đž.. el's blog !
⤠she/her, lesbian
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@underratedlordestan
đž.. el's blog !
⤠she/her, lesbian
⤠I'm 16 turning 17 this oct 21
Likes: Tlou, abby anderson, ethel cain, photography, life is strange, yellowjackets, lorde, blogging (@pvvnisher), anything art !!
Limits: creeps dni, I don't mind interacting with anyone older, just don't be weird. That's it :////
-> Lowkey too lazy to make this any longer---dassit 4 nowwww oki bye
woke up wet as fuck thinking about Abby getting all desperate and needy and whiney just from making out.
just imagine her whimpering and moaning into your mouth, her brows pinched together in desperation, hands gripping and squeezing everything, your thighs, your ass, your hips. Then she slowly slips her hands under the back of your shirt, dragging her nails across your skin.
God i need that holy fuck
portraits of butches of color pt 2. via butchisnotadirtyword
Lesbians worldwide (especially fellow witches) I need y'all to manifest this one thing for me đ¤đ¤ J IS MINE REPEAT AFTER ME
UGHHH
Wind accidentally made me click the follow button of my recent fumble's ig!!
Yearning for 2018 grunge tumblr
iâll never be able to fuck abigail anderson and it does keep me up at night i will tell you that much.
Dealer!Abby who is soooo infatuated with her soft fem gf pleaseđ§đ˝ââď¸
DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK
TAGLIST
dealer! Abby who is just so in love with you. Carrying a pic of you in her truck, right next to the mirror decal and in her wallet ofc. She used to give you discounts at first if not even gift you some on special occasions, she was quick to ask when your birthday was, if you were single, see if you had any friends in common- just trying to know you. You quickly became one of these people you see once, and suddenly theyâre everywhere, and at one point, the temptation won, a messy make-out session that would be just the beginning. Now here you are, on her lap, just looking at her. those pouty lips wrapping the joint and her puppy eyes fixated on your face. The pine smell of her perfume, soap, every hygiene product she owned - disappears each second that passed by. Abby looked in awe, way too relaxed with her usual braid a bit messy, some baby hairs resting on her forehead and on the sides of her face, cascading right above her cheeks. She had the pretties sheepish smile you could ever see, her lips glistening and rosy cheeks flushed, covered with some of your glossy kisses. Her hand moved to your thighs, rubbing the skin up and down while her fingers forced your mouth to open, grabbing the joint for you.
âyou look lostâ your voice a mutter before she shushed you. Abby shrugged, her hand squeezing the fat of your legs before the pads of her fingers played with the edges of your skirt. your eyes never left hers- locked on your lips. You were about to grab the joint yourself, take it out and just give her a small kiss, but she moved first, with her fingers leaving the joint and her pretty eyes looking at you before she connects her lips with your neck, just leaving a small chain of wet kisses- an invisible pattern. âwhatâre you doing?â her hand left your skirt, now focused on hugging the sides of your stomach, just needing the contact, the warmth of your body. Her kisses stopped ânothingâ a whisper on your neck followed by her nose tickling you. But what was she supposed to do when you smelled and felt so good? so pretty. âLove you baby-â kiss âso muchâ
dealer!abby refuses to let you smoke any weed that isnât hers. abby has the best weed in the state, and everyone elseâs is shitty, barely enough to even get you high, and she knows this. sheâs aware you donât smoke often, but when you do, sheâs right there by your sideâ thatâs a lie, youâre usually sitting comfortably and sweetly in her lap, lips wrapped around the joint she rolled with those nimble, long fingers of hers that you love so much. love to have them in your mouth. deep in your cunt. wrapped around your throat. you donât care where they are, or where they rest, as long as theyâre on you, youâre happy. her pinewood body wash always fills your nose with how close she is with you. soft strands of hair that were loose from her braid always tickling the side of your face. free hand gripping your thigh, squeezing the flesh tightly with each inhale you take from the sparked joint. âsâgood?â her raspy voice rings out in your ear, breath fanning your skin hotly.Â
âsâgoodâ you hummed in agreement with a giggle, sinking back into her body. hard chest against your back comfortably. âfunnyâÂ
âyou feel funny?â abby laughed, tightening her grip around your waist.Â
âmhm. a good funnyâÂ
âbaby,â the blonde chuckled in your ear, shifting around in her seat and pressing her lips to your exposed shoulder. âyouâre high.âÂ
âhow high?âÂ
âvery highâÂ
with a final shrug, you curled yourself up more on her lap, buried your neck in the crook of her neck, and exhaled a deep sigh. âsâokay. i know youâll take care of meâ
âalways, pretty girlâ
yo, save me from private school (dl) lesbians omg
beast!abby and gaston!sevika, oh I'm nauseous.
I've been so inactive oh my gosh should I update my intro
Never Yours, Always Hers - A.A
Toxic! Abby x fem reader
â ď¸ Warnings: substance Abuse, emotional, psychological, (no physical!) Public humiliation (r!), sexual content!, Grief and trauma, harassment (r!), Manipulation, Wealth & Privilege, Obsession. Just overall darker themes! 10.3k words
âď¸ Authors note: Low-key exposing myself with my guilty pleasure of toxic! abby, But I write plenty others if this isnât your cup of tea! otherwise enjoy!
⤡ Pt 1/2 - MDNI! - Mlist
Part 2 will be tagged here!
Sweet Abbigail,
A smile of white, her parents adored. Large family portraits of the cutest little girl in the middle, freckles dotting her nose, a Burberry cardigan always a bit too big for her. Abbigail was a mommyâs girl through and through. Her mother, picture-perfect in her small doe eyes, was the epitome of grace. Abby always strived to be just like her. soft, sweet, and always under control. But behind the rose-colored glasses, cracks began to show faster than sheâd ever expected.Â
âď¸ The first time she saw it, she wasnât quite sure why her mother would always take so long to make her fatherâs tea in the mornings. Sheâd wait her turn at the large dark oak dining table, her small hands clasped together as she watched cartoons, polished silverware reflecting a little girl desperate to have breakfast with her mommy like every other morning. But there was a stillness to the house that morning; Abbigail didnât understand it at first, not until she noticed the way her motherâs eyes would linger a little too long on the kettle before sheâd pour the tea. The silence was only being filled with the sound of a spoon clinking the sides of the mug. Sweet Abbigail learned to stop asking questions before they even formed in her wondering mind.Â
âď¸ Her nights were no better. Sheâd toss and turn in her bed, the muffled screams and quiet chatter from her parentsâ bedroom echoing down the large hallway. angry whispers and harsh tones seeping through the walls. It was an ugly rhythm, one she eventually learned to ignore.
âď¸ Growing up, her Elementary school was no better either. The principal stood in front of her, holding up a cut braid. The girl, some brat named Jessica Baldwin, just had to make fun of Abbyâs artwork in class. Questioning her choice of colored glitter.Â
âIâm just kidding, itâs a joke.â Jessica giggled, turning back to her project. Purple crayon in hand.Â
Yeah, She didnât find any of it funny. Watching Jessicaâs dark braid taunt her as she faced forward. Her blue irises darted to the supposed âkid-safeâ scissors in her small fingers. That day, in a blur, Abby had absolutely pulled Jessicaâs hair, snipping off her braid with said scissors as the class erupted in chaos. Her small hand covered her mouth to hide a small laugh threatening to add to the noise.
âI didnât do it, Daddy. I swear!â Later that day after two phone calls. Abby begged, her voice trembling as she stood at the principalâs desk.
Her parents barely believed her, but they didnât exactly punish her, either. They just⌠didnât get it. They never did. Her fatherâs brow furrowed in disbelief, while her motherâs eyes seemed too tired to even care.
âď¸ The name that had once been laced with sugar felt like a slap in the face. She hated it. She hated how her father would say it with that soft, adoring tone, as if nothing was wrong. Abbigail, heâd coo, always with that gleam of love in his eyes. But that love felt empty now. So, now in her high school years she had zero tolerance for it.
âJesus⌠do you need me to spell it? Itâs A-B-B-Yâ she snapped, her voice sharp, filled with a venom she didnât even know she had. âStop fucking calling me that.â
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ Throughout high school, Abby dealt with a lot of internalized homophobia. She would scold herself whenever she felt flustered around pretty girls, her heartbeat pounding in her chest when close friend Nora would redo her hair during class.It only became more apparent after her first time with a guy. They made out for what felt like two seconds until he got way too eager, and let's just say she vowed to never let a man stick his penis anywhere near her again.
âď¸ She knew she wasn't the girliest. She played tennis, had short finger nails, and manspread when she sat. But even with that under her belt, she would dismiss her feelings toward girls as a phase. At least that's what her father called it when she brought home Alessia Forbes, senior year. They'd shared a kiss behind the bleachers in 10th grade, and it forced Abby to face the music. Opening the door to becoming more comfortable in her skin and how she dressed, Abby started to embrace what felt right. She wasn't a fan of makeup or dresses. pants were much more convenient.
âď¸ Alessia, unfortunately, much like most in Abby's life, didn't stick around long. Abby should've known, though. Alessia's eyes always wandered when other girls were around-especially when Ellie Williams was in proximity. At Eastside Preparatory, bullying, fighting, or even petty beefs were immediately reported. They had a reputation to uphold, matched only by the ridiculous tuition parents paid. Abby couldn't stand Ellie, though. She didn't intentionally steer her girlfriend away, but she needed someone to blame.
âď¸ Abby was always quick to anger, and when Ellie-someone who pushed all her buttonsâ called her out on her behavior, things went south quickly. The two got into a physical fight that was so violent Abby had to transfer schools to avoid it tarnishing her record.
âAbbigail, what the hell were you thinking?!â Her father asked, arms crossed.
âA fight? You think we spend all this money for you to act like a barbarian while youâre supposed to be learning?â her mother scoffed.
Abby didnât answer. She just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed over her chest like she could physically hold in all the things she wanted to say. Because what was the point? They wouldnât listen. They never did. She wanted to tell them that Ellie started it, that she had no choice but to defend herself. That it wasnât her fault she lost her temper. But she knew they wouldnât buy it. Not when theyâd already decided she was the problem. So she let them lecture her, nodding at the right times, staring at the floor when they threw around words like disappointment and irresponsible like they were facts written in stone. Flashes of that green-eyed bitch. causing her to dig her nails into her palms. By the time they were done, East Bench, Salt Lake, was already in the past. New York was an adjustment.
âď¸ Columbia was bigger, louder. People walked fast, like they had somewhere important to be, never sparing her more than a passing glance. It was a far cry from the bubble of private school back home, where reputations were currency and whispers traveled faster than wildfire. Abby liked that. She liked that no one knew who she was. That she wasnât Abbigail Anderson, the hothead who got kicked out of Eastside Prep. Here, she was just another student.
âď¸ Her father had pulled some strings to get her inâof course he hadâbut Abby actually wanted to prove she deserved to be here. She kept her head down, went to class, and lifted at the gym in the evenings. It kept her from thinking too much. From remembering how things ended back home. She told herself this was good. That it was a fresh start. How much of her life she abandoned like it was nothing. It didnât matter now.
âď¸ A new group of friends, her gold-plated Cabernet on her belt loop every morning, and hair breezing behind her. It was enough. Until it wasn't. Pushing herself into her studies and sports to keep her parents happy. She wasnât sure if she was, though.
And that only deepened with the loss of her mother. But itâs what led her to you.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ Growing up, money was never a concern. Your parents liked to call it being âcomfortable,â but in reality, your lifestyle was far beyond that. Their status placed them among the elite, working closely with others in their sphereâthe world of wealth, class, and the quiet sin of greed.
âď¸ Your father, a renowned real estate developer, owned Wilson & Co. Properties, a firm responsible for some of the most extravagant hotels and high-rises in the country. Your mother, a former corporate lawyer turned philanthropist, ran the Wilson Foundation, a charity often praised for its generous donations yet quietly criticized for its selective philanthropy. So naturally, you found yourself with a golden spoon resting on your tongue.
âď¸ And then there was Jerry Anderson, a man youâd seen in the circle your father had. CEO of Anderson Biomedical, a medical research company specializing in âcutting-edgeâ treatments for neurodegenerative diseases. He was as respected, a man who knew how to turn science into profit. The only thing he couldnât save or hook up to more machines to buy time? His wife.Â
âSarah Anderson dead at 42â
âAnderson Biomedical CEO Faces Scrutiny After Wifeâs Shocking Deathâ
âGone Too Soon: Socialite Sarah Andersonâs Mysterious Passing Sparks Questionsâ
It was everywhere. Sarah, She was beautiful; every photograph youâd seen looked almost airbrushed. Probably due to all the Botox, but she was striking regardless. Little did you know sheâd passed those beautiful features to a young woman whoâd flip your world upside down. A recantation of her flesh. blue eyes that reminded you of the waters of Navagio during your holiday in Greece. Golden brown-blonde strands that seemed to always fall in place. Pink lips that always sat in a small pout. A jawline that youâd probably cut yourself on if you ever got the chance to run your fingers along it. That work of art was His daughter, Abigail fucking Anderson; The first girl your parents approved of, And the worst breakup of your life.
âď¸ You first spotted her in your all-black long-sleeve dress and roses in hand, head hung in respect. Her motherâs funeral. You felt out of place as youâd only met Jerry a few times at galas, but your family went. Everyone did.?It was sickening how many news outlets sat outside, pushing microphones in their faces. They were trying to grieve for God's sake. But conspiracies about their family always ran high. But the rumors had already spread like wildfire. The whispers in the halls, the hushed voices behind gloved hands. Sarah tried to poison him, you know. Slowly. Over months. Some said Jerry caught her before it was too late. Others claimed he staged the whole thing to cover up his own sins. Money laundering, apparently. It was a ridiculous theoryâone you brushed off as gossip from people with too much time and too little to lose. But the one that made you pause? Abbyâs last girlfriend left traumatized. You didnât know the details, only that she left town suddenly and never looked back. No one could agree on what happened. Some swore she was just a jealous ex who wanted revenge. Others claimed she was scared. But Abby? She never spoke about it. Never gave the rumors life. You told yourself none of it mattered. Because when you saw her standing there, shoulders tense, trying to keep herself together under the weight of a hundred scrutinizing eyes, you didnât see a monster. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. It was ridiculous, you felt. Empathy, something your mother said you held âtoo muchâ of. And itâs exactly what led you to next to her, the eulogy ringing out into the large room.
A droplet streamed down the freckled cheeks next to you.
You felt guilty for being so focused on how her brown eyelashes stuck together as they dampened with tears. the whites of her eyes pink. Her jaw tightened, an obvious strain in her body. The way her black dress shirt clung to her toned arms. The small bump on the bridge on her nose. Beautiful. The spitting image of her mother. Sandwiched between your families, Her knee pressing against yours. Yup, Your heart rate was definitely faster than usual. WhenâYour hand seemed to move on its own.
Her blue eyes flicked over the girl sitting next to her. Her first glimpse of you, a small sympathetic smile on your lips. Arm offering her a Kleenex to dry her face. You tried not to furrow your brows when she just âŚstared at you. You arenât sure what possessed you to do it, but your fingers moved. Gently soaking her tears of salt into the tissue. Patting along her sharp features. A small thank you left her lips before she turned back to the next family member speaking. Later that day. You found her sitting on a bench. Fidgeting with the ends of her hair.
âYou look just like her. She was beautiful,â you said, offering Abby another tissue. She didnât take it. Instead, she exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into your hand.
âShe wouldâve liked you,â she murmured, voice thick with grief. You stilled, taken aback, a small flush creeping up your neck. You werenât sure what to say, so you just patted her face dry once more, letting the moment settle between you. One of many interactions to come.
âď¸ You and Abby felt like two magnets, always drawn back together no matter how much space was between you. At gatherings, in crowded rooms filled with bodies, your eyes would meet and every time, she made sure you felt like the only person in the world.
âď¸ She charmed you completely. Abby had a way of making you feel seen, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer just to admire what was underneath. Every compliment was so specific, so deeply personal, it felt like she had memorized you. She gave you gifts you mentioned in passing, sent good morning texts before you even had a chance to wake up, and called you just to hear your voice. âYou make me feel normal,â she admitted one night, after sneaking you away from a party into the cool night air. and you clung to it, to her. not realizing how much weight she placed on you. You barely noticed the way she inserted herself into your worldâhow effortlessly she made you friends with Manny, how she reconnected with Nora and brought Jordan, Leah, and the rest of their circle into your orbit. These were the children of wealth and influence, kids who knew their parents would clean up any mess they made. Late nights blurred into early mornings spent in dimly lit bars, luxury penthouses, and hidden corners of clubs where their last names meant everything.
One night, Abby pulled you away from it all. Away from the noise, away from the people. She kissed you hard against the wall of her apartment, hands roaming like she was trying to memorize you-mapping every inch the way she did with her words. She was intense but careful, treating you like something fragile yet untouchable all at once. It was the first time in a long time that something in her life felt real. And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
âAbsâŚâ you breathed out. Her body engulfing was heavy like a weighted blanket. The feeling of her hands roaming your body, pure worship. Your head beyond spinning.
But Abby only pulled you closer, like she couldn't stand even a sliver of space between you. Her tongue slid into your mouth, desperate, like she was staking her claim. Fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, twistingâ holding you there like she was afraid you'd disappear if she let go. It was heated, consuming. You'd never been tangled up like this before. And you never wanted it to end.
The gifts, the attention, her touch in all the right places. Abby made you feel like the center of the universe. And you needed it. She broke the kiss, panting, eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. She looked at you like you were something holy, something made just for her. Her hands roamed your back, fingertips tracing patterns, memorizing, claiming.
"Fuck, I need you so bad," she breathed, voice thick, raw. "Now. Like right now."
And later, as she lay beside you, her arm wrapped around your waist like she could keep you tethered to her, she thought back to the past. To the girls who expected her to take the lead, to do all the work, to prove herself in a way that always left her feeling hollow. But this? This was different. You wanted her, you gave as much as you took, and it made something inside her tighten, coil, and refuse to let go.
Not now. Not ever
âď¸ Abby had her ways of getting what she wanted. It was never outright. never something you could point to and call unfair. Just little things. Offhanded comments that made you second-guess yourself. âYou still hang out with her?â sheâd say, half-laughing, half-serious. âI swear she has a crush on you.â Or, when you mentioned grabbing lunch with a friend she didnât particularly like; âMust be nice to have all this free time,â Abby mused, flipping through her phone. âWish I didnât miss you so much when youâre gone.â It was always playful, never an argument. But over time, you found yourself hesitating before making plans. Weighing whether the fun was worth the look Abby would give you later. The passive sighs. The casual, âOh, you were with her?â that left you feeling ridiculous for even trying to defend yourself. Then there were the things she didnât even have to say.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
Like the way she leaned into you one night, cheek pressed against your shoulder as you scrolled through your camera roll. You loved moments like these. You just had no idea the chaos it would later awaken.
âWhoâs that?â she asked, voice laced with casual curiosity.
âHm? Her? Thatâs Dina, I met her through a friend.â You paused your scrolling, finger hovering over the screen.
âWaitâwait, go back. That picture.â
âThis one?â You swiped back to a group photoâjust you, Dina, and her girlfriend, who had tagged along that day.
âPfft. Ellie. Offf course,â she scoffed.
âYou know her girlfriend?â you asked, glancing at Abby.
âOur fists do,â she muttered. âSheâs the reason I had to leave East Bench.â
âOh.â You blinked, unsure what to make of that. You were years behind that, you felt.
âJust⌠be careful around her,â she added. âGirlfriendâs a bitch. She might be too.â She teased, bumping your arm.
âHey! Sheâs nice. And you need to let that go. Grudge-holding ass,â you laughed, shoving her shoulder.
âHey yourself, I have my reasons!â she chuckled, shoving you back.
âď¸ Dina was fun, always finding the best overpriced boutiques with hidden gems. The kind of girl who always had a spare hair tie when needed. It was a shame she started canceling on you more often. Eventually, she even unfollowed you on social media. You wanted to reach out. had you said something wrong? Forgotten a birthday? But she was just a new friend. Youâd make more. At least, thatâs what your doting girlfriend told you when you came to her upset about it.
âGo ahead. Say you told me so,â you sighed after explaining what happened.
âWhat? No.â Abby tilted her head, her expression unreadable, like she⌠already knew. She patted your shoulder, then looked up at you with a bitten back laugh.
âI told you so.â
âAbby!â you groaned, rolling your eyes. You two spent the rest of the day joking about it but it still hurt. Lingering subconsciously.
âď¸ What you didnât know was that Abby had already decided you didnât need Dina. You certainly didnât need Ellie, either. Maybe she found Dinaâs number while you were sleeping, sent a few texts telling her to stay away. Maybe she didnât. It didnât matter. All that mattered was you leaning back into her, letting her hold you, telling her how much you appreciated her. How much you loved her.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ God, she loved hearing you say it. The way you said it with no hesitation, holding eye contact, voice sending jolts through her body. It also didnât matter the time of day or what you were doing. she needed to hear it. Yes, even when she was knuckles deep, listening to you whine and moan.
âTell me you love me, baby,â she murmured, lips brushing your ear.
âLet me hear you.â
And when you did, breathless, pleading, her grip tightened.
âLouder, babyâuh huh, yeah, you fucking do.â
But how could you pick up on small things like that when your eyes were busy rolling to the back of your skull. This was love, passion, protection. she made sure it was drilled into your head.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
â¨âNo, baby. Not that one,â Abby said, shaking her head as she nodded toward your closet.
This was the third outfit sheâd vetoed. You loved your sweet girlfriendâyou really didâbut moments like this made you want to strangle her. It had become a small pattern, one you were only now starting to pick up on. The way sheâd tug down the hem of your skirt, make you do a slow spin before you left together, double-checking that you were covered in all the places she swore were only for her eyes to see. Your lower back. Too much cleavage. A glimpse of midriff. None of that.
And when she wasnât subtly adjusting your outfits, she was replacing them altogether. Giftsâso many gifts. Gorgeous, expensive pieces that were impossible to turn down. Each one came with a sweet little note, the kind that made you feel silly for even questioning it. âSaw this and thought of you, pretty girl.â Or âCanât wait to see you in this, baby.â
âď¸ Yes, the skirts were longer. The shirtsâsilky, high-necked, modestâwere all designer. Chanel, Burberry, Prada. And when winter came, she surprised you with the exact brown and black fur coat youâd shown her on Pinterest months ago. The excitement had nearly erased the lingering thought in the back of your mind. You began to think, maybe it wasnât about keeping you warm. It was about keeping you covered. Pushing that aside, youâd buy her pretty things in return, but you noticed she preferred more intimate gifts. Like the stocking you made her on your first Christmas together, the one where you said âI love youâ for the first time. Or the scrapbook you created, filled with candid photos of the two of you through the seasons. watching the backgrounds change from snow to rain to red leaves and to blooming flowers.
âď¸ She kept all of them. I mean, all of them. Even the tissue you patted her face with after her motherâs funeral. Yes, she kept that too. You didnât know until one day, while you were cleaning up for her. something you rarely did since she was a bit of a neat freak. You saw the napkin, obviously used. Before you could throw it out, she took it from you. You blinked, unsure, but assumed she was going to dispose of it herself. Little did you know, you had made a much bigger mark on her than you realized. That day, she was staring at you, as if she were seeing her future. Did she ask you about any of her plans? No, of course not. She figured youâd be happy as long as you had her. Thoughts like that felt obscene in her mind. What she did ask, though, was:
âď¸ âYouâre happy, right?â She whispered, tilting your face to hers, always satisfied with whatever answer you gave.
âď¸ âOh, you rememberedâŚ?â Sheâd smile when you recalled even the smallest details of your time together.
âď¸ âYou still love me, right? Even if we donât always talk about it?â Yes, yes, and yes. No wasn't a word you had the heart to say to her. To your Abby? Your sweet partner, it was always yes. Even if you didnât want to say it. It was never no. So today when she asked you to get dressed to go out with your circle of friends for a night on the water. You did exactly that.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âSeriously, Abs? Do you even want me to go? You keep saying no to myââ
âThat one is good.â Abby cut you off mid-sentence, her eyes flicking up and down your outfit, finally approving. Youâd been playing dress-up for what felt like an hour, but it was never enough. Youâd given in, slipping into something a bit more modest than you wanted, yet you couldnât fight her.
âIâm convinced you want a nun for a girlfriend.â You sighed.
She stepped up behind you, hands firm on your hips as she leaned in, her chin rested your shoulder. Her voice was low. âNot a nun. Just Donât want anyone else looking at you like that.â Her grip tightened slightly. She exhaled, her breath warm against your skin. âJust want you for me, thatâs all.â
You felt too covered up for a late-night boat ride with friends, though. But you pick and choose your battles, right? If she was happy, youâre happy. You ended up tying the shirt to a crop when she wasn't looking. You loved your body; you were allowed to show it off occasionally.
Hand in hand, you drove to the port in Abbyâs Jeep. The ride was quiet, too quiet. The engine hummed beneath the silence, and you kept your gaze fixed on the city lights outside, knowing it was easier than looking at her.
The glow from the dashboard reflected off her jawline, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips when you reached for her hand.
âDamn, what took you two so long?â A voice called out from the dock as you stepped onto the weathered wood. A man waved, his playful grin highlighted by the glow of the dock lights. Jordan, his thick black eyebrows furrowed, watched as you and Abby approached the small group.
You wanted to joke about Abby making you change a hundred times, but you knew better. That would only earn you a sharp look and a night of passive-aggressive silence. So instead, you just blamed it on traffic and stepped onto the Boston Whaler 285 Conquest, once owned by Abbyâs grandfather, now repurposed for nights like these. Luxury, fun, and just enough recklessness to remind you all that nothing bad could ever really happen to people like you.
âHell yeah, I brought the booze!â Leahâs voice rang out from the helm.
âSomeone started early,â you teased, watching her twirlâbottles of something dark in each hand, her laughter cutting through the night.
âď¸ They had originally been Abbyâs friends, but now they felt like your own. If Abby didnât approve of someone, that meant they werenât worth keeping around anyway. So this group of seven was plenty. Loud, wild, indulgent, always pushing the edge just enough to keep things interesting.
âď¸ First-world problems, boring galas, the bullshit drama of people youâd never really have to deal withâit was all fair game for ranting and laughing about, the alcohol keeping everything light and meaningless. Conversations blurred into one another, champagne bubbles mixing with cigarette smoke, the sharp tang of expensive whiskey clinging to every word.Someone was always telling a ridiculous story, exaggerating details just enough to make it funnier. Someone else was always half-draped over another, limbs tangled, faces flushed, a careless kind of closeness that came with privilege and too many drinks. The air smelled like salt water and perfume, luxury cologne, and the lingering haze of a freshly lit joint.
Abby smirked as you clung onto her, sinking into the plush cushions beside her. The boat glided over dark waters, the surface rippling like liquid ink, only touched by scattered moonlight. The engineâs steady hum mixed with laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional squeal from someone almost losing their balance.
Across from you, Leah stood at the bow, gripping something long and thin.
âIs⌠that a fishing rod?â Abby called out, raising an eyebrow.
âFishing? Dude, itâs pitch black!â Jordan laughed, shaking his head.
âWhat? I saw it, so I picked it up. No late-night snack?â Leah grinned, holding it up like she was about to reel in something huge.
âHa ha,â Jordan scoffed. âCâmon, babe, sit down before you fall.â
âYeah, Leah, seriously,â you added, casting a glance around. Everyone had collectively coated their stomachs with alcohol at this point. The boat swayed gently, but in your mind, everything still felt steady. Safe.
âFucking party poopers,â she whined, stumbling as she made her way back.
The music pulsed through the speakers, vibrating under your fingertips as you traced circles over Abbyâs knee. Someone passed you a drink, ice clinking against glass. The wind was salty and cool against your skin, and for a moment, everything felt weightlessâjust another night, just another story to laugh about in the morning.
Then before you could ground yourself, A deafening crackâwood splintering, metal twisting, the sickening crunch of fiberglass giving way as the world lurched violently forward. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs before you even hit the surface.
Bodies slammed against seats, railings, and the deck. Someone cried outâa sharp, guttural sound swallowed by the pure chaos. The boat groaned in protest, the hull splitting open as water rushed in, swallowing everything in its path. The night, once filled with laughter and careless drunken chatter, twisted into something unrecognizable. Screams pierced the air, panic rising like a tidal wave.
Then came the water.
A crushing, merciless cold that seized your body, shocking the breath from your lungs. It pulled you under, the weight of the crash dragging debris and bodies into the abyss.
Your vision blurredâdark water, fractured moonlight, hands reaching, grasping, then slipping away. And then, Leah was gone. But that wasnât the name being screamed. It was yours. A shaky voice, frantic and desperateâAbbyâs. Calling for you over and over.
The cool of damp grass pressed against your cheek, your vision swimming as you groaned and clutched your arm. A deep gash ran along the length of it, a sheen of red seeping through torn fabric, dark and wet against your soft skin. Tears blurred your visionâshock, pain, it was so fast. Overwhelmed. You gasped, struggling to sit up. Every muscle in your body ached, but you forced yourself to take in your surroundings. The front of the boat was completely smashed in, glass and debris scattered across the shoreline. The others were stumbling to their feet, coughing, calling out to each other in shaky voices.
ââŚIâm here,â you called out. âAbs... Iâm right here.â
Abby all but collapsed beside you, grabbing your face with trembling hands, her wide eyes scanning you for injuries. You barely had time to process before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your hair, the scent of her shampoo thick in your nose. The others were shouting now.
âWhereâs Leah?â
âLeah!â Jordanâs voice cracked as he stumbled forward, scanning the dark water. âLeah, where the fuck are you?â
Panic settled over the group like a thick fog, replacing the drunken laughter of earlier with frantic movement. Flashlights from scattered phones cut across the water. Someone ran toward the wreckage, their footsteps crunching over broken glass and debris.
âShe was right hereââ
âDid she fall?â
âFuck, fuckâshe was just standing hereââ
The shouts became more urgent, the terror in Jordanâs voice making your head spin even more. But AbbyâAbby wasnât looking at the water. She wasnât calling for Leah.
She was looking at you.
Hands gripping your waist, scanning your face, as if making sure you were still there.
âYouâre hurt,â she whispered, ignoring the chaos, her fingers brushing the blood on your arm. Her expression was unreadableâshock, concern, something else beneath it all. âWe need to get you out of here.â
âAbbyââ you wanted to bud in but She was already moving, hands fumbling for her phone, fingers trembling as she dialed. You could barely hear her over the panic, but the moment the call connected, her voice was sharp and urgent.
âDadââ her breath hitched, her grip on you tightening.Â
You barely registered the clipped response on the other end before she pulled the phone away, her face paler than youâd ever seen it. It was always the same with Abby. The moment things spiraled, the second the world tipped out of her control, her first instinct was to call her father.
âď¸ It didnât matter what it was. A failed exam in school? Jerry. A bad breakup? Jerry. Someone disrespected her at some pretentious gala? Jerry. Even when she swore she could handle things on her own, her fingers always twitched toward her phone, her fatherâs number burned into her muscle memory. Maybe it was because she never really had to deal with the consequences of her own mistakes. Not when Jerry was always there to smooth things over, to fix what needed fixing, to make things disappear. It was almost like magic, the way he workedâwhispers in the right ears, money exchanged behind closed doors, a well-timed favor cashed in. And now, even with something as devastating as this, Abby wasnât thinking about what theyâd done, what it meant. She wasnât thinking about Leah. About the cold, dark water swallowing her whole. She was thinking about Jerry. About how he would clean this up, the way he always did. And maybe the worst part was that she was right.
Minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness. Jerry was already on the phone when he stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable, his voice a low murmur as he barked orders to someone on the other end. The moment he hung up, his sharp gaze flicked over the wreckage and the group of panicked, bloodied young adults before settling on Abby. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, her grip on you unrelenting.
Jordan wheeled around, panic-stricken. âWhat? No, we have to find Leahââ
Jerry barely spared him a glance. His tone was clipped, final. He turned to Abby. âWe need to leave. Now.â
âAre you fucking serious?â Someone snapped. âWe have to do something!â
But Jerry was already moving, grabbing Abbyâs wrist, looking at you expectantly. âThis isnât something you want to be involved in,â he murmured. âTrust me.â The air felt thick, suffocating. Jordan was still screaming Leahâs name. Someone was sobbing. And Abbyâshe wasnât arguing. She squeezed your waist, voice soft but urgent. âWe have to go.â Your heart pounded as you looked between her, Jerry, and the chaos behind you. It didnât feel real. None of it did. And then, as if deciding for you, Jerry pulled Abby away, guiding her toward the car. You hesitatedâjust for a momentâbefore Abbyâs grip tightened on your wrist.
âCome on, baby. Please.â
And against every instinct screaming at you to stay, you followed her. You closed the door behind you. Letting your head fall against the leather seat.Â
The car ride was filled with Jerryâs own interrogation.
Youâd never been a witness to the Anderson back-and-forth before. But tonight, sitting in the backseat, still processing the nightâs events, you had front-row seats. Jerryâs knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his voice sharp, slicing through the tense air. âYou tell me what the hell happened.â
Abby was hunched forward in the passenger seat, still damp, her blonde hair clinging to her skin. She wiped a hand down her face, her breath unsteady. âIt was an accident,â she muttered.
âAn accident?â Jerry repeated, voice thick with disbelief. âJesus Christ, Abigail. Do you understand whatâs at stake here?â
Abbyâs jaw clenched. âWhat was I supposed to do? Just let them call the cops? Let them search the boat?â
Jerry exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was holding back from snapping completely. His voice lowered, even more dangerous now. âAnd what exactly would they have found?â
Silence. Abby didnât answer. Not right away. Her fingers tapped against her knee, a nervous tic youâd noticed before. You could almost hear the gears turning in her head, weighing what to say, how much to admit.
Finally, she swallowed. âI handled it.â
Jerry let out a humorless laugh. âNo, you called me. And now I have to handle it.â
From the backseat, you sat frozen, hands gripping your lap, your own pulse hammering in your ears. Abby hadnât even looked at you since you got in the car. Hadnât reached for your hand, hadnât asked if you were okay. All her energy, all her focus, was on damage control. And maybe that was the difference between the two of you. Maybe this shouldâve been your warning sign. You were still thinking about Leah. Abby was thinking about herself.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âTonight: Leah Crossâ DeathâInside the Boat Crash That Killed NYC Teenâ
âLeah Crossâ Family Settles for $15M Over Boat Crashâ
âJerry Anderson Ceââ
The TV screen flickered, then went black.
You turned your head just in time to see Abby hovering behind you, the remote still in her hand. The news channel was gone. Erased. Leah hadnât just disappeared that night. Sheâd been thrown into the current. Her autopsy said she most likely died on impact, but you couldnât shake the memory of her on the boat, twirling on the helm, throwing her hands up and yelling, âThis is my shit!â to every song that played. The image wouldnât leave. It haunted you. Your parents couldnât get ahold of you that nightâyour phone had been tossed into the summer waters. But Jerry reassured them you were fine. He didnât mention the 12 stitches in your arm. He definitely didnât mention the alcohol, the panic, the way everyone had been too wasted to process what happened. Just fine.
That night never left you.
Maybe it was shock. Maybe fear. But you never asked Abby about the conversation in the car. Your sweet Abby had just been protecting you. Thatâs what she always said. You both had reputations, things on the line. Thatâs what she repeated every time you even looked like you were thinking about it. Jerry had shoved money down the Cross familyâs throat. And they took every penny. You knew silence had a price. But family?
Abby hated when you brought it up. She made sure your arm was fixed up, kissed over every bruise. Whispered reassurances against your skin. And yet, here you were. Rolled onto your side, away from her Night was always the worst. Too much room for your thoughts to catch up to you. Too much room for questions.
âAbsâŚ?â you murmured, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling.
âYeah?â Her voice was hesitant, guarded. Like she already knew where this was going.
You swallowed. âDo⌠do you think about that night? Leah, sheââ
Abby exhaled sharply, already shaking her head. âWhy are you bringing this up again?â she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. âWeâve been over this.â
âAbby, we didnât even stay that nightââ
âThat was the right call,â she cut in, sitting up against the headboard. âWe werenât gonna stick around for the cops to start pointing fingers. What would that have done? Made you feel better?â
You swallowed hard, something bitter catching in your throat. âYou arenât even listening to me!â You pushed yourself up in bed, turning to face her fully. âYou just keep shutting me down like Iâm supposed to forget about it.â
Abbyâs jaw clenched. âAnd what exactly do you want me to say?â she shot back. âThat I think about it every night? That I see her face every time I close my fucking eyes? Because I donât. I canât. You shouldnât either.â
âď¸ The words hit like a gut punch. Cold. Dismissive. Final. Just like every other time you tried to talk about it. Like your griefâyour guiltâwas an inconvenience. You stared at her for a long moment, something in your chest curling tight, twisting into something ugly and unfamiliar. Abby wasnât going to hear you. She never did.
âď¸ And maybe⌠she never would. That was the moment you felt it. That stiffness inside you. The thing that slowly, quietly, began to push you away from her. She apologized later. Reassured you she was protecting you. But it didnât feel like it. Her tone, the way she dismissed Leah, someone she claimed to love. it didnât sit right. That night, you laid there, stiff in her arms as she curled around you, locking you in place. But it didnât feel like her. The sheets felt cold. Her warmth wasnât comforting anymore. The arguments only escalated. Until one day, you couldnât take it anymore. You walked out her front door and didnât look back. It hurt. Stung worse than anything else. But you had to grieve properly. Refocus on school. Reconnect with your family. Make your own friends. Find mental clarity. Space from Abby. The not-so-sweet Abby you once knew. But you were her lifeline. And when four days passed without a word from you, Abbyâs fingers itched to have you back in her proximity. She texted once.
6:10PM Abby: Hey. You good?
Again.
6:40PM Abby: I know youâre mad, but can you just text me back? Please?
Again.
7:26PM Abby: Are you really ignoring me right now? Câmon, babe. Talk to me.
7:28PM You: Need space rn abs.
Then came the desperate text.
7:29PM Abby: Space Tf? Seriously?
7:29PM Abby: You canât just disappear on me. You know that, right?
7:30PM Abby: Iâve done everything for you. Iâve kept you safe. And now youâre shutting me out?
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
The messages kept coming. The words more frantic. More clipped. As if she couldnât stand the thought of you being anywhere but within reach. She needed you. You couldnât just disappear. Not after everything sheâd done for you. This wasnât how it worked. You never told her no.
And that wasnât going to start now.
âď¸ Abandonment. It was the one thing Abby couldnât stomach. Her mother was gone. Her father was present in name only. And now, you werenât answering your fucking phone. She gritted her teeth, staring at the ceiling as her phone lay discarded beside her, the last unanswered text staring back at her like a slap in the face. She knew Leahâs death had shaken you. Sheâd seen it in the way you flinched at the sound of water slapping against the docks, how your fingers traced the scar on your arm absentmindedly when you thought no one was looking. And she got itâreally, she did.
âď¸ But what she didnât understand was why you were acting like this. Like she was the one to blame. Sheâd explained it to you a million times. She wasnât trying to be cold. She just didnât want you getting in trouble, ruining your life over something you couldnât change. Did you think your parents would still approve of her if they knew everything? If youâd stuck around that night and let the police twist the truth? She had protected you, the way she always would, and now you were punishing her for it.
It wasnât fair, this wasnât fair. She was in love with you. All of you. That meant it was her job to protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure no oneâno thingâcould ever come between you. Because you werenât just her girlfriend. You were hers. So fine. Sheâd let you have your space, your stupid fucking distance. Youâd answer eventually.
You always did. Except you didnât. And despite how much you hated the hollow, gnawing ache in your chest, you didnât let yourself pick up the phone. At first, it was easy. Ignoring her texts, pretending you didnât hear your phone buzzing at night. You told yourself it was necessary. That it would get better.
âď¸ But then came the flowers. The notes slipped under your door. The gifts left where youâd find them, small and expensive. Diamond jewelry â âI hate seeing you upset, baby. Let me make it up to you.â reminders that she was still there. That she wasnât going to let you go so easily. And the worst part? A small, broken part of you didnât want her to. But you had to, right? Because if you didnât, Abby never would
âď¸ So, you started pulling away. Slowly, at first. Ignoring texts a little longer. Making excuses when she called. Telling yourself that if you could just create enough distance, sheâd get the hint. She didnât. Instead, she adjusted. Became more careful. Gave you space but never let you forget she was waiting. That she was patient. That youâd come back.
And your parents? They only made it worse.One night, as you walked into the dining room, your motherâs voice floated in from the kitchen. âHoney, these flowers are beautiful.â
Your father barely glanced up from his plate. âSheâs a good kid. Second chances are important.â
Your stomach twisted. You didnât have to ask where they came from. The same white roses Abby always sent, of course. You gripped the back of your chair. Bit your tongue. They didnât know the full truth. Maybe they knew about the boat crash, maybe they didnât, but even if they did, you werenât involved, so why would they care? Abby was still Jerryâs daughter. Still the golden girl in their eyes. And the comments kept coming. Little reminders, subtle nudges that told you exactly where they stood.
âYou never frowned this much when Jerryâs daughter was around,â your mom added, shaking her head. âYou two were always so happy together.â
âď¸ Were. Past tense. Like they thought this was just a phase. Like they were waiting for you to snap out of it and come to your senses. It wasnât like you wanted her to stay away. The notes on the gifts made your stomach churn with guilt. But then youâd remember the red flags being waved in your face, and youâd try to stand firm. try to hold your ground on this. And maybe that was why, when Abby invited you to dinner, you didnât fight it as hard as you should have. Your motherâs voice in the back of your head, the same tired excuse about your fatherâs business dealings and not ending things on bad terms. So you accepted. Maybe you thought one last dinner would make it easier. That sitting across from her, hearing her laugh, remembering all the good things, would make it clear if you needed to step away fully. And at first, it was sweet.
The restaurant was dimly lit, quiet. Abby had picked your favorite place, ordered your favorite before you even arrived. She looked good, tooâtoo good. Dark button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to tease the curve of her forearms. For a while, it felt normal. Comfortable. Maybe even right. Until it wasnât. Until the conversation drifted back to her. To you. To the space you had put between you.
Abby exhaled, swirling her drink in slow circles. âCan we just⌠stop pretending?â she asked, voice low. âI know you miss me.â
Your stomach knotted, but you kept your voice even. âAbbyââ
âYou preyed on me, you know that?â she cut in, leaning forward. âAt the funeral. When I was grieving.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âYou saw me at my lowest and took advantage of that. Made me think you actually cared.â She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. âAnd then, what? The second things got hard, you ran?â
You stared at her, heartbeat pounding in your ears. It was a trick. A test. Another way to shift the blame. to make you doubt yourself, make you stay. Preyed on her? The self-doubt hit fast and hard. You didnât intentionally worm your way in. You saw a girl who had just lost her mother. You offered an ear, a shoulder. She kissed you first, for Christâs sake. You didnât even know how to respond. But you did know this was only proving that you needed time away from her. From this person she was turning into.
The conversation escalated. Her voice sharper, her expression harder. The way she twisted her face in disapproval when you tried to defend yourself. Finally, you forced the words out.
âI think we should take a break.â Her jaw clenched. You expected a fight. For her to argue, to beg, to do something. Instead, she leaned back, nodded once, and signaled for the check. And for a while, you thought that was the end.
But then Abby stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped begging.
No gifts. No notes. Just⌠silence.
And somehow, that was worse. So much worse. It felt so wrong to not be near her.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ At first, the silence was a relief. But then the relief faded, leaving something else in its place. Something that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts late at night when you stared at your phone, knowing there would be nothing from her.
âď¸ It felt so , so wrong. Abby wasnât the type to give up so easily. She fought for what she wanted, always. And that was the part you werenât ready to admit: some small, irrational part of you wanted her to fight for this. For you. To prove something, even if you didnât know what. But she didnât.The silence stretched on. Days turned to weeks. And slowly, that unsettling feeling morphed into something heavier. The weight of your parentsâ expectations, the whispers about Jerryâs family, the things left unsaid between you and Abby. it all started to spiral. You told yourself it was for the best. That this was what you wanted. But then why did it feel like losing? Why did the silence feel heavier than the arguments? Why did it twist something deep in your chest, leaving you restless, unable to sleep, unable to think without wondering if you had made the right choice.
You werenât in the right headspace for this, not really. Not for concerts, not for crowds, not for meeting new people. But when Riley sent the invite, tickets already bought, practically begging you to get out of your own head, you said yes. Not because you wanted to, but because you didnât trust yourself alone with your thoughts.
The music was loud. The bass pulsed through the floor, through your body, drowning out everything else. Riley dragged you through the crowd, weaving past bodies until you were close enough to feel the heat of the stage lights. And then there was her. A tall brunette, leaning in too close, brushing her shoulder against yours. Laughing at something you barely registered.
âWhat?â You yelled back.
âI said youâre hot! Love the outfit!â she shouted over the music, leaning down to your ear, breath warm against your skin.
Jessica. She introduced herself at some point during the night, though you barely remembered when. Her body was close, her presence easy, effortless. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and didnât hesitate to take it. When her hands drifted lower under the guise of friendly, you didnât stop her. She was pretty. Willing. A distraction.
So you let her press against you from behind, her lips grazing the side of your neck. Let her hands roam, fingers mapping over you like she already knew where you needed them.
âď¸ You werenât easy. But girls need love too. And maybe, for one night, that was enough. Her touch wasnât like Abbyâs. it was different. More room to flip the script, softer, hesitant in ways you werenât used to. You had to guide her hands sometimes, shifting her touch when it wasnât quite right, tilting her chin when she kissed you. But you werenât sober, so you just leaned your head back against the leather of her passenger seat and tried to stay in the moment. Tried not to notice how it didnât feel like enough. You groaned in frustration when your orgasm took much longer than it ever did before. Even your vagina had a mind of its own. And it was wondering to the woman you desperately didnât want to think about.
Afterward, Jessica lit a cigarette, rolling the window down as she stretched her legs out. The orange glow of the ember flickered as she took a slow drag, exhaling into the night. You watched, silent, waiting for the feeling to settle in your chest. Some kind of satisfaction, some kind of relief. It never came.
Instead, she turned to you, smirking. âYou wanna hear something funny?â
You hummed in acknowledgment, still staring out the windshield. Praying she didnât notice that your moans were definitely a bit more exaggerated.
âWhen I was a kid, some girl cut off a chunk of my hair.â Jessica huffed.
That made you glance over. âWhat?â
Jessica laughed, tapping ash out the window. âYeah. Just, snip. Right in the middle of class.â She made a cutting motion with her fingers, grinning. âIt was long, too. My mom loved my hair. Always brushed it out for me, made a big deal about it. And then this girl, out of nowhere, justââ She mimicked the sound of scissors slicing through the air. âTeacher freaked. My mom cried. The whole thing was a mess.â
You frowned. âDamn. Whyâd she do it?â
Jessica shrugged, flicking her cigarette. âShe wouldnât say. Just sat there, holding the hair like it was hers now.â She laughed again, shaking her head. âI had to get it all cut short after that. Sucked.â
You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together. Something about the story sat oddly in your chest, but you couldnât put your finger on why. Maybe it was because you could picture it too clearly the quiet, unspoken possession behind a simple, irreversible act. Maybe it was because, in a different time, in a different place, you could have seen Abby doing the same thing. You pushed the thought away. That would a crazy assumption, right?
Jessica reached for your thigh again, fingertips brushing just above your knee. You let her. Not because you wanted to, but because you didnât have the energy to move away. The truth was, she wasnât Abby. She didnât kiss you like she meant it. She didnât make your breath hitch, didnât pull you under in a way that felt intoxicating.
And yet, despite everything, you still felt the pull. Going back to Abby would be a mistake. So why did it feel like you were already slipping?
You let Jessica be enough for the time being. Focused on your own life. Separate from Abby.
She turned out to be sweet. A little clingy, but not in a way that suffocated youâjust in a way that made it easier to let her fill the space Abby left behind. And even if the sex wasnât mind-blowing, it was good enough to make you forget, at least for a little while. You werenât sure if you were ready for another relationship anyway.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ Jessica was easy. Simple. No complications, no expectations. at least, thatâs what you told yourself. You let her be enough for the time being, focused on your own life, separate from Abby. It was nice, in a way. Being with someone who didnât come with sharp edges, who didnât push or pull too hard. Someone who let you lead. Even if the sex wasnât the same, even if you sometimes found yourself zoning out when she kissed you, even if her touch didnât spark anything close to what Abbyâs did. You made do.
âď¸ You tried. You really did. But there was something hanging over you that you couldnât shake. It lingered, always present, like a ghost at the edge of your mind. It hindered you from fully indulging with Jessica like you used to, made it harder to pretend she was all you wanted. And she wasnât stupid.
Jessica laughed, head thrown back as she wiped tears from her eyes. âWaitâyou dated that psycho?â
Your stomach twisted. âSheâs notââ
âOh my god, babe.â She shook her head, grinning. âShe definitely is. Didnât she break some girlâs ribs in highschool?â
âThatâs just a rumor.â Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.
Jessica snorted, slumping against the couch. âI mean, I get it, I guess. Sheâs hot, in a scary kind of way. But, babe, thatâsââ She stopped. Her smile faded just a little as she sat up, studying your face. ââŚWait.â She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. âIs that why youâve been off?â You stiffened. Of course she noticed.
âHer?â Jessica scoffed, shifting on the couch.
âNoâI donât knowââ
âYou donât know?â Her voice toned in disbelief. âIâm all over you, and youâre telling me youâve been thinking about another girl?â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Jessica exhaled sharply, shaking her head. âJesus Christ.â
âď¸ Guilt became your newfound friend. Because you couldnât deny it. You were thinking about her. And now you were defending her. Even after everything. Even after all the reasons you had to stay away. And that wasnât even the worst part of it all.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ Why? Because Abby could hardly contain the burning frustration bubbling in her chest as she tossed the racket aside. The sound of it hitting the ground was too quiet, a dull thud compared to the storm she felt rising in her. Why was this so fucking hard? For the fourth time in a row, the tennis ball hit the net and rolled off, mocking her with its perfect imperfection. She wiped a hand across her face, trying to shake the thought from her mind, but it lingered like a bad taste. You.
Her grip on the racket tightened again, knuckles white, the tension in her body palpable. Goddamn it, she cursed under her breath. A harsh exhale left her lungs as she turned away from the court, storming off without a second glance at Jerry, who called after her with that same disappointed tone.
âThe hell was that?â
She didnât answer. She couldnât. There was nothing to say. Not when her thoughts were consumed by you, by the space youâd put between the two of you. You were still out of reach, and the thought of you letting someone else slide in made her stomach twist in knots. The anger surged again, hot and sharp. Her visor felt suffocating now, like the pressure of it could crack her skull. It had been months, and you hadnât come back. Months. And what was worse? Youâd moved on. Blocking her was one thing, but seeing you move on? That was the thing that twisted the knife.
She slumped down on a bench nearby, the air heavy in her lungs, suffocating her as she dug through her phone. The screen glowed back at her, an endless stream of images and memories. She let out a breath she didnât realize she was holding, flipping through photos, each one a reminder of a time she thought she still had you. Your laughter, your warmth, your body beneath her hands.
A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she zoomed in on one picture. You, pressed against her, eyes sparkling. âLetâs see how long you can keep ignoring me,â she muttered, to herself. her finger tapping on the screen. She posted it without hesitation, not caring how it might make you feel. She just needed you to know. she wasnât done. Not by a long shot.
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âď¸ You had been getting looks all morning, but not like this. The stares felt differentâmore calculated, more curious. Something wasnât right, but you couldnât place your finger on it. You brushed it off, shoving the unease down as best as you could.
âď¸ Until you finally gotten home, phone buzzing in your hand, and opened Noraâs message. The second you saw the notification, your stomach dropped.
(Pic is not to represent the readers physical! Just for storyâs sake)ďżź
ââââŕ¨ŕ§ââââ
âPlease, tell me that is NOT my ass on the timeline right now,â you said, barely holding it together as the panic crept up your throat. Embarrassment flooded your veins.
On the other side, Nora stifled her awkward laughter, but you could hear the amusement in her voice. âThen I wonât say it.â
The tension snapped. You were dressed, yes, but that picture? It was never meant for the world. Not like this. Not for her followers.
ââŚItâs a good picture at least?â Nora ventured, trying to ease the tension, but you could hear her holding back a laugh.
You stared at the screen in disbelief as your phone nearly slipped from your hands. Comments started rolling in. Some teasing, others thirsty. Your stomach twisted tighter with every line. And then you saw itâat the top of the postâAbbyâs username, clear as day.
You didnât think. You just pressed call.
The phone rang twice before she picked up, and you didnât give her a chance to speak.
âAre you fucking serious, Abbigail?!â
Abbyâs voice was rough, thick with the frustration she couldnât hide. âWhat the fuck else was I supposed to do? Gifts? Ignored. Saying please? Ignored. Iâm blocked on basically everything!â
âI donât know, space! Like I asked?â
âItâs been months!â Your breath caught in your throat as the anger and hurt pressed against your chest, but Abbyâs voice dropped, and something softerâsomething hurtâslipped through. âItâs been months.â She repeated.
The words hit harder than you expected. You could hear the raw edge in her voice, the cracks forming in her tough exterior. âItâs like you hate me now,â she murmured, quieter, almost like she didnât want you to hear it. âAll of me. Us.â
And just like that, you felt your defenses crack.
god i love when abby anderson is on my screen
i miss the days when hozier was still active on twitter
For the bottom butches in your life who love femme tops


