My life has never been his to ruin; I have ruined it all on my own. Yet, it feels good to focus all the self-hatred and vitriol on a single scapegoat that isn't me. The shower’s hot water gives me some respite from the painful truths that are seeping up from the deep, dark hole in my gut. The darkness coursing through me had started to propagate when Trish called me. Everything was falling back into place without me even really noticing that the pieces were starting to shift. It was uncomfortable; memories writhing under my skin like maggots in a corpse. Amber and Noah, my beloved ptero husband, are outside in the kitchen getting ready to head off to school. Meanwhile, I had just woken up after sleeping in from my evening shift. I could hear them laugh, somehow having fun with breakfast; probably spelling words with the alphabet cereal as they usually did. Teaching her how to spell had been hard, she just seemed to not grasp words, books, or boring lectures - but interactive exercises? All of a sudden she was a shining star of learning. Just in the last few months, she’d made enormous progress. I’m reminded of my nude self as I gaze down. My body aches, and I hate looking at it. Noah keeps calling me beautiful, kissing and caressing every single part of me, yet I didn't share his enthusiasm for it. Years of abuse have taken their toll, I had been a wreck - a self-destructive mess tearing myself to pieces. Running from everything. But I am slowly learning to live with myself. There were scars of scraps, scars I had inflicted on myself, and scars I'd just woken up with after a night of partying. They all remind me of how much I hate myself, every single dirty look they attract makes me feel like I should never have been born. The tattoos had started to appear at around the same time as the first proper scarring, they began spreading out over my body like an infection - one self-deprecating ink stain at a time. The sting of the needle felt good, plus, the tattoos covered up the scars. At least the inkings draw mixed looks, with some people actually looking at me with some sort of amazement - at least before they notice everything else. The therapist keeps saying that such thoughts are a normal part of recovery, that when they fade and I find myself comfortable in my skin again I'd stop worrying - yet it’s been five years since he first promised that and I've since kept adding to my collection of permanent marks. I hate that the pruning never stopped for me; it’s always been there to give me control over the times of my life when I felt adrift in the grimy tides. Whenever I feel like I lack control, it calls to me. Every time I locked the bathroom door during a bad day, Noah came in using the key. He helps me regain focus on the now, to keep living, to keep myself from doing something stupid. I’m worried about the day when he’d become fed up with my shit. I don't know what I would do if he left and took Amber; then I'd not have anything left. Noah knocks on the door, interrupting my train of thought before he comes in and announces that he and Amber are going to head off to school. Peeking his head in past the shower curtain, I force a smile, as he looks at me with beaming eyes, before he spoils me with his love: "You look as beautiful as the day I met you." "Pffft, don't make me splash you, dweeb." "Wouldn't you dare, or I'll have you take her to school while I dry off. Kiss!" He leans in, giving me a deep kiss. I can feel my heart beat fast, my body growing warm and calm again, almost kicking into Jurassic mode and pulling him into the shower with me. He gives me a light slap on my ass, the sound echoing out over the small tiled bathroom, eliciting a yelp and some light blushing from me, before he says goodbye: "I'll see you tonight, babe. Get some good rest, I love you." "Mmm, I already miss you." Another deep kiss, then he leans out, excusing himself and heading out into the hallway to a waiting Amber who yells a goodbye as they head out: "Bye, mom! Love you!" "Love you too, sweetie! I'll come to pick you up later!" The shuffling of shoes and jackets, then the door shuts and locks. Fat, fat, fat, fat, and fat. I've grown pudgy since I let myself go, I hate it whenever I have to see it in the mirror. Stretchmarks and fat cursing me with even worse self-esteem. Amber's birth has worsened my disgusting looks, yet having her in my life made everything else brighter in comparison. I don't know what Noah sees in me; he keeps telling me why he loves me but the words roll off me just like the torrent of water rolling down my fleshy prison. If only my wings could bear me, I'd fly far away from here to a place where I wouldn’t be missed. But I had torn too many feathers from my wings and etched too many memories into my arms. I could barely walk on my own, let alone fly. Retard, misfit, fuckup, failure, and a worthless piece of shit. Alright, time to break my cyclical self-hatred; focus on something else. Get moving. I can't stay in here the entire day. Junkie, cutter, outsider, whore, and the one unwanted child. I’m about as clean as I can get, so I step out of the shower and grab a towel. I try to not think about myself as I dry off; it doesn't help. The anxiety and self-hatred still swirl within me. Late nights did something horrible to my mood, yet staying away from the worst business load of the day helped ease the stress on my mind. A few more hours of sleep would help reset my thoughts, so I wash my sertraline down with a swig of water and head off to bed - it would do me wonders. Noah helping me to help myself get into therapy and start medicating most likely saved me from dying in a ditch where no one would miss me. I really should take the pills when I wake up, but I want the effects now and I want the effect to still be there when I get out of bed - if I have to wake up to this I know that something terrible might happen. At least I know myself that well. There’s a process behind wrangling oneself; looking at my actions from an outside perspective helped me maintain stability. Helped me keep an eye on what’s real. Closing the curtains and heading for the bed, it welcomes me by wrapping its concealing blankets over me - sparing me from having to look at myself for longer than I need to. I know that masturbating would help me feel better, the flow of endorphins splashing some worries away, but I really didn't love myself that much right now. So I give in; all of a sudden I feel how tired I actually am as the darkness and soft mattress unstress me, then sleep comes rushing in. The sun rises and lowers, school bells ring, and the workers head back and forth from lunch breaks. My dreams take me to Trish's house, hanging out there as kids - before everything got complicated. Back when we could just play pretend in the sun; living without any worries or doubts. Her face is faded and I just see her silhouette running past. I want it back, I want to start over again, I want to be young and innocent - I want to not have to be me anymore. I want to rewind it, I want a second chance so that I don’t have to be me. Mom and dad come to pick me up and my brother is standing there with both his wings still intact. I have not yet taken a bite out of the apple. The boy I have a crush on is waving to me from the swings, we've practiced smooching behind the largest oak in the park. I have not yet dropped the porcelain doll. Dad smiles and takes my hand, the music from the car stereo is blaring out loudly. His face melts. Then it falls apart. I wake up, looking at the cracks in the ceiling; my alarm blaring out some shitty tune from the local radio station. I don't know if I had been crying in my sleep or if it hit me just when I woke up, but it wells up and I burst out into tears. Ugly crying; sobbing and screaming with the screeching noise of my alarm still going on in the background. Everything hurts. Everything keeps hurting, over and over again; a fractal pain. I know that I need to break out of it so that I can get out of bed, so that I can return to life, so that I can pick up Amber. I need her here - she's my little patch of sunshine, she’s the one thing I don’t hate about myself. I take another sertraline, downing it with a glass of milk. Standing naked in the kitchen wasn't a foreign concept, but doing it without hating myself felt liberating - I've made it through another night. Step by step, day by day, and moment by moment. The spiderweb tattoo on my left tit stares at me from the reflection on the fridge, my nipple turning into a pupil in a webbed iris. I stare back, yet neither of us gives in. I furl my wings up against my back, giving myself a soft feathery hug before I wrap myself in my black dressing gown. Checking my phone as I have my breakfast, I see that Trish’s called me while I slept. She's sent multiple texts, too: "Hello, again. How are you doing?" "It would be nice to reconnect, I've missed you." "Would you like to grab a coffee this week, and chat about how we’ve both have been doing?" "Met up with Anon the other day, it was quite something." "I want you back in my life. I miss you, bestie." "Pirate princesses forever." How fucking dared she. How FUCKING could she? Come crawling back as if everything was all right and as if she hadn't just abandoned me. Pirate princesses, bah. I even reached back out to her, then she ignored me again. Drifted away from me again. The same FUCKING cycle keeps repeating and it’s digging into me like a barbed harpoon. Oh yeah, time to put on some clothes. I need to pick up Amber soon, so I should get ready and get in the car. I could ruminate about Trish later. Underwear and some wide mom jeans, which I still hated to admit that I needed to even be able to fit into anything resembling a normal pair of pants, before putting on an old band shirt and zipping up a hoodie. The mirror rewards me with a gaze at the worst piece of shit to ever walk this planet, I really look like trailer trash. All parts of me have gone to hell and I still dressed like I was stuck in high school. I grab the car keys, my pack of smokes and lighter, my wallet, and my phone, then I walk out to the car. Driving makes me happy since it lets me be in full control of something. I wonder that if I veered off this bridge and fell onto the highway, would it be over quick? Would it hurt? Would they miss me, standing by the closed casket? How mangled would my corpse be and would all the marks be too intermingled with the gore to be identified? There's little traffic out now, it's too early for the day workers to be heading home - it takes about three songs from my CD player before I arrive at the Sunbeam preschool. The name of the preschool itself felt like an insult, but at least Amber likes it there. I’m happy that Amber’s doing better than me, she's getting a good start to life. I'll keep working hard to give her and Noah everything they want and need - they deserve all the love in the world. Day by day I'm making it through and step by step I'm walking on - both for me and for them so that we can have a future together. It's tiring, but I'm used to it - used to drowning out the voice in the back of my head; scared for what would happen that one day when it would overpower me and the darkness would engulf me completely. That one day where I’d just let go and have the waves on the dark waters take me out to sea. The kindergarten teachers wave to me as I pull up, all of the kids are out playing in the fenced-in yard. Amber's swinging around on the monkey bars, laughing and enjoying herself as she kicks another kid in the stomach, sending him flying. That's my girl. The other kid lands safely in the sand underneath, yelling that 'he will get her next time!', before Amber notices me as I’m walking up to the gates, dropping off the bars with beady eyes as she yells: "Mooooom, I don't want to go home yet!" "Sweetheart, you will come back tomorrow. You can play more then." "I want to play noooooow." Her doe eyes and sweet mannerism would not break my resolve, she needs a proper upbringing so that she’ll grow into a fine woman. Yet, the teacher comes up to me and asks if I’ve got a minute - she wants to talk about Amber over a coffee. "Alright. Fifteen more minutes while I talk to your teacher. Then we’re going home, no complaining!" "Wooooooo!", she runs back shouting as she jumps back into the fray while windmill-swinging her arms. There are multiple casualties. She's all too similar to how I was back when I was her age; knowing how I worked made handling her moods and encouraging her ambitions a piece of cake. She loved running around outside, she wanted to hear fairy tales, she liked to play pretend, she wanted to be part of it when Noah or I cooked, and she’s been fingerpainting and drawing since before she could speak. The passion for music wasn't there yet - Noah and I had tried with the synth and ukulele to bring forth a little music by having us sing together, but none seemed to stick. I just hope she never breaks anyone’s wing and blames herself for the rest of her life. If I concentrated, I could still hear the sounds of the crash, Naser's screams, and the sounds of his body hitting the sharp rocks. Sometimes, I still live through it in my dreams. I haven’t been able to face him for many years now, even though he came by for the wedding and Amber’s birth, I haven’t contacted him since and neither has he contacted me. Sometimes I wonder how my life would have ended up if I never headed down this path; where I would be right now? What timeline would have landed me in a safe and loving home without all of... this. Where would happy Lucy be? How did happy Lucy end up there? The teacher and I share a pot of watered-down coffee as she tells me how Amber's doing. Amber’s got passion but she doesn't want to read or sit still; she’s got a lot of energy, but she’s disturbing the other kids. I know all of this already, so I just nod along as we make small talk while I tell her all the words that she wants to hear. I couldn't care less about the inbred swamp hags running this place. I'm the terrible person here, I have no reason to hate them. I just do - they piss me off. Why should I give them the time of day? Well, I should do it because they're taking good care of my daughter. I'm a piece of shit. I'm an awful mother. I'm a lost cause. I keep drawing those around me down with me. Tying up the conversation, we finish our cups and head back out. The other teachers in the yard wave goodbye to me and my whining daughter; who with a stern glance and a reminder that she promised 'fifteen minutes', calms down. Then I tell her that she'll come back to play tomorrow, which soothes her enough to come along peacefully. The car ride home actually feels good. Amber tells me everything about how things are going: her friends, the cute boy she kicked in the stomach, and how they're making some 'secret' art project for the parent-teacher conference. The voice in the back of my head is quiet whenever I'm with my sweetheart; when I can give her love and listen to her stories - she's inherited my fantastic imagination. I love her so goddamn much. I've promised myself to never give in to the call of the void as long as she's by my side, but I've never told Noah this; he's got enough on his mind already. Even if he would leave, I’d stick around for Amber. I should text Trish later to hear how she's doing, meeting up with an old friend would do me good. "Who's Trish, mom?" asks Amber. "It's one of mom's old friends, from back when mom was in school.”, I explain as I try to stop myself from mumbling any more thoughts aloud. Amber's eyes widen as she hears this, with her mouthing out a 'whoooooa', before continuing: "Mom, you went to school? But you've always been old!" "A long, long time ago before I met your dad, I too went to kindergarten and played with the other kids - that's when I met my best friend Trish." "If she's your best friend, why aren't you playing together more often?", she asks while throwing me a puzzled look. "When adults grow old, they have less time to play." "Then I don't want to become an adult!", folding her arms in front of her and pouting, "I'm going to play with my best friends forever!" "You've got a looong time before then, baby." "A long time? That’s not enough!" "My love, you'll play with them tomorrow. Tonight, we'll have nuggets and you can cuddle up with mom and dad." "Yaaaaay!", she excitedly shouts from the passenger seat, as she seems to have already forgotten how short 'forever' is going to be. But I can’t forget it: ‘forever’ is always too short. My friends and I would stay together ‘forever’, and my partners and I would be with each other ‘forever’. Music would be with me ‘forever’. Forever is also a very long time to not see my best friend. Things felt more tangible ever since Trish had called, I’ve felt things in my life shift; the concrete walls and steel beams holding me together creaked as they moved ever so slightly. Now it’s all or nothing, either I’ll grow stronger or it will break me. Trish just wants to hang out again, it’s not a big deal. It’s just that she hadn't answered my wedding invitation, then I never sent her a message after I saw on Snootstagram that she got divorced. Trish hadn't been there for me when Amber was born and when I had to raise her even though I suffered from postpartum depression as Noah had to work extra to support us since I couldn’t be of any use. I hate her from the bottom of my heart, but I miss everything about her. I still love my best friend and I still want my best friend to be close to me. "Mooooooom, are we home soon?", Amber asks. "We're almost there, baby. What do you want to do when we get home?" "I want to play the keyboard! Billy told me that I couldn't play any instruments and that his dad played the guitar, so I have to beat him." "Is Billy your best friend?", I shoot her a glance as she furrows her brow and starts to think really hard. "Yes! After Maya, and Felicia, and Thomas.", counting her fingers as she lines them up, "So I challenged him to the monkey bars and won! He wants a rematch tomorrow." She’s inherited my fiery spirit, that’s for sure. When we get home, she jumps at the chance of playing the keyboard, so I go through the basics with her. We play chopsticks and once she's got it down we play it in synch. After that, I fetch my guitar to back her as she plays the piano all by herself. The promise to beat Billy’s dad has given her the passion for music that I thought would never blossom in her, and I have to choke back some tears of joy as she starts laughing in glee when we actually nail it. Before I know it, I hear keys rattling outside. I put down the guitar, kiss Amber on the head, and head to the kitchen to turn on the oven. "Hey, babe.", I hear Noah shout from the hallway as he takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes, "How are my angels doing?" "Dork. I love you too.", I walk over and pull him down a bit by grabbing his shirt so that I can actually reach up to kiss him, "Your lovely daughter is doing fine, we've been playing the keyboard since we got home." "So that I can beat Billy!", shouts Amber across the apartment as she once again starts the song over. "Who's Billy?", Noah asks surprisedly, "And why the keyboard?" "One of her best friends, and to beat his dad." Noah's confused look is priceless, the dumbfounded dweeb is such a cutie. I pull him into a hug, before explaining: "His dad plays guitar, so she wants to play the keyboard to beat him." "I don't know how that would work, but I'm all for her finally getting into music. Despite, the odd setup.", Noah responds as he wraps his arms around me. My guardian angel is home, I've missed him. I wrap my wings around him in a feathery hug and he reciprocates by folding his beautiful soft white wings around me. "Mooooom, nuggets!", whines a starving voice from by the piano. The nugget devourer hungers for more; the endless void craves sacrifices. "She really is your daughter.", Noah teases me; reminding me of the nugget obsession I’d initially kept from him when we started dating. "Our daughter. Did you know she fought Billy in the monkey bars today?", I remind him. "Who won?" "You're supposed to say: 'oh no, why were they fighting'!" "Oh no, why were they fighting?" Punching him in the gut only makes him break out into laughter, so after that, I just blow him a raspberry and head into the kitchen to start making dinner. Well, 'making' is a strong word - the actual prep time for nuggets and rice was setting the table. Noah comes after me, hugging me from behind as I'm taking out some cutlery, asking the dreaded question: "One of those days, huh?", kissing the back of my head as he holds me tight. It's hard to respond when my heart breaks, as all of a sudden my tears come flowing down my cheeks. These days keep coming, over and over and over and OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER FUCKING AGAIN, AND IT WASN'T FUCKING FAIR!. I'm gripping the counter so hard that I can hear my fingers crack; my knuckles whiten as my claws dig into the soft wood. "It'll be okay.", he comforts me as he moves his head slightly downward, nuzzling my neck, "I promise that it will be okay. I'm here now." I don't want this, I don't want it to hurt, I don't want these thoughts. I have everything, so why do I feel this way? Why am I such a broken failure? It was scary to put everything on him, to have him be my lighthouse in the storm. I'm scared that his light will fade, that his cliff would stop sheltering me. I don't know what would happen to us If he grew tired of Amber and me. I'm not a good mother, I'm not a good person; I don't deserve this. "Mom, why are you crying?", the tiny nug-lover asks, having snuck up on us. "Your mom is just a bit sad, that is all.", explains Noah. "Why is she sad?" "Sometimes, adults are just sad. Your mom gets sad more often than others, it's just how she is." "Don't be sad, mom.", she says as she comes over to hug my leg. The thoughts fade away, and the pain ebbs away as color returns to my world once more. I ruffle Amber's hair as she hugs me tighter, letting my other hand wander up to squeeze Noah's. Their support, their love, and their care are the things still keeping me afloat. I have been adrift for so long, yet now I have a home again - a place to call my own. We talk about our days during dinner, Noah chats about work and Amber updates us on what she's been up to today, in between her murderizing the population of Dinopolis - with its suburbs made of rice, populated by dino-nuggies, and drowned in ketchup. After dinner, Amber goes to watch some cartoons, while Noah and I do the dishes. We talk in a hushed tone about what's been going on and how I’ve really been doing. Then he reminds me that talking to Trish might be good for me since I haven't got many other people in my life to open up to. "I won't.", I cut him off abruptly. "Why not? She's your best friend?" "She isn’t anymore, she left me all alone." "And now she wants to reconnect. I mean, the whole thing about your high school sweetheart thing reconnecting the two of you isn't going to change anything." "I don't want to think about him anymore." "It's clear that something about it still bothers you, babe." "I don't want to." "What is it that you're not telling me? You've already told me about him seeing you at work, and while I don't condone what you two did, I understand.", he says as he gives me a peck on the cheek, "It's been a long time coming, yet now you don't want to face it?" "Because it hurts. It aches. It still scares me, but it's not about them - it's that I'm scared that if I have to face them and show them what I've become, both they and I will know that I fucked up. That I failed at everything." "My angel, you haven't failed. You're an amazing mom, you're doing great with your therapy; you’re working on yourself. The only thing you've failed is that you didn't start sooner, but as they say..." "The best time to burn a bridge was ten years ago, the second best time is today." "Not the way I would put it, but you get the gist of it." "She abandoned me once, she'll use me and then leave me." "If you keep thinking like that, hiding away from the world, you'll never find anyone else to connect with." "I've got you, haven't I?" "You need friends, babe. You need to get out more." "I mean, we’ve gone to a bar after work a few times. That counts." "When did you ever hang out with them outside that?" "Ugh, I don't want to hang out with those losers." "Who's not a loser, then? Who do you want to hang out with?" "You're not too bad, babe." He kisses the top of my head, before nuzzling me once more. It feels nice to be reassured of his love so that I can't gaslight myself into believing he doesn't feel anything for me. It's never easy living with all these second thoughts, but he makes it bearable. His presence alone staves off the horrors I create for myself. I can feel his heartbeats resonate through him, a reminder that he's alive; a reminder that I'm alive. I would make do without him if need be, but I pray for him to stay by my side. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me. It's insane that a chance encounter at a concert would end up leading to this: a life together and a brilliant daughter. A better life where I'm medicated, beaten into shape by a therapist on a weekly basis, and working a stable job. If there's such a thing as karmic justice, then he was my reward for everything bad that had happened. Maybe he had too many good things happen to him, such that I am his comeuppance? "You're a good person, babe.", having apparently heard my mumbled lamentations, "You're not a bad person, you're just a person who's had bad things happen to them." "I've done bad things too." "Who hasn't? You've paid it off, piece by piece." "I'm sorry I broke your trust that time wh-" "Honey, it's fine. You're working on yourself, it takes time.", he starts stroking my hair to comfort me, "However, I would appreciate it if you don't go around snogging any more people from your past." "It's a deal." "Thank you." He seems to stop for a moment as if to consider something before he whispers to me: "You know... tonight after Amber goes to bed, I could show you how much I love you..." "Oh yeah, tiger?" "Mhmm, how every single inch of you, every curve - every perfection and imperfection - deserves a tender touch.", his fingers gently tracing my spine as he whispers it, sending shivers and tingles all throughout my body. "I can't wait." Drawing him into a deep kiss, I let myself get lost in the moment; pushing myself against him, running my hands all over his body - it makes me feel alive. It makes me feel wanted when he reciprocates. "But, before then: promise me that you'll call Trish.", the bastard once again reminds me. "You're killing me." I can feel him poking against my stomach, his warmth permeating our clothing. He's got me completely under his spell - at this point, I couldn't refuse him even if I wanted to. "Call Trish.", the male byproduct of multiple generations of incest says. "Mmmmmmmmmokay. But only because you're cute." "You're saying that if I was cuter you'd have called earlier?" I laugh at the dork, who in turn tickles me until I’m roaring with laughter. It was as if all the joy that I’ve been keeping inside of me was in too much of a hurry to get out. After we calm down and finish drying off the last dishes, we start to head out of the kitchen to join Amber in front of the TV. At the doorway into the living room, Noah stops me by reaching out his arm in front of me and grabbing on to the doorway, before he gives me his ultimatum: "I'll give you a free pass for anything you want tonight, if you just call her." "Anything?" "Mhmm." "I've got a call to make." Letting go of the doorway, he takes one last chance to grab my ass, giving it a firm squeeze, as I go back to the windowsill in the kitchen where my phone's been charging. My heart starts beating fast, how would I even begin the conversation? 'Hi, I've been intentionally ignoring you for years, how has your divorce gone?'. A 'hi' would probably work fine enough, then I'd let things flow naturally. I need to do this. Now. Right now. Soon. I stare at the locked screen, seeing my tired reflection in the black glass staring back at me. My gloomy eyes and baggy eyelids, my slightly-too-chubby cheeks, and awful hair - too many years of bleaching and dyeing it had done it no favors. Swipe, click click click click, swoosh. Tapping the messages app, opening it up to re-read the latest messages she's sent me - I've kept her number in my phone for all these years. My finger hovers above the 'call' button. I've wanted to do this for so long, but when I'm actually here I'm too scared to do it; I don't want her to not want me. "Hi, Trish, it's me. Hello, bestie, how are you doing? What's up, long time no see? What the fuck got into you that finally made you contact me? Cunt.", without even starting the call I'm already cursing at her. "Honey, don't call your best friend the c-word!", my loving husband shouts from the living room. "What did mommy say?", responds a smaller, yet oh-so-curious voice. "I'll tell you when you get older.", he tells her. Their argument about when she should get to know continues, as I once more contemplate how to contact my bestie. Just push the button, retard. Do it. Just push it. Click the button, and let it ring. She might not even answer now, she could be busy. She’s probably busy at this hour, doing all of the Trish things that she does in her Trish evenings. Very busy. "Just call her! Then come out so we can cuddle on the couch for a bit.", Noah promises. Hmm. Few can resist the siren’s call and I have not yet tied myself to the mast. I push the 'call' button, allured by the promise of cuddles. Letting it ring, I realize that I still haven't figured out what it is that I want to say. "Hello, this is Trish, who am I talking to?", my phone shouts. "Uhm, yeah, it's... It's me." "Oh." She goes silent. Should I break the ice, how do I start a conversation? Would she want to talk to me about something? The silence was deafening, so fuck it - I'll try: "I've missed you." "Yeah." Awkward silence. She hasn’t missed me at all, she probably just had a temporary lapse of judgment and sent a few drunken texts that she had to follow up on with a call. I try to back out of it: "This was a mistake. I should have never called again, I'm sorry." "No, please! I... It's just confusing. I never thought we'd talk again after the last time. It's all a bit..." "Weird." "Not exactly what I'd call it, but it’s a bit weird, yeah.”, a short pause where we’re both just waiting to see what’s going to happen, “It's good to hear back from you. I'm sad that we got cut short last time by work, but... do you want to hang out this week?" "I can make that work." "Tomorrow?", there's a sudden urgency in her voice, "It'd be nice to actually see you in person." "Sure, I'm free in the afternoon, before my evening shift. Want to meet at our old café by the highway?", I play it off cool as I wonder why she’d be in such a hurry to meet up. "Perfect, I'll try to get off early. One PM?" "Okay. Sure. I'll... see you then." "I'll see you then." We hang up. There are so many things I wanted to tell her right away, so much that I wanted to get off my heart. All the words that have been weighing me down for years were starting to pile up, especially since the only thing we managed to do last time was a quick status update about how we were doing, that I had met Anon, and that Trish was a divorcee. I already knew she was divorced from looking at her social media, but the rest of her life was, and to some extent still is, unknown to me. I'd found a new thing to question for every answer I got from her. Coming back from my brave adventure, my insidious incubus welcomes me to the couch as we cuddle up and spoon in front of whatever random kids' cartoon is running. Things feel okay when I'm with him, a central point to focus on when everything else was spinning out of control. My one safe haven from the storm constantly raging around me. One episode turns to two, then more; I'm glad that I didn’t have to rush away to work today so that I can enjoy this time with my family - but I'd be back at it tomorrow. Another day at the grindstone tearing off chunks of my flesh so that I could live and eat with a roof over my head. I wonder how my life would have looked if I managed to make the band work; if we made it big? Yet, I wouldn't trade this life for anything - Noah and Amber are my world. We take out some board games, letting Amber read the rules for us 'so that we can learn, too'. Rolling dice, moving pieces, slowly but surely giving her some more faith in her ability to read; it's a concept that just works. She asks if we can play some more piano, but the hour is getting late - she'll have time to do it some other day when I'm home with her. To cries of dissent, we manage to convince her that she'll still be able to beat her classmate's dad even if it would have to wait for a week or two. I help her brush her teeth, then she puts on her pajamas and crawls down into her bed. She looks up at me, eyes filled with love and wonder. I know what she's going to ask and she knows what I'm going to answer, but we still do it the same way as we do every night when I'm at home with her: "Mom, could you tell me a goodnight story?" "Of course, baby. Which one do you want to hear tonight?" "The one about the pirate princess!" "Again?" "It's my favorite, dad told me that it's your favorite too..." "Did he, now? Well, that's right - when mom was your age, it was her favorite too." "Wooooooow... Did grandma tell you that one?" I don't talk to Samantha much these days. It was weird being estranged from my own parents, even if we'd sort of reconnected during the wedding - then once more when Amber was born. Amber has met her grandparents a couple of times, Noah's more often than mine, but I didn't want mine to take part of my life any more than what was needed. I didn't want them to ruin Amber like they ruined me and Naser. "When mommy was young, she liked to play pretend, too. She imagined being a pirate princess on a ship sailing the seven seas! All these stories come from back then.", I explain. "Ooh, mommy's got the best bedtime stories - daddy’s are just boring. He doesn't do the voices, either!", my wonderful daughter says. "Oh no! Dad doesn't do the voices? Then I better do them tonight!" "I try to do the voices, too!", a voice calls out from the living room. "He’s not very good. But you’re the best, mom!", she exclaims. I begin the tale, reliving the wild adventures I made up as a kid - sharing the wonder and excitement with her as we act out the journeys of pirate princess Lucy together. After about half an hour of being a pirate, Amber's sleeping soundly. I turn off the bedside light, turn on the night-light, tiptoe out, and close the door behind me. Grabbing my husband by the arm and dragging him off the couch, away from the TV which he quickly turns off, we head off into the bedroom. I need him, I need this, and I need it now. Two hot and steamy hours later, I'm standing on the balcony for a breather while taking a smoke. "Didn't you make a promise to quit?", he reminds me as he comes out and puts an arm around my shoulder. "Eh, soon enough. I need them now." "Babe, you don't need them. You just want them." "I do need them.", I look him in the eyes as I feel mine start to fill up with panic and sorrow, "I'm having a hard time, they help me stay sane. I need to feel something." "That sounds unhealthy, babe. Please don't." "You don't know what it's like for me right now." "Then tell me, help me understand. Every time you've told me before, we've been able to make it work, remember?" "Mmm... I don't want to.", looking lustfully at my freshly lit cigarette, before killing it by crushing it against the railing and letting it fall into the darkness below. "It's hard, it sucks, and you will hate it. But it will get better." "I don't want to talk to Trish, I'm scared that she's going to disappear. I'm afraid of losing her too. Today's been awful even without having to worry about this." "So the bad thoughts have come back?" I just nod in response, letting myself fall into his arms. If I could bury myself here and live out the rest of my days in his calming embrace, I would. He holds me tight, like he always does, as he hums and starts to slow dance. We move to the rhythm of a quiet, almost unhearable, song - I feel okay for this small moment; I feel calm. He's kept me safe for so long, I have faith in him. I have faith in that he will stay by my side through my darkest nights. It would never stop being scary to imagine him leaving me without any hint, without any sign - just up and disappearing while I’m at work one day. It happens every day to other people with better lives and better relationships, after all. Everything ends. There's a part of me that hopes that if Trish and I decided to try and reconnect properly, she'd want to be my confidante once more - as I would be hers. With Trish in my life I'd have one more outlet for all of the things that are swirling around inside me; it would help me to not drown in my sorrows if Noah couldn't support me. God damn it, I'm already thinking of using her for my own sake, I'm the worst best friend anyone could have; I can't even support myself without pulling her down into the depths with me. "Honey, you're getting stuck in your thoughts again. Come, let's get back to bed.", my caring lover says. "Mmm... only if we go for another round.", giving him the look. I lean in and give him a light nibble on his neck that leaves a small bite mark; he shivers and moans - exactly the reaction I was looking for. Closing the door, we head back inside; spending a few more hours together in the sheets to wash away the ails of the day - ending things with a refreshing shower before drifting off to sleep. After too few, yet thankfully dreamless, hours of sleep, the alarm blares out - drilling straight into my head. I try to snooze it, but Noah's already halfway through pushing me out of bed. In a panicked laugh I push back, quickly turning the situation into a very giggly wrestling match - which I get a feeling that he's losing intentionally when I put him into a headlock, where he just cuddles up into my bosom. "Good morning, my sweet little songbird.", he whispers. "Fuck off. Give sleep. Rest." "Noooo, you're not going back to sleep. We're going to have a wonderful morning with our daughter; eating breakfast as a family.", he says with his voice muffled from burying his face in my chest. "Hrrrngrngh...", pushing him away as I let him loose from my strong grip, I give him a stern look, "I hate you." "I hate you too, babe. Now, breakfast!" He hurries out of bed, pulling on his pajamas - giving me a nice view of his shapely butt - before running over to the foot of the bed. He grabs me by the ankles and pulls, causing me to slip out of bed at an all-too-high speed as I shriek and giggle. If our daughter wasn't awake before, she definitely would be now. Once he's almost dragged me out of bed, he gives me a bear hug before standing up and taking me with him. I feel like a little girl in his arms, letting my harsh exterior melt off so that I can just enjoy the moment of being safe in his loving care. The safety sends the classic spike of terror through my mind: the more that I enjoy this the worse it'll be when it goes away. As usual, I remind myself that it won’t go away, which helps. Sometimes. We have breakfast together in the morning light, Noah and I enjoying toast and tea, while our ray of sunshine has cereal and some orange juice. Talking about everything and nothing, our beautiful daughter's showing off that spark of passion inside of her that I'm still wishing would reignite in me. All of a sudden, time just slips past me as I zone out, then I'm standing in the hall - all dressed up and waving goodbye to my two lovelies. It's been a great morning, I've enjoyed spending time together with my lovely family. Precious little moments like these I thread on a string to make a necklace out of; wearing it around my heart to brighten my life when I feel the hard times coming. I head to the couch for a nap so that I'll have some more sleep in me to keep me trucking for tonight; almost immediately slipping into a dreamless sleep. I awake to my alarm that I set for two hours before I'm supposed to meet Trish, so I pack my things for the shift tonight as I prepare to head out. Thankfully, Noah would be bringing home Amber today so that I can stay longer with Trish before I need to head off to work. I walk out of our apartment building and get into my car, I’m out well in advance - but I don’t want to miss out on meeting her. I haven’t sent her a text, should I remind her about today? We talked yesterday, but should I let her know once more, or should I avoid it to not seem as desperate? Would she really want to see me or will she change her mind, canceling last minute only to leave me sitting here like an all-too-optimistic moron? I reach the parking lot next to the park, which is just a short walk away from the café. Heading through the greenery I aim for a bench and plonk myself down to watch out over the bay. Should I text her now? I send her a text telling her that I'd arrived at the café and that I'm sitting in the park nearby waiting for her. I get a response back almost immediately; she's texting from her car's voice recognition and she tells me that she's on her way. I want to have a smoke to calm my nerves, but I did, once again, promise Noah to quit; so I let the pack rest. Maybe this is the time I finally give it up, I sure didn't feel like it gave me anything more than a headache and ruined lungs - so I just put down the packet on the bench next to me and leave it there. Getting up, I walk off through the park and toward the café. Moving around feels floaty, as if I’m walking through a dream with my legs barely pushing me forward. The worrying has finally caught up to me, this is the angst about seeing her again making itself known - but all I've got to do is to keep pushing through, after a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll I'll be up and running again. I enter the kitschy hole-in-the-wall and order some coffee - I'll get a refill and a bite to eat when Trish arrives. Which she incidentally does right as I'm done paying; the doorbell jingles as she walks in. I hadn't seen her outside of checking through her social media, this being the first time we meet up since... I don't know when. She's gotten some nice curves and a clothes style that really complimented it - showing it off with black shorts and an open flowery kaftan slimming down at her waist with a belt, giving her a nice hourglass figure and only barely revealing the white tee underneath. Her hair was made with a sense of elegance and she wore minimalistic makeup; it all made me feel even worse about myself and how I look. "Hiiii! It's so good to see you!", she shouts as she moves in for a hug. Reflexively, I hug her back - it's as if my body still remembered all of our good times and wanted to welcome her back. She squees a bit, clearly a lot more enthusiastic about this than I am, but I'm at least pretending to be enjoying it: putting on a smile, holding her tight, telling her how much I've missed having her around. "Hey, are you okay?", Trish asks with a slightly concerned tone, turning her pretty smile into a slight frown. "Yeah, I... I'm just a bit tired." "Lucy, you don't need to lie to me - I know you better than to fall for that.", she takes my hand in hers, "You don't need to tell me if you want to, but I want to be here with you - the real you. Now, how about we order some coffee and we can get back to you telling me about how you're doing?" We order, Trish gets a cappuccino and some almond biscottis while I add my cinnamon bun to my previously bought coffee. We head off to a secluded, almost walled-off, table in a corner to get some privacy - settling down and resuming our pleasantries. Out of the blue, Trish just tells me to cut the crap and get on with whatever it is that's currently bugging me. I try to start explaining: "It's just that... it's been so long. I'm not sure what to feel, I'm mad at you. I've missed you. I'm happy that you're here while also pissed off that you dare show your face like nothing's happened." "So?" "So what?" "So why didn't you just tell me that already?" "Because I'm mad at you! And I'm so happy you're here that I could cry!", as I start to sob, I continue with, "I am crying now, too! I don't know what to feel; my life turned into shit. You look like you've been doing well and I'm envious that I didn't get as lucky as you did. Look at me, I'm nothing but a hot mess." "You're not a mess, you're still my friend. I'm mad at you too, but I want to mend things. These are my first steps towards bringing you back into my life." "Why would you need someone, miss perfect? Especially someone like me?" "I just, just... need to have someone to talk to. Someone like you, Lucy.", she takes a sip of her cappuccino to give herself some time to think, "I've got no one else left that I could talk to about this; no one that knows me like you." "But why? I haven't seen you in forever, I don't know you." "I feel like I'm being sucked into a whirlpool and I've got no one." "You're perfect, you must have better friends." "But you still know me better than anyone else might ever do; you still know who I am when I'm not pretending to be me, unlike most other people.", biting her nail to ease her stress, “I've pushed people away.” Now it's my turn to awkwardly look away, picking up my coffee and having a sip to give myself some time to think. What could I possibly help her with that's been happening in her life? Her divorce was a long time ago, if she needed me for that she would have reached out to me back then. Then it strikes me: "So is this about you and Anon? I hope you two didn't end up killing each other. Despite my looks, I don’t know any cleaners." The sudden shock appearing on Trish's face tells me that I've singled out the issue at hand, once she's regained her composure she starts to explain: "I, sort of, you know, when we met..." "Yeeeah?" My best friend's vague response has me worried. What had happened between them, were they okay? Did he hurt her? I would never forgive him if he did; I feel the blood rush to my head as the anger inside me spikes. So I vent my worries: "If he did anything to you, I'll kill him." "I, um, we..." "Are you okay?", the worst outcome flashes through my thoughts, "Did he hurt you?" "No. It's just...", she traces the outline of her cup with her finger, "We sort of… fucked. Now things are complicated." The anger fizzles immediately, being replaced by pure shock. I can't believe what I'm hearing, the two people that hated each other so badly back in high school that I wouldn't be surprised if one of them would shank the other with a broken pencil and send them to the infirmary, had gone to bed together. They had done the deed. They had wrestled au naturel. She had chucked the caveman’s spear. I see myself from a third-person perspective, as my mouth gapes wide open and my eyes stare intensely at Trish. I ask her to clarify: “Sort of?”, I carefully inquire. “Um… Yes?” "Why?" "I don't know." "H-how?" "I really don't know." "When?" "In his apartment.", biting her lip, she releases what she's been holding back, "Multiple times." "Bordering on too much information there." I can do nothing but stay in my shocked state of mind. I mean, I knew she was fascinated by humans way back when... But those two - together? Is this my own personal hell? I don't know if I'm jealous of her, angry at her for fucking my ex, or happy that they both seem to have found someone. A mixture of all of them, especially when I too had tried to find him all those years ago. Trish's divorce had left her a husk, that much I knew. Her having someone would be good, but ANYONE else would be a better option. Even asking Reed for something to take the pain away would be preferable. I realize that I have no idea where he is now; I haven't heard anything from him, I haven't seen anything about him on social media, and he hasn't contacted me at all. I ask Trish: "Do you know what happened to Reed, to change the subject?" Seemingly eased by the change of topic, she relaxes a bit and responds: "If only I knew. He said goodbye and just disappeared." Trish had fucked Anon. The image kept bouncing around in my skull like a spiked pinball. How? Just how? What had even led up to it? I need to know. It just slips out of me: "Did it just happen, are you two dating, what the hell are you up to with him?" "Reed and I?", Trish responds with a dazed expression. "No, you and mister Mous!", I snap back at her, more aggressively than I intended to. "I thought we'd dropped that?" "We have not. I can't believe it." "Why not?" "You're just lying to me, no way tha-" "I'm speaking the truth, just the truth, and nothing but the truth, your honor.", she puts one hand on her heart as she raises the other. "Bullshit.", accusingly pointing at her, “You wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole!” "How can I prove it? Want to know the deets, bestie?”, her telltale smug grin starting to show, “Don't tell me you're still curious, after all these years?" Great. Now that was another invasive thought to add to the pile. I’ve just found out that some of the people that had been the closest to me were bumping uglies; just the mental image of them tumbling around in the sheets is sickening. I feel an unexpected, and unwelcome, sting of jealousy. This was just not my day. I'm not sure if it had been a mistake to come here. It was good to have her back in my life, but holy shit - this was a bit too much. "Where have you gone? You zone out and then you start blushing like a whore in church!", the purple bitch says as she waves her hand in front of me to catch my attention. "I don't remember you swearing quite so much." "And I don't recall that you were such a prude." I'm starting to sweat, my cheeks are flushed, and my pulse is rising. Anon and Trish, in bed together in his apartment. It’s surreal. I have to double-check, I might just have misheard it: "You fucked?" "Multiple times." "I don’t need to know all the details." "Then why ask?" Trish laughs as she strikes another nerve - no one knew how to play me quite like she did, well, like she still does. She reloads and fires another salvo: "Want to know how it felt?" "My friend, my pal, my buddy. If you as much as think about elaborating, I will throw what remains of this coffee all over you." "Speaking of splashing all over, w-" She cuts her explanation short when she notices how my mood’s dropped, burying my head in my hands I try and push away the thoughts that flood me: ‘You weren’t good enough’, ‘you could have fixed it’, ‘everyone would be fine if you hadn’t fucked up’. I hear Trish getting up from her seat, and sitting down next to me as she wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, bestie. I didn’t mean to push you that far.”, she whispers. I can’t respond, I hate how complicated life’s getting. Everything was easier before I started trying to fix everything. It used to be broken in just the right way; keeping all the shards balanced as they leaned against each other - now everything was starting to fall apart. I breathe deeply, Trish keeps talking but I can’t hear what she’s saying. “I don’t want us to slash at each other’s throats.”, a sudden burst of clarity gave me the energy to start to set things straight. “Neither do I. I’m sorry, it’s just… so easy to fall back into old habits.”, she rests her head against mine, “We just had a good time hanging out, him and I. That’s all." "Fuck off. So how are you two doing now?" Trish's smile fades as she leans back and looks away, instinctively raising her hand to her mouth as once again bites on her thumbnail, pondering her answer: "I don't know. I ran away from him, I don't know if I can even go back." "You ran away? Trish the unwavering?" "It ain't funny, things are complicated. He's broken off from Stella after his entire life got fucked over, they need to sort some things out." "So?" "So, I basically told him to fuck off and just do it." I take a breather. My heart rate’s gone up from the sudden stress, and the warm hug from Trish had me boiling up. I take off my hoodie, putting it right next to me on the bench. Trish seems to still be zoned out, so I steal back her attention: "So?" "Then I implied that I didn't want to come back.", she stares off into the distance. "Shit." "Yeah, something like that." "Do you like him?" "I don't know, it just happened. He's a sweetheart, he's caring, he's a good cook.", she starts to ramble. "That doesn't answer the question." "As I said, I don't know! I don't know if I just like the comfort and love he brings, or if I like him." "Ah." "Yeah, 'ah'.", she slumps over while exhaling, low enough so that she starts to lean her head on the table. "So how about you figure it out? You never were the type to overcomplicate things." "But I do! I keep doing it! I've ruined all too many things by getting paranoid and undermining myself!", she ends up headbutting the table, leaving her face down against the lacquered wood. "Yet, you seem to have learned." "See, that's what he told me too. But that’s what he told me and I don’t want to grow too fond of him.", raising herself back up as she shoots me a sad glance. "He's grown older." “Not being able to grow old is worse.", she jests as she lightly punches my shoulder. After seeing that I don't smile at her joke, she looks at me concerned; noticing my fucked up forearms that I’ve accidentally revealed by removing my hoodie. We both freeze, neither of us expecting to have to bring this up right here and right now. Trish starts to carefully approach the subject: "So… how have you been dealing with your... you know?" I didn't want to think about it, yet talk about it with her right after she dumped all of her problems on me. I hate that she’s so inquisitive about my life - as if she knew anything. I hate her; I hate that I came here. But most of all, I hate myself. She'll hate me too once she finds out that I'm a deadbeat convenience store clerk living in a shitty apartment with my shitty body and my shitty brain telling me shitty thoughts. She’ll run away. Yet, Trish pierces through the dark cloud hanging over me, grabbing my attention: "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I'm just worried." "If you were so worried, where were you when I was at my lowest?!", I spit out the words drenched in venom before I even realise I'd opened my mouth. With fists clenched and hatred burning in my eyes, I see her shrink in front of me. The fire rages: "I would have been dead by now and you wouldn't ever have had the guts to seek me out! I was all alone without you; everyone else left too! Then you come in here as if nothing ever happened and just throw all of your problems on me!" "There wasn't any malice behind that decision; I didn't leave you to die! We broke paths after we fucked up in high school, that's all!" "You left me!" "Now you listen here: you ran away! If you run, you don't get to complain about people not chasing you!" Cursing at her, I rack my brain for good insults - the kind that hurt. Something unforgivable; something that would make her cry. Then it clicks and I fully realize what she said, throwing my hands in the air in defeat and moaning in disdain. I hate that she's right; I ran away from all my problems and even now I keep trying to run away from them. "Fang, I'm sorry.", says my previous best friend, while putting a hand reassuringly on my shoulder. "YOU LEFT ME!", choking down tears and pushing away her hand, "YOU ABANDONED ME!" "I'm sorry." "AND IT'S LUCY NOW, I'M FREE FROM YOUR MANIPULATION!" I despise her, I want her to feel what I've been feeling ever since; show her what it's like to live in my skin now. She just keeps ignoring my provocations: "I promise, I won't do it again. Lucy." "EVERYONE ABANDONED ME, YOU SAW IT, THEN YOU STILL LEFT!" "I won't leave your side." Trish pounces at me, narrowly avoiding goring me as she throws her arms around me. I curse, I hit, I scream. I let it all out. Yet, she keeps holding me as I helplessly beat at her back with my tired arms. She listens as I spew my hatred. The staff look concerned, but they don’t interfere. Then when I'm too tired to go on, when my voice gives out leaving only a croaking whisper, and when it hurts so bad that I'm crying once more, she speaks: "I won't leave you." "Oh yeah?", my broken voice barely carries my words anymore, "Then what is it that you want from me this time?" "Huh?", Trish, surprised at my accusation, seems to not know how to respond to it. "What's the one thing you're going to use me for before leaving?" "I just want my friend back." "Why? Do you want dirt on Anon so you can manipulate him, too?" "Shut up!", having now struck a nerve I finally see Trish start to lose her composure, "You're not the person I remembered, what happened to you? Why are you so... so vile?!" "You happened to me! I was happy before you screwed everything up!" "Me? I only did what I thought was best for you!" "You took over my life! You gaslit me! You tore apart our band!" "I tried t-" "You failed! Everything that you touch, you ruin! You couldn't even stay married!" Silence falls. For some reason, it hits even harder than the harsh words we’ve been throwing at each other so far. Why did I have to go there? I know she tried her best to make things work with him. If someone like me could have someone to love, then she too deserves a loving home. "How's work?", I ask in an attempt to continue our relationship in a not-as-awkward manner. "Out of everything going on at this moment, that is what you ask?", she responds with tears in her eyes. "Yeah. I came here because I want to be friends again." "You sure haven't been showing it, and for your information, it was a mutual decision." "We need to let these things out, we can't let it hang above us if we’re to try and find our way back to what we used to be.." "I never thought I'd hear something so profound from you, captain Lucy.", giving me a cold and hard stare, "But if I ever hear you talk shit about me, my ex-husband, and my marriage again, then I will kick your ass." "Very understandable. And, actually,", raising my hand and flashing my engagement ring, together with a very forced smile, "It's Mrs. Etriano now." "The punk rebel turned housewife." "Don't call me a housewife." "Don't trashtalk things in my life that you have no insight or knowledge on, and we've got deal." "So why did you two end it? I’m not trying to provoke you, I just want to know. What’s been going on with my best friend?" Trish's eyes grow distant as I see her retreat inside her own mind for an instant; the anger fading. All of a sudden, the world feels a lot more cold and uncaring; with no one to care for us scorned souls - since we can't even care for each other - what was left? Maybe if I had been there, she’d still be happy. My best friend had found love, got married, got divorced, and tried to heal. Yet, I have not been part of it to any degree. Who am I to judge her for any of the things that I've shamed her for when I've fucked up just as badly? With a quivering voice, she starts to tell me: "Sebastian. I kept choking him with my own shitty behavior; now I wouldn't call him an angel either, but he deserved way better than me.", she slumps down completely, lolling her head back against the bench as she stares blindly into the cracked ceiling, "Which he eventually got. He found love in someone else." "Before- or after you two got divorced?" Fuck, I really shouldn't have asked that question - I could see how deep that wound went now that she had to relive something I hope I would never need to. In my dreams, recurringly, Noah left me behind without as much as a goodbye. Waking up to see him sleep soundly next to me at least allows me to snuggle up and hug him so tight it's as if I'm a python trying to squeeze every single drop of love out of him. I shiver from the thought of Trish waking up, and finding out that her special someone chose to leave and give that love to someone else. She groans, so I look back to see that she's shut her eyes tight and crumpled her face into an expression of intense pain. I had hoped that I wouldn't be right, but I was spot on. Was this why she leeched on to the skinnie, to find some sort of solace? How many times has she done this before? With her voice starting to give in, eyes closed, hands clenched, she reaches out for me - grabbing on to my arm and resting her head on my shoulder. I flinch at the touch, pulling away slightly before I give in and hug her. I fold a scuffed wing around her as she holds on to me like a drowning woman clutching on to a piece of driftwood in the middle of a storm. No words could convey how much such a thing hurts, how it away at your sense of self when you get betrayed to that degree - getting torn wide open by the person you trust the most. It leaves a gaping, sucking chest wound that completely removes your ability to breathe. I should have been there for her, I should have reached out; I should have done so many things differently - if I did, then maybe we'd both be better off by now. It's easy to see things clearly in hindsight, but what could I possibly do now? "You could tell me that things will be okay, even if it's a lie.", a broken woman whispers, barely audible, from her position with her head perched on my shoulder, "Tell me that someone still loves me and that things will be alright. Tell me sweet little nothings." "Everything's going to be fine." "Put some more love into it." "My sweet darling, things will get better soon. I'm here now.", starting to stroke her curls as I hold her, I can feel her grab on even tighter to me. "Thank you, Lucy. I've missed this." I need her about as much as she needs me; finding our paths intertwined once more would be good for the both of us. The voice in the back of my head was quiet for now; somehow, I felt safe with her now that we'd closed the distance between us. We sit there holding each other for a good while, just like we'd done when we were younger; clinging on to each other when the world got too big, too fast. Growing up sucks and growing old was even worse; even if we don't want to admit it we were getting up there as far as age goes. Life’s changing, the world’s changing all around us, and we’re changing. Some days it felt as if we never left high school, and some days it felt like it was a lifetime ago when I was an immature mess, hanging out with the band as we stood against the world. When everyone was a teenage piece of shit. Music, tests, classes, boys, and sneaking out to smoke. Life had been simple back then, yet all the memories of it felt like shards of glass tearing at my insides now that I know what came after. "Hey, I've missed you too.", I remind my best friend. "So... what do we do now?" I honestly don’t know. But at least we’ll have each other. [POST-NOTES] Thank you all for staying with it this far, I hope that you will enjoy the conclusion. I've expanded the final chapter count from 7 to 8, since I feel that the story I intend to tell won't fit in just one more chapter after this. If you have any questions or want to get in touch with me, I'm always keeping track of the comments.