weight on your shoulders that you didn't need. But the other part was desperate to see her, to get a look at her outside your window like in Say Anything when Lloyd stood outside Diane’s window with the boombox, birthing one of the most iconic moments in romantic comedy history. You wanted a look that was just for you.
You glance over at the bathroom. You could still hear Callie still humming and giggling under her breath, the light gently seeping into the hallway.
You’ve never been a selfish person, but in this moment something alien overcomes you—a feeling of possession that you had never quite felt before. You bite down on the fat slab of skin and nerves between your teeth. She wasn't here, and you weren’t going to make her travel, that would be more selfish than what you were doing now. If and when your best friend would inquire, you would tell her that Ellie wasn't here, and she didn't have any weed. Simple as that.
You: No, that’s fine. We aren't thatttt desperate lol
You: I thought bud was proper stoner lingo :(
You press the tips of your fingers to your lips, her response couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes ago, yours 2 at the most. You tap at the screen, waiting. You can still hear Callie’s voice in the bathroom, this time too loud for the ams. You pay her no mind when the three dots pop up on your screen—Ellie’s typing!
Callie's voice infects the hallway, and then soon enough the space just before your bedroom. But you don't catch her words, as they’ve twisted into a buzzing jumble of gibberish. Your focus was on your phone and only your phone.
Els: Are u sure? Its not a problem for me
Els: it’s not, because you are not a stoner ://
You: you don't have to. We‘ll sleep just fine without it!
You: you don't know that ? >:( i could be a hardcore stoner
Els: a stoner who doesn't know how to ask for weed? Oh im sure.
Els: go to bed dude.
You chuckle down at your phone, letting your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think of your reply.
“Yo! I’ve been calling you for like ten minutes!” Callie yells, she’s in the doorway now, shifting her weight onto one of her hips while she waves her hand in the air like a lunatic. You jump, her voice cutting through your fantasy.
You scramble for your phone, almost dropping the thing in the midst of your fright. “Oh my!—Jesus fuck Callie!” You cry. You switch your device off, letting it clatter back onto the nightstand without reply.
“Did she reply?” She asks, shuffling forward. She kicks her fluffy slippers off, not caring where they land.
“Yeah—No, uhh—she can't, she's at home, already.” You stammer, hiding the heat in your cheeks with a half hearted frown.
You bare teeth when the girl groans, her head falling back into the space between her shoulder blades. “Fuckkk..” she drags, falling back onto your bed. You let her complain, throwing her a few curt synonyms for no when she comes up with ways around your choice.
“Ugh, that blows. Are you sure we can't like—”
“Go to bed, dude.”
The hot summer air blows through you, practically drenching your body in sweat. You dig your toes into the burning sand, the sun beating down on your skin like a sunburn waiting to happen.
Your brother and Ellie were surfing, letting the waves carry them through the sea. The two had just recently gotten their braces taken off after four years of constant competition over who would be the first. Funnily enough, they had been scheduled for the same day, but technically Ellie’s appointment ended first.
You stare down at the magazine in your hands, some blonde celebrity on the cover that you were sure Callie was obsessed with, you couldn’t quite remember her name, you were only faintly interested. You flip through the pages quickly, letting sad wedge itself in the cracks between pages.
You sigh, flipping yourself onto your stomach. You were in the phase of life that hit like a freight train. The same bathing suit that fit you just last summer was now riding up in awkward places and barely stretching over your back. Your face had begun to breakout and your boobs had mysteriously perked up out of nowhere. To say you were a wreck was an understatement.
Your emotions had been in a jumble too, you were suddenly crueler than you intended to be and couldn’t stand near your sibling without a fight occurring. You were both in a very awkward place in life, and your obsession with his friend didn't make it any easier.
The wind pushes your pages closed, and blows strands of hair into your face. You slam the magazine shut with a grunt, hoping for dramatic effect. You unfortunately don't get that, because the flimsy pages just end up opening with the next gust.
You push your sunglasses back down onto your nose, letting the shades engulf your eyes completely. People watching was always an activity you favoured, letting your mind run wild with questions about those who walked by. Only, in recent years, you had sort of switched from people watching to…Ellie watching. Your eyes would unconsciously flick to her without a reason, just watching and wondering. You would try to pry your gaze away, but it was hard to rip your eyes from such delicate beauty.
Your eyes follow Ellie as she glides through the waves. Her rash guard and shorts, the way her hair was tied up into a bun in futile attempts to keep it dry. She was farther back than usual, she had claimed it was because the waves were better back there, you thought she was showing off. Not for you, unfortunately.
A few friends had accompanied the group of you, a few people that you were very familiar with, like Dina and Jesse, and a few others that you weren’t quite sure of. Callie laid beside you, her hair blowing with the wind like a model and her hands preoccupied with her brand new phone.
“So, you got any crushes yet? I think Xavier is cute…he’s a junior.” Callie asks, clicking her teeth. You can hear the wad of gum moving throughout her mouth, the sloppy loud sound of her chewing overpowering any tune of the wind, or the shouts of your friends. You can't help but flick your eyes down to her glossed lips.
“Uhm—no…” you clear your throat. Callie hums, slipping her phone back into her bag. She shifts closer to you on your shared towel. You quickly push yourself off of your stomach, pulling your knees up into a mountain as you look over to her.
“Bullshit. There’s not a single boy you think is cute? Boy, girl, person?!” She chuckles, fiddling with the homemade anklet on her foot. You know she's joking, you know she doesn't think you're queer, but the thought itself still runs a chill up your spine.
Your head whips up at her. “No!” You yell, almost a little too loud. Your faces were closer now, too close. You could smell the mint coming off her breath, and the seawater that had entangled itself in her braids.
“No—girl, or boy…there’s no anyone.” You continue, this time quitter. There was no need to yell, considering there was about three inches of space between you. Callie nods, cautiously. She throws one of her French braids over her shoulder, the water from the wet hair now dripping down the spot where it once was. Your eyes shift to the water droplet, following it until it seeps into her tan skin.
Unbeknownst to her, your eyes continued to move. Her chest, her mouth, her eyes. She was nothing like Ellie, but it was…different. You wondered what flavour her lipgloss was, and how it would taste against your own lips. You blink and your eyes are on her chest. Callie was already wearing bikinis, whereas you tried to stick it out with your white and blue striped one piece for as long as possible. you examine the shape of her top, and the slight imprint of her developing chest beneath it.
“Are you wearing body glitter?” your mouth moves faster than your mind, and suddenly you’re inquiring about the sparkling specks that fall down her neck and chest. She looks down at her chest, her lips folding into a smirk.
“Yeah, I can't believe it stayed on even after swimming.” She laughs, brushing her hands over her chest. The glitter endures, just barely travelling lower as her hand slaps away at her own skin.
You hum suspiciously, shifting your weight on the towel. Her mind is already elsewhere, her focus on the water. “Who are you wearing it for?” You grumble, the question comes out more accusatory than inquisitive. A purely accidental mistake that has your friend whipping her head back in your direction.
“What? Nobody!” She snaps back, her face shifting into a grotesque snarl.
“Jesse? Jordan? Alex?” You push, a wide smile growing on your face. The thing about Callie was she didn’t get defensive, that just wasn't a trait she possessed. Unless she harboured guilt.
“No, no, no! Ew, oh my god!” She tags your name on at the end of the sentence, dragging it on that faux annoyance that you could easily recognize as playful. She shoves her face into her hands, her teeth now visible from how hard she was cheesing.
“My brother?” You question. You only said it as a joke, a wildly brusque allegation, only really meant in humour.
Your friend falls silent.
You search her face for any sign of insincerity in her silence, but she can only look up at you, her lips pulled into a tightlipped smile. Had she been watching him all this time? Was he the focus of her vision, her muse?
“You like my brother?” you ask, your voice is flowing in that one hundred percent supportive but ultimately grossed out tone.
“Maybe?...I dunno–!”
“Eww, Callie! What the fuck!” You laugh, pushing a hot pile of sand into her lap with a heavy hand. She flinches with a laugh, a string of apologies spewing out from glossed lips.
The two of you fall into a melody of joy, laughs falling from eager mouths and handfuls of sand flying across the shore. You quickly settle into the gentle rhythm of beach activities, swimming when the sun’s rays got too hot, and crawling out of the water when the uv went up.
The thought of her and your brother lingers in your mind as you push the waves beneath your arms, suddenly, your quick moment of curiosity seems so foolish and entirely far away.
Your arms permeate through the water in strong strides.
The next morning isn't as slow as the last. You wake up to the smell of cheap fast food and the sound of priceless laughter.
Callie’s still snoring beside you, her arm slung off the edge of your bed while she nuzzles into your side. You yawn quietly, cringing at the morning light that seeps through your drapes.
A slight pang of irritation hiccups in your chest at the sudden presence of another person. The sigh you let out isn't heavy, but it still holds enough weight to move you. Callie softly stirs in her sleep, pushing her nose into the comforter below her. The floral sheets crinkle as you gently push yourself out of the bed, letting the cold air of the bedroom seep into your skin.
You stretch your arms above your head as you wander into the hallway, your teeth stinging to be brushed and your skin itching for contact. You grimace as the feeling of your teeth against your lips, speeding up your feet as you approach the bathroom.
The door is closed when you arrive, holding you outside in your discomfort. You groan, pushing your back up against the wall to hold you up, you were too tired to stand. You can hear the water running from your side of the wall, the continuous stream of agitation practically mocking you from inside.
A few moments pass, each second dragging on as if were hours while you stand awkwardly outside the door. At this point, the urge to pee had also struck you by surprise. You groan again, this time louder. You bring your fist to the door in three taps. Three gentle knocks that announce your presence while also giving the other person, who you presume to be your sibling, time to finish up.
Another minute passes, your anger growing higher by the second. You run your hands over your face, hoping your frustration would somehow evaporate into nothing at the sudden contact, it didn't. You curse under your breath, smoothly twisting off the wall adjacent to the door. You gently clear your throat, the taste causing you to make a ‘bleh’ sound under your breath. You’re lifting your fist to knock when–
“Oh!” you jump, as the door is swiped open in one gentle tug of the hand. The person standing opposite you was in fact not your sibling, but a face that you couldn't put a name to; familiar but far.
“I’m so sorry!” you chuckle, hoping to hide the grogginess in your voice behind embarrassment. The girl brushes you off with the flick of a hand, letting you wander in after her. You don't get a reply, just a weirdly supercilious laugh and the missing piece you can't quite connect.
You didn't have time to reel in the thought, the name on the tip of your tongue quickly vanishing as you disappear behind the bathroom door. You connect her to the sharp bobbed girl from the other day, the one who followed the group inside behind Ellie, and hung off her neck like a dying fish clings to a bowl of water. But you couldn't be sure, you hadn't seen the last girl by face, and you didn't stick around long enough to learn her name either. Consider her an enigma.
You quickly shake the notion as you stick your hands under the running tap, the lukewarm water quickly calming the muscles in your hands. You quickly lather your hands with soap and cleanse your face. You waste no time squeezing out a nurdle of toothpaste onto your brush and shoving it in your mouth.
Callie wakes up when you're doing your hair. You're almost halfway done when she stumbles in, her face puffy with sleep and her attitude reeking of fatigue. She croaks out a sheepish good morning, before settling into her morning routine.
The two of you coexist in a silent knowing for a couple of minutes, a comfortable lack of noise that isn't anything besides recognized shared fatigue, and the lack of interest for the day ahead. She pees, brushes her teeth and drags a comb through her hair while you finish your own.
Only about a half an hour goes by in between the time that she wakes and the time that you two re-enter your bedroom.
“Fuck i’m so tired. I think I can feel my eye bags setting in.” Your friend groans, rubbing her fingers into the skin beneath her eyes. You watch the way as she gathers a couple of miscellaneous pills from the front pocket of her bag. Their origins are unknown to you, and frankly you aren't sure you wish to be enlightened.
“Headache?” You question.
“Major” She responds.
You chuckle, sliding your hand down her back as you pass her by. She swats your hand away jokingly, dropping the pills into her mouth with an expression that can only be described as don’t play with me, bitch.
You pull your hand away with a flinch, almost tripping into your closet with the amount of violence directed at you. You yank the closet doors open with one quick tug and ignore the random jab of pain that shoots through your wrist.
“What are you wearing?” You ask, turning to her with your arms fully engrossed with the assortment of clothes in front of you. There wasn't much, just the few comfort t-shirts that you had managed to hang up your first day back and a few sundresses that somehow snuck their way onto the hangers whenever you had free time.
“Probably my swim suit top and shorts, like usual.” She answers, digging through her large purse of clothes.
You nod, turning your attention back to the clothes in front of you. You sift through the closet for a couple minutes before settling on a simple t shirt, just something to throw on over your bathing suit. You waste no time slipping into your bottom garments and shorts, lightly bouncing as you pull your shorts over the curve of your ass. They were older, but they did the job.
You brush your hands over your top once more before turning to face Callie. Her hair was swept into two pigtail braids, sitting on the top of her hand like a crown. You smile to yourself as you run one of your hands down the length of one of the braids.
She hums a gentle tune under her breath, something trending that you had heard going around the apps you frequented, while she finishes slipping into her own shorts, pulling the stressed denim over her red bikini bottoms.
The faint buzz of friendship is heard from the main floor when you open your door, your brothers screaming at the tv already. There’s a couple other voices that overlap, like the obvious ones of Ellie and Jesse. You playfully roll your eyes, an action left invisible to anyone else but you.
The two of you gallop down the stairs as if you were floating on the air beneath your feet; quick and lively. You enter the living room completely unnoticed, and walk to the kitchen with only a few eyes following.
You don't waste much time before padding over to the fridge, pulling out a couple plastic punnets of fruit. Your friend laughs when she sees the trays, digging her fingers into the plastic container of strawberries. You snort when she calls them ran through.
Most of the other group is focused on the television, a two player game of mortal kombat visible from the kitchen and probably audible from the neighbours house. The group grimace when appropriate and scream when encouraged, your brother and another friend of his both holding controllers to their laps.
“You’re dumb as fuck! Like actually!” One friend starts, their voice a seriously unserious growl.
“No you—”
“Motherfucker, I will—”
Your gaze shifts to the girl from this morning, her body slumped lazily against the back of your couch, like she belonged. She leans against Ellie like she had been doing it for years, her head falling comfortably into place atop Ellie’s shoulder, like the missing peice of some fucked up love puzzle. You tsk lightly under your breath, pushing the swirling pool of thoughts into the back of your mind.
The argument is interrupted by a sudden benevolence, a large contrast from the violent and vulgar dynamic of the inside of the group. The way you speak when speaking to an outsider. Your name is called.
“–Hey!” It's Ellie.
You look up, eyes wide. The girl has turned around now. She’s smiling in your direction, offering up a well mannered wave while Ellie points in her direction. Her face is suddenly so familiar. She's beautiful, absolutely, but you're solely focused on where you’ve seen her before, besides this morning.
“This is Cat, you remember cat, right?” Ellie interrupts. Fret no longer. Your eyes stretch out even farther, the look of realization on your face was probably priceless.
Cat. The sound of her name rings against your brain like a bell. Each syllable rocking back and forth in your mind like realization.
“Oh! Yeah–hey!” you put on the best nice girl act you can, waving to the girl with the best smile you can put together under this amount of pressure, it's tight and downright fake, but it clearly suffices.
Cat, Cat from highschool. Ellie's ex girlfriend Cat. The same cat that had you believing you were less than for months, the same cat that you were convinced stole Ellie from you. The cat that posted videos of them making out on snapchat for everyone to see. The girl that made you look a fool, to only yourself, but a fool nonetheless.
“It’s good to see you, wow you look so…different!” The words reek of condescension, you couldn’t detect that tone from anywhere, that dialect of mean girl that only shines through on certain syllables, the I have to be nice with you because I'm friends with your brother, but I do think I'm better than you.
You nod, shooting her another tight lipped smile. You try to reserve your judgment, but it’s damn near impossible to hold back when you’re sure she just insulted you in front of all her. friends. Your friends.
She looks back at Ellie, smiling so hard that it causes the skin underneath her eyes to crinkle. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, gently clearing your throat and excusing yourself from the conversation.
Everyone else falls back into their ways, the argument between the two on the couch, and the sound of comical punches and grunts resume. As if you were never there. Your own sudden vanishing goes unnoticed, and if it is somehow seen by any of those around you, it goes unacknowledged.
You bring your attention back to Callie and the fruit in front of you, waiting to be plated, consumed. You drop the cutting board onto the counter with a little too much aggression, letting the wood clatter against the counter as you then move to search for a bowl.
Why the fuck was cat here, and why was she putting on this insane mean girl act that was somehow only visible to you? Could she see right through you? Could she detect your weird infatuation with the redhead whose neck she was hanging off of?
You run the fruits under a stream of lukewarm water in their respective storage containers, letting the water clear the pores of each strawberry and cleanse the skin of each grape. You pop a single grape into your mouth and bite down so hard that the crunch is heard by Callie.
Why was Ellie choosing to hang around her? The same girl who did her dirty all those years ago? Why was she willingly involving herself with a girl who was clearly no good? Why her? Why would she choose such a jaded, unimportant person to hang around?
You slam the knife down with too much force, cutting into each fruit in jagged, flawed bits. Usually you would take your time when participating in such a giving task, but right now your thoughts were in competition with each other for the prize of your focus.
As you keep chopping, the thoughts keep coming. Cat was nothing in comparison to—others. Others who could do so much better for Ellie. She had her chance, and she absolutely obliterated it, so why does she get to come back? You can only imagine everything she didn't see in Ellie, the slope of her nose or the way her eyes have a little bit of blue on the outside, a ring so small that it’s barely noticeable to the naked eye. But you noticed, you always noticed.
Unfortunately, the thoughts of Ellie and Cat win by miles, and cause you to lose your mind almost completely. The knife comes down onto your thumb with a loud slash. You hiss, pulling your hand away from the counter with a messy quickness that you hadn't yet familiarized yourself with.
“Fuck!” You yell, quickly pulling your hand off the counter. You begin shaking your hand back and forth in order to…do… something? You weren’t sure what you would accomplish by moving your bleeding hand in such rampant motions, but it felt right.
Callie's eyes shoot up from her phone, and heads turn from the living room. You curse again, this time under your breath. Now, people were watching.
Your friend quickly throws her device onto the counter, ushering you over to the sink, where the same stream of warm water awaits your arrival. She coos, apologizing profusely for her lack of attention, but it didn't help. If anything, it made you feel like a helpless child.
“It’s okay, it's okay. Just—” you try to get her to stop, the sound of her voice being just too much at the moment. Your voice cracks. Great, people were watching and now you were on the verge of tears.
“Are you okay?” Someone pokes from the living room.
“What happened?” Another questions, you can’t tell if they're trying to be discreet but if they are they're doing quite a terrible job at it, because you can hear them from your spot at the sink.
A beat of silence passes as you rinse your hand, the cut wasn't too deep, but it was enough to send a stinging sensation through the length of your arm. Enough to send you over the edge. Another few seconds pass you by, you don't notice until your name is called by your brother, in that stern overprotective voice that you had always equated with safety, but now only brought you embarrassment.
“Yes! I’m good—it’s okay.” You finalize, pulling your hand out from under the stream of water.
You rush to the stairs, leaving the fruit behind as you start in search of a bandaid. Callie follows shortly behind you, her face laced with worry and a tad bit of humour.
You hear a female voice whisper something under their breath, in that patronizing tone that leads you to believe it fell from the lips of Ellie’s new lover. You chalk it up to a poorly timed joke, and not something you should take personally.
“Are you okay?!” Your friend asks, her voice rushed and worried behind you. You nod, and shake her off with your free hand, but the tears that just keep falling tell her otherwise.
She chases you up the stairs, and down the hall when you search through the linen closet for the first aid kit. Not there. she follows when your body carries you to the bathroom. Not there, either.
“Fuck..” you curse under your breath. At this point, your hand was bleeding again and your patience was wearing thin. Your friend bites down on her lip. You sniffle as you search through the bathroom, tearing every cabinet apart and practically tearing the mirror straight off of the wall to get into the storage behind it.
“I’m gonna go check the pool house, okay? Stay put.” Your friend interrupts, reaching for the mirror. She closes it gently before bringing her hands to your shoulders. She guides you onto the toilet, placing you there with a small reassuring grin.
Your voice is shaky when you reply, “okay, yeah.” You sniffle, cradling your hand up to your chest.
“Hey, deep breaths—you’re okay.” She replies, before practically throwing herself out of the bathroom. You can hear her thumping down the stairs, and ignore any inquiry on your injury. You love her so much.
The look of you is pitiful. You were holding back ugly cries while splatters of blood darken the colour of your shirt. You groan at the feeling of your wet upper lip, and name yourself overly dramatic when you can't stop the tears that drip down your cheeks.
You follow Callie’s orders, and take a deep breath in, and out.
In and out. You’re fine.
You blow a raspberry, your chest heaving in and out with your few final cries. You let your hands fall into your lap. The adrenaline has faded into that stinging pain, like an overly sensitive cat scratch. You flex your ruined hand a few times, the bleeding had slowed to almost a complete stop, and the pain had settled.
Your mind shifts almost immediately.
Cat's flippant remark, and Ellie’s weird compliance. Maybe you were being melodramatic, or self deprecating—but it wasn't nearly as bad as being cocky and callous as they led on to be. Well, maybe not Ellie, but definitely her company. You just can't wrap your head around why. Why would she choose her? What made her so special?
You think of the tattoos on her arms, and the way her lips curve up when she's talking, and the weird smirk that rests on her face when she isn't, like she's got a snarky remark on stand by. You picture her pushing up against Ellie, and Ellie reciprocating. The image of them kissing, touching, loving. It taunts you.
Soon, the unflappable Callie returns. She pants as she enters the bathroom, as if she had just ran a marathon to assist you, first aid kit dangling from her hand. She huffs and puffs for a moment before dropping to her knees before you.
she doesn't waste a moment before plunging into the little white box of salvation. She quickly pulls out a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of gauze. She focuses on nursing you, but you can tell shes eager to ask what the fuck your problem is.
She's in the middle of sealing the wrap when the question spills. “What is up with you lately? I feel like you're so…out of it.” She reveals, pulling her eyes away from her project and up to your eyes.
“What do you mean?” There's not a trace of hostility in your tone, but genuine confusion.
“You’re like— a finicky light switch. Is there something bothering you?” She rips the gauze as she speaks. And then, the attention was fully on you. No more chance to hide, and certainly not enough time for excuses to be made.
You had to confess.
Callie would understand, she would know what to do. She's like google when it comes to this kind of thing. All you had to do was tell her.
But the words get stuck in your throat, and more tears build up in your ducts.
“Chickie, you can talk to me…” she coos, and pulls herself off the ground. She moves to the edge of the bathtub, you're now face to face and completely and utterly terrified. You can tell her, you can talk to her.
“I—” you choke. And Callie waits, her brown doe eyes staring into you like a life jacket. Like the hand that holds yours the first time you ride your bike, like the clutch you use when you break your arm.
You close your eyes, and take a sharp breath. Hoping, praying, that the words would come out without the force of pressure.
“I like—Ellie.” You trip over your own tongue, and now the secret is out. It's out and you wish so dearly to suck it back in and tell her you're just feeling off. You had hoped that honesty would bring relief, and release your shoulders if the invisible burden you were carrying, but it didn't. Atleast, not yet.
Callie squeezes your good hand. “I knew it.” Is all she replies with, standing up like she had just won an award of some kind, or a bet with nobody but herself.
“What?” You ask, a chuckle of disbelief following shortly after. If it was obvious to her, was it obvious to them?
Callie calls your name, and drops her hands onto her hips. “You’ve had goo-goo eyes for that girl since we were ten. And downstairs? That jealousy cannot be faked—ohmygod—the grapes were suffering. Is this seriously what’s been making you so—emotionally clogged? I know you’ve never been the best at regulating your emotions but fuck…” she asks.
It was true, you were never the best at emotional regulation, but you’d think it would’ve gotten better as you aged, and outgrew your crush. Unfortunately, coming home and ring met with a completely different ellie under the most awkward circumstances possible only seemed to bring out your flaws.
“Goo-goo eyes?” You laugh, eyes widening in amusement.
“Uhm, yes. Goo-goo eyes. Girl you’re obsessed with her. And—i can’t believe you never outright told me—I mean—I could tell, because you're insanely obvious, but I’m your best friend! And you didn't tell me?” She huffs, crossing her arms in faux offense.
“I’m sorry! I swear! I just thought it would go away, and then it didn't, and then we left for college and I was sure it was gone. But now—”
“But now it's back and worse than ever? And shes got that evil cunt hanging off her arm like it's tenth grade again?” She wastes no time swooping in and finishing your sentence.
“Yes! You noticed that?! Fuck, shes awful!” Your eyes shoot up, and your body soon follows. You jump up and down with Callie, both of you giggling as you bond over the hatred of this girl that you didn't know.
“Girl, yes! Ohmygod, shes weird as fuck! With her fuck ass comments and her stupid bob…i hope she dies.”
“Callie! You can't say that.” You laugh through your attempt at berating her, because truly, it wouldn't be the worst thing ever.
“Whatever, fine. I hope she gets into a really bad accident and breaks her neck and can never walk ever again.” She corrects, opening the bathroom door.
“Better.” You nod, following her out the room.
The two of you settle into your room quickly, Callie falls back on your bed like it's her own and you occupy yourself with tidying the mess you weren’t aware had accumulated during your sleepover.
“So…” she starts, and you let your head fall against the front of the wardrobe. A comically loud bang reverberates through the room, you sigh.
“Okay…Uhm. What are we going to do about this crush of yours?” She inquires, turning her head in your direction. You knew she would ask, it was just a matter of when.
You sigh, “We are not going to do anything. I’ll just…let it fizzle out, I’ll be home in no time anyway.” Home as in back in that shitty dorm on campus with your estranged roommate who you still haven’t broken the ice with.
“Oh yeah, because self deprecation and repressing your feelings has worked so well for you.” She rolls her eyes, pushing herself up on the bed. She rests her body weight on her arms, hair silky brain braids swinging back and forth as she adjusts her posture.
You groan, walking over the bed and falling back onto the mattress. “What do you want me to do? Tell her?” You joke, pulling out your phone from your pocket. You expect her to follow up with a no or some dumb plan to get you over Ellie, but she stays silent.
“Oh come on Callie! She has cat, she's fine. And even if she didn't she wouldn't be into me anyway!” You almost couldn’t believe her, she must’ve been taking some real sick drugs to really, truly, believe that you had any chance with Ellie Williams.
“You don't know that!” She defends, pushing your shoulders and shaking you up and down. The mattress shakes every time your back collides with the sheets that cover it. You knew she wouldn't stop prying, in true Callie nature. But you weren’t so keen on budging either. The two of you were like an Immovable object versus an unstoppable force.
“You’re dumb as rocks.” You giggle as she pushes you in and out of your comforter. She laughs back, and pushes you one final time.
The two of you lay in a stretched silence, your mind floating back to that far away land of should I? Should I not?
You sigh, resting your hands on your stomach. Your hand was aching, you needed a painkiller. The nerves throb against the skin, and your brain shakes inside your skull. You swear that if you stand dizziness will follow.
You could tell her, and make a giant fool out of yourself in front of your brother's entire friend group who she would be sure to report back to. Or you could keep quiet, and live the rest of yourself in a semi-agonizing sense of sort of misery while waiting for the crush to blow over. You would have to meet someone eventually, right? The feelings would fade and you could live your life without her ever knowing about the insane infatuation you harboured for her your entire life.
Or…
the word replays in your mind. The small chance that she would reciprocate. The what if. There was a sliver of a chance that she wouldn't laugh in your face and tell everyone in your shared inner circle how much of a weirdo you are, and there was an even smaller chance that she would reciprocate. It was slim, but it wasn't zero.
“Well…” you start, and Callie immediately shoots back up. “I dunno—it just seems so stupid to even bother.” You confess, again. Your friend groans, an overly dramatic response to your completely reasonable remark.
She blows a raspberry, “Yolo. And! I saw the way she was all over you at the beach the other day. She wants that, desires that.” She confirms, with a confident albeit performative nod.
“Oh—Kay, Callie. Now you're flat out lying.” You laugh, a hearty and sarcastic noise. Callie shakes her head, and pushes herself off the bed.
“I know your little brain is eating itself alive,” she points out, tapping on the side of your head with her pointed manicure. “But, just think about it. It might take a load off your shoulders to tell her. And who knows, maybe you’ll get something out of it.” She winks, and begins to shift around the room, collecting the few discarded items of hers.
You kick your legs up in recognition, huffing back at her. She was right, she really was, but you weren’t sure that was what you wanted to hear. A few beats pass, a comfortable silence settling over the room. You let the buzzing in your head serve as a replacement of sound.
“Maybe. I need time.” You sigh, dropping your legs over the edge of the bed. Callie nods, collecting her bag and throwing it up and over her shoulder.
She comes over and gives you a light kiss on the forehead, her glossy lips leaving a gooey residue on the skin that crinkles beneath her touch.
“Alright, chickie. I'm out, I'll probably call you. Later or something.” She chuckles, walking toward your bedroom door. You push yourself up onto your elbows, but you don't budge. There’s a mutual agreement that you won't be accompanying her downstairs.
“I’ll see you when i see you. Love you!” She waves you off, letting the bedroom door shut behind her.
You let out a small noise of relief as soon as the door clicks shut. You can hear the liveliness from downstairs grow into the loud boom of goodbyes as Callie makes her way out the door. A few seconds pass before the noise goes back to normal.
You eventually push yourself off of the bed and shove your phone into your back pocket, trudging sluggishly to the bathroom in search of painkillers. You sift through the bathroom for a couple of minutes before coming across the bottle of Tylenol shoved into the back of the cabinet.
You take two pills out of the bottle and lean in to the sink for water, not bothering to leave the comfort of the upstairs. Your phone buzzes as you swallow.
Cals: girlll that girl is all up on Ellie…
Cals: something is telling me they aren’t official yet, so you better HURRY!
Cals: snatch her up before bob bitch’s grabby hands do
Cals: love you so much, feel better
You smile down at your device, but the feeling of doom spreads evenly throughout your body. It pushes and pulls at your emotions, leaving you with a sense of urgency and that all too familiar fire in your nerves.
· · ─ · ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: summer is always a time for new beginnings, and since you’ve been home your sense of security has been flipped on its back, leaving you to operate like you’re running around without skin, you’ve been stripped of comfort and yet somehow, its the most fun you’ve ever had. Oh, and — its definitely love. · · ── .✦ [ current pov ]
.𖥔˚ previous chapter 𖥔 next chapter 𖥔
· · ─ · ᡣ𐭩 content warnings: 8k wc, s!her pronouns for reader, age gap (2ish years), stress, anxiety, self deprecation, slight tension, reader is DELULU. Or is she? Jealous reader!! Shes so obvious omd, readers brother is actually nice, Reader is described as shorter than Ellie and has a moment where she must climb on the counter for a cup😭 everyone is a little bit awkward, its insinuated that reader isn’t out to anyone but you can take that however you please, Callie is present ofc, reader is having a moment but Ellie saves the day, beach scene !, recreational (and technically underage) drug use, This is just the beginning..
Here it is guys chapter two! I hope you enjoy it because i loved writing it! A bit of an unserious chapter, unfortunately (fortunately.) i cut quite a few scenes that we will be seeing later so get ready! Dont relax yet ;)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃. 〝I’ve fallen in love. I’m an ordinary woman. I didn’t think such violent things could happen to ordinary people.〞—ִֶ brief encounter 𓂃⊹
The morning welcomes you with a subtle breeze that sends your sheer curtains blowing into your room. The image was something out of The Great Gatsby. The natural morning light pushed a gold ray of beauty directly down your cheek. The breeze was cool enough to keep the air fresh without making the room uncomfortably chilly.
You twist beneath your duvet, letting the gusts of forenoon wind flow a few moments more. The room is settled in the rhythm of the air's music; calm and quiet, just how you liked it.
You snoozed softly through the night, letting your imagination wander and run through terrain your conscience wouldn't dare touch. You dreamt of olive eyes and a skyline of tan freckles.
You exhale into your pillow, the fabric was soft, but the kind of soft that repelled you. Your limbs ached to rise and begin moving, you had been in bed for far too long. The usual morning time impending doom had faded into a sort of excitement, the day could only bring bad things if you allowed it to.
The usual guilt that followed your sudden consciousness was nowhere to be found, you guess the feeling had come and gone only throughout the school year, when things were tough and due dates were harsh.
You're snapped into reality by a crescendo of voices. Similarly to last night, only this time it was just two. You sigh again, and grimace when your breath wafts back into your face. The time on your phone reads 10:12, later than you usually wake up, but still early for the day after arriving home.
You manage to pull yourself out of bed after accepting that it was in fact time to leave your solace and contribute to society. You move sluggishly throughout your room, pulling your phone off the charger, and wandering into the bathroom.
You leisurely walk through your morning routine. You don't rush out of the shower, instead opting to wash your hair and shave. You squirt a large glob of toothpaste onto your toothbrush and spend the vast majority of your time at the sink focusing on an area of your face clearly preparing for a breakout.
You move down the stairs in slow, lazy strides. You don't bother changing out of your pajamas before greeting your brother and his friend, the same friend whom you shared one of the most intimate moments of your entire life with, just last night.
You’re greeted just after your feet hit the floor. A grouchy mornin’ from your brother, and a soft hey from his protégé. You wave back at the duo, throwing them a soft hi that was mostly directed at Ellie.
The kitchen wasn't bustling with community this time, you sigh of relief as you enter, flicking the light on and immediately falling into the routine of making coffee. You sniffle as the coffee maker begins to hum. It wasn't the same piece of shit that you had always witnessed your mother slap around, but a new one, cleaner, and clearly purchased recently.
You slide open your phone. There’s a few texts from Callie, asking about your plans for the day, one from your roommate wishing you a good summer, and a few instagram notifications from mutual friends and acquaintances. You sigh, moving your fingers across the keyboard as you reply to your roommate, then Callie.
The pot is hot now, and full of dark brown liquid just begging to be digested.
You bite down on your bottom lip, a familiar draft falling through the crack in the window above the sink. You search through the cupboard for your favourite mug, one of the only things you actually cared for in this home and still decided to leave her when you left for school.
You spot the ceramic dish on the top shelf, a shelf that you were most definitely not able to reach. You curse lightly under your breath, hopping lightly as you reach up for it. You fail, obviously.
You grumble under your breath, pushing the coffee maker as far back as possible as to make room for your body on the counter. Whoever suggested building your cabinets all the way to the roof should be executed.
You hoist yourself up once, your knees clattering against the shelves beneath you as you struggle to push yourself onto the counter. You scoff as you slip back onto the ground. You reach up one last time, letting your fingers grace the side of the porcelain. You're that much closer to grabbing it when—
“Here, let me help.” A feminine monotonous voice rasps from behind you. Before you can identify Ellie, or tell her you don't need assistance, she's placing a hand on the small of her back, and tiptoeing for your cup.
She wasn't that much taller by any means, but she was tall enough to reach for the cup without turning into Tarzan in order to do so.
She hands the cup to you, and now the amount of gymnastics you had done in attempts to grab it yourself seem silly. You chuckle as you receive it, nodding your head in thanks.
“Thanks, Ellie.” You whisper. You can feel the hot embarrassment creeping up onto your cheeks. You continue to nod, an awkward gesture that causes her to chuckle.
“No problem.” She replies, her lips folded into an increasingly harsh smirk.
The two of you co-exist in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes. You’re hyper aware of her presence behind you, moving throughout the kitchen as you try to make yourself as small as possible. You pour your creamer, and your sugar, and swirl the spoon in the cup agonizingly slowly, just so you can catch the sound of her breathing.
“Do you want one?” You ask, turning around and raising your cup in her direction. You picture the smile on your face to be charming or maybe alluring, but in reality you probably look like a seventh grader trying to sell chocolate.
She looks up from her phone, her eyes wide with curiosity before she realizes what you're offering. “Huh? Oh, nah…I don't drink coffee” her smirk grows, “Remember?” She reminds you, leaning against the counter adjacent to you.
You nod, of fucking course. Ellie has never liked coffee, Ellie hates coffee!
You chuckle, shoving the pot back into the machine. “Right, yeah—I forgot, silly me!” You jerk your head to the side. You pick up your phone again, pretending to look for something, anything. Another text from Callie (which there was), maybe an instagram comment, but alas, there's nothing of substance. You pick at your nails, a few of which have reached that awkward length where you can't decide whether to cut them off or not.
“So—plans today?” Ellie asks, sliding in next to you to pour whatever was in her cup down the drain.
You turn to her, squinting as you rack your brain on what you could possibly busy yourself with for the duration of the sun's presence. The answer was likely nothing, maybe go for a drive with Callie, but that would probably be it.
“Uhh—probably nothing. Maybe call Callie…maybe sit and rot like I always do.” You joke, bringing your mug to your mouth and taking an unusually long sip. You grimace as the coffee taints your tongue, why was it still hot?!
Ellie chuckles “Callie? You two still friends? Well yeah, I guess you are since you—nevermind. I like her, she’s cool.” She laughs again, turning her body towards you.
She's facing you now, looking down your face with those olive green eyes that you’ve spent hours dreaming of. She's wearing the same pajamas as last night, and the tattoo that you gawked over is in fact still embedded in her skin.
You laugh, a real hearty loud sound that causes your brother to turn around from the couch.
“Mhm! We’re still friends!” You confirm, nodding your head up and down. Ellie nods too, and somehow it makes the awkward interaction much softer on your ego.
“That’s good, m’ glad you have someone.” She shoots back, winking dangerously as she pushes off the counter.
You swear if you nod stiffly one more time it would do real damage to your neck. “Yeah, uhh— me too.” You add.
Ellie smiles, that genuine expression that you grew to love over the years. Not the one that you see in the picture of her hanging on the stairwell, but more so the one that shines through when she's playing guitar, or teasing your brother.
The interaction drives a spark of confidence through you, the feeling of uncomfortableness settling in your chest.
“What about you, plans? What’s he got going on?” You gesture over to your brother, setting your cup down on the counter. You lift yourself up onto the surface, letting your legs cascade down the cabinets. Your imagination takes hold of you, the thought of her standing between your legs, holding you, kissing you..
“Yeah…I dunno, actually.” She concludes, scratching the skin on the back of her neck. She kisses her teeth, her eyes focused on you.
“Maybe we should do something. I think we were gonna go to the beach sometime this week, you could bring Callie.” She suggests, resting her calms on the edge of the counter.
You toss the idea back and forth. Ellie Williams just asked you out. Well, not quite. She invited you and your best friend to plans that were already going to happen regardless of your attendance.
“I—dont see why not…I would have to talk to Callie, though, so…” you hope you're coming off as unattainable, or mysterious. Is it so horrible that you want her to hope for you?
“Cool. Let me know.” She nods. You nod back.
She leaves the kitchen, leaving you and your thoughts in her wake.
You’re in full panic mode. like intense, all body panic that restricts you from breathing.
When you slipped into your bedroom after your conversation with Ellie, you were ready to dump the entire interaction into the pages of your diary. The same diary you spent four hours writing in last night.
The same diary that was now missing.
“What the fuck?…” you sigh under your breath. At first, you were confused. You were so sure you left it on your nightstand, right underneath your charging phone.
You search the area, pulling your pillows off the bed to make sure it didn't wind up underneath them, another common hiding spot. Not there. You bent down to check underneath the nightstand, maybe it fell when you pulled your phone off the charger. Not there either. You even get down on your knees and investigate the ruins of the world beneath your bed. It's not there.
“Oh my god…oh my god—ohmygod.”
Now you're really freaking out.
The unbearable stress and anxiety of your very much preventable issue take over your body. You settle on tearing your room apart as the pure panic builds with each failure. Your face is hot, and the excitement that was just swirling your stomach a few minutes ago has now been replaced with an emotion that can only be identified as frustration.
You dig through the box of diaries, hoping that maybe you dropped it there accidentally. No luck. You opened your closet doors for the first time in years, letting a book fall off the top shelf and hit you in the face. That only makes you madder.
“Fuck! No way!” You whisper yell into the room.
You stand in the middle of the room, pacing back and forth on the ocular rug placed there in your freshman year. You bite down on your nails, silently hoping that the book would just re-appear without you having to call in external forces, (ask your brother if he’s seen it).
You tap your foot against the floor, biting down on your bottom lip until you're sure you taste copper. After a few moments of pondering, you whip out your device. See, you could sit here and blame everyone but yourself and convince yourself it wasn't just you misplacing it.. or you could—
“Hello?” Callie's voice booms, almost breaking the speaker and permanently rewiring your eardrums.
“Callie! Hi! I need your help—like, asap!” You ramble, gripping the phone with both of your hands. Your mouth moves faster than your brain, word spilling out like vomit.
“What happened? Did your roommate text you again? I told you shes a fucking—”
“No! No! Nono…not that. Well she did, but—I lost my diary.” a few beats pass through the speaker.
“Actually?” She interrupts the heated silence. The phone presses up against your ears, hot and oddly uncomfortable against your skin.
You continue to pace around the room, digging your toes into the creme coloured shag.
“Yes I did! Fuck–I don’t know what to do–i’m freaking the fuck out–!” your tone starts to rise, loud and impossible to ignore. You're panicking, like full on panicking.
The phone slips from your grip, almost sliding out from between your sweaty palm and the skin of your ear. You curse under your breath, rubbing a single sweat soaked hand down your face.
“Oh shit–oh– when did you last have it? I mean, do you think you left it at the airport or something?” your friend spouts. You can hear her shuffling over the phone, clearly sitting up from wherever she was laying.
“No, I–I had it yesterday! I was writing in it like, all night!” you spew. Your words come out faster than you can process, your accidental admission falling upon deaf ears, thankfully. Callie didn't need to know the ins and outs of your social life (or lack thereof). Not right now, at least. You knew she would pry, and stick her grabby hands into whatever details she could find. So you bite your tongue and hope to god it slips her mind. It does.
“Fuck, that fucking sucks, chickie. I’m so sorry.” She shifts again. You hear her moving over the phone, and for some reason it causes you to relax. Not enough to sit down and think rationally, and certainly not enough to help you search. “I’m checking my car right now…I don't think it's in here.” her tone is final, the sort of pitiful note that’s concluding more than encouraging.
A piteous cry comes from your end; not quite a sob, but a tear of harsh disbelief does fall. Your legs shake, wracking beneath the rest of your body like they had somehow become toothpicks. Callie blows a raspberry into the phone, you pull the speaker away from your ear as you gasp in frustration.
“I’m sure it's around–somewhere. Do you want me to come over and help look?” you can hear her pouting, it’s not supposed to be fraudulent, you know that, but in your moment of insecurity it feels like it does more harm than good.
You've never known Callie to be condescending, her compassion was never selective, and she was painfully good at making people feel loved. But through the midst of your desperation, you want to snap.
You sniffle. A beat passes. You know Callie won't overstep if you don't want her to; if you say no, she’ll respect it–but she's also eager to assist. She’s no stranger to boundaries, but to you, that concept is foreign. You can count on your hands the amount of times you've told people no without the immense feeling of guilt shooting through you prior and sitting in your chest for days.
“I don't know, I know it’s here…I just need to find it.” you sigh, resting your back against your door. You slide down the white wood, the back of your shirt riding up and exposing your back to the cold touch of the wall.
“Okay…You let me know if you can't find it, okay? And if you do find it.” you pick at the skin around your nails, letting your fingernails dig into your cuticles until you have to force yourself to stop.
“Okay, yeah. I will, promise.”
“Alright, talk to you later. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Callie concludes the call just after you whisper your goodbye, leaving you without a source of comfort and only your emotions to occupy you now. You exhale again, letting your head fall back against the door. A soft smack reverberates throughout the room, bringing you an odd amount of consolation.
“Fuck…” you curse, tossing your phone onto the carpet before you.
Your diary has been missing for 5 hours. Your hands have been vacant of your one and only source of therapy since ten am.
It’s three now, and since you hung up with Callie you've filtered through your entire bedroom, twice, lifted the mattress and searched through the boxes under your bed, and taken your very unfortunate situation to the downstairs.
You sift through the kitchen, and the living room, and every room that you know you've entered in the last twenty four hours, with no luck. You even find yourself stepping into spaces you had not yet explored, opening doors that haven't been open since the last time you were here.
Desperation is a nasty bug.
Sue you, for you are not the most proactive being, but you never claimed to be! And you sure know left from right, and you’re sure as hell that you did not misplace your beloved diary.
You slouch back onto the couch, you're at your wits end. You've been searching all day, everywhere that you can think of has already been sought through, more than once. Your nerves seethe beneath your skin, creating the kind of frustration only something completely out of your control could conjure. You bite down on your lip, the chapped skin flaking into strips of fury as you sit in silence.
Another gust of air makes its way out from between your lips. A huff of disapproval that unconsciously settles your final decision. You were never going to find it. And it truly wasn't that big of a deal.
You kick your feet up onto the armrest, letting your head fall back onto the crisp couch cushions, clearly left untouched by your parents in your absence. You let your anklet slide down your calf, the band just barely kissing the skin of your leg. You stare up at your feet. Your recent pedicure, which was just you and dollar store nail polish in your dorm, has been growing too far out for the good of your appearance. You were in desperate needs of a re-paint before your trip to the beach.
You almost reach forward, but are interrupted by the door opening in one fast motion. You gasp lightly, letting your limbs fall back into their places.
Your brother and his friends welcome themselves into the house without hesitation, clearly expecting the space to be empty. There's a few more people than to be expected, those same familiar faces that usually swarm your home during the days of the sweltering sun.
Luckily for you, a show was playing on tv in the background whilst you occupied the couch, protecting you from looking like a total fool in front of your brother and all his followers.
You sit up directly, greeting the group as they walk through the door. You don't bother to give proper introduction to those who you don't know, you know you’ll be seeing them again soon anyway. A few familiar faces pass you by, bidding you waves and small gestures out of pure politeness.
Ellie is toward the back of the bunch, her flaming auburn locks visible through the moving bodies of friends. You try to peek around them, maybe catch a glance at her, and whatever she's laughing at, but the attempt is unfortunately futile. Most of them clear in quickly, some taking the open spots around you, and others taking the opportunity to raid your fridge.
You finally notice the figure she's occupied with, an unrecognizable girl that you're sure you would remember if you had crossed paths before. She's slimmer than Ellie, her pale skin covered in patchwork tattoos that you're sure have less meaning than most. And her body is facing away from you, her face covered by the short pieces of hair falling out from behind her ears. Her hair was black, and cut into a choppy bob-like cut that exaggerated the tattoo on the back of her neck.
You sit back against the couch, your back lightly bounces off the cushion and your legs fold over each other. You stare down at your fingers, begging for someone to acknowledge you. You look up at the tv, trying to focus on whatever reality garbage was playing out. Some bullshit love island spin off that you frankly couldn't care less about.
Finally, you pull your head out of the moment, huffing and swinging your legs over the side of the couch before you can overthink as much as Ellie’s breathing pattern. You sigh, pushing off the sofa and all but running away to your room.
You're stuck in an endless cycle of confusion.
When you get back into your solitude, and your feelings of conflict settle beneath your ribs, you’re unsure of what you’re to do. Your only source of therapeutic output is missing, and the one person that is solely yours has not a hot clue of your current circumstances.
You kiss your teeth, falling back into the comfort of your sheets. You could tell Callie, but then the one thing in your life that is only yours would no longer be protected. Callie already knew you like the back of her hand, there was no doubt about it. But telling her about Ellie, about the feelings you’ve been harbouring since childhood and all through your adolescence? That meant baggage. That meant having to bare the most vulnerable parts of your soul, the fatal flaws that sit beneath your skin, the things that you couldn’t change no matter how deep the shame runs. You couldn’t do that, not yet.
You bite down on your lip, nipping at the skin until you taste copper.
It wasn't the biggest deal that you lost your diary, you had extras, tons of untouched journals that sit waiting for you to finish the one before., but it wasn't the same.
What if you never find it? What if the deepest parts of your barren heart were discarded like nothing? or found by the wrong person?
You shake your head, sighting into the air as you thrash around in the covers. To anyone else, you probably look like an idiot, laying in your bed shaking yourself around in frustration. When your energy drains, you slap your hand onto your bedside table, grabbing your tv remote in hopes to distract yourself from the pure hopelessness running through your body.
You sit up against your pillows, the same ones that held your head up this morning, nursing you awake before the unfolding of chaos. You turn the tv on, flipping through the options of movies with really no interest at all.
it takes an incredibly long time for you to make a decision, it's hard to choose a movie when the pool of options consists of every movie you’ve ever seen. When you finally do settle, you land on the classic, and critically acclaimed, love, actually.
The movie begins, the scene of travellers embracing their nearest and dearest as they reunite in London's Heathrow Airport. The beautiful story begins and entrances you embarrassingly fast.
You're halfway through, the impending feeling of sleepiness slowly attacking you from behind and the cozy Christmas vibe of the movie is not helping your case. Your eyes fight against it for as long as they can, and you manage to hold out for an excruciatingly long ten minutes.
You eventually lose the battle, letting sleep consume you fully and lull you into a state of tranquility accompanied by more dreams featuring your brother's red haired company.
When you're awoken, it isn't as soft or as beautiful as this morning. It’s quick and harsh. Your phone buzzes in the mess of your bed, your baby hairs melt into the moisture that has accumulated on your forehead. You weren’t out long, but it was just enough time to make your waking inconvenient. The sun was now lowering, meaning the soft daylight had shifted into the night; loud and impatient.
Usually in the summer, the daytime was a waiting period between nights. It was when people rested, in preparation for the moon's arrival. The daytime was used for boredom and the occasional trip to the beach. Night was when the people thrived, parties and people alike flourished. The moon brought sanctuary, and a sense of community you couldn’t quite find in the day.
You dig through the bed with haste, searching through the mountains of pillows and plethora of imperfect blankets. Your body aches of sudden consciousness. It is quite the miserable thing to be woken up under such stress, but after all—it is just a call.
You sigh of relief when you finally do locate your phone, Callie’s name fills the screen, of course she would be the one to call, it's not like there was anyone else. you press your thumb into the green accept button.
“Oh my god! Fucking finally!” A crass introduction, albeit a Callie one.
You smile sheepishly, pulling your duvet over your body, exposing your sweat covered skin to the cool breeze of the room.
“Sorry, sorry…I was asleep.” You croak out. You're grateful for the comfortability in the friendship, if it was anyone else talking to you you might’ve had to talk in that pseudocasual manner that is so widely criticized by your mind.
Callie hums in understanding, “Jeez—did you chug a bottle of NyQuil or something? I called like five times!” She shouts, chuckling as she goes on.
You snort, letting yourself shiver as your bare feet meet the hardwood floor. You grimace as you pad out of your room.
“Ha-ha. No, I didn’t O.D on sleeping pills, I was just tired.” You sigh, rubbing a hand down your face, the scent of sweat and siesta still lingering on the surface.
“Just making sure!” There's an unimportant pause between her sentences, like she's waiting for you to interject with something to fill the void. “Did you find your diary?” She asks.
You guess this was the purpose of her outreach, to clarify what was left unspoken throughout the day.
Your moment of silence confirms your answer, but you reply with a sigh anyway. “No.”
There isn't as much as a peep coming from the living room as you walk down the stairs. The group must’ve relocated, because there wasn't a chance that they were just being quiet. They probably left to get food, or party in someone else’s living room.
“Fuck. Well, I'm outside!”
You stop.
“Like…outside my house?” You chuckle, walking towards the front door. For a second, her honesty is a mystery. You pull the door open,
“Yep! I see you!”
Her car is in the driveway, the same black suv that delivered you home just a few days ago. You chuckle into the phone, waving your hand in an attempt to gain her attention. You watch her look over to you and smile before she pulls the phone away from her ear. The line goes dead just seconds after.
It doesn't take long for her to jump out of the vehicle and run to you, embracing you in a deeply needed hug before she even so much as says hi.
“Ugh! I missed you!” She squeals, pulling you farther into her chest.
You chuckle, bringing your arms up and to the sides of her body. “You saw me yesterday!” You rebut.
“For an hour!” She pulls away from you, looking up and down at you as if you were reuniting after years separated by seas.
“Compared to ten months, an hour is a long time.”
“An hour is bullshit. C’mon—let's go inside, I’ve got drama, lots of it.”
You roll your eyes, allowing her to pull you back into your own home.
“Fine. Spill.”
“And get this—he had a fucking girlfriend.”
“The entire time?!”
“The entire time.”
Your mouth drops. “He was fucking her with a whole girlfriend? For 6 months? Is he mentally unbalanced?!” You almost scream, turning around to face your friend.
The two of you were lounging in the kitchen, a bottle of cheap boxed wince sitting on the island between you, courtesy of the girl across from you. She had spent the last two hours filling you in on the drama that ensued within the lives of those that you didn't even really know, or like.
“I dunno what his problem is, but he’s clearly insane. Also, he didn't even tell his girlfriend, she found out via Hey Girly.” Callie smacks her lips, pulling her legs up from where they dangled off the barstool, tucking them under her body.
Your eyes widen, Callie nods in understanding. You lean against the counter, unconsciously pushing your chest into the face of whomever decides to join the two of you, if that were to happen. You push a soft hand to your mouth in a mix of horror and shock. How could someone be so cruel?
“Holy fuck—if i was her, I would—I dont even know, end it?” You grimace, tossing the idea around in your mind. To you, the concept of getting played so hard seems so foreign; so far away.
“She did!” Callie confirms, taking a swig of her drink, the deep purple liquid dripping on to her bottom lip.
“SHE KILLED HERSELF?!”
“The relationship! Ohmygod—she ended the relationship…”
The two of you burst into a fit of laughter, the complete idiocy of your thought process colouring her bright red. Your spell of serotonin lasts for a couple moments too long. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe you were in the dire need of a good laugh. Whichever it was, you weren’t complaining.
The moment of warmth is quickly shut down by the sound of the front door opening. A few of your brother's most intimate friends filing into the living room, with stupid grins plastered onto their faces.
Ellie’s at the front of the group, leading them into the home like it's as much hers as it is yours. You quickly suck in your laugh, creating a weird gasp-like noise that leads to the continuation of laughter from your friend. You whack her across the counter, a flash of a smirk appearing on your lips.
A few of your brother's friends notice your presence, greeting you with warm smiles and loud heys. Ellie looks up from her shoes, waving up at the two of you.
“Hey! What’re you doing?” She walks over, settling herself just behind Callie, who turns to her with an unsure smile. The brunette almost gasps at the reveal of her distant acquaintance. They greet each other with the usual small talk, how's school, how’s your family, blah, blah. All the dumb shit you couldn’t even pretend to have an inch of interest in.
It may seem small, but you catch Callie’s eyes, how they roam. They wander over Ellie’s freckles, her tattoo, the veins that run down her hands. You watch as your friend checks her out, running her eyes all over her body, like she could see her soul.
You try to push the jealousy away, but part of you wishes that Ellie could be only for your gaze, and not the wandering eyes of the passersby, or in this case—your best friend. You bite down on your bottom lip, looking down at the counter while you pathetically await acknowledgement.
Ellie chuckles at something she says and walks into the kitchen to raid your refrigerator for all it’s worth. The conversation ends quickly, as it didn't mean anything at all—but the thought of any infatuation between the two still repulses you.
Callie turns to you with an agape mouth. Ellie's back is turned to the two of you, her focus solely on the contents of your fridge. Callie looks between the two of you, before her lips sculpt the exact thing you knew she was thinking. The words you weren’t exactly scared of, but weren’t ecstatic for either. She’s hot.
Hot. Of course Ellie was hot. She had always been on the nicer looking side, the choppy auburn hair, and the green eyes that you were pretty sure could cast love spells doing that much more for her. It wasn't a secret, to you nor your friend. She was always pretty, drawing attention from a couple of interested girls in high school, most of which she pursued, and then ignored, all within the span of a month.
You fight the urge to reply with a snarky comment, that wasn't you, not at all. You smile back to your best friend, your mouth fixing your reply, I know.
You bite your lip, and she smirks. It’s that mischievous twitch of the lip that has your internal tension skyrocketing because you know she’s got something foolish planned. You shoot her a warning look. Your fingers clench into a fast at your sides, you squeeze, hard.
Don’t you dare. You mouth. But she doesn't listen, she never does.
“So, Ellie… what’s happening tonight, what’s the plan?” She cocks her head to the side. Her infatuated tone of voice makes Ellie turn, eyes open like she wasn't expecting to be spoken to again.
“Uhh—we’re gonna hit up the beach. Late night swim typa’ thing.” She nods, plucking grapes off the stems and tossing them into her mouth as she speaks. Callie hums, a fake chalant noise that has you wishing you never opened the door for her.
Ellie nods obliviously, the crunch of her grapes and the distant hum of conversation being the only noise to fill the main floor. The kitchen was awkwardly silent, like there was something that someone was waiting to say.
“Y’know, you guys could come. If you want.” She offers, completely to her own accord. She closes the fridge door, letting it shut with that weird bouncy noise that it makes when it closes completely. She smiles, walking around the kitchen island and roping her friends into the ordeal.
You and Callie reply in two very contrasting cadences.
“I mean—if that's cool, I wouldn't wanna impose—”
“Sure! Sounds fun!”
Callie jumps out of her stool eagerly. She quickly wraps her hand around your wrist, tugging you towards her and over to the staircase.
You pull your arm away, turning back to the group before you let yourself get too excited. “It’s cool right? If we come?” The question was mostly directed at your sibling, and not anyone else. He looks up from his device, vape resting in his hand behind his phone.
“Yeah, why wouldn't it be? Go get dressed. We’re leaving in ten.” He replies, in such a manner that makes it seem completely alien like that would even ask. You nod, your lips building into a smile.
Ellie's sitting on the couch now, her legs spread just enough to keep the viewer enticed, curious. You think maybe she’ll show you a reassuring smile, but she's already focused herself on the joking between her fingers. She rolls with mastery.
You don't let the disappointment settle, allowing Callie to turn you around and practically bully you up onto the stairs.
You're almost halfway up when the girl tugs on your arm, turning to you. Her face is loud and giggly, like she's being entertained. You look up and down her face, utterly confused at the sudden pause.
“She didn't even hesitate, we didn't even have to say anything…” she whisper-yells, her smirk now twisted into a wild grin.
You roll your eyes, “Ellie’s nice, don't get your hopes up.” You scoff, trying to push the weight of jealousy down your throat, before you say something you regret.
“Whatever. You're not slick!” She rebuts, letting you turn around and walk ahead of her. You don't quite get the point of her late sentence, but the words are ones you're sure will replay throughout the night.
You climb the stairs, a loud smack reverberating through the stairwell as Callie’s hand lands on your ass cheek. She giggles, a sinister sound that makes you crack your own smiles.
“CALLIE!”
The car ride to the beach is jam packed with people, Dina, Jesse, Ellie, your sibling, and a few you aren't sure the names of all stuffed into your siblings white jeep while someone’s summertime playlist banged through the walls.
Callie, who had thrown back at least three shots of vodka you weren’t aware you had before coming, was having the time of her life, screaming the lyrics of a Rihanna song white passing her phone to some guy in the seat beside her (which was technically still her seat) to do what you guess to be retrieve his number.
You're luckily shoved into the seat beside the door, your body only pressed against the cold steel of the car door and the shaking of your best friend. You thank god you aren't arm to arm with some sweaty asshole who spent the entire drive burping in your face.
Another song begins to play, but by the time Callie can open her mouth to begin screeching, the smoothness of the road transitions into the bumpy instability of the sand.
“Fucking finally!” Someone yells from the backseat, already climbing over the middle row people, and flopping onto the car floor.
“Dude, hold the fuck on!” Someone laughs from your line of seats. You chuckle at the overwhelming noise, undoing your seatbelt while you wait for your brother to park.
Eventually, everyone files out of the jeep, you were sure it met the requirements to be labeled as a clown car with the amount of people who were climbing out.
The moon was welcoming, the humid atmosphere welcoming everyone with open arms. You breathe in, letting your nostrils absorb the saltine air.
The group are quick to transfer the music to a giant speaker, not caring for the comfort of those that filled the plethora of beach houses just past the shore. They place it just a couple feet from the shoreline, along with a plethora of towels, coolers and phones.
A few people grab their surfboards, not caring for the extreme lack of waves that was brought with the summer heat. A few others rush to the shore to fill water guns with the salt water. You bite your lip in excitement, peeling your shorts and top off to reveal your bathing suit. Nothing much, but it was cute, classy, you.
Callie does the same, revealing a much different type of bathing suit. A purple triangle topped bikini, beautiful on her tan complexion, paired with a thong matching bottom. You lift a hand to her ass cheek, as payback from her earlier assault.
“Motherfucker!” She shouts, quickly dropping her belongings into the sand to chase you and to her hopes, get you back.
You let her, running into the space where the water foams into a white wave. The girl doesn’t hesitate to follow you, running all the way into the unusually warm beach water, just to hit you back. You splash her in attempts to slow her, and she does it right back.
You squeal, “Fuck! Stop it—you bitch!” You laugh, the girl laughs back, continuing to rain on you with enough water to drown a person.
“You brought this on yourself, chickie! Be glad I don't have one of those guns!” She screams. You lift your hands up in attempts to block the water, or retaliate, but instead you’re met with a rock to the foot, tripping you and tilting your world perpendicular.
You shout once before the water fully engulfs you, soaking your head and your hair. The water is fresh as it overtakes your senses. You let it surround you completely, your skin absorbs the warmth, the body of water leaves you vulnerable but free.
When you finally rise, you're turned around. Instead of facing the sandy shore and the group of friends too drunk to swim, you're faced with the face of the water, the endless waves of the ocean. And Ellie’s there. Ellie’s there, basking in the moonlight and river just as you were.
You admire her for a moment, her freckled waist that's revealed only where the night sky and waves meet, the skin that you hadn't yet been exposed to. A beam of moonlight shines down her face, painting her smile all the more bright, and her eyes just a little bit prettier.
She isn't doing anything particularly seductive, but her smile and the view of her nipples hardening beneath her sports bra were enough to leave you faint. She was squiring your brother and another friend with a blue and orange water gun, the cheap plastic looking like a canvas of opportunity in her arms.
You could go over there, and join the fight, or—
“Hey!” A loud, overpowering voice breaks you out of your trance. It's Callie. She puts her hand on your shoulder, pulling you gently in her direction. “Jeez, I've been calling you for like five minutes! Okay—like two, but…”
”Sorry! Sorry, I got—distracted.” You admit, looking down in embarrassment. Callie follows the arrow of your vision, her eyes meeting the scene of Ellie and a few new people shooting each other.
She takes a moment, and then hums a knowing noise. You turn back to them, to her. It's just as good as the last time, but this time she notices you. She notices just after she's thrown out of the circle.
Your face heats up in embarrassment as her eyes shift over to you, but she only winks, and shoots her gun in your direction. Callie takes action before you do, screaming Oh, it’s like that?! From behind you before pulling you out of the water to retrieve your own guns.
You’re back in the water before you know it, releasing the same salt water that you were floating in on your peers. Callie targets your brother, while you focus on Ellie. You can hear the faint hum of music from the sand, but you were too far in to care for it.
“What the fuck?! Oh, you traitor!” She yells, her hostility contrasting to the even louder grin on her face. She laughs, a loud gracious noise that you're sure blesses your ears.
You shrug, stepping back with two large strides, and shoot her again. This time, almost directly in her face. You chuckle, but the other girl doesn't. Instead, she doubles over in pain. You must’ve hit her in the eye.
You clap your hands to your mouth, dropping your gun into the water. You let the thing sink, running as well as you could over to Ellie.
“Fuck! I'm so sorry—are you okay?” You rush to her aid, placing your hands on her shoulders. If you weren’t so worried about her, you would be focused on how close you two were, or how your hands were on her skin.
When she doesn't answer, you curse under your breath, looking over to group of uninterested friends.
“Do you need me t—” but before you can finish your sentence, she’s picked you up by your waist and thrown you over her shoulder.
“What the fuck! Ellie—put me down!” You scream, slapping at the skin on her back. The girl only laughs underneath you, and walks deeper and deeper into the water. She slams you down into the water, letting your entire body sink into the water.
You quickly pull yourself out, wiping your hands down your face before reaching for her. “You’re a child— get over here!” You walk towards her, grabbing at her skin in attempts to pull her back.
“Yo, chill! You’re just mad that I got you first!” She chuckles, walking backward slowly as she slaps at your hands.
“Well, I'm gonna get you back!” You state, with about the same amount of confidence as you would if you were talking to Callie. You lunge forwards, pushing her back into the water by her shoulders. She quickly grabs your wrists, pulling you into her body.
The two of you land with a splash! And the skin on your stomachs stick together, your bodies colliding as you sink. Your brain screams at you, underwater kiss! Underwater kiss! But you pull your body off of hers before you can act on your impulses.
The night shifts into a blur, your group all simultaneously deciding to sit down and pass around a joint when the humid evening starts to shift into the chillier nighttime. You sit next to Callie, nursing a can of…something while everyone goes around sharing stories from their childhoods, most of them containing everyone else sitting in the circle.
Your brother reminisces on the time he and Ellie pranked you by covering your room in aluminum foil, and Ellie shares a story about when her and her best friend skated all the way from their dorm to some party across the state. You call bullshit, she winks at you.
The night becomes a quiet hum, people leaving in separate Ubers rather than opting to ride in your brother's jeep again. You and a few others stay a few minutes longer, letting yourselves soak in the moonlight and the warm feeling of community.
You gaze at Ellie across the fire, laughing at something your brother said. Her hair is barely damp still, and tiny pieces fly wild in the wind. You sigh, an overly dreamy noise that makes your crush all the more stupid.
Part of you wishes you had your diary with you, you would certainly log this entire day, its ups and downs and all arounds, and the moments you shared with Ellie that were entirely impossible to ignore.
You look down at your legs, letting your towel fall off your shoulder as you relax into the comfortable rhythm of friendship.
· · ─ · ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: you finally hop on that flight home, bringing you back to the place that reminds you of everything you’ve tried so hard to forget. Your emotions flourish, and your thoughts run wild, leaving a certain sense of vulnerability in their wake. Shes gotten hotter, and you think you love her again. ── .✦ [ current pov ]
.𖥔˚ previous chapter 𖥔 next chapter 𖥔
· · ─ · ᡣ𐭩 content warnings: 6k wc, current pov, no use of y/n that i can recall, s!her pronouns used for reader, lots of words that arent proofread, Callie and ocs! Hopeless romantic reader, very little interaction between Ellie and reader, reader romanticize’s everything, age gap (2-ish years) fluff, maybe a tad bit of angst, references, cussing, i thiiink thats all :)
If you’re seeing this little message, tell me your favourite romcom, I’m curious !! mines gotta be 13 going on 30 or 50 first dates :)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃. 〝Love is patient, love is kind, love means slowly losing your mind.〞—ִֶָ27 dresses 𓂃⊹
The phone call you made to your sibling a few days later was…chaotic, to say the least.
His jagged voice was barely audible through the speaker, lewd music blasting through the speaker and terrorizing whatever room he was in, you could tell he was drunk. You think about calling him out, but it would be in vain attempts to berate him, his ‘free spirited’ nature, as he called it, would be tamed by no one, not even his now redundant younger sibling. It was the final day of exams for fucks sake!
You shook your head, letting him have it. You had always been the more disciplined one out of the two of you, now, by no means did that make you methodical. It just made you…more disciplined than the other option. You weren’t about to bitch him out over his alcohol consumption when your mother was the exact same way. That would, to some degree, equate you to a hypocrite. And also, you had bigger issues to worry about.
“He—Hello?” He hiccuped into his device. You could hear his equally drunk and just as disastrous counterparts singing along to whatever crude, and in your words terrible song that was playing while a small and overly tame voice inquired about who was on the other line. My sister, you heard him reply, his voice blaring through to you, and probably just above a whisper to them. The voice only hummed, throwing back a small Oh, Alright, before retreating back into the forest of bodies.
“Have you heard from mom?” You ask, covering your vulnerable ear in hopes to somehow hear him better, the attempt is futile, but laughable. It's what anyone would do. A feasible doing in respect for your ear drum, and your roommate. He swallows, an unconsciously sloppy noise that makes you grimace away from the device.
“Uhhh—like—barely…about what?” The music boosts up an octave, you hear another drunken party goer stumble into him, likely spilling something on his shirt. Fuck, dude! Get outta here! He winces, pulling away for a second.
“She called me the other day, talking about…selling the house? Is that—do you know anything about that?” You try to lift your voice above a whisper, but considering your roommate was asleep just a foot away, you struggled for wiggle room.
“Uhh, yeah—she told me about that…we all gotta go back for the summer, sucks, but…could be good if we decide not to..” he burps in between words, you think in between breaths. You stick a fingernail in between chattering teeth, your anxiety causing you to stand.
“So you're going?”
“Well, yeah. Free flight for both of us, so might as well take the trip.” He huffs. You can tell he's calmed down now, maybe sat down on an empty chair, or shoved himself into a bathroom somewhere.
“Both of us?” You inquired, but you knew what the words implied. It was an act of protection really, waiting for him to confirm your greatest fears before your mind got ahead of itself.
“Yeah…Me’n Ellie, our flight’s on the 18th.” He affirms, taking a sip of whatever concoction he had with him.
It's the name that gets you. Ellie. The same Ellie that you had no bad blood with, yet the mere mention of her gives you debilitating, excruciating anxiety. Your cortisol levels have skyrocketed beyond help in the last ten seconds.
You cleared your throat, lifting your painted fingernails back to your mouth. “Mom—mom paid her ticket?” You stutter out, voice bouncing in hopes to ignore the surge of awkwardness that had taken over.
“Yeah, she did. She's gotta see Joel, too. We haven't been home in forever.” He clicks his tongue. You nod your head, even though he can't see it. Your bones feel like they're shaking inside of you, your skin suddenly feeling too tight, like a suit not quite meant for your body.
You swallow the lump that you didn't remember forming in your throat. Your decision has been made. You were flying home, whether you wanted to or not.
“Yeah, okay…mine too.” You confirm, and instead of the decision feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders, it seems like one was placed upon them. Funny how suddenly that came to be. You should be happy that you’re going home, but instead you’re petrified.
You bid him a soft goodbye with a hollow promise to keep in touch that the both of you will break and an awkward I love you. You sigh as the call ends, leisurely tossing your phone down onto your mattress with a weighted sigh.
You didn't talk to him after that, or your mother for that matter. You just let the days pass by as needed and worried more than you did not.
The airport is full and too loud for anyone to function. You've spent the last couple of hours on a flight to nowhere that felt like a complete waste of money while your brain tried (and failed) to dance around the fact that your ex—crush of almost two decades would be in attendance.
You tap your foot in practiced beats of nervousness, random spurts of frustration washing over you like really misplaced emotion. The fact that this trip was purely businesslike and not recreational already bullying your conscience into guilt covered embarrassment.
Your anger was undoubtedly justified and extremely painful to bear.
You run your hands over your face, letting all your inner turmoil play defense in the game of your emotions. So far, offense was winning. You glance back and forth between the washroom and the exit, deciding to play dangerous and leave all your belongings unattended while you b-lined for the bathroom to splash your face with water that you somehow thought would cure all of your issues.
You sigh into the empty room, your voice echoing back at you. You run your hands under the lukewarm water, letting whatever disease ran through the stream land in your palms. At this point, anything would be better than what’s to come.
“My god…” you whisper, letting the water settle into your pores. It's absolutely disgusting, but also somehow grounding. You groan into nothing, shaking your hands somewhat dry as your breaths turn your chaos into controlled chaos.
You can do this.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket while you're standing at the hand dryer. You pull it out with a smidge of confidence, leaving the washroom and hopefully your self consciousness behind.
It’s a message from Callie, or in other words, your Uber home.
Cals : welcome back to hell! Hope you're ready for boring dinners and weird awkward tension!
Cals : im outside
Cals : your chariot awaits!
Cals : omfg can u hurry
You giggle at the incoming messages, typing back something along the lines of coming that was really just ineligible as you sort your things with one hand. You drop the device as soon as the little ding comes through the speaker.
You squeeze through families, and shuffle past departing couples as your anxiety loudly shifts into excitement. You speed up your steps as your heart rate increases, part of you feels like you're trying to outrun your own emotions, the impending doom that you will eventually have to face your problems that weren’t really problems, and almost completely solvable. You will have to face Ellie eventually.
That wasn't right now, maybe it wasn't even later, but it was true. And deep down you didn't want it to be.
You spot Callie almost immediately once the automatic doors open, tall lean frame pressed up against the side of her car, her body positioned in such a way you’d think she was famous if she was anywhere but here.
Her eyes are stone cold as she looks down at her phone, sunglasses keeping her thick brown hair out of her view. Her fingers swiftly tap against the screen, your phone dinging in your grasp every couple of seconds.
You smile to yourself as you approach, your stomach twisting with excitement. You call out to her, voice cracking with pure joy. She look up quickly, she doesn't have to search for long to find you, running at her with arms full and a smile big enough to blind.
“No awareness, huh?” You comment benevolently, laughing as you pull her into a hug. She copies without word, tugging you into her a little bit harsher than she should’ve.
“Oh shut up!” She shrieks at the teasing, gently kicking your leg. You fall into her further, letting her squeal into your ear. “I’m so happy you're back… you’ve missed so much.” She begins, pulling away from you.
She grabs your suitcase for you, you don't protest. Knowing her, she would berate you for even suggesting to carry your own bags.
“I’ll bet. Texting and Live Photos don't compare to the real deal..” you coo, following her to the back of the car as she shoves your luggage into the already cluttered back seat.
You stop hot in your steps, raising an eyebrow at the back of her car. “Is that not obstructing your field of view?” You question, pointing into the messy boot. The brunette slams the trunk closed with a jagged groan.
“Don’t worry about it.” She sighs, slapping your ass before walking around her side of the car. You roll your eyes, taking a moment to think before following.
Your mind immediately shifts at the lack of distraction. You sigh, shaking your head and walking around the black suv before your thoughts can take over.
“Ugh! I’m so fucking tired of this place, you’re so lucky you’re doing school out of state…” she speaks, resting her elbow on the middle console. She balances her head on her fingers, hoping, praying to stay awake while she drives.
“Yeah.. I’m glad too, which I didn't think I would be.” You reply, glancing over at her momentarily. Her eyes are filled with chaos, frustration and joy all at the same time. She was a chronic complainer, sue her.
“And your brother too, and Ellie! Fuck, youre all lucky. I miss you guys.” She confesses, her fingers slowly starting to rake through her hair. She clicks her tongue as she drives, an incessant habit that you choose to ignore, even if it means sacrificing your sanity.
“I miss you too, yeah.” You twiddle with your fingers, your tone fizzling out into a hum of acknowledgment and a tight smile.
The mention of Ellie had your back straightening, your demeanour somehow shifting into that same repressed shyness that shows up when you’re uncomfortable. Or as Callie calls it “that weird awkward thing you do when you have too many emotions and not enough places to put them all.”
Callie blows a raspberry, slipping her sunglasses off of her head and onto her face. “It’s so fucking sunny, Jesus Christ—are you okay?” She interrupts herself, looking between you and the road in quick motions.
“Yes! Yeah, i’m just…tired, jet lagged, y’know..” you hum, slipping your slides off and pulling your sweat clad legs onto the seat and underneath your body. Callie hums back at you, not quite convinced, but too focused to pry.
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn't need reassurance or explanation. It wasn't a pause between sentences, or an awkward moment where neither of you know what to say, it's just—silent. Silent and comfortable.
Eventually, after what feels like hours of concrete roads and homes that are occupied by parents of people you’ve known since you were little, you turn down the most familiar street.
The tree—lined street almost moves you to tears, a flood of uncomfortable memories appearing on the open road before you. You choke on a breath, a weird sensation of contempt settling in your chest.
You begin to shift in your seat, your brain had been liquidizing for the majority of the drive, but now you were hyper aware. Hyper aware of everything, the tension in your shoulders, the uncomfortable knot in your back, the vehicle that was way too clean to not be a rental sitting in your driveway.
“Home sweet home!” The girl beside you cries, raising an arm in the air with a little too much passion. Your home comes into view slowly, and suddenly you feel like you’re grasping for every moment that was just behind you.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Callie parks, letting the air in the car turn somber. She turns to you, eyes searching yours for any clues pointing to regret. She places a hand on your leg, resting it softly.
“No, No I’m not. I'm just—nervous, haven't been home in a while, that's all.” You shake your head, swallowing a wad of nerves.
Callie raises an eyebrow, giving you the chance to change your answer, to tell the truth. You don’t. You were too frazzled to do that right now, too confused.
“I promise.” You stick your pinky out, she interlocks hers in return. She smiles at you, a true, genuine look. You’re grateful, it alleviates half the stress that was sitting on your shoulders, waiting to cause an avalanche.
“Alright, alright. You ready?” She squeezes your leg twice, a loving gesture. She slips the key out of the ignition after you give her a false confident nod of confirmation. You slip your shoes back onto your feet and let out one last sigh of desperate anticipation before getting out of the car.
The hot sun sends a certain type of stick to your body immediately. Maybe it was the nerves too, but your body was on fire.
“I’ll grab your suitcase—just, grab your carry on.” She grunts between movements. She's already pulling the hard plastic case out of her trunk with the kind of certainty that would not be questioned.
You chuckle, pulling your other bags out of the backseat. You can hear Callie struggling behind the car.
“Here, let me.” You squeeze in, but the container is already clattering to the ground.
“Got it!” She boasts, throwing her arms up in the air as she tries, and fails, to conceal her huffs. She pants like a dog, pushing the case in your direction as she pulls the trunk down.
“Thank you, Callie.” You coo, pulling the handle out of your suitcase as she pulls out her phone, checks it, and then slips it back into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Need me to walk you in? I can—I’ve got time.” She asks, a partial smile on her face.
“No, no. That's okay. I need to unpack and stuff anyway, y’know the boring part of vacation.” You make air quotes on the last words, pulling a chuckle from your friend. She nods, you can tell she’s wary of leaving you alone, but she follows orders anyways.
“Okay.” She confirms. She pulls you in for another hug, a tighter one. “I’ll call you, okay?” When Callie pulls away, she places two hands on each of your shoulders. Her touch is grounding, stabilizing.
“Please do, God—I’ll be so bored.” You joke. She laughs back at you, pulling her phone back out and checking it again.
“Alright, I’ll see you when I see you. Tonight? Got any plans?” She asks, you’re tempted to shake your head and give her a definite answer, but the right side of your brain chews at you.
“I’ll have to see…I’m not sure what’s going on with the house, and my brother—and…yeah.” You dance around the other name, you always do.
“Okay, okay! Makes sense. Family first.” She gives you an understanding expression, one that cannot be mistaken for anything else. Just purely Callie.
You follow her around the car, letting her stop when she gets to the driver side door. You walk past, lugging your carry-on on your back and pulling your suitcase behind you.
“I love you!” She calls after you, you smirk. You can hear her car door opening and shutting. You manage to turn around and blow her a kiss before she pulls out of the driveway.
She waves her hand out the window as she drives away, one last you got this before you're left completely alone. Minus your thoughts…and two other people.
You sigh, shifting your weight between very cold feet. You contemplate calling Callie, and forcing her to bring you back to the airport. You knew she would comply without question, she was always loyal.
The house was nostalgic and repulsing all in one. The once pastel yellow walls now so neglected that they're basically white. The wraparound porch was filled with memories that you didn't even know you had up until now, you and Callie running around in plastic high heels, Ellie and your brother being forced to stand outside and dry off after sneaking out into the rainy afternoon. The windows are dusty, like beholders of secrets that aren't quite secret, but more so unacknowledged. They saw everything—every fight, every inside joke, the time that your father almost flipped the table on Callie and Jesse during a heated game of monopoly. It was rugged, and it was far from perfect, but it was home.
You shake your head, muttering indecent strings of self deprecation under your breath. Despite your lack of motivation, you somehow manage to struggle through the doorway, all your bags in tow and seemingly unscathed.
The living room is empty when you walk in, although there's signs of human life, like the jacket hanging over the back of the couch, or the video game controllers that sit on the coffee table, ready to be used, you don't see anyone.
The deep exhale you let out shakes you. A quick flood of white hot relief washes over you like this was more than just a visit home—like there was something worth dreading behind the faded banana walls and deteriorating storm door.
The kitchen is vacant of any life, opposite the living space before it. It was dark and cold, and clearly hadn't been visited by your sibling yet. You snort at the emptiness, shaking your head as you start up the stairs. The pictures are still the same, a few family photos that screamed dysfunction, and high school graduation pictures of every kid in the friend group. Yours was no exception, your smile was proud and awkward all at the same time, your hair pulled up and out of your face because your mom said it made your collarbones pop. Your brothers was hung right beside, smack dab in the middle of the row, his photo as careless as could be. Beside his was Ellie’s, her flaming auburns locks pulled into a half up half down style, with a few stands hanging loose over her nature kissed eyes. Her lips are pulled into a small, modest smile—the kind she only pulled out for pictures she didn’t want to be in. Her freckles spread over her pale skin like the stubborn coarse sand that you can't quite pick out of your hair, or the starry night sky that reflects perfectly onto the water while you're swimming at night. You could fall into them, get lost in each and every speck like they’re their own planet. It reminds you of every time you’d caught yourself exploring them, the water being the only thing holding you up as your eyes counted every one of the blemishes on her face. If you could, you’d sink into her, letting the water swallow you whole.
You shake your head, internally cursing yourself for the random spurt of longing. You weren’t sure what came over you, it just…happened.
Your childhood room isn't the relic you’d wished it to become throughout your years in it. You had hoped for a place of comfort, a place to come home to in between the chaotic semesters, and midterms that sucked the colour out of your face. But instead, it grew into a cave of dust and boxes with a few leftover books and a doorknob that hadn't been twisted in years.
There were a few things piled up on your old dresser, boxes labeled with picture frames and old clothes. You sigh, dropping your backpack down onto the bed, made up tightly from the last time someone was in it. It was cold, and smelled faintly of dust, and fabric. There’s another box titled books sitting in front of your closet, it was supposed to be taped up and shipped to you, but it unfortunately never made it out of the house. Courtesy of your mother.
You shift some things around, pushing the heavier boxes over to the door, and stacking the smaller ones on top. A few posters come down, a few go up. Some are moved to where they’re less visible.
You’re pulling the stack of boxes out of your room when the back of your foot knocks against something harsh. You wince, quickly reaching for the back of your heel as you hobble around to observe your offender.
Another brown box, sitting right in between two bedrooms. You raise an eyebrow, the unfamiliar storage container was sitting there, open. You pull it towards you by the dust flaps. You peer inside, it was full of notebooks, some familiar, some not. You dig through them, grabbing one from the middle of the box. You quickly flip through the pages, all full of pink pen and overly girly stickers.
It was a box of your diary’s. All the old books that sat untouched and full of feelings in your closet. You didn't realize there were so many of them until they were sitting before you, discarded into semi-organized piles like old textbooks.
You sit in the hallway for a moment, picking through the books like they were ancient texts. You sit there reading through every word, and cringing at every shitting drawing for what felt like minutes, but ended up to be over an hour. Most of them were full of your queer realizations and pining for your brother's best friend like an idiot, but there were a few that had you chuckling—middle school drama was always too serious. You couldn’t blink in that place without getting tagged in someone’s Snapchat story the next morning.
By the time you’re complete, the sun has hit the highest point in the sky, and the front door is clicking shut, a loud explosion of laughs following the noise. You curse under your breath, scrambling to your feet. You quickly begin to shove all the books back into their designated space.
You hear a masculine voice call up for you, one you can only recognize as your brothers. You debate ignoring him completely, the idea of sneaking back into your room and hiding away until you knew his friends were gone had no flaws in your eyes.
He calls you again, this time his voice louder and definitely attracting the attention of his peers. You growl, pushing yourself off the hardwood floor. Your knees ache from the time spent kneeling over the box, and a sudden pang pulls in your back when you stand.
“Fuck—! Coming!” Your voice wavers as you yell back at him, the shakiness of your tone echoing against the walls of the stairs. You quickly shuffle into the bathroom, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. You take a deep breath, smoothing down your hair in the mirror, just in case.
You curse under your breath, the chances of Ellie being there were…high, and your first impression had to be at least somewhat good. You can’t remember exactly how long it’s been since you had an actual conversation with the girl, a year and a half? Two?
You hold onto the railing as your soft clad feet hustle down the stairs. Your body seems to be moving faster than you can keep up with, because before you know it, you’re standing in the living room with about 10 pairs of eyes on you.
Your brother steps forward from the group, a cup in hand. “There she is!” He laughs, pulling you into an overwhelmingly tight hug. You're aware of all the eyes on you, all of them belonging to people you have already met, most of those being people you grew up with.
“Hi…” you chuckle, your voice wary and awkward. A few people wave at you before reverting back to their conversations, Jesse even verbally acknowledges you with a smile and an enthusiastic hey.
You search the room for that familiar pair of green irises that you’ve been thinking about since you got off the plane. When you met them, it was like she was never gone. You raise your hand to wave, your body moving in slow motion as a grin slowly builds its way onto her face.
Hi Ellie.. you imagine yourself saying, in a tone sweet enough to pull her out of her chair and into your arms. You picture her whispering about how much she missed you, and her asking you about school. But unfortunately, it doesn't go like that. Instead, she just winks, and turns back to the person she was talking to.
You nod, turning back to your own counterpart. “So…how was first year?” He inquires, trailing back into the kitchen to refill his drink. You suspect you're supposed to follow him, but your feet keep you planted to the floor.
“It was—good, yeah good.” You rock back and forth on your heels, before finally stepping forward. You've now welcomed yourself into their space. One girl was sitting on the counter, chatting with Dina. There were two boys that you didn't recognize cramming into the corner of the modestly sized room, staring everyone else down, making the occasional sly comment.
“Bet it wasn't like those movies you're always watching, huh?” He chuckles, turning back to you. You give him an insincere half smile and a laugh that sounded too much like an inhale.
“What’re you studying again? Journalism?” He asks, tilting his cup in your direction. A drop of coloured liquid flies onto your shirt, tainting the fabric darker.
You open your mouth to respond but a sudden hand on his shoulder stops you. It’s Ellie.
“English.” She corrects him, turning to you for clarification. You nod, your eyes wide with a mix of amazement and shock. “And then it's education, right?” She asks, squinting at you with uncertainty. You nod again.
Your brother rolls his eyes at the girl, she only laughs. “Brother of the year award goes to this guy.” She adds sarcastically, shaking her head as she turns to fill her cup as well.
your brother smiles, a small apology spilling from his lips. You wave him off, you weren’t expecting him to know. But you weren’t expecting her to know even more. The realization swirls in your stomach, Ellie knew this small fact about you off the top of her head, and you hadn’t spoken to her in years. You were separated by entire states and an extended period of time and she still remembered.
“D’ya want a drink? Fruit punch cut with Smirnoff.” Your brother offers, holding his hand out in a sort of welcoming gesture.
Fruit punch and Smirnoff…yeah, you’ll pass.
“Uhh—no…I’m so good without—that.” You half joke, gesturing to the drink in his hand with an awkward chuckle. He nods in acceptance, waving at you before rejoining his people.
Now it's just you and Ellie by the drinks, the other friends aren't far by any means, they can probably hear how heavily you’re breathing just as well as she can. You, for a moment, think she’s going to acknowledge you again, maybe invite you to sit down. She doesn't.
You shout a goodbye to your brother, and a full-hearted Nice to see you guys again! To the other people in the room before you retreat back up the stairs.
When you hear the click of your bedroom door close, you practically jump for your diary. The book was already back on your nightstand, the spot that it belonged, where you belonged. But you would never say that out loud. There’s a lot of things you would never say out loud, like how you were ninety percent sure your puppy-love crush on Ellie was returning in full force.
You could sit here and pretend that you aren’t usually delusional, but you absolutely are.
It was a quirk that you could never quite kick, especially when it came to the green eyed beauty standing just underneath your bedroom.
You open the book and scrounge for a pen, a pencil, anything. You settle on a baby blue pen with a fluffy puff on the top that had mysteriously showed up in your bedside drawer. You smile at the object, reminiscing on how you used it in this exact circumstance just a couple years ago.
You settle in, your back against the side of your bed while your legs rest against the rug on your floor. The second your pen meets the paper, you focus. Your thoughts feel like they're running at you at a million miles per minute, while your hand can only write at about one. It seems that everytime you gain a thought, you have to chase it to keep it.
You write for hours, only breaking to regain your thoughts or switch the record spinning on your very busted up record player. Your brother knocked once, letting you know that he was ordering pizza and that his friends would be gone soon.
You let your hands move until they physically can’t, filling the pages with recollections of every moment you’ve ever shared with the girl, every time she looked at you, every time she spoke your name in that honeysuckle tone. Every moment up until now, some rewritten and others unwritten.
You write like you’re chasing something, like there's not enough time in the day to complete the biography of this love you have fostered for well over ten years. You write like you're running out of time…call you Hamilton!
Before you returned home, you swore that the crush had faded into nothing. You thought the particles of stardust had disintegrated into dust long before you returned home. You thought.
Well, it turns out they hadn't broken down at all. They remained, just tucked all the way back, in the farthest corner of your consciousness. So what you thought about her everyday? And stalked her social media every time you got drunk? That didn’t mean you still had a crush on her. That’s normal!
By the time you place your pen on the ground and close the book, the sun has gone down and the noise in the house has faded into the quiet hum of your music. You sigh, shaking out your now ink stained hand. The black pigment tarnishing you In a way that felt somewhat affirming.
You crack your back and then you stand. You needed to shower.
The late evening has now faded into the very early morning. The clock on your stove was glowing red, and the kitchen is humming with that late night buzz that you could never identify.
You’re dancing around the kitchen, your playlist shuffling through your headphones. Currently, you were on your third song, the voice of Malcom Todd inflicting to to groove while you dig into a container of Betty Corker's infamous cream cheese icing.
You clap as your hips sway. The kitchen is only illuminated by the light above the stove and the occasional opening of the fridge.
You lick your lips, the sugary goo taints your lips with the taste of sweetness, a sort of soft femininity, in your opinion. You almost pull up google to search for a lipgloss in the same flavour.
The song switches this time it’s Don't Delete The Kisses. A song that has comforted you an uncountable number of times. You grin at the sound of the intro playing, scooping another hefty spoonful of icing into your mouth.
You sing along to the first verse, swaying through the kitchen as endless scenarios dance through your mind.
You connect the song to Kat and Patrick, from 10 Things I Hate About You, and then Harry and Sally from When Harry Met Sally, and eventually, you and Ellie.
You sigh, and then you laugh. You turn to the clock, 2:55, it reads. You promise yourself you’ll go upstairs at three.
The light turns on.
You whip around, eyes wide and mouth almost to the floor. It’s Ellie. Standing in the entryway of your kitchen with an amused grin plastered on her face. You press a hand to your chest, you didn't even know she was still here.
“Jesus!” You whisper, “you scared me! I almost screamed! Scrumpt? Scream-pt?” You berate. She laughs, stepping farther into the room.
“Sorry! Sorry!” She chuckles, walking over to the fridge to commit the exact same sin as you have been for the past half an hour.
Africa by Toto begins to play in your headphones, you turn it down. Ellie’s hair is a sexy kind of messy, it had been chopped since the last time you saw her, into a shorter shag type cut. She was clad in a plain white tee and blue plaid sleep shorts. The tattoo that had been started on her arm just before she left was completed now, covering her entire forearm with that blue-black ink. It was hot, really hot.
“What’re you doing up, anyway? It's late.” You ask, pushing yourself up onto the counter closest to the fridge. Ellie turns to you, an eyebrow raised.
“It’s summer. And I could ask you the same.” She pulls away from the fridge, hands vacant of whatever snack she was searching for.
“Mmm…Gimme that.” She demands softly when she notices the sweetness in your grasp. She opens her mouth, waiting for you to bring the spoon to her lips. Your stomach sinks. Not only were you and Ellie alone in the same room, but she was basically asking you to kiss her. Indirectly, of course.
You roll your eyes, scooping a hefty portion of the white paste onto your spoon. You push it into her mouth with an insane amount of uncertainty. She licks it clean with a smack of the lips, throwing you a thumbs up as she works it down her through.
“Thanks.” She licks her lips, smiling at you as you nod in response. The scene wasn't vulgar, nor lustful, but it had your stomach flipping like Simone biles.
You could smell her body wash, and her cologne, and the light scent of cigarettes that lingered on her shirt, clearly something she had grabbed from Joel’s house that was still stuck in 1990.
“Well… g’night. See ya tomorrow” she tags your name on at the end of her sentence, and it has you imagining your wedding.
“Goodnight, els. Sorry—Ellie. Ellie.” You fumble, the nickname a reflex at this point, a second nature. It had been something you came up with in your younger days, in the midst of your hurricane of a crush. Your brother always teased the both of you for it.
She waves you off with a smirk. “It’s fine.” She says, before turning down the hallway and walking back upstairs. You sit on the counter and listen until you’re sure she's in her room.
It's 3:23 when you finally leave the kitchen, 15 minutes after the other kitchen lurker. You sigh as you hop off the counter and walk out of the room. You flick the light off and your thoughts follow you all the way up the stairs.
That night you dream of menthol, mint, and clandestine kisses from the one person you're sure you can’t have.
personal trainer!abby who likes to wrangle you onto your back, her big hands pinning your knees to your chest, purely for the purpose of stretching your body to its fullest capacity. you attempt to squirm away when it becomes too, but her grip only tightens around you.
“un-unh, don’t fight it.” she says, lowering her face closer to yours until you can practically taste her breath. when your knees finally get close enough to your chest, she rewards you with a rare smile and a soft, “there you go.”
𓍼 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 ~ a moment finally granted to dig deeper under the surface, to be able to hold the key to a heart that's been for so long closed off from anything that could remotely speak of love. too bad fear resides exactly in the possibility of ellie's walls crumbling down.
𓍼 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ~ 14.5k
𓍼 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ~ literature student!ellie x literature student!reader. swearing, little cutesy date and me using the weather as plot, literature references, SMUT, switch!ellie, switch!reader, tiny tit play, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering (e!receiving), emotional shit, no comfort whatsoever, ellie needs a hug, reader needs to get her priorities straight, afab!reader. cis men and minors dni.
The morning light is the first thing that wakes you up, soft but insistent in the way it can be only when you’ve spent hour after hour with your knees drawn up to your chest and curled in your chair until your hand started to cramp midway between the third and the fifth draft.
There are at least five crumpled pieces of paper scattered all over your desk, made of words that you’ve discarded, thoughts left unfinished and doubts you still haven’t found the answer for. They just sit there, like witnesses of a night you’ve spent for the most part sleepless, restless like only someone who’s trying to make every word count, every single loop of letters intertwining with one another to draw a picture that means more than just ink on paper.
Care laced with understanding.
You’ve taken all night trying to find the right words, torn between not sounding like too much and the urge to hide behind the façade of someone you’ve never been, almost like week after week you had found some kind of refuge in taking the shape of another, making their words yours, their actions something that comes natural when—as soon you would set the pen down—you’d go back being not even the shadow of what you had carefully crafted.
It’s like slowly, through the years, you had stopped knowing what it was like to be you. As if you’ve never known words or acts that showed—without any trace of doubt—that being yourself was something worth cherishing, appreciating, and desire. As if there has never been a single person that made you feel worth keeping unless you meticulously adapt every inch of what you are to what you think they might need. Like the price to pay for someone to stay was to let go of your soul, which only served the purpose of letting you forget—agonizingly slowly—its shape.
Because that’s what you’ve been taught for the wholeness of your life, in the quiet of rainy nights and the loudness of shattering ceramic: do everything you can not to let them go, no matter the cost.
And that’s the reason why you stayed up, because now it was a matter of not only of knowing someone, of finding out what’s that thing that’s relentlessly chewing them up from the inside out, but also a battle of finding yourself again. So you did. Word after word, discarded thoughts after discarded thoughts, it felt like asking to see and to be seen, like a plea at the same time begging quietly for the other not to run, not from themselves but also… not from you.
Slowly it became easier to find that lost thread, easier to stitch the pieces of you back together until they became somewhat recognizable, only because of one thing and one thing alone: you still had somehow a place where you could hide whether that would not be accepted: a pen, a piece of paper, and the fact that—at least for now—the shape of your face was still something that for Ellie remained unknown.
Maybe it was easier being yourself if you could still pretend that the hand holding your pen was one that she had never held before.
What you missed though—lost in your mind and the endless spiral it had dragged you into—was that soft buzz next to your bag, your screen lighting up with words you still haven’t read and that only your walls are already aware of.
So when you finally let your eyes open and your pupils adjust to the soft glow that’s bathing your room in sunlight and the first thing you do is picking up your phone where you tossed it on the nightstand before collapsing between your sheets somewhere around four and five in the morning, what you see—between email notifications and whatever TikTok Jackie had sent you before going to bed—is something you weren’t expecting. Not so quickly at least, and surely not for the reason the texts are claiming.
(555)01##:
hey austen
its ellie
maybe we can see each other again without your best friend threatening my entire existence?
It takes you quite a second to fully register them as for what they are, blinking slowly at the glow on your screen that’s making your eyes squint a little. Moments that you take to read those words again, as if maybe you’re just making them up in your head in the traces of a night poorly and barely slept and—when you’ll blink the right amount of times—they will disappear and become something else.
But your eyes didn’t betray you, the words stay, just as their meaning does. And that’s enough to make you immediately jolt, sitting up on your bed with the sheets turning rumpled and half falling off from your legs and onto the edge of the mattress, tangling just as the thoughts inside your head in this exact moment.
Part of you needs to be reminded that—maybe—Ellie doesn’t mean anything deep, is not looking for anything more than what you’ve already shared in the quiet of her dorm room: just touches that linger enough to make you wonder but not enough for them to mean anything solid. But then again, your mind wouldn’t be yours and your head wouldn’t be attached to your own shoulders if—for the time it takes to let yourself dream—you didn’t actually stop, read those texts again and make yourself believe that there’s a chance, a small possibility that in between the lines, there’s a deeper need, a deeper meaning, something that you can cling onto and let yourself believe. Believe that there’s always something underneath the surface, believe that there’s more to uncover, believe that the words you’ve read in the letter that’s still open on your desk are the explanation to something you need to understand.
And the part of you that simply believes in all of that has always been the more alive one inside of you, the one that screams louder, the same that brings you to kick the sheets off your legs and stumble out of your bed on your way from your bedroom to the door across from yours.
You don’t even knock like you usually do, not when there was so much urgency in the few steps that you took towards the handle you’re harshly pushing down, barging into Jackie’s room where the blinds are still drawn, bathing the room in darkness where the shape of your best friend jolting up is barely visible.
“What the fuck?!” She gasps, voice raspy in the way it always is when she’s only barely half awake and her eyes haven’t even fully opened yet.
“Jacks!” You exclaim, barreling in with your phone still clutched tight in your hand, carefully avoiding every pile of tossed clothes that you manage to see on the floor. “Jacks, Jacks, Jacks. You’ll never guess what.”
“What?!” The ginger echoes again while making space on her bed, seeing you crawling on top of it, completely ignoring the way she’s looking like something in between freaked out and mildly irritated from having been woken up when she was clearly deep asleep. “Just what?”
The only answer you give her is not even a spoken one, you just unlock your phone and hand it over to her. Jackie takes the phone from you with a sigh, rubbing her eyes with her other hand, still trying to compute the reason behind a kind of excitement that she never shows in the morning.
As her eyes skim through the message thread with Ellie that’s still left unanswered, at first she doesn’t react outwardly, just squints at the words that are making her freckled cheeks glow and takes in the type of breath that could mean anything and that always leaves you wondering if the words that are going to come out of her mouth will be ones that you’ll like to hear or not.
When Jackie glances up at you again and hands the phone over, you’re still holding your breath, one foot into bracing, the other still lost in a leftover puddle of lingering excitement.
“Did she just throw shade at me?” She deadpans while handing your phone back.
“Help me answer!” You move on, completely ignoring her question.
Jackie’s mouth twists, one brow raising so high that a few strands of her hair falling across her forehead hide it. “...What?”
“She’s asking me out. Help me answer.” In seeing your best friend’s mouth twist and already knowing what kind of words could be coming from her mouth, you don’t even give her a chance to answer. “Please, Jacks. I’ll do your laundry. Cook you breakfast. Whatever you want.”
Your best friend doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she just slumps back against the headboard, a movement that you follow carefully, and glances up to the ceiling for a moment, almost like she’s chosen to weigh her words more carefully than what she would’ve probably done in different circumstances. And maybe it’s because she’s promised it, maybe it’s because she’s still too tired and couldn’t be bothered to protest, but regardless of the reason, Jackie just gives in.
“Fiiinee,” she concedes, her eyes shifting on yours again. “Just be yourself. If you wanna see her just tell her when you’re free and ask what she had in mind. Dunno.”
The look you give her is an unconvinced one, with your shoulders sagging and your mouth twisting into what could be described as a pout. “You’re not very helpful right now,” you mumble out.
“Babe. I don’t do this stuff,” she sighs. “I just match with people on Tinder and they ask me to go to their place, we fuck and I leave. Simple as that. I don’t do lots of planning.”
Your body finally slumps backwards, landing on the soft pillows stacked together against the headboard of her bed. It takes you a while to speak again, sorting out your thoughts and keeping yourself from asking the kind of questions that you know you’ll never find the answer for if directed to the girl sitting beside you rubbing her eyes to try waking herself up.
“Okay,” you eventually declare, bringing your phone from your chest into your hands to type out a few words for her to judge. “What about this then?”
You:
Hi Ellie!
Sure. What about tomorrow?
Also, your dorm again?
Once Jackie is done reading she gives you a small hum, a sound followed by the rustling of the sheets as she turns fully towards you, one arm casually landing across your stomach while her head rests on your chest.
“Look good, babe,” she mumbles. “Just be yourself.”
Funny how a sentence so simple, so easy to get past someone's lips in the shape of an advice is actually the one thing you’ve spent the entire night trying to understand how to do. Words that would be so easy to turn into practice, if you weren’t one who’s spent her entire life shaping herself around the mould of another, to fit it as best as she could. But you don’t voice any of that, because there’s something fragile in your best friend supporting what you know she thinks is not good for you and you’d cut your own tongue off before letting it go.
So you just stay there, with the screen of your phone turning back to black and Jackie’s weight growing heavier on the side of your frame. Until—surprisingly—the quiet chime of your ringtone reaches your ear and your hand to shoot towards it.
Ellie Williams:
tmrw works
4:00pm
i was thinking we could go to the quad if thats okay w u
You stare at the words for a while, taking them in, making sure your brain has processed them right and it’s not just something your own head has birthed out of the blue to satisfy something that you won’t name quite yet. Although, eventually, you decide that they’re not gonna budge from your screen, that they’re gonna stay right there and that—maybe—this is actually the chance you’ve been hoping for all along.
A chance that you take before it’s too late and it can slip off from your hands.
You:
Sure thing!
See you tomorrow then
April 3rd.
For some reason, everything feels aligned.
Some people would call it fate, others destiny, some just a mere coincidence. But whatever name one would choose and beside being blinded by the way your heart is running eight miles per hour inside your ribcage, it feels way too ideal nonetheless.
Mainly because the weather seems to be on your side: the wind isn’t too strong—just the perfect amount of breeze that doesn’t make your hair a bother or has you constantly run your fingers through it to get it off your face; the sun kissing your cheeks doens’t feel burning, but rather a gentle caress, almost like it’s inviting you to be outside, telling you that you’re at the right place at the right time. It feels like everything you were hoping for, almost as if someone looked right into your brain during one of those sleepless nights you like spending indulging in dreams and fantasies and simply built this exact moment for you to actually live in for once outside of your head and underneath your very feet.
But no matter how romanticizable waiting underneath the oak tree that stands tall at the centre of the quad of your university could ever be, that doesn’t stop the hammering inside your chest and the growing, gnawing pit that sits at the centre of your stomach. Maybe because it doesn’t matter how much time one could ever spend daydreaming about something, when it actually happens sometimes it’s hard to understand what to do with it. Almost like it’s something far too fragile and precious and when something feels like that the fear of ruining it is louder than any kind of excitement would be.
Still, despite the nerves and the way your knees feel suddenly unable to sustain the weight they’ve carried throughout your life, you still wait, like you’re waiting to be proven to be deserving of standing there with your heart on your sleeves for someone to catch and—hopefully—hold without tossing it away.
It’s between nervous, shaky exhales and somewhere between the third or fourth time you smooth down the sweater that Jackie helped you pick, that movement pulls at the corner of your eyes, making your chin tilt up and your eyes meet green and freckles dusted over cheeks.
Ellie walks towards you like someone who clearly put way less effort than you before coming here: half bun messy on the back of her head, hands stuffed inside the pockets of jeans ripped at her knees and a blue, checkered flannel which sleeves she's rolled up to her elbows. Yet, she doesn’t look disheveled, rather just like someone who hasn't the pretense of appearing to be seen, and that's enough to feel your breath catching in your throat and every muscle in your body tensing up.
“Austen,” she greets the second she’s close enough. Her hand comes out from her pocket, eyes falling onto a simple watch on her right wrist with a small crack on the glass that’s definitely too big on her. “Am I late?” She asks almost sheepishly. “You waited too long?”
It takes you a second to fully gather yourself together enough for your answer not to sound trembling. “Hey,” you murmur eventually. “Don’t worry. I just got here.”
Her lips stretch, hand falling right back where she was keeping it. “Good then.” After a beat, enough time for her to bring her backpack forward and unzip it just a crack, she continues, “I thought I’d bring you somethin’.” Then, just under her breath that it’s almost not audible: “Hopin’ you haven’t read it yet.”
You only have the time to tilt your head, eyes following every single one of her moments, but it doesn’t take you long to finally have her hand outstretching right in front of you the copy of a book that you’ve only seen in the bookshelves of the library or in syllabi of classes you have yet to take but that you’ve never even opened before in your life.
“The Double?” You ask softly as your hands wrap around the edges of the book, feeling the frayed cover coarse against your skin, the corners where dog-ears have left their marks on the yellowing pages, the weight of something that’s been held multiple times before you’ve got the chance to do the same and—for a moment—you allow yourself to wonder if this is something that’s always belonged to the girl in front of you and you’ve been granted to hold something that’s entirely hers or if she’s just another owner after a long list of others. But the thoughts get interrupted when Ellie’s voice reaches your ears again.
“Yup,” she confirms. “It’s the best from Dostoevsky if you ask me and nobody else.” Your eyes lift enough to catch her huffing a laugh while she keeps rummaging inside her backpack. “Think of… 1984 ‘n Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde havin’ a baby. That would be it.”
Finally, though, the last thing she was apparently looking for finds its way to her hands and out of her pack and—as she swings it back— what your eyes land on is enough to make you completely freeze before her and forget whatever examination you were making the book in your hands go through.
Because what Ellie’s holding is something that you’ve spent years looking for, only read in libraries and begged Dotty god knows how many times to find you but that—although her best efforts—was something that could never find its way to you and the shelves of your home.
“Oh my god,” you gasp “Is that Juvenilia?!” A snort slips from Ellie before the book travels from her hands to yours and right on top of the other you were holding. Your hands clasp it as if pages in your hands have suddenly become something foreign that you’ve never had the opportunity to touch before, so much that you’re treating it as delicately as you would with something as fragile as glass. “Oh my fucking god, Ellie. This is like— this is a first edition from 1922. Oh my god, do you know how rare this copy is? Where did you get it?”
When you lift your eyes to finally look at her, Ellie’s are wide, blinking slowly, but there’s this small, amused smile that’s tugging at her lips. "Thrift store,” she shrugs. “It seemed fancy but I didn’t think it was special or anythin’.”
The breath you take in is sharp, almost like you’re not really believing how casually the words are rolling off her tongue. “You’re joking,” you reply before titling your chin down and opening the book gently, skimming carefully the first few pages. “Look, here.” You take a step closer, then another not even thinking about how your shoulders now touch and how close you actually are, too focused on showing her the page you’re on, your fingers tracing the letters that you’re both looking at right now. “New York, Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers. Frist. Edition. 1922. This is huge! And you found it… there? Abandoned?”
When you look up Ellie hums and the sound you let out right after is something between disbelief and frustration. “Utterly barbaric,” you declare eventually, with the kind of finality you leave for not many things in the world.
But the words that come next from the freckled girl next to you are something that you would’ve never expected before.
“I just picked it ‘cause you told me Austen’s your favorite ‘n I thought I should give her another chance.”
It’s in the moment that you register fully what she’s just said that you actually realize how close you’re standing, how—if you leaned even just an inch more—your lips would meet. Lips, that you end up glancing at the same exact moment she does the same thing. And that’s enough for warmth to creep up your cheeks and feel a tight knot starting to tangle inside your throat.
“Yeah?” You ask fleebily, reverting your gaze back to her eyes, a question to which Ellie only responds with another hum. “What about The Double, though?”
The auburn-haired clears her throat, the sound of it scratching the back of her throat as finally she takes the smallest step back. “I thought we could, dunno, read,” she replies before forcing her lips to curve into something far less serious and far safer. “Unless you wanna skip to the part where we go to my room and have sex. That’s fine too.”
“No,” You blurt out as fast as you can, only to lower your voice the second after, almost afraid of having sounded too desperate, too eager, too impatient to actually get inside her skin and have the chance to know the shape of another piece of her soul, no matter how small. “I mean, later, yeah. But I’d love to read with you.”
It’s something almost gentle, a faint trace of her guard crumbling down by the smallest inch, the smile Ellie offers at your words: lopsided, barely there like it’s asking for permission, to be granted the possibility of being there in the first place, and—for a moment—you wish you were in the position of telling her that it doesn’t have to ask to have a home on her face.
But you’re not.
The only thing you can do is a slight nudge to her shoulder and a quiet nod towards the tree and the shade it’s providing before forcing your feet to walk down the path distancing you to what you’ve truly wanted to say and the mold those words are forming on the back of your throat. And Ellie, unaware of how heavy they sit there and unable to ask for more than what she’s always allowed herself to have, just follows.
Step after step, until you’re both sitting side by side with your backs pressed against the heavy knots of a tree trunk that’s provided a place to rest against to people for god knows how many centuries before. People just like the two of you, with books in hands and legs outstretched with the soft breeze running through strands of hair that fall over the eyes, with heartbeats that are running a little too fast and that—if seen from the outside—they could be as well mistaken for lovers.
It’s easy for your mind to travel to farther places than where you are right now, to the picture that was once so clear in your head years ago when walking into Dotty’s store for the first time in your life. Except there’s no lily now that you can tuck between the pages, there’s no loving embrace and no bee that you can watch fly just inches from your nose. Despite that, though, somehow it doesn’t feel like a wish that hasn’t come true, because in sitting like this—flipping pages filled with words that will perhaps give you the right key to someone else’s heart—it feels like standing as close as you were ever allowed to that fantasy, to the imagery in your head that feels so real, so tangible.
Just a whisper of a touch and a word away from reaching for it.
Something that you’re seemingly not able to receive. So you just keep reading in silence, deciphering behind every written word before your eyes the reasons of the choice that’s brought them to stare back at you in the first place: why this book, why this author and why are you the one allowed to sit with her reading it.
It feels like something to uncover, a well-protected secret hidden behind a carefully crafted façade that you will only be able to unmask the second those words will have sunk deeper inside your mind and you’ll have found the reason why—among every story that exists in this word—Ellie Williams decided that this particular one was her favorite.
If Jackie was here, she would probably tell you how silly it is to try to understand someone just based on the one thing you’re holding, that it’s crazy, pretentious to think one holds the ability to truly see through someone based on something so abstract. Yet, she’s not here. Yet, you’re not her. And slowly, another truth starts to sink within you: right in this moment, you’re glad none of those casualties are actually reality.
And if there is something you’re even more grateful of, is being able to actually hold within your hands words that could possibly tell a greater story than the one they’re trying to convey and that has little to do with a man called Yakov and more to do with the girl sitting beside you whose shoulder is only brushing against yours ever so slightly and whose hands are flipping through pages that she picked for a sole reason:
You told me she was your favorite.
That's what is clouding your mind through every movement of your eyes across the lines and that is enough for your mind to take over, to convince you that if she’s paid attention to something so important to you, maybe she cares more than she admits aloud, that maybe you were right and the picture of her everybody seems so adamant in painting is nothing but deception made by hands that don’t care about accuracy.
So—like you always do when granted the opportunity to do so—you dive right into that small sliver of possibility to satisfy that familiar, gnawing need to dig deeper, to scrape underneath the surface. You stop caring about the passing of time, of everything that surrounds you in this moment and—guided by the thought that this could never happen again so soon—your mind does what it always does when it’s racing, running towards something that seems so close, but so out of reach at the same time: it doesn’t give space for anything else. And it’s in being so lost in chances, in digging deeper that you haven’t even noticed the breeze turning harsher, the sun getting clouded and that Ellie, still sitting right next to you, has tilted her chin up, eyes above with her nose scrunched. So when her voice finally reaches you, it’s by surprise.
“I think it’s about to—”
She doesn’t even get the chance to finish the sentence before being interrupted by a thunder that finally makes your head snap up from the pages.
“...rain,” she eventually finishes.
Reluctantly, you close the book in your lap, still keeping one finger in between the pages, as if you’re still lost between the words and the ground beneath you, but even in that space between here and there, the state of the weather finally catches up to you, although maybe it’s because of the droplet landing right on the tip of your nose.
“Yeah,” you murmur, one hand coming up to dry your skin with the hem of your sweater. “We should go back?”
You don’t even know why your words sound like you’re phrasing them as a question, maybe it’s the hope that in Ellie’s answer there will be a request to have you close just for a little longer, no matter in which way.
A hope, that doesn’t remain unanswered for long.
“My place?” The freckled girl asks. “My friend’s not there.”
Head turning towards her slowly, your eyes flutter a couple of times before you give her an answer, almost as if you weren’t expecting it, like this isn’t the whole reason why you’re here in the first place and she hadn't said the same thing half an hour ago, a reminder that echoes in your ears in the shape of Jackie’s voice, reminding you to not expect more than what was promised, not to place your hopes in the hand of someone who has never proved more than what they’ve already given.
But it’s really hard to listen to that voice when the girl next to you has also proven much more—at least in your eyes—and has done so with something in the shape of the one thing you’re still holding with one hand, resting against your bent legs. Maybe that’s why it’s easy to say yes and to lace it with the restless hope that the meaning behind that question holds something more profound.
“I’d love to,” you finally reply.
The only thing Ellie does at your words, is offering a small smile and standing up, brushing the palm against her jeans and grabbing the backpack from the grass before jerking her chin off the a path that—although you’ve only taken once before—you’ve already memorized like a trail guiding you towards the only place that can give you answers. And that trail, you follow, with the book she gave you now carefully stored inside your tote bag like it’s something far more valuable that just ink printed on paper, walking right beside her as if her steps could trace a path that doesn’t just lead to a bed and some sheets surrounded by way too thin walls.
The more steps you take, the more the sky turns gray; the more you get one foot in front of the other, the more the weather turns angrier, darker, louder and if just minutes ago there were only a couple droplets landing on your forehead, now they’ve turned into battering rain that wets the path you’re walking along, your hair and your clothes, forcing you and Ellie to quicken your paces, to use whatever you can to cover your heads with little to no success.
Somewhere along the way, the auburn-haired quickly turns her head over her shoulder, glancing at you with her eyes slightly squinting. “You good?” She asks, voice louder than probably needed.
“Yeah!” You answer quickly, although that’s partially through given how you’re soaked from head to toe. “Let’s just— hurry up, please.”
Surprisingly, the sight of you like that—hair wet, clothes dripping and your tote bag covering your head while doing practically the bare minimum to shield you—gives Ellie reason to let out a kind of laugh that would be enough to make you stop dead in your tracks: low, scratching the back of her throat, one that’s so rare hearing coming from her.
But while that’d be enough, what makes you more freeze for half a second is how she suddenly slings one strap of her back over her shoulder, careless of the rain falling all over her head, for the sole purpose of grabbing your hand, wet fingers intertwining with yours while her steps quicken ahead of you as your eyes stay locked on the shape of her shoulders and your feelings stuck on the way a gesture so seemingly simple feels like, for a moment, somewhere between your ribs a beat has been missing.
Yet—with your heart incapable of budging from your throat and your head spinning—you follow. Through the rain, the wet sounds of shoes splatting across the pavement all around you, through every body you weave through on the way to the dorms, through every inch of your skin that’s screaming because you’re scared that if you hold onto that hand too tightly, Ellie will only let go.
But she doesn’t.
The calluses on her palms and her fingertips are still pressed firmly against your skin, even when the sound of thunders is muffled behind thick walls and your feet are dragging across a hallway full of people complaining, voices that no matter how overlapping and loud they are they’re still not reaching your ears, too busy listening to the sound of your own heartbeat and—finally—the one coming from Ellie’s keys sliding into the lock of her door, the latch clicking open and then closed a few seconds after.
Only then, everything else disappears: the deafenness, the weather turning against you and every shadow of doubt that every single person has tried to instill in your head. In this moment—with the door finally closed and Ellie’s hand still wrapped tightly against yours—there’s only your fast breathing, how your eyes are locked on green and the way they’re not wavering from yours.
One breath, one beat of the heart and the loudness of your bag dropping against the carpeted floor. That’s all it takes before your body moves on its own, like it’s decided suddenly that thoughts are just something it can’t afford anymore: your hands meet her cheeks, your mouth hers, so quickly that it seems like you’re scared that the shape of her might for a reason or another disappear from where it’s standing in front of you.
More than permission this time, it feels like a plea.
Lips moving like you’re asking her to let you see her, to let you in, to carve yourself even the tiniest bit of space somewhere between her ribs where the the guard is higher and the walls are thicker, to let you peek through the cracks that only you seem able to see, pleading they’re not fake, or made up from scratch from that desperation for closeness that lives rooted deep inside your soul.
A kind of need that—if seen from a different perspective—is so similar to hers.
Perhaps that’s the reason why Ellie is so fast in dropping her pack right next to where your bag fell as soon as the door closed and in letting her hands drift down your sides, tracing tender circles on the path to your hips where they linger for just a second, squeezing and pulling you closer while a whimper escapes you, but only to find their place on the back of your thighs and lifting you up, your feet hovering only for the time it takes your legs to circle her waist and your ankles to lock.
It’s in a haze that your back meets the softness of her sheets and in a rush that shoes get kicked off and clothes are let falling onto the floor, almost like if you don’t hurry this sliver of time where you’re being allowed to see her like this—flushed, chest heaving, restless—will disappear and the door will close forever with you locked outside it with no key to open it again. So you don’t give yourself time to stall, to think, to linger too much or let any word out, no matter how many of them are running in circles inside your head, fighting their way out your mouth. You just swallow them down and lock every escape by lifting yourself enough to hook one finger on the waistband of her underwear, making gravity let do the rest of the work for you.
Ellie lands in a leap over you, hands planted firmly at either side of your head while—for just the matter of a second—she does the complete opposite of what you’re trying to do. She reserves herself time to just look. You’re not sure at what exactly, if at the red blooming on your cheeks, the way you’re chewing on your lips like you’re scared this moment will end too fast, or if she’s just pondering if your skin slightly trembling on her hips feels like a threat or if it’s safe enough to let it linger there.
Yet, she doesn’t ask you to move, doesn’t pin your wrists above your head like she’s afraid your touch is going to scar as she did the last time you’ve found yourself smelling the sheets you’re laying above right now. There’s something, a flicker, a telltale in the way her breathing fans out against your mouth and how her eyes are glued on yours that gives you enough reason to keep touching, to let your palms graze over the freckles scattered across her collarbones until you’ll be able to remember the way it felt when you’ll walk the path back towards home.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, just above the kind of whisper that’s fought its way out from somewhere between your heart and your throat, but that despite your best efforts in keeping it down it slipped out anyway.
For a moment, the fear that you might have said something that might make her pull away floods you. Maybe because of the way you can hear her breathing hitch and a lump being swallowed, the faint rustling of the sheets being twisted between her hands.
But before you can start giving too much thought about what are the words that she is forcing down, your lips meet again, they part, tongues stroking one another in something messy, desperate and wet that—maybe—is asking you not to acknowledge the time she spent soaking you in.
So you oblige, because it’s better to do so than to lose even those couple of seconds where she looked at you and decided that your touch is safe, to lose that it’s still there, pressed against her skin, finding its way under her sports bra to feel her nipples hardening under every stroke of your thumbs until she's shivering above you while her hands fiddle underneath you, suddenly clumsy in trying to unhook your bra.
“Help me take this off,” she whispers, breaking away from your lips but still keeping her eyes fixed on them. “Lift up.”
Your back arches immediately, giving her enough space to work the clasps free and for her mouth to finally travel down from the corner of your own, to your jaw, down the slope of your shoulder and finally landing on your breasts where they latch around your left nipple, sucking and swirling her tongue around it enough to draw a sharp whimper from your lips as your hips roll against her thigh nestled between your legs.
“Please,” you breathe, nails now scraping down her back.
A loud, wet sound fills the space between you as Ellie pulls back from your chest, but this time she doesn’t stop to let herself see the soft crease between your eyebrows or the way your lips are parted in shaky breaths, she just keeps kissing down the path to your stomach as her hands hook under the elastic of your panties, dragging them down slowly while matching the pace of her lips wetting your skin until they pool around your ankles and what’s left between you is only the sound of your breathing turning more ragged and the thin layers of clothing that still hang on her body now kneeling between your legs.
Every touch, every kiss, every slow breath that warms up your inner thighs feels like Ellie is buying herself the kind of time that she's never took before with you, that feels dragged out and that gives enough space for your mind to convince yourself that this means more than any of you is daring to say the other right now. Because there is no other plausible, sane reason behind the softness of each press of her mouth against your skin and how long it takes before her mouth finally brushes against your centre, sending shivers down every fiber in your body and making your hands shoot up to lightly twist around the auburn strands of her hair.
But it’s in the moment that her lips seal around your clit that every question ceases, only leaving space for your eyes to squeeze shut while a moan escapes you: loud, unfiltered and lost in the feeling of her tongue dragging across your folds, of her hands spreading your legs wider before hooking them over her shoulders.
“Ellie!” You gasp “R-right there. Oh god.”
“Yeah?” She whispers between strokes of her tongue. “Like this?”
“Fuck,” you manage as she sucks harder around your clit, leaving you panting harder while your hips roll, your back arches and the only thing you can do is just gripping tighter onto her hair, almost like you’re trying to keep her there as long as possible. “Y-yeah. Like that.”
A low hum slips from Ellie and that’s barely the only sound that comes out before the room fills again with solely your whimpers, the barely there words that you manage to let past your throat and the sheets moving underneath you every time you shift to chase every touch she’s giving you.
This time—when one of your hands finds its way to hers and your fingers lace together where they rest on your thigh—she doesn’t let it fall in vane, doesn’t let it find the comfort of the cotton beneath your body but the warmth coming from her own. She holds it through everything, until you’re trembling, until she can feel your muscles tensing and your breath being sucked in a sharp inhale.
“El,” you pant, “Gonna—I’m—”
The answer is wordless, only a squeeze of your hand before—with a shuddered cry of her name—you fall apart. And even after that, she doesn’t let go; instead drawing it out until your breathing slows, until you can feel your heart decelerating and your own legs fall limp from her shoulders with your toes touching the carpet where she’s still kneeling on.
Only then she pulls back, lips shining and swollen as she slowly crawls back up with her knees sinking down on the mattress, landing on just inches away from your face just to close the gap again, meeting your mouth and letting you taste yourself on her tongue. And while you’re still trying to wrap your head around an amount of things that are difficult to chase, your hands still shift, still land on her sides and then down to her hips.
It’s tentative the way your fingers slip underneath her underwear, like you’re testing the waters before they turn into a storm, but this time Ellie doesn’t stop you. She lets you wander, lets you feel her skin on your fingertips, kiss her until you’re finally tracing across her folds and all that your mouth is swallowing is a sharp inhale and the barely there whimper she lets out.
“Is this okay?”You ask gently, watching closely the tremble on her lips. “I can stop.”
At first, the only answer is a shake of her head, followed by a quiet, “S'okay, don't stop.”
Only then you truly keep going, moving slowly, almost like you’re afraid of startling her, as if you’re moving across grounds you didn’t think you would’ve ever been permitted to. Still, the more the pads of your fingers keep going in their slow tracing, careful over her clit, the more Ellie’s breathing quickens, the more she seems to be chasing your touch, until she’s pulling back from your lips and resting her forehead against yours.
All you can do is just watch: every flicker on her expression, how her brows pull together and her mouth remains ajar. You drink in everything, committing it to memory just in case the sight of her like that above you is something that might not happen again. So you memorize everything, every whimper, every curse murmured under her breath, every tremble you can feel under the palm of your hand resting lightly over her arm. The way even if her eyes are closed, it seems like they are like that to hide the kind of dampness that could be easily mistaken for the rain that has fallen over the both of you.
“Does it feel good?” You ask, eyes on her closed ones. A question that she only answers by nodding against your forehead and humming while twisting the sheets at the sides of your head harder, tighter. “Do you need more? Less?”
“No,” she finally replies. “This works, keep going.”
So you do. You keep your touch featherlight, moving in tight, slow but relentless circles over her clit until—eventually—you can feel her tensing, feel her breath stutter and hear your name being whispered against your mouth in a shaky moan that for a moment makes your own heart jump right in your throat and freeze. Maybe because of how soft, how vulnerable it sounded coming from her. But you don’t let yourself stop, drawing every second of her high out until Ellie collapses on top of you, making you slip your hand out.
For an instant, the only sounds around you are the rain angrily battering against the windows of her room, her quickened breathing warming up your neck and your own heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears. Your hands hover above her back, not knowing what would be safer right now: whether to touch her, stroke down her spine and imprint the shape of her vertebrae on your fingertips while her ribs expand in time with the heaviness of her breathing. But just as your mind was finally deciding on it and your limbs were gradually coming down to hold her, her voice halts you.
“You need to leave,” Ellie blurts out as she rolls onto her back and sits up. “I’m sorry, but you’ve gotta go.”
That’s the moment where your entire body completely locks down, frozen as if the warmth was sucked out from every corner of the room. For half a second you think that maybe she’s joking, that this is some kind of weird pun that maybe you will be laughing about in a matter of seconds, but the laughter doesn’t come. All that is there, is Ellie quickly pulling her hoodie back on as if she’s running out of time before taking your own clothes and placing them on the edge of the mattress where you’re slowly starting to sit up with one arm covering your chest.
“W-what?” you stutter. “Why? Have I done something wrong? What’s going on?”
She doesn’t answer with words, just finishes getting dressed and places your clothes onto your lap before standing. “Just—” Ellie hesitates for a moment, eyes lowered somewhere between the carpet and the tip of her own feet. “Go. Just go. Please.”
One move, that's all you take. One of your hands hovering just near her shoulder, unsure. “Are you okay?” You insist. “Talk to me, please. Did I hurt you? I didn't—”
“I said go.”
Regardless of how much you’d want to stay there, talk to her, try to understand whatever is going on in her head right now, it’s the tone in her voice that makes your hand drop onto your lap and to reluctantly slip your bra, panties and the rest of your clothes back on your body with trembling hands.
You try to retrace in your head everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done, doubting every movement that led you up to her room today from the way you greeted her when the sun was still uncovered by the clouds raging outside the windows to the way you asked if what you were doing was okay.
But there’s no answer in your head. Just a tangled chaos of doubts, of questions that will remain exactly that.
Your legs feel unstable as you finally stand from her bed, watching the shape of her shoulders as Ellie stands now in front of her window with her hands busy in some fidgeting she’s not letting you see. And—in that precise moment—Ellie looks like a girl who has let another see far too close inside her and is now terrified they’ll run as soon as they see whatever she thinks they will despise.
God knows how much you wish you could take those few steps towards her, turn her around and swear to her that you’re not afraid. But the truth is that there’s no deafest ear than the one that is scared.
So you stay silent, gather your bag from the spot on the floor and walk the steps back towards the path that on the way here felt hopeful, greeting them back with just the sound of the door closing behind you and the kind of sting in your eyes that no matter how much you’re refusing, is still there, forcing your cheeks to get damp.
April 8th.
There’s a weight inside Ellie’s backpack that’s heavier than usual. Or, more precisely, it is for the first time since this whole thing started. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the moment when one cracks their soul open—even if just on writing on the margin of a ripped pieces of paper inside a coffee shop way too late at night—the ache to discover how that will be perceived by someone who holds no expectations upon you is louder than anything else.
That’s why she’s fidgeting from the second she’s walking outside the double doors that separate the classroom from the hallway where both you and your best friend should be waiting for her.
The fact is, Ellie doesn’t really know what to do with impatience, hurry, nerves. Not when all she’s been used to lately is a quiet, dulling feeling that has made home inside her, a permanent tenant that doesn’t allow for anything else but keeping her on the thin line between hatred and guilt. That’s why novelty is frightening, the reason behind she’s all of a sudden too nervous for any witty remark and for her head to be anywhere but where her body is.
What she solely focuses on right now, is that there’s nothing she’d want more than to understand if there’s still something inside her that’s worth being understood. At least by someone she doesn’t know. And that’s the thing: that is safer than finding those answers in the voice of someone who knows her, because rejection hurts less if done by a hand she doesn’t have to know who it belongs to.
Which is also the reason why it was so hard to turn around towards you when she made you walk away five days ago, no matter if there was something inside her—stubborn and screaming for help—that was pleading her to do so, to apologize and ask you to stay, eat the words she had spit out out of fear.
Maybe it was easier that way, maybe sooner or later you would’ve taken that same decision yourself, so it was better for her to make it happen sooner, than before the way you were looking at her from underneath her could have made space inside a part of her that she would’ve ended up poisoning either way.
Because that’s the only thing that Ellie feels like she’s good at: destroying everything soft that her hands manage to lay upon. Softness that she thinks she’s not allowed to have, not after all the weight that rightfully—at least in her head—she has to carry on her shoulders.
That’s why the letter in the bottom of her pack sits much heavier now, because anonymity is the sole refuge she managed to find for herself, which is also another explanation of why—other of being restless and needing to open it as soon as possible—she’s so nervous about walking through those doors and meeting your eyes again.
Because doing that means facing you, and facing you also means coming to terms with the parts of herself that she’s most terrified of and dealing with the guilt that comes from them. And if there’s one thing she doesn’t have any clue on how to manage, is exactly that: guilt.
However, the steps she has to take are inevitable, although dragged against linoleum and heavy as bricks weighing down her knees, like there’s a chain wrapped tightly and locked at her ankles and for which she doesn’t have a key. A heaviness that gets harder to carry as soon as she spots you leaning against the wall outside your classroom with your headphones draped around your neck and your eyes lost on the floor.
“Hey,” she murmurs, barely a whisper that gets past her lips.
Your eyes lift slowly, almost like you’re forcing them to do so instead of being something you truly want to do. “Hi, Ellie,” you greet, a forced smile on your lips.
Silence lingers between the two of you, heavy, louder than anything else and seemingly overclassing the chatter around you: the voices that are overlapping and all the usual chaos that surrounds every moment after lectures. Nothing is as deafening in this moment and—unlike you seem so able to do—Ellie doesn’t really know what to do with silences other than needing to fill them.
“Where’s Jacqueline?” She asks while one hand comes to rub the back of her neck.
“Work,” you answer curtly. “She had to rush there after class, some change in her schedule.” You take a deep breath in, trying not to make too visible the way your hand has slipped inside the cuff of your sweater to nervously pull at the thin layer of the skin at your elbow.
“I think we should meet up another time,” you continue, eyes drifting down on your shoes once again. “Best to continue the group project when there’s all three of us.”
Ellie takes her time to actually answer, too busy in letting the dark circles under your eyes speak instead of your words, the way you try to keep your nerves hidden under a layer of polyester but that despite your best efforts still makes your hand moving underneath it visible, at least to the eyes of someone who knows what to look for. And all of that combined only serves the purpose to make Ellie feel like there’s a pit in her stomach that has nothing to do with hunger and a lot more to do with how there’s something familiar twisting there, something that’s getting heavier to carry the more days go by.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out eventually. “I didn’t—” A pause, a sigh, a tilt of her head. “I didn’t wanna hurt you last time. I just—fuck—I dunno. I—”
“It’s fine, Ellie,” you interrupt, finally pushing away from the wall behind your back. “I mean it. We’re good. That’s all there is after all, right? Just sex. I just thought—” you swallow visibly as your hands finally fall limp at your sides. “Doesn’t matter. Really. It’s… all good.”
Once again, silence stretches, the pain in Ellie’s stomach tightens to the point that she actually believes she’s gonna be sick, because the traces of the girl that looked at her so tenderly, that held her while looking right straight in her eyes like there wasn’t anything in her that could scare her away are almost not there anymore, just faint reminders in the way you’re still trying to force a smile, in the way your voice doesn’t sound full of hate or accusing, but it’s just there. Still there. And that’s what probably hurts the most. That despite her hurting you, you're still not looking at her with hatred in your eyes, even if you should.
It would be easier if you did, if you were angry at her and limited yourself to cursing her off and going on with your life. Yet, you’re not. You’re standing in front of her and telling her that pain is good, that being hurt is fine and Ellie doesn’t know what to do with that other than nodding and lowering her gaze because sustaining it feels like something she can’t handle right now.
“Okay,” she finally breathes “Alright, Austen.”
The smile that you obviously force on your lips only causes that tightening, churning feeling spreading all over her stomach to worsen, making the guilt hanging on her shoulders feel even heavier than it already is. But there’s also some part within Ellie that is glad her eyes are witnessing it; it’s unfortunate that it’s buried deep under thick layers of a very specific feeling that doesn’t let her feel anything but how the good things are exactly the ones she doesn’t deserve.
So she pretends that the quiet knocking she feels inside her is only there to remind her that this is yet another thing she ruined with her own hands, unbeknown to her that it’d be actually so easy to make that stretch on your face not so forced: just a graze of her knuckles on your cheekbones, or merely a softer word than just the okay that managed to slip past her lips seconds ago.
And the chance she gets to do so, to try and make comfort linger a little while longer slips from her fingers and—like a curse—Ellie is once again a little bit too late to the things she truly wants.
“Right,” you then whisper. “I’ll text you to arrange something next week then.”
You don’t even wait to say goodbye, or wave a hand, or do anything to make time linger between the two of you and give her more chances than the ones she already had and let go of. All that you do is turn around, with your hand visibly tight around the strap of your tote and with Ellie’s eyes lingering on your shoulders and every step that she could stop but doesn’t.
All that’s left is for her to remember that weight at the bottom of her pack and place all of the things she can’t bring herself to say in the hands of a stranger whose eyes she won’t have to see leaving with hurt and disappointment clear in them. So she hikes the strap higher up on her shoulder and shuts everything off the way she always does when it becomes too much to handle, walking towards the only refuge she found: the comfort of not being known or perceived, the lack of the risk of ruining everything her hands end up laying upon.
The bar—as Ellie walks past its doors—is stranger at this time of day when there’s no shadow to hide her frame on her walk there, no chilling breeze making the thin hair on her arms raise above goosebumps on her skin. Not even the man working at his laptop is there at his usual spot in the corner, cursing or sighing under his breath to hide his frustrations from the rest of the world.
The girl behind the counter making drinks for a crowded clientele waiting at the register is different as well, and honestly Ellie would love to be anywhere else but here when it’s so full of voices that only make her head louder and there’s no actually space to breathe in the scent she usually comes here for; but—at the same time—there’s also no other place she can go: Dina is probably studying in their room, submerged by more textbooks that she can hold in one bag alone but with questions that surclass each one of them and that would make feel Ellie like she’s drowning all over again and to which she probably doesn't even have an answer for; the library is off limits and—for a reason neither she was expecting—the quad feels like it is, too.
Especially the spot under the tree where she used to love spending her afternoons, lighting one cigarette after the other like her lungs won’t ever risk the chance of getting sick.
So this is the only space she has left, the only one where she feels a semblance of safety because its scent still brings her back to a time where she felt like she was actually that. Safe.
That’s the reason why—despite every odd that would usually make her turn on her heels—she’s still heading inside and trying to find an empty spot among the crowd where to sit before heading to ask for a coffee she’ll barely sip to a waitress who doesn't remember how she pretends to like it.
Once that cup is steaming on the scraped wood of the table she miraculously managed to find and her brain can finally pinpoint the scent of toasted beans to a specific face whose eyes she can’t seem to remember anymore now, her body finally lets her exhale a breath that feels like it was being held since the moment your back found its time to leave a permanent mark in her memory. Not because the sight of it feels less heavy right now, but because this is the only place where she can pretend that nothing can touch her and that hurt, pain, regret and guilt are something she can actually talk about without them burning her skin.
It doesn’t matter if she won’t drink the coffee, it doesn’t matter if the person with whom she used to grimace at its taste she never managed to say goodbye to, and it doesn’t matter if she can’t bring herself to be touched gently without recoiling the second after.
Here, she can be the person who can talk about all of those things and let them linger in the fragile space between truth and the excuses all of this will still allow her to use in the occasion where the blank face on the other side of the paper will find her words something deserving of being rejected like she keeps rejecting herself.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t waste a second to start rummaging inside her backpack where she dropped it on the floor earlier until her fingers finally wrap around the white envelope, snatching it out and bringing it to the table only for that paper hiding the words inside it to be ripped off urgently, with her fingers shaking and with the dampness on her cheek that—up until now—she’s denied herself to feel.
Almost like this is the only thing she has when everything around her feels completely ruined, maybe because—at least like this—she can still get something out of her soul and not be afraid that’s going to slowly kill someone else.
But just as her eyes start to skim through the first few words they land on—careless at first, just enough to gather evidence that she will ignore in favor of using a blank space on a torn page from her notebook to pour everything she doesn’t let herself to feel otherwise—she stops. Suddenly, unanticipatedly, almost like her brain has finally caught up with what her eyes were reading, something breaks loose, as if getting shot somewhere inside her that she believed was guarded safely, kept bolted shut where no one would have been able to reach it anymore.
And yet—word after word—everything starts to crack.
Dear Stranger,
It’s 3 in the morning and I haven’t been able to close my eyes for even one second because I keep rereading your words.
You say that you’re writing back as if it means something, but all I can think about is that it means way more than that.
I hate that people convinced you that you need to be someone else to be worthy of being seen, that unless you’re breaking apart loudly for everyone to hear it nobody notices you’re hurting. At least, that’s the impression I have got and I’m sorry if it’s the wrong one. One thing I’d hate doing, is misinterpreting someone who’s fighting like hell to be heard.
One question I keep asking myself as the paper is wrinkling beneath my fingers the more that I hold it, is who made you believe that home was something you had to deserve. Who taught you that love was a reward handed out only to people who got everything right?
I don’t know what happened to you, what kind of grief or loss taught you to carry guilt and love in the same hand, but—and I hope you’ll forgive me for letting myself believe these are the words you need to read—I’m one to think that losing someone isn’t evidence that you failed, it just means you were there to love them enough for their loss to be significant.
Maybe that’s easy for me to say because I’m not the one sitting in that bar, but I just wish you could read those words the same way I’ve read them. I wish I could be that someone who instead of believing you’ll survive anything because that’s how everyone else sees you, just asks you how heavy it gets, what it’s costing you. Mainly because I think that the one thing you’re really pretending not to be, is the version of you that still exists when they’re not looking.
I’m sorry if this is strange. After all, I’m just a face you don’t even know the shape of and maybe when all of this is over we’ll truly go back to our lives and pretend none of it mattered. For what it’s worth though, the letters I keep in the drawer of my desk are enough proof that it did matter, at least to me.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to answer them in the moment you need it the most, sitting across from you instead of on the other side of a piece of paper.
Until then,
— Yours, whoever.
By the time Ellie’s eyes reach the last two words, the soft hitching in her breathing that was barely kept at bay stops, the stinging in her eyes stops feeling like a threat and the trembling that was a minute ago visible in her hands disappears. Because—sometimes—when walls crack it happens through quiet, with time feeling like it’s stopped ticking. Especially when everything has been loud for so long.
That’s exactly how Ellie feels right now. Quiet. The one she’s been craving, yearning, searching for like someone who’s been parched for too long and is finally handed a cold glass of water. Like a pair of hands has been placed over her ears when hers have been feeling filled with holes, unable to block any kind of sounds, especially when it’s her head that’s been so deafening.
And in seeking that kind of quiet that those words are suddenly providing, she gets lost, trapped between every curve the ink makes on the paper that her thumbs keep absently brushing over and over again, trying to make them soak into her skin until they can stay with her longer than the time it took for her eyes to finish reading, going over them again and again, as if she could actually summon whoever is behind them and actually make them listen, actually have them to answer to a wound that she can’t seem to be able to mend on her own.
When the thought seeps through—quiet, but violent, raw, carrying a need she didn’t know she could still feel—Ellie’s hands are already deep inside the bottom of her backpack, rummaging through in the search of something, anything that will be enough for her to write.
After all, the words that need to get out from the tip of her pen and bleed onto the white of whatever piece of paper, aren’t as long.
April 15th.
It’s been seven days made of avoided glances and silences that stretch way too loudly for a mind that has been craving closeness since the day it began existing, that clings to the smallest acts and gestures and picture them as something bigger than what they probably are. A mind that suffers in words left unsaid and only wishes to be held, comforted and reassured when doubt creeps in.
Some people would call you anxious. Jackie definitely did once or twice in the past, but not this time. To your surprise, since the day you came back home with your face marked with the traces of tears you refused to acknowledge almost two weeks ago, she’s been acting very differently from what you could’ve anticipated. She didn’t speak the three words you were dreading to hear when you saw her smile disappearing from her lips as she was waiting for you to walk through the door, curled in her corner of the couch, but she only stood, walked the short steps from where she was sitting to where you were frozen by entryway table and wrapped her arms around you.
Not a single question about what had happened was whispered, not a single word that could break whatever fragile equilibrium you’re still so desperately holding onto. Just presence; the only solid, safe and guaranteed one you’ve ever had throughout your whole life.
Despite that, though, you’ve also noticed how the blue in her eyes lingers on your side profile more late in the evening when the TV glows across the living room, how coffee is always ready in the morning before you even get the chance to step out of your bedroom and the casualty she tries to force in her words when she asks if you want to sleep in her bed, an offer that every time you’ve refused because it was much better to curl up in your own sheets wearing a hoodie that still smells like rain and the girl who shut you out in a moment that felt like beginning.
Maybe because that piece of clothing was your only way to feel close to her after feeling like having ruined it with your own hands, somehow.
To be frank, Jackie has been the only constant during these days that prevented you from going inside the usual loop your head puts you through when you feel like your heart has been irremediably broken once again. But it doesn’t matter sometimes how much support you have, when the heart screams and the mind doesn’t find a coherent reason for it, the routine always becomes the same, a vicious cycle that no matter how many years you’ve spent subjecting yourself to, it will never vanish completely: wake up in the morning, try to get as decent looking as possible to hide the fact that you haven’t batted an eye throughout the whole night, walk to class while carefully avoiding looking anywhere but your own laptop and go back home to that same hoodie without worrying your best friend too much.
Which is exactly how today went, at least the first half of it. The only difference sits in how fragile and precarious is your hold on the small piece of paper your hand is wrapped around.
“What’d’you think your creep has written this time?” Jackie teases while sliding the keys of your apartment inside the lock, still keeping one arm safely wrapped around yours, almost like she’s scared that if she doesn’t stay glued to you enough you’ll end up in a pit where not even she will be able to reach. “I hope it’s not as bad as mine. Like, I haven’t told you how damn hard it was for me to read the last letter. Straight up bullshit, I swear to god.”
But you’re not even fully listening, the words reach your ears as something incredibly distant, muffled, as if she’s speaking to the mere shape of your body but not your mind, unable to focus on translating the sound of her voice into something coherent. And the reason for that can be found in how much that small, rectangular shape in your hand feels like it’s burning your skin off, stripping it away more than anything that has happened that day where the rain was dripping off your hair and all that existed was the taste of Ellie’s lips and how her hands felt like they’re were finally trusting enough to let you in.
There’s no actual reason for you to be scared of the words hidden behind this envelope: she doesn’t know that the hand behind the pen reading her thoughts is the same one who grazed her skin like it was made of glass, no reason for whatever she’s written to be something harmful, for it to feel like a door slamming an inch from your nose.
But all of this doesn’t matter when the one who knows, is you. And there’s so much fear that lies in the privilege of knowing.
By the time the door is finally closed behind you and you’re toeing your shoes off by muscle memory alone, letting the warmth of your home welcome you with the usual scent of whatever scented candle Jackie had chosen to lit this morning, your hand is only shaking harder. Jackie’s voice feels even more distant than it was before, words that sound like she’s talking somewhere even further away than just a different room.
That, until finally her hand reaches your shoulder and squeezes it tight.
“Babe?” She asks, brows pulled together and head tilted to the side. “You good?”
Finally, your eyes snap up to hers, wide and startled. “Wh-what?” You stutter. “Oh. Yeah. I’m good.”
The look the ginger gives you isn’t the one she’d have if you sounded convincing enough. Apparently, not even the lies that used to come off so naturally once are working the way they should, although Jackie has always been one to see right through them even when nobody else would notice the subtle crack in your voice.
Still, she doesn’t pry.
“C’mon, then,” she encourages. “Let’s read these shitty letters. It’ll help you take your mind off She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
Apparently, that’s enough to at least steal the faintest twist of your lips from your expression. “We’re quoting Harry Potter now?”
“Sure,” she grins, guiding you towards the couch with one arm back where lately it’s found a comfortable home. “If it makes you laugh and then talk my ear out about how shitty J.K. Rowling is.”
“She is shitty,” you mutter as the back of your legs finally hit the cushions of the couch beneath them.
“Oh, babe. I know. You’ve told me all about it,” Jackie muses as she stretches her legs upon the coffee table in front of the both of you, her head nuzzling onto your shoulder as she untucks her own envelope from somewhere deep inside her bag. Before opening it, though, she lets her eyes lift up to meet yours. “But I’ll hear it all over again if it helps.”
For a second, you don’t answer, just letting yourself stare down at her, at least for the time it takes to feel the pit in your stomach shrinking even if just by the tiniest inch. Eventually, though, and with a sharp inhale, you let your lips stretch wider, nodding with a quiet chuckle through your nose.
“Deal.”
With that, your gaze finally lowers to the letter you’re still gripping, sitting on your lap like a threat. Wasn’t it for Jackie, it would’ve been already tossed on your desk, left like a warning, a reminder that once again you’ve let yourself open your heart to someone who couldn’t care less of how much it can carry, or how capable it is. An heirloom from another disappointment that you seem so eager to collect just for them not to leave a lesson behind afterwards, impatient now to actually remember that—maybe—people are just exactly as they look. Nothing more and nothing less.
But Jackie is here, and for some reason that’s enough to bring you to face the one thing you were dreading the most since the last time you’ve actually heard Ellie’s voice: the chance that the words on paper might cut as deep as the ones she let herself speak, that they’re gonna just take the shape of another form of rejection.
Sometimes, though, it’s better to rip the bandaid before the wound rots underneath. That’s why you force yourself to rip the thin paper that surrounds them and reach inside it.
But—to your surprise—what you find aren’t long paragraphs or even more than a few words. What your eyes land on is something that is far smaller, far more fragile than anything your mind could have ever thought of: just this small, rectangular, ripped piece of paper that only reads as one sentence and one sentence alone:
I’ll wait at the bar on the 5th just outside campus next Wednesday at 8pm.
Only that.
But it doesn’t matter how simple the words are, they still leave you staring at them like maybe they’re going to change and—for once—instead of hoping they won’t, you’re begging they will. Silently, internally, but begging and screaming louder than you’ve ever done until the point it feels like your brain is collapsing into itself, that the pit inside your stomach is turning into a void that’s going to eat you alive from the inside out leaving behind only the imprint of your body sunk into the springs of the couch.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jackie exclaims, her eyes wild as they run through the ink on the paper she holding precariously between her hands. “Can’t this guy gimme a fucking break for once?”
She lifts her head up, sitting straighter next to you, but just as she was opening her mouth—maybe to protest again, maybe to let your read whatever has made her so furious—she stops right away, dead in her tracks as if the sight of you frozen and gaping at the smallest piece of cellulose she’s ever seen hit her like a bat right on the back of her head.
“Hey,” she whispers carefully as her hands lower. “Everything… alright?”
Before you can actually give her an answer that would have probably never come fast enough, her head tilts, peering at the words you’re holding, and once her eyes have gone through them, they widen just as much as yours, but only for them to squint and for her brows to furrow.
“Why are they asking you to meet them?” She asks confused while glancing back up at you. “What the hell?”
Silence stretch—unbearable, tense, cutting like a blade well sharpened and pointed right at your neck, and your best friend can only take as much before she’s nudging your shoulder with much more urgency than before.
“Hellooo?” She calls out. “Am I on mute or something? Can you answer or should I reboot your nervous system?”
Finally, your answer comes, barely whispered, your voice cracking on every single syllable. “I— I dunno,” you breathe. “Must be another one of their jokes.”
Jackie only hums at first, studying the look on your face, how the tremble in your hands has only worsened and how your body feels so rigid compared to hers. For a moment, you’re scared she won’t buy into the obvious lie that you’ve just slipped out, that she’ll press into understanding why that could even be considered a joke at all, but before she can even speak her mind, you slowly turn towards her, plastering a smile on your lips while your hand crumples the paper inside it, like something you want to erase from existence as soon as possible.
“It’s probably nothing,” you reassure her while standing up from the couch, ignoring one of her ginger brows rising. “Maybe they’ve slipped the wrong thing inside the envelope, or they’re pulling a prank, y’know?”
“Shouldn’t you go and see at least? Like, I’d be curious.” She suggests while shifting on the couch to crisscross her legs as her eyes travel from your head to your feet and then back up again. “And where are you even going?”
“No,” you reply quickly. “S’okay, don’t wanna— embarrass myself.” You take a deep breath, hands raking through your hair to push it back as best as possible, almost as if you’re trying to erase something, to push a feeling out of your system instead of just strands. “I’m going to my room. I need to, uhm, bathroom.”
Jackie tilts her head at you again, the lift brow she had earlier is even higher up, almost kissing her hairline at this point. “The bathroom isn’t in your room.”
“Yeah, well,” you clear your throat, arms coming to wrap around your middle while your hands slip underneath the sleeves of your sweater. “Bedroom and then bathroom. I need to, uh, get something. And then, yeah.”
You don’t even let her add another word, you just turn on your heels, socks whispering against the carpet beneath them, and with long steps and a heavy heart you just walk towards the first door that presents itself in front of you, not even caring about where you’ll land. As of now, you’re not even sure that the fog inside your head will allow you to grasp the difference between tiled floors and hardwood ones and—to be completely honest—it doesn’t really matter when the only question that’s running laps inside your head is why.
Why would Ellie ask to meet someone she doesn’t even know all of a sudden, why would she prefer that over looking directly into your eyes when she begged for you to leave. Everything spirals, dragging you into rethinking about every word you’ve written among long paragraphs drafted late at night, when your eyes were barely open and all that was keeping you awake was the need to implore for a piece of her heart.
Among all the noise, though—while your back hits wood and slowly travels its slow descent until you’re hitting cold surfaces with your knees drawn up and pressed against your chest, your hands gripping your hair tightly—there’s one thought that’s louder than any other, one feeling that doesn’t stop nudging at you: the idea that if you’d really were to go, as soon as Ellie would see your face she’d only swing her backpack over one shoulder and leave before you’d even get a chance to get a word out, which has always been the exact reason why you’ve never said anything when you found recycled paper sitting on the corner of her desk. That no matter how much you can change to become the one thing someone else needs you’re never going to be enough to be fully wanted without carving parts of your soul out.
Maybe what terrifies you the most is the chance to become the kind of fool who'd ask to bleed twice and having hope making you crawl back to the exact place where your heart has already bled.
And to the fearful heart the only choice that’s left is to remain frozen on a bathroom floor.
Ellie doesn’t know how many cigarettes she lit up on her way to the bar, but it could’ve been as well the whole pack and she’d still wouldn’t have noticed it. Not when her heart is hammering to a beat that feels so unfamiliar and every nerve in her body is screaming at her to leave.
But for the first time in so long she chose not to listen to every voice inside her head that’s asking for her to stand from that chair and just leave, not caring whether the other person will actually show up, pleading her to spare herself from another disappointment, to open a door ajar only for it to be closed by a hand that’s not even hers.
That’s what she’s learned after all: better to close it yourself before another does it for you. That’s how she kept her heart safe. That’s also how she kept herself numb to anything that could even remotely feel good.
Maybe the reason why she’s written those simple words a week ago without even thinking, urgent to feed a hunger that has nothing to do with whatever plate she forces down her throat but everything with the need to feel seen. And if there’s something that Ellie craves deeply is to be seen without the need to be changed, for her soul—no matter how damaged—to be wanted just as it is.
So despite the ache in her lungs and the way her knee is bouncing up and down underneath the table, she’s there, waiting in the familiarity of the lack of hassle that inhabits this place late in the evening, following every single movement that catches the corner of her eye, memorizing the sound of the steamer hissing, the clack of the keyboard coming from her left and the sound her nails tapping against the scrapped wood where they’re laying on top of are making.
Every single time she sees a shadow passing by the window, her head follows and so does the quick skip of a beat that she feels between her ribcage. But no matter how much time goes by, how many hours she ends up spending waiting until her back hurts, until the man closes the lid of his laptop and the waitress ends up shooting her a look somewhere between worried and tired: the face of the only person that after so long had managed to make her feel like they could truly see past every single brick she put down to build walls up so high neither she could see past them, never ends up walking through the threshold.
Perhaps she should’ve expected it, perhaps she should’ve listened to that voice inside her head telling her not to leave her room tonight. Yet—stubbornly, or rather desperately—she decided to ignore it. But the more time goes by, the more it starts to feel like proof, an unwanted variable inside a research she hadn’t even started: sometimes people are as good as mimicking care as she’s been at pretending she lacks it.
Which brings her to only blame herself, because the only person who instead has touched her like she meant it, is the same she yelled at to leave after taking again from her. And had she admitted earlier to herself that the comfort she truly craves is one that she’s been denying for two weeks straight, she wouldn’t be waiting in a shitty bar with a cup of cold coffee in front of her that she hasn’t touched.
So she stands, collects whatever she had brought with her and drags her legs on the way out towards the only door that she hopes she hasn’t bolted shut for good.
“We can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.”
graphics by my gorgeous wife @les4elliewilliams
pictures from pinterest
a/n: hi hi hi, im sorry again this has taken so long, but please let me know what you think. i really hope it was worth the wait <3 love y'all
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