we break but we're not broken (craquaria) - dis_connected
AN: Aquaria cares far too much for her friends.
Inspired by this prompt from happylilprompts on tumblr: Person A has had a crush on Person B, literal sunshine that gets top grades, for years. Recently B smiles and studies less, and is even skipping class. A’s the only one who pays close enough attention to see something is seriously wrong au
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Aquaria has given up with school. Well, she gave up with school not long after she started school. But, still, officially now, all she’s doing is focusing on trying to get into the Fashion Institute of Technology, which has been her only dream since she tried on her first pair of her mom’s heels as a kid, and now she’s just trying to keep all her grades at a C so she can successfully scrape by high school and leave it all behind for good.
Meanwhile, a friend of hers, Brianna, is a model pupil. Aquaria has sat behind her in both History and French since freshman year, watching the way she flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder, how her head tilts back when she’s laughing and her confidence when talking in class in comparison to Aquaria’s stumbling awkwardness. Not that it’s a big deal that she watches her. She’s just hard to miss, with her big personality and even bigger hair, and you know, she’s right there, what else is she supposed to look at?
Brianna is popular amongst the students, like Aquaria, but, drastically opposite to Aquaria, she’s also loved by all of her teachers, thanks to her general friendliness and attitude to study hard in all her subjects. Brianna has truly excelled in high school. As their four years come to a close, she’s on track to go to a great college and have a great future, whereas Aquaria can hardly wait to get out of this hellhole and finally make a name for herself in fashion.
But, leaving behind high school means leaving her friends, and, unfortunately, that includes leaving behind Brianna. And the back of her head. Which is nice. The big, curly hair that the blonde does when she has a bit more time is Aquaria’s favourite, by far. She remembers vividly the day that she did it for the first time.
It’s a Monday. Aquaria spent the weekend in isolation from the outside world, trying to put together some looks for her portfolio, which she has changed and altered a million times, at least. Just last night, she redrew and redesigned a whole outfit she was obsessed with the week before, meaning she was up until the early hours of the morning furiously scribbling, sketching and sewing until her fingers were red raw.
Now, she’s sitting in her assigned seat at the back of Madame Dupont’s class as it starts, her pen tapping on her desk and her eyelids starting to droop already. Concentrating on the boring lectures on the imperfect subjunctive is hard enough as it is, without the added bonus of just two hours sleep. Aquaria is so tired that she hasn’t noticed that Brianna isn’t already sitting in front of her until she walks in, five minutes late, shooting an apologetic smile to the teacher and the usual grin to Aquaria, and hurriedly making her way to seat, the second row from the back.
“Bonne matin, mademoiselle, et qu’est-ce que la raison que vous êtes si tard?” Madame Dupont demands before she has the chance to sit down, even though the lesson has barely begun.
“Je suis desolée, Madame,” Brianna mumbles, her flawless accent still clear as she sits down and starts to pull out her things.
Aquaria is shocked. Brianna has never been late to class before, especially not French. Normally, she has to drag Aquaria by the arm so they’re on time, or she’s already there by the time the other girl decides to finally trudge into the room at the last possible, looking eager for whatever boring grammar shit they’ll be looking at.
“Et pouvez-vous conjuguer le verbe faire au conditionnel pour la classe?” The teacher continues. Brianna does so, perfectly of course, but she seems tired to Aquaria, who stares at the back of her friend’s head with worry.
Obviously, she’s just looking out for her friend, as she would any of them. Aquaria knows that Monét threw a party that she had to decline thanks to her portfolio work, and Brianna most likely went to it, or slept through her alarm, or would rather not be here, which is fair enough, but she still can’t help but worry.
Aquaria almost has to slap herself, as Madame Dupont starts to drone on about when to use the imperfect subjunctive (which is never in real life. Seriously who needs this?). She tells herself that she’s just looking for something to think about in this dull, dull class, and Brianna being late and tired has literally zero significance. People are allowed to be late sometimes, even Brianna. So, she just watches her as she twirls her hair round her finger, hair that she’s just shoved up in a ponytail without even brushing it. Not that she doesn’t look nice, still, annoyingly.
The class manages to end with no incident, and thankfully Aquaria is one of the few not called on for Madame Dupont’s never ending questions, because she wouldn’t have had a single clue what the hell to answer. She never really does.
She’s packing up to go at the end, grumbling to herself, when Brianna turns around, like she normally does to catch up with her friend after class, but today a frown is furrowing her features, as she looks right at the other girl, who does a slight double take at her unusually sad demeanour.
“Hey, Aqua,” Brianna says, slinging her bag over her shoulder and leaning forward on her friend’s desk.
“Hi, Bri, how was Monét’s?” Aquaria asks casually, trying to pretend that she isn’t worried as she shoves her notebook in her own bag carelessly, too tired to give a shit about the state of it.
“Oh, I dunno, I didn’t go,” Brianna seems uninterested. “Do we have history today?”
“Um, no, not until third tomorrow,” Aquaria replies, a little shocked at the unusual bluntness from her friend.
Okay, something’s definitely wrong. Brianna knows her timetable off by heart, she always has done. Aquaria tries not to think too much of it, but it stays on her mind the whole day. She’s ferociously munching her salad at lunch, sat with her friends on their regular table and staring into space as they talk about what happened at the party she didn’t go to.
Brianna is strangely absent; usually she’s the heart of the table, always cracking the jokes and puns and causing their table to be the nosiest in the cafeteria, but today, though the noise of the girls screaming about the party is extremely prominent, one voice is missing. Well, two, but Aquaria’s quietness is never that unusual. Nobody else has commented on the lack of Brianna, which annoys Aquaria slightly, but also makes her think she’s kind of making a big deal out of nothing.
She notices after a while a drop in chatter and a shift in atmosphere and looks up at everyone.
They’re all looking at their friend aggressively stabbing a poor lettuce leaf with her fork like she has a personal vendetta against it, concern and amusement etched across their faces.
“Um, Q, are you planning on eating you salad, or murdering it?” Blair, Aquaria’s best friend, asks her, laughing slightly.
“Sorry,” she mumbles in reply simply, rolling her eyes as the focus remains on her.
“What’s eating you, bitch? Your portfolio?” Vixen, the most blunt and unabashed of the group, asks. Everyone knows the stress that Aquaria has put herself under; her whole life has basically boiled down to this portfolio that is supposed to showcase who she is as a person, and, more importantly, a designer. To say there has been tears shed would be saying the least.
Aquaria puts down her fork and pushes her salad away, no longer hungry. “I’m bored. You’re all boring,” she jokes, rolling her eyes again.
“Well, sorry you’re too focused on your career to come to the best party of senior year,” Monet cheers.
“Actually, bitch,” argues Asia. “The best party of senior year was definitely my pool party right before school started!”
“Hah, that was before school started so it was technically it was a summerparty and not in senior year, so I win!” Monét laughs back loudly.
Aquaria stops listening. This argument is a regular occurrence between Asia and Monét, who constantly keep a friendly competition with each other. Their group has a specific dynamic, especially as they happen to be the most popular girls in the school, not that Aquaria really cares that much. She’s definitely not a people person.
Each girl in the group seems to have a specific, unspoken role and dynamic, and somehow they all create a powerful sort of clique. There’s no room for anyone else, not that Vixen would let them in anyway, unless they proved themselves to her, a task which few have ever succeeded at.
Which is why Aquaria notices so much when someone is missing, it doesn’t matter who. Just because it’s Brianna now that she’s worrying about, doesn’t mean that if, say, Kameron was acting differently next week she wouldn’t be just as worried about her. Aquaria cares about her friends, so what?
So what?
The week continues in pretty much the same way as Monday. Aquaria picks up on the subtle differences in Brianna, including her lateness to most of her classes, and her lack of makeup. To most people, it’s not a big deal at all, and she could blame it on the stress of nearing the end of the year. In fact, that’s what it would look like to any other person but Aquaria, especially the rest of their friendship group which have failed to notice the shift in Brianna’s behaviour.
God, she is going insane. She starts to drive herself crazy, overanalysing Brianna’s every move, from the back of her head in class, which is unusually slumped and bent over, to her weak attempts at jokes and uncharacteristic quietness at lunchtime, to the bluntness of their normally flowing conversation. It’s ridiculous, and distracting. Especially because none of their other friends have mentioned anything, at least not to Aquaria, and she really doesn’t want to bring anything up for fear of looking like a total idiot.
The worry is crippling to Aquaria, as though somebody is repeatedly whacking her over the head with a huge stick. Every time she tries to forget about it, bam and it’s back. She knows it’s ridiculous, and she blames her own stress. Her mind is clearly looking for something to do, bored to death of her sewing, sketching and designing the same pieces over and over again. It’s insanity. Complete and utter insanity.
But on Thursday, her insanity is justified, just slightly; after the class get a test back in History and Aquaria peers over to see she did better than Brianna, she can tell it’s with due reason. Brianna studies hard. Brianna puts school before everything. Brianna never gets below a B. In anything. And here she is with a C-, not even looking that fazed by it.
It’s like she’s given up. It’s eating away at Aquaria’s brain, so much so that she starts to design a new garment inspired by melting flesh and a revealed skull, and then hates it and screws it all up again. She wants to know why, without having to ask her. Confrontation is not her strong suit, especially when she could be completely wrong.
She’s hanging out at Blair’s house on Thursday night, an excuse to use her mom’s sewing machine, which is a million times better than her own, to test out some material she found that she wants to work with, but it keeps going wrong.
Aquaria is a good seamstress. She prides herself on it, in fact. It’s her thing. But after she fucks up the hem for the millionth time, she screams and rips apart her fabric, throwing it in the air in the most dramatic fashion ever.
Blair looks up from her laptop, where she’s trying to complete some homework, concern and worry etched onto her face as she witnesses her best friend’s outburst.
“Um, are you okay?” she asks, knowing that Aquaria is someone that tends to bottle up her emotions, not scream and throw things.
“I’m just stressed about this whole portfolio shit, I need it to be perfect,” Aquaria lies, rubbing her forehead aggressively.
“Lie,” says Blair nonchalantly, closing her laptop lid and moving to sit beside her best friend, who is trying desperately to stop her eyes from watering.
“Excuse me?” Aquaria says timidly, not looking her friend as she blinks furiously down at the sewing machine.
“You’ve been stressed about this for months. And when you’re stressed you turn it out, not fuck it up. Something else is on your mind and you’re telling me what it is right now,” Blair demands.
“You’ll think I’m stupid.”
“If it’s got you this worked up, it can’t be stupid. Spill! Spill!” Blair starts chanting and it almost puts a smile on Aquaria’s face, who pushes her friend playfully to get her to shut up.
“Okay, fine, Jesus. I’m just worried about a friend of ours who I think there’s something wrong with. She’s just acting really weird and I’m wondering if she’s okay,” she mumbles, trying to play it off as no big deal, which it probably isn’t.
“Who is this?” There’s a long pause whilst Aquaria stares down at her manicured nails in shame. “Aquaria, who?”
“Brianna.”
“Oh for god’s – you can’t let her ruin this for you. I know you’re obsessed with her-”
“Woah, woah, wait a minute, I am not obsessed with her. She got a C- today, B,” Aquaria says dramatically, like that’s supposed to clear everything up. Blair seems unbothered.
“So what?”
“So what?” Aquaria repeats in disbelief, annoyed at the lack of reaction. “This is Brianna. She always gets A’s.”
“Q, I love you, but I don’t think that Brianna getting a C- on one test should be the focus of you little brain right now,” Blair says, gesturing to Aquaria’s sketches that are now littering her room, along with the torn bit of fabric. “Have you even talked to her about it?”
“Well, no, but she’s not really given me much of a chance. We’re not exactly super close anymore, are we?” Aquaria feels her throat close up a little, before shaking her head, her friend giving her a pitying look.
“If it stops you worrying, just grab her after class and ask her if she’s okay. It’s really not hard, babe, it’s just being a good friend, and I’ll bet she’ll be happy to know you’re thinking of her.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” Aquaria mumbles, choosing to ignore the last statement, knowing it probably won’t help, especially as she’s the fucking worst at giving advice.
“Okay?” Blair asks, receiving a reluctant nod in reply from her friend, who picks up her material from the floor in shame.
Aquaria knows how she feels about Brianna isn’t just friendly. She does. Blair might be her best friend, and Monét might be Brianna’s, but they’ve known each other a long time, longer than any of the other girls in their friendship group.
Aquaria recalls the day they met, almost ten years ago. She was always left out and picked on by the other kids; they thought she was way too weird and stupid, always laughing at the things she said and how she acted, which is a huge deal when you’re eight. Aquaria hated them all, and hated school. And then, a new girl moved to Aquaria’s town, and started at the school.
She had the biggest, kindest brown eyes that Aquaria had ever seen, and made it her mission to befriend the quirky girl who preferred to be alone. She sat down next to her whilst all the other kids went out to play, and handed her half her sandwich without a second word.
And that was that.
And then they grew back apart again, after a night which left Aquaria in tears, and unable to look her former best friend in the eye for months. They remained friends, tied together by mutual friends and mutual classes, but it’s nothing like it used to be.
So they’re not the closest of friends, not anymore, but conversation still comes naturally and easily, they can laugh together without it being awkward, and pick up wherever they left off. Aquaria’s quite an awkward person, but Brianna feels like someone who will never judge or ridicule her, who she can always come to for any sort of advice.
Feelings have been brewing under the surface for Aquaria for years now, of course she knows that, she’s just been pretending they’re not there, because a harmless crush is pointless when Brianna has no interest in her in the slightest. Her act of indifference has most people convinced, everyone except for Blair, who can see right through the paper-thin charade and has been teasing her best friend about it ever since.
Aquaria tries not to care. She can admire Brianna in class and be her friend the rest of the time. It’s not that hard, really. It’s not.
Aquaria has French the period before lunch on Friday, so she plans on grabbing Brianna after the class so they can have some time to talk. Her plan, however, is foiled when the blonde doesn’t even show up.
Aquaria spends the whole class sick with worry, unable to concentrate on her work, her nails tapping the surface of the desk rapidly, staring at the door and expecting her friend’s face to poke round it at any second, an apologetic smile pulling at her plump lips. Her mind is in overdrive, and it feels like everything is going off track.
As soon as class is over, she starts to walk to lunch slowly, pulling out her phone and calling her friend once, twice, three times with no reply. Aquaria rakes her hand through her black hair, almost clawing at her scalp.
She needs to calm down. Brianna is probably sick, and that’s why she’s off school, and sleeping, and that’s why her phone is left unanswered. Something in the back of Aquaria’s mind is still buzzing, however, drowning out her attempts to reassure herself and filling her mind with anxiety, like the sea pulling her under on a stormy day.
So, she bypasses the cafeteria and heads instead straight to her locker. Aquaria takes a second to linger over the polaroids decorating the inside of the door, adorned with stickers and hearts drawn sloppily in black sharpie. They’re mostly of herself and Blair, though it’s closely followed by some of her favourites of her and Brianna throughout their ten years of up-and-down friendship, as well as the other girls that Aquaria is friends with, group selfies and candid shots from parties and movie nights. Her eyes stop on a picture the summer before she started high school, of her and Brianna lounging by a pool, goofy grins on their faces, their bodies clad in bikinis. They had been so excited, buzzing with nervous energy about the adventures of high school that were to come.
Aquaria shakes her head and grabs her gym bag, slamming her locker shut and cutting off her thoughts of a simpler time, before she realised what a hellhole this place actually is, and what the hell it did to her friendship.
She storms through school like a lady on a mission. No matter what, Aquaria can always calm herself down through a vigorous dance session, pushing her body to the limit until she’s drenched in sweat and her only thought is of a shower.
She has a free period next, so she changes quickly, shooting a quick text to the group chat to let them know what she’s up to, planning to use all the time she can get to try to push the ridiculous thoughts of Brianna from her mind, at least for a little bit.
The high school is attached to a leisure centre, which the students use themselves in classes, but is open to the general public also, therefore the students have access to private rooms they can use to practise sports, as the public do, considering they pay.
Aquaria makes use of this any time she can, choosing the smaller rooms any time she can to practise her dance in peace.
Aside from a class playing volleyball in the gym, the area is empty as Aquaria walks back to the changing rooms, every single muscle on her whole body screaming out in pain. She loves to push herself or she feels like there’s no point, but today she obliterated the limit, only stopping when her throat screamed for water.
It worked, as well, as she soaks herself in the scolding water of the shower, her mind is taken up by the success of her session and not a certain blonde. As the heat from the water cascades over her body, she lets her mind empty of all thoughts, closing her eyes against the surprisingly decent stream of water and takes her time washing her body, allowing herself to be at peace for a while.
Finally, Aquaria steps out the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around her glistening body. The changing rooms are empty, therefore she is free to take her time to dry herself with the scratchy material of the towel from her gym bag, not quite ready to face the outside world yet.
She still has half of the period left before the next class starts, so, after redressing and pulling her damp hair into a careless messy bun, she decides to head to the library. Not to do school work, of course, just to flip through the latest issue of Vogue in search for inspiration.
Aquaria is happily walking up to her locker through the deserted hallways of the school, feeling surprisingly refreshed, her usually busy mind feeling almost new again, before it will be undoubtedly hit with a new tidal wave of thoughts. Her locker is up in the music block, as that’s where she has homeroom, and she’s just walking past one of the sound proof practise rooms when she happens to glance inside, through the glass panel in the door, and spots a familiar face, distorted by the glass, but familiar all the same.
Brianna.
She’s sitting at the far end of the tiny room, with her feet propped up on a chair, her head bent over a guitar, and she appears to be singing something. Aquaria inches carefully closer to the door, watching her friend who is oblivious to her presence. She looks so sad.
Brianna has always loved music, Aquaria knows that. She taught herself how to play guitar at a young age, and constantly came up with little melodies and songs that went with them, getting her best friend to chip in on the harmonies once in a while. But, to Aquaria’s knowledge, she hasn’t played in a while. And here she is, when she should probably be in class, strumming her old guitar, distinguishable by the old band stickers that faded a long time ago, and the dent from the time Aquaria dropped in on her wooden floor, by accident
And then Brianna looks up, and spots Aquaria standing in the doorway holding a gym bag and a concerned gaze, and lifts her hand up in a sort of half-hearted wave, getting up and placing the battered guitar down. She goes over to the door where Aquaria is frozen in a sort of silent embarrassment at being caught, and opens it.
“Hi,” Brianna says simply, before walking back into the room and retaking her seat.
Aquaria supposes that this as an invitation, and cautiously enters the room, shutting the door softly behind her, before perching on the piano stool close to where her friend is sitting. She studies her face for a second, all the worry and anxiety that she just worked so hard to get rid of flooding back and smacking her across the head again.
“What are you doing? Are you okay, Bri?”
At least she can finally talk to Brianna, again, and settle the matter for good, but the response from her friend is not at all what she’s expecting, her sad brown eyes lifting up to gaze into her own, her mind clearly occupied by something that has been pressing down on her for a while.
“What happened to me and you?”
It feels like a slap across the face, a cold, hard slap with a wet fish. That’s not even dead. And covered in slime.
“What do you mean?” Aquaria’s mouth feels dry, so she runs her tongue across her lower lip, which helps very little. She knows exactly what she means.
“We used to be best friends, Aqua. We were inseparable. Don’t you remember us sharing everything? I stayed at your house, like, every other night. What the fuck went wrong?” Brianna is angry now, and it takes Aquaria by surprise – it’s a rare emotion in the usually laid back, easy going and happy girl that she used to know so well.
“We’re still friends,” Aquaria mumbles, though it’s a poor attempt at reassurance. Is this what’s been weighing down on Brianna the last week? Surely it can’t be? And yet, a small part of Aquaria’s heart, dedicated to Brianna, lights up in hope that it could be.
“Yeah, great. I can’t remember the last time I was alone with you. When did we last hang out that wasn’t at fucking lunchtime?”
It hurts. It really fucking hurts. Aquaria’s chest feels like it’s closing in on her. Brianna doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember the fatal night that caused Aquaria to distance herself from Brianna, gradually, slowly, because the more time she spent with her, the more it hurt, like a dagger twisted into her chest, plunging deeper as the days, weeks, months passed. She had to get it out, even if that meant the end of their friendship, which it almost did.
She sure as hell isn’t going to bring it up.
“I know,” she says instead, shaking her head, hoping that the hurt she feels hasn’t seeped into her voice. “You know I still care about you. Which is why I want to know what’s been going on with you?”
“Don’t change the subject!” Brianna groans, clearly uncomfortable at what she knows Aquaria is about to bring up.
“Bri, you got a C and didn’t even care. You missed French, and you’re in here in a free period! I’m not crazy, something is the matter,” Aquaria says, mostly to reassure herself. There’s a long pause, as Brianna appears to be thinking something over, painfully slowly. Aquaria chews at the inside of her cheek anxiously, enough so that the metallic taste of her own blood seeps into her mouth
“Well, okay,” Brianna says, at last, looking up at Aquaria with a small, sad smile on her face. “Maybe you can help me. I could use your advice.”
“You know I’m shit at advice. You do know I’m shit at advice?” Aquaria says. If Brianna remembered who she was at all she would know that, but the girl just shakes her head, looking at Aquaria as if she holds a cure for all her troubles.
“I think you’re my best bet, right now.”
There’s something about this statement that makes Aquaria extremely nervous, the worry now pounding through her mind, amplified to a million times to what it was before, but how the hell can she refuse now?
“Um, okay, I’ll try my best.”
“I’ve been, sort of, realising some things about myself recently.”
“Things?”
There’s a long, painful, drawn out pause. Brianna can’t even look at Aquaria, who’s staring at her so intensely she might possibly be about to burn a hole through her skull.
“Like, maybe I’m not actually straight?”
Oh. That was not what Aquaria was expecting, at all. She almost chokes on air, trying her best to maintain a neutral disposition as she nods encouragingly, willing Brianna to continue as her mind starts whirring at a million miles an hour. Is this about her? Can she possibly dare to hope that it is?
“You’re… gay?”
“Maybe, god, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to a single person about this yet.”
God, that feels like old times. A bittersweet wave of nostalgia washes over Aquaria. Sitting up for hours and blurting any random thing that they could ever possibly think of. No secrets, no lies. Come to think of it, Brianna did once say that she had an unexplainable crush on the groovy chick girl that adorned her bedding as a kid.
“I just feel so lost, all of a sudden. I’m eighteen years old and I’m only just figuring out that I like girls?”
“Hey, that’s not that old. People don’t figure it out until college normally.”
Brianna laughs, though it’s painfully bitter, shaking her head in amusement, causing her friend to smile, just slightly.
“See, bad advice! What did I tell you?”
“I just can’t stop thinking about it, like, it’s keeping me up at night. And I have to avoid her, which is where you come in.”
“What?”
“Well, she made me realise I like girls at all. I have a huge, ridiculous crush on her.”
“Who, Bri?”
“Blair.”
And, just like that, the world comes crumbling down.
