Summary: Based off this writing prompt. It’s the holiday season, reader’s least favorite time of year. Their boyfriend Nathan decides to surprise them.
You were never big on holiday traditions. Sure they were fun when you were a kid, but as you got older your family just drifted further apart. It got to the point where you couldn’t even decorate the Christmas tree without a fight breaking out.
The sound of keys rustling as the front door opened disturbed you from your sulking. No doubt it was your boyfriend Nathan coming back from work. You just moved in with him a few months ago and every day felt like bliss when you were with him. But then there were days like today. Nathan had to stay over at work late to finish grading papers. It didn’t happen often, but when it did he would get so engrossed in his work that he wouldn’t end up coming home until you were already asleep.
So it was a bit odd that he was home as early as he was when you knew he had work to do. “Hey. What’re you doing home already?” Turning around from your seat you watch as he walks in with a grocery bag and raise an eyebrow.
“Finished up faster than I thought so I stopped and got you a surprise-“ In a blink of an eye, Nathan went from standing upright to laying flat on the ground. The contents of the bag strewn about. “Dammit!” He yelled out as he quickly gathered the supplies. You couldn’t help but to smile at the spectacle he was making. He was never really the quickest on his feet, but his klutz like qualities were one of the many things you loved about him.
Helping him pick everything up, you noticed the gingerbread house kit. “Nath, what’s all this about?” You thought he looked flustered before. Nothing compared to the shade of red forming on his cheeks in that moment. “Well I uh.. thought we..-“ He took a deep breath before speaking again.
“Will you make a gingerbread house with me?” Before you could speak he immediately interjected. “I know this kind of stuff isn’t your favorite thing but I mean.. we could make it fun. Listen to music, decorate and or eat it. Just thought we could try and make our own traditions, you know?”
With that last sentence and the pure look of adoration on his face, you crumbled. How could you say no to him? God you loved him. Loved him enough to sing cheesy Christmas songs as you spent the next hour or so decorating the gingerbread house. Finding yourself enjoying this more than you thought, you realized maybe holiday traditions weren’t so bad after all.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New Kid blessed the Somerville Sasquatches. A rogue umpire incinerated the Sasquatches’ least idolized player, Leon Stamatis! Mallory Monomynous joined the team as a replacement.
A Greater Boston / Blaseball AU. 10k.
(Happy belated birthday/happy early anniversary, @leonstamatis!)
The walls of Jillian’s cramped bedroom in the townhouse they live in has scorch marks and scratches hastily hidden by crayon blueprints and science posters. Her mother figures if she's going to take things apart and put them together again she might as well have the proper equipment.
An alternate origin story for one Jillian Holtzmann. Eventual holtzbert.
ch 1-4 here (i didn’t post them to tumblr lmao)
warnings for child abuse and depictions of self harm
Jillian loses twelve pounds over the first summer that she lives on the streets. By the time September rolls around, she’s a little over 5 feet and just about one hundred pounds. She starts her grade twelve year hoping that if she keeps her grades up she might get a scholarship somewhere far away and finally get out of this town. She pats her backpack where her MIT pamphlet is tucked safely in the back pocket before kicking the ground and skateboarding toward her school. She’s moved around a bit over the summer, testing out different sides of the city and how they fare for her needs. Currently she’s in a little cardboard hut in the back end of an alleyway downtown, about a twenty minute ride from her school and a forty minute ride to the dump.
Jillian used her science fair prize money during the summer to buy a broken walkman (easily repaired with some new wiring) a skateboard and socks. She figured that a walkman would help pass the time while she worked and a skateboard would mean she could go farther, faster. The socks were just really cool and besides, when would she not need socks?
The only meal Jillian can ever fully depend on is lunch from the school cafeteria- no matter how small and underwhelming it is she’ll always eat the whole thing. Finding good food on the streets isn’t a regular occurrence and getting money to buy food isn’t any easier. After two weeks of careful observation of the students in the cafeteria she starts sitting closer and closer to one of the red garbage bins, watching classmate after classmate throw away perfectly good food- sometimes whole untouched meals. Her stomach whines painfully while she debates sinking low enough to rifle through the trash for food.
When the cacophony of students dwindles to a lull and the cafeteria is nearly empty Jillian inhales deeply, rolls up her sleeves and digs around the bin for whatever she can grab in the five minutes before her next class. She feels revolting doing it but the food she finds makes her smile for the first time in days as she stuffs her pockets; two whole wheat buns, a handful of semi-crushed tater tots, an apple with only two bites taken out of it and half an orange. It’ll be enough to last her a few days, if not longer. Self-loathing and embarrassment replace the hunger in her stomach when she devours the apple in the lab.
After the first few weeks of school Jillian starts to fall into a routine.
6:30am : wake up and make sure nothing’s been stolen, stash it away for the day.
6:40am : feed Archie.
7:30am : leave for school.
8:00am : start school.
3:40 : work in the lab until everyone has left.
8:00pm : use the locker room showers while they’re empty.
9:00pm : get back to the hut, feed Archie again.
9:00-11:00pm : do homework- if none then scrounge for parts/money/food/etc.
Lather, rinse & repeat.
She’s extra thankful for the socks she bought when she wakes up shivering on a wintry January morning. It’s pitch black out and the city is still asleep, save for the ever present low rumblings as the downtown core continues to breathe around her. She pulls her hand out of where it’s curled deep in her pocket and exposes her wrist to press her nose to a button on the small watch she found in a dumpster a few months back. 04:43 blinks in a soft green. Groaning she tucks her folded hands under her head and wishes desperately for more sleep. Now that she’s awake she notices how cold her face feels in the open air despite the cardboard walls she’s constructed. Jillian burrows her face further into the collar of her jacket and tries to shift more into a homemade sleeping bag. It’s comprised of two rugs and a handful of empty garbage bags inside of her duffel bag- not pretty, but it keeps the heat in decently enough. A disgruntled meow is muffled by the duffel bag and Jillian shifts until she can feel soft purring against her belly.
“Sorry Arch,” she whispers as she looks out into the snow-laden alley. Fear and uncertainty wash over her as snow blusters into her hut, “It’s getting really cold at night now.”
It’s too cold for Jillian to get back to sleep, she can see her breath in little huffs and she wants her teeth to stop chattering. She bites down on her bottom lip and squeezes her eyes shut until the taste of iron floods her mouth. She whimpers but continues grinding and gnashing her teeth into her flesh, relishing being able to feel something other than tired and freezing. Inside the duffel bag she picks at the skin of her wrist, rolling and pinching and pulling to keep her mind off of the bitter cold until morning.
It’s a Saturday, Jillian’s least favourite day. No school on Saturday means no warm buildings to defrost in, no time in the lab, no showers... and no lunch. The only thing that makes Sunday better than Saturday is the free soup that the church around the corner offers if she pretends to be Catholic and talks nice with the church ladies. The only things she can do on Saturdays is scavenge around for parts to sell (or use) and beg on the street. The sky starts to lighten up as the sun begins to rise beyond the skyscrapers around her and Jillian sighs before starting her morning routine.
Archimedes mewls softly as Jillian scoots him to one side of the sleeping bag before shoving the rest of her belongings into it, at least the ones that she doesn’t want to keep in her backpack with her. Her large toolkit, a half finished solar powered stove, skateboard and schoolbooks stay right here with Archie. All that she throws into her backpack is a pair of wire cutters, a screwdriver, a folded up piece of cardboard, an empty coffee cup and a few plastic bags. She stretches another plastic bag over each socked foot before shoving them into her combat boots and tying the laces up tight- she’s learned the hard way that the day only gets worse if her feet get wet and freeze in her boots.
“Sorry bud, you’re gonna have to find breakfast on your own today,” Jillian says sadly, kneeling beside the duffel bag and stroking the alley cat’s coarse fur. He meows a few times and nudges her hand open to look for the food Jillian usually gives him in the morning. She swallows hard and sniffs a few times before giving him a big kiss to the forehead.
“I’ll try to find you something, you just gotta...just- be patient,” she exhales deeply and feels her stomach growl before mumbling, “I’m hungry too.”
With one last check that she has everything she might need Jillian pulls her hands up into the sleeves of her jacket and shoves them deep into her pockets, burrows her face into her collar and heads out. A trail of deep footprints follows her to the mouth of the alley before she turns around and catches them out of the corner of her eye. Scolding herself for not noticing earlier she retraces her steps and uses a stray piece of cardboard to clear away her footprints behind her. All things considered this sheltered alleyway is one of the best spots in the city and she does not need someone investigating her prints. She presses her back to the wall of one of the buildings before peeking out and checking if the coast is clear. She likes to be sure that nobody will see her when she exits the alleyway to minimize the chances of someone asking her invasive questions and prying to see if she’s alright. Confident that she won’t be spotted Jillian rounds the corner and glues her eyes to the pavement as she walks.
By now she’s memorized the layout of the city so well that she doesn’t need to look up to know where she’s going. If she’s going to school it’s a right from the alley, three blocks up, six blocks west, another four blocks north and a left at the path that cuts through to the back of the field. The shortest walk is to the church on Sundays- that’s just a right from the alley, two blocks north and one block east, easy peasy. Her longest journey is by far the way to the dump; a left from the alley, nine blocks south, four blocks east, another five blocks south then she follows the dirt road southeast until she gets to the Jillian-sized hole cut in the fence hidden behind some bushes, marked by a scrap of red fabric tied to a branch. Jillian knows which bridges sometimes have auto parts under them, which streets to avoid after dark, where all the breaks in the fences are, which dumpsters might have discarded food in them, the best spots to beg if you need cash.
Jillian knows what it feels like to not eat for days on end, how to forge a signature, how to keep deodorant from freezing solid. She knows which grocery stores throw out their old bread and exactly what time she can shower at school so nobody will see her.
She’s forgotten what it’s like to fall asleep without shivering or when she last had a pillow under her head, Jillian doesn’t remember what a hug feels like or how grapes taste when they’re fresh. She doesn’t remember being warm, being full, or being loved.
A gust of wind causes her to sway on her feet and screw her eyes shut. Her shoulders are tight against her neck and she takes her fingers out of her pockets to see what colour they are- an angry pink. Flexing her fists a few times before cramming her hands back into her pockets she grumbles and kicks at the snow, she’s barely halfway to the Starbucks on Main street and her fingers are already turning pink. She grunts and she can see her breath in a hot cloud before it disappears into thin air. Jillian trudges through the snow and tries to ignore how much her ears sting in the wind.
Hoards of people pass her by but nobody seems to notice the blonde sitting cross legged on the sidewalk. Jillian is struck with an idea and digs through the contents of her backpack. Numb fingers wrap around the familiar shape and she sighs in relief when she pulls out a thick black sharpie. Within seconds she’s torn a bit of her cardboard seat off and positioned the felt tip over the surface. She hesitates for a minute, debating what to say before deciding to keep it simple.
COLD + HUNGRY, PLEASE HELP! THANK YOU!
Jillian draws a goofy happy face in one corner before capping the marker and stashing it back in her bag.
It takes an hour of sitting outside of the Starbucks before she hears the clink of change. She’d almost given up hope, head nodding to one side before the metallic sound brought her out of her daze.
“T-thank you so much, ma’am!” Jillian calls out after the woman who hadn’t even slowed down to drop the coins into her cup.
After another thirty minutes of shivering Jillian decides to curl up in a ball on her side to preserve some body heat. Jillian closes her eyes and tries to keep her shaking to a minimum. She weaves her hands together in her sleeves and scratches at her forearms with jagged and bitten fingernails as a distraction. She can feel the top layer of her skin starting to sting and give way. She hears the clatter of coins in her cup but she’s too wrapped up in her head to thank them. Cold wind is still blowing at her ankles and racing down her spine so she adds more pressure, grits her teeth as she presses harder and harder into her skin, she’s sick of the snow and her chest whines with pain from only sucking in icy air and she’s so cold. She wishes she had enough change to buy a warm drink from the coffee shop but she needs to save her money for real food, it wouldn’t be worth it to spend four dollars on a hot chocolate when that four dollars could be dinner for a week. Jillian keeps scratching until her breathing calms and her arms feel numb, fingers tired and stiff.
She’s not sure how much time has passed when she stops scratching herself but she’s sure that if she were to pull her hands away and take a look there’d be blood smeared on her fingertips.
A thunk draws her back into the real world and she opens her eyes to the sight of a man’s gloved hand putting a handful of change in her cup. Jillian raises her head off of the cardboard to say thank you, scrambling to get up. The inside of her jacket chafes her inner arm and it stings but she ignores it before clearing her throat. With just a quick look she can tell that he’s given her at least three dollars worth of change, if not more. Jillian feels tears pricking in her eyes just thinking about what that could mean.
“Thank you so much, really, you have no idea what this-”
“It’s nothing, really- Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asks curiously. Jillian looks at his face for the first time and her throat tightens. It’s her old tech teacher, from before her mom- before she changed schools. She rips her eyes away from his and pulls her denim collar up to hide more of her face.
“No, I don’t uh- I don’t think so, no.”
“Are you sure? I swear I’ve seen you before.”
“I, uh... I sit here, sometimes. Maybe once or twice a week,” Jillian picks at her fingers, “you’ve probably seen me around here, is all.”
“No that’s not it... Did you ever go to Central High? I teach-”
“Greg, please, we’re going to be late,” his wife pulls at his jacket and throws Jillian an apologetic smile.
“Yes, yes you’re right,” he stands up and gives Jillian a lingering look, brow still furrowed before continuing on his way. The minute he’s out of earshot Jillian dumps the change into her pocket and sprints in the opposite direction. She runs as fast as she humanly can, her knees ache at the sudden pounding in the cold and her lungs feel like they’re bleeding but she needs to put as much distance as possible between herself and that man.
Jillian runs until she can’t run anymore, she slumps onto a snowbank and heaves shuddering breaths into her lungs. She rubs her forearms to try and warm up but her skin is still raw and broken and the wind hasn’t stopped ripping through her coat. Even after running for blocks, Jillian is freezing. Once she catches her breath she finds a doorway to stand in out of the wind and pulls out the change from her pocket; she counts eight dollars and forty-five cents. She nearly cries right there in public. It’s enough for her to buy enough food for her and Archie for a week- she could even buy something special like chocolate, or chips.
Her toes sting when she shifts her weight. Her fingers have gone red and she can barely feel them against the coins in her palm. She knows that it’s only going to get colder as winter is just starting to get serious. She can practically taste the food in her mouth as she stares down at the fistful of silver in her shivering palm. Jillian bites her lip and prods the change in her hand as she weighs her options- she could buy food for the week if she budgeted right, or she could go hungry and buy gloves. Or a hat. Or another shirt. Or really anything to help her keep warm.
“Fucking- shit!” she curses and angrily shoves the change back into her pocket.
While she’s in the run-down Goodwill browsing the aisles Jillian is struck with an idea. After casting a cursory glance at the front desk she grabs an armful of clothes and rushes to the changing room. She clicks the lock and takes off her coat before ripping the tags off and putting on all the new clothes. Looking down her front and tucking in the stolen clothes she adjusts her jacket to hide her new bulk. Jillian stares at herself in the mirror before bringing a hand to cover her mouth so nobody hears her sob.
She hates herself for stealing from a Goodwill. Stealing from a charity. Her eyes are sunken and glazed, her cheekbones prominent and windburned, lips bloody and chapped from relentless biting and cold winds. She feels dirty and worthless, like nobody ever wanted her. Her body feels bruised. The insides of her arms are still raw and sore when they rub against the layered fabric of her stolen clothes. Panic and anger start to make her skin crawl like insects and her breathing hitches.
You’re a worthless bitch, just like your mother.
Jillian squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears with the heels of her hands, trying to block out her father.
You’re weird, she remembers the words like her memories are steeped in battery acid. Jillian shakes her head violently from side to side. She tries to remember something other than his cruel words.
You’re so beautiful, Jillian. I love you, okay?
Jillian’s heart whines at the thought of her mother, the hole in her chest still raw from when she was torn from her life.
You’re a fuckup, Jillian drops onto the bench in the changing room and presses harder against her head.
Nothing is wrong with you, you hear me?
You’ll never amount to anything.
Jillian curls a hand into a fist and pounds at her ear over and over again, scratching with the other at her neck. It’s too much and not enough and she just wants her mind to shut up and turn off.
I’ll never stop loving you, babygirl.
Nobody will ever want your sorry ass.
Jillian steals two shirts, a hoodie, a pair of leggings and mittens. She pays for a package of exacto knife blades at the dollar store down the street. Her fingertips glide over the plastic packaging in her pocket on her way back to the alley. She sits still for twenty minutes in the hut before gritting her teeth. With one hand she pulls up the front of her shirt, the other trembles as she holds the metal between two fingers. The metal is cool against her soft skin. She inhales once and slowly drags her hand across her flesh.
“Shit...”
The release is euphoric. Her side stings with another flash of metal. And another. Before she knows it there is barely any untouched skin from her bra line to the waistband of her jeans. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she watches iron seep from her skin. She gently touches her wounds and relishes in the way her gut churns when she applies pressure.
Jillian ignores the voice in her head telling her this is a very bad idea.
Holtz stares at the underside of the Ecto-1 with furrowed brows. What the hell is wrong with this thing? She taps her foot to the beat of her music and rolls further under the car. She runs her hand over the exposed metal and wires, mentally checking step-by-step if everything is in order. It all seems to be good, which is why this is so infuriating. Well, that and the fact that the garage is sweltering thanks to the excess of machines working at once. Holtz wipes at her sweaty brow with the back of her hand before angrily sliding out from under the car.
She unbuttons her button off and tugs it off her shoulders before pulling at her black tank top, leaving her in grease-stained jeans and a black sports bra. She dances from the waist up as she tightens her fingerless gloves and readjusts her goggles before laying back down and sliding under the car once again. Starting at the axle and working her way down she starts checking the car out again. After twenty minutes of humming along with Bon Jovi she spots the problem; The ball joint is loose and it looks like something might be wrong with the suspension. Holtz grins, now that she knows what she needs to do. A noise from somewhere else in the garage distracts her thoughts while she makes a mental list of what tools she needs and what parts she has squirrelled away somewhere.
Holtz rolls out from under the car and is shocked to see-
“Erin?”
“Holtz! Um, I called your name but the music...” Erin smiles and gestures toward the thumping boom box, “it’s uh, it’s a bit loud!”
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” Holtz sticks her tongue out, causing Erin to smile softly, “is the pizza here already?”
“Yeah, it just got here. I thought I’d come get you since I figured you wouldn’t be able to hear us call for you.”
Holtz grins before Erin’s eyes flick away from her face and to her arms. Holtz squirms when she realizes that she’s practically topless in front of her co-worker / friend (and maybe crush) who spooned her and then almost kissed her before avoiding her for a week. Erin swallows and Holtz can feel fear start to brew as Erin looks at her newly exposed skin. Her eyes land on Holtz’s stomach and Erin’s smile drops completely, her mouth falling open before snapping it shut and averting her eyes.
Holtz scrambles for her shirt and tries to stutter out a joke, “can’t a girl get some privacy?” as an attempt at damage control. There’s no way that Erin didn’t see the mass of scars covering her body. She saw the faded white lines, she saw the circular burns, the jagged deep red marks, the pinched skin where she had stitches, she saw all of it. She saw all of it and it made her sick to look at, made her look away.
Erin steps to the side and turns to give Holtz some privacy to put her shirt back on and get up off the skateboard. Holtz feels ashamed, she feels embarrassed that Erin saw her scars before she wanted her to. She feels sick. Just when she thought things might be going in a good direction with Erin she saw... that.
Once she’s dressed and ready to go Holtz follows Erin back into the first floor lounge they have set up at headquarters and grabs herself a slice of pizza. She sits as far away from Erin as possible. Truth be told Holtz just wants to go back up to her room and curl up in a ball, she doesn’t feel like watching movies with the gang, but it’s Friday and she usually loves their Friday movie nights.
Holtz tucks her feet up under her in the armchair and huddles to one side, away from everyone else. She remains silent throughout the argument between Erin and Patty about which movie they’re going to watch and doesn’t crack her usual joke about just marathoning The X-Files if they don’t agree on something.
Abby picks up on her behaviour immediately. Holtz pretends she doesn’t see Abby’s questioning looks and tries to look engrossed in whatever movie they picked, some overly-heterosexual romcom. Abby stretches her leg out from where she’s sitting and gently nudges her knee with her foot, subtly giving her a concerned face. Holtz shrugs before looking back to the screen. Abby sighs softly and Holtz turns to mouth the words later, okay? Abby nods and gives her a sad smile.
That’s one of Holtz’s favourite things about Abby; of course her shared interest in science and her love of soup make her a great friend, not to mention fart jokes, but she’s always respectful of Holtz’s privacy when it comes to something that’s bothering her. Showing that she cares is enough- If Abby is concerned she’ll let Holtz know, but she never pushes her to talk if she doesn’t want to. Abby is the one person who knows just about everything about her because she can tell her whatever, whenever.
When they’ve all said their goodnight’s and gone off to their bedrooms, Holtz hears a gentle knock on her door. She doesn’t even need to guess who it is.
“Come in.”
Abby peeks her head in and smiles before shutting the door behind her and sitting on the bed beside Holtz. The mattress creaks beneath their combined weight and Abby waits patiently for Holtz to organize her thoughts. Holtz picks at her fingertips and sags her shoulders as she exhales.
“Okay, so, I think I might have some... feelings ... for someone. Which isn’t the main issue here, because they’re not like,” Holtz throws open her hands, “big feelings or anything, just a bit of a crush, and maybe not even that. I don’t even know if she’s straight or not, let alone if she feels the same way... And you know how I am, with the affinity for one night stands, and all that, but this isn’t that kind of thing. I mean like, she’s hot and defs bangable but like I also want to do all of that domestic stuff-”
“This definitely sounds like a crush, Holtz, you just said you want to be domestic with her,” Abby teases before adding very seriously, “whoever this lucky lady is.”
Holtz is thankful Abby is pretending to be absolutely oblivious about her painstakingly obvious crush on Erin.
“Okay so I might have a crush. Maybe. But that’s not the reason I’m upset.”
Holtz bites her lip and fidgets with her hands, not quite sure what to say next. Abby brings a hand up to rub at her back and she exhales again.
“You know how I look... without clothes?” Holtz says awkwardly. Abby furrows her brow, not quite understanding, “I mean, sure I’ve seen you naked, but I don’t really...?”
Holtz groans and rubs her face with her palms, “umm... gah-” she grits her teeth, “you know my scars? What they look like, yeah?”
“Did- Holtz, did you relaps-”
“No!” She can see Abby’s disappointment fade and relief take it’s place.
“You know I’ll always talk to you before it gets that bad, Abby.”
Abby nods and smiles, letting her get back on track.
“But you know how my skin looks, yeah? All the- stuff, going on? How ‘bad’ it looks?” she gestures to her body, circling her torso and legs. Holtz stumbles over her words, she has no idea how to articulate this gently. Abby nods and Holtz can tell she’s piecing it all together by the sympathetic look starting to form on her face.
“Um, this person saw me today and she looked... she looked sick. After she saw. Me. And the stuff. Not all of it, but- but a lot of it.”
“Holtz...”
She can feel her throat welling up and angrily wipes at her eyes- juts out her chin and stares at the ground between her feet. She wrings her hands before weaving her fingers together and clutching them tight.
“And I think... I think it ruined any chance I had, whatsoever, with her.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Holtz-”
Holtz turns to look Abby, interrupting whatever was going to come after that, “yeah I think it is, Abs, I really- I really do. She looked absolutely revolted. And I know, I know that I’m not gross for having scars, that they’re not inherently bad or wrong because they’re a part of me and I’m healing and they’re healing but I want- I wanted to be in control of when she saw them, you know?” tears stream down her face and she takes a second to compose herself, “I wanted to be able to explain what was happening in my life and that I don’t do it anymore and I wanted her to be able to ask questions and we could talk about it, you know? But now I don’t have that control and I don’t know what she thinks about it and...”
Holtz swallows, barely whispers, “I think... she thinks I’m disgusting.”
Abby pulls Holtz into her shoulder and wraps her in a hug. Holtz can feel her tears wetting Abby’s shirt. She rubs reassuring circles between her shoulderblades while she waits fo Holtz to be ready. Wiping her eyes and inhaling shakily, Holtz sits back upright and looks into Abby’s eyes with a pleading look.
“It just sucks, you know?” her voice is small and afraid, the opposite of her usual self and Abby hates seeing her like this.
“Yeah, I know it does. But do you think maybe she was just- I don’t know, surprised?”
Holtz sniffs, “wh-what do you mean?”
Abby thinks for a bit, she wants to phrase this right. Holtz looks more and more expectant with every minute that passes.
“What do you mean, Abs?” Holtz says with a desperate crack.
“I mean... it’s a bit shocking to see, right?” she says, tilting her head to one side.
Holtz ducks her head, shame brewing in her gut. Abby immediately reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, and Holtz looks back.
“I don’t mean bad, I just mean... if you didn’t expect it, wouldn’t you be surprised? How would you react to something like that? Imagine if you saw me and I was covered in scars, how would you react? How do you just bring that up in conversation?”
Holtz nods and starts to feel a little less hopeless, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“For you, you’re used to it. It’s on your body, you know all the answers and you know you don’t do it anymore and why do you did it then and all that other stuff, but now she’s got all these questions out of nowhere. Especially if you don’t know where you stand with someone, that’s a hard thing to suddenly learn and process.”
Abby squeezes her shoulder again before bringing her hands to wrap around Holtz’s.
“My suggestion would be to talk to her about it. Maybe just say something like, ‘hey, so I would like a chance to sit down and discuss this with you sometime, if you want’. Let her know that you trust her with this information and she’s okay to ask questions.”
“That’ll be a fun conversation,” Holtz scoffs.
“But a necessary one.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. It’ll just suck.”
“And who knows, maybe she knows more about self harm than you think.”
Holtz hums doubtfully and Abby brings a palm to her cheek, “I’m proud of you, you know that right?”
Holtz smiles and nuzzles into her hand.
“There’s that smile I know and love!” Abby kisses her forehead, “you okay?”
“I am now, yeah. Thanks for, y’know, being there and stuff.”
“I’ll always be there, and stuff,” Abby teases. Holtz scrunches her nose at the mockery.
“Goodnight Abby.”
“Goodnight Holtz.”
Abby closes the door behind her with a goofy grin that makes Holtz crack up and laugh. Holtz snuggles into her duvet and decides to talk to Erin tomorrow morning, no matter how much she thinks she’s going to throw up out of nerves.
