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a fully self-indulgent angsty trinity-centric piece for the garsanshimi headcanonverse
tw for csa, self-harm, suicidal ideation/suicide
@blueeyesshyskies @black-plant-leg @saintfingers
don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite
those words haunt trinity’s mind, plaguing her nightmares for years. at the time, hearing them filled her with joy. she was his favorite. the best on the team. trinity was the one who got to come early and stay late, she got the extra lessons, she got all his praise.
not julie, not mariah, not alma, but her.
trinity loved being the favorite. she never was at home. her father too busy at work to care and her mother… she never seemed to like trinity. everything she did was wrong. even before her brothers came along, her mother didn’t like her. every stumble was met with a pay attention and every grade that wasn’t perfect got a do better. when joshua was born, she was tossed aside, left to her own devices at the age of seven.
that left time to fill, time she poured into her sport. because maybe, just maybe, if she got enough golds her mom would smile at her. she would finally mutter the two sayings she wanted so desperately to hear. i love you and i’m proud of you.
it never happened. her mother avoided her even more once gabriel was born a year later. she didn’t even bother coming to meets anymore.
the first time trinity couldn’t find her in the crowd, she panicked. she lost focus on the beam and her foot slipped. her ankle twisted the wrong way and she fell off completely. she was a crying mess. not about her ankle, it barely even hurt, but about her mom.
coach picked her up, bringing her tiny, shaking body away from the prying eyes of the crowd. he can see right away that her ankle is fine, no break or sprain. what he can also see is trinity’s vulnerability, her loneliness. he massages out the pain, hands wandering a bit too high.
it only takes a few months for his hands to slip under her leotard, even less after for it to come off all together.
trinity is thirteen and spacing out in health class when she realizes something is wrong. but it’s too late, she is too deep in his trap to escape alone.
his praises are sweet, fulfilling a deep need within her that grows with every dismissal from her parents. she might not be her mother’s favorite, may never even be a consideration in her father’s mind, but he sees her. it’s so sweet it makes her sick, ties her guts into knots so tight that she can’t help but vomit.
he loves her, he wants her, she’s his favorite.
it’s enough, it has to be. she tells herself over and over that his twisted form of attention is all she needs.
until at fifteen, alma whispers to her through broken sobs that he’s been doing the same to her.
the alma she’s been training with for years. the only person who has been able to stand her off putting personality, as her mother says. the same alma that makes butterflies flutter in her stomach just by looking at her.
the praise doesn’t pack the wound anymore. she knows it’s fake now. just something coach says to trick her. trinity’s pain and need seeps out, trying to find something to hold onto.
she nicks her hand on the blade of a knife and for the first time since alma’s confession, she feels full again. the sting of the blade is exactly what she needed, and it was addicting.
she starts small, hiding the cuts on her stomach. where only she and coach can see them. he doesn’t appear to care, digging the pads of his thumbs on top of them and adding to the vulgar display of her pain.
trinity thinks she finally has her life back under her control. her needs are filled and she has alma. sweet alma who can understand her pain and give her something she’s never felt before.
love.
it’s messy and hushed, a secret that neither of their catholic families would approve. they shared hidden hugs, kisses behind closed doors, and explore each other in a way coach never allowed. slow, gentle, tender. it’s not perfect, but it’s theirs.
then at seventeen, alma’s dad walks in. his vision goes dark, kicking trinity to the street as she struggles to pull her shirt back on. she can hear alma crying and screaming but no amount of banging on the door will convince them.
she never sees alma again. trinity finds out over through the morning announcements at school two days later that she overdosed.
she tries to follow. join alma and be rid of her family, be rid of coach, be rid of everything. but she can’t. no matter how hard she tries, she can’t do it.
but trinity is rid of one thing. coach. alma’s death shone a light on him, the note she left behind detailing everything. including trinity.
the trial is horrific, but she’s free.
though her mind still replays everything. nightmares causing her to wake up in tears, unable to truly believe the praise given to her, still seeking the attention of the ones she loves like they are her mother.
so when trinity’s tucking in her child, kissing her on the forehead and whispering a sweet goodnight, she can’t help but freeze at the words muttered in sleepy innocence.
don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.
it’s startling. words she hasn’t heard since childhood. she nods and excuses herself from the room, turning off the lights as she goes.
she thinks it will hurt. drive a knife into an old wound that was ever festering. but it doesn’t. the tears forming in her eyes are out of joy, relief even. because her child, her alma, loves her. and for the first time, she truly believes it.