Author's note: This is a short Bomb Girl's drabble. Betty-centric. Spoilers for season 2.

Her room had been an interesting place the last couple of days. Betty McRae mused.

It was less than 24 hours ago that she, Betty McRae downed her whiskey, feeling it burn all the way down her throat. She had awkwardly launched herself at Ivan trying to get it over with. Sex. She was a twenty-eight year old virginal spinster. It was not normal for a woman over 25 to be unmarried. Edith was only three months older than she was and she had two children.

Spinster. It's what her aunt called her shortly before she moved out to Toronto. Her brothers would probably agree. She decided there were worse things to be. Deviant freak is one of them.
Better to be easy and loose, that would stop the damn rumours. As truthful as they may be, Gladys trying to defend her character would only incriminate her further. She had known, always known that she was different. At first she attributed it to having grown up surrounded by men. There had be no one around to teach her how to be a woman. Her aunt had accused her father of raising her as the seventh son, instead of a daughter. Even then, Betty had known it wasn't normal to stare so long at the photos of pin-up girls her older brothers had hidden. She still wasn't sure who was responsible for hiding those photos. But she enjoyed looking at them too much.

She'd pulled Ivan down on top of her and threw off his belt. And felt nothing except how the alcohol had numbed her skin. She could barely feel him hovering over her.
And when he'd politely refused, she barely felt his lips on her forehead she'd drank so much. Ivan didn't seem to notice the photo of Kate she'd stuck in the mirror anyways. Or that not all the clothes in her room were hers.

She felt nothing then.

Tonight she'd gone looking for Kate, found her and become an accomplice in manslaughter the same night. She was still shaken, in comparison to Kate's steely calm. It frightened her. What had happened to Kate?

They didn't talk about it on the way back to the rooming house. Or when Kate had been grateful that Betty had saved some of the clothes left behind. Or when they changed in total silence. Or when Gladys appeared and the three of them lay there smoking for nearly an hour before Gladys went home.
Now, pressed up against her back, in her bed was Kate. The fabric of their dressing gowns and Betty's nightie the only things separating their skin. She felt a low familiar heat in response to Kate's proximity. Kate's arm carelessly flung across her body. Her body pressed tightly against the blonde's as she slept soundly.

She feels everything now. It would take so very little just to put her arms around Kate, press her mouth to Kate's soft porcelain skin, to hold her tightly all night pressed against her.

Definitely a "deviant freak". Betty mused to her self miserably. And nothing was ever going to change that.