I recently started an internship at a shelter for victims of domestic violence and I got some newfound inspiration to write a #Ballie story. There will be around 10-ish chapters.
TW: mentions of physical, sexual, psychological violence.
The title of the story comes from 'Only Love' by PVRIS.
The title of the chapter comes from 'Ghost' by Jacob Lee.
Chapter 1: Even a ghost needs a friend
She waits until he's gone to sleep to search through every corner of the house.
She almost shouts in relief when she finds her phone, buried under a pile of unpaid bills. She hadn't seen her phone for a month. Harry had taken it away from her and had only brought it back from his workplace today. She could have gone and bought another one, but money was not something she had access to either.
She puts her phone in her pocket and tiptoes out of the house. She sits on the stairs and her eyes scan the empty street, searching for a sign of life. It's pitch black outside, but it's quiet. It's calm. It's peaceful. It's nothing like the parade of loud insults that she just received. It's nothing like Harry's hateful voice reminding her of how worthless she is.
She still tastes the blood in her mouth, but she's used to the iron flavor. It doesn't disgust her the way it used to, many months ago, when she'd been punched in the face for the very first time. The taste is a part of her now, just like the bruises that decorate her body with an harmony of purple and yellow shapes.
She fights hard to stop the tears from escaping her eyes. She tries to focus on the shadows on the sidewalks and the trees guarding her lawn, but her mind always goes back to the ache in her chest. Her skin burns when a drop of salted water finally rolls down her cheek.
She shakes her head lightly. She won't fall apart tonight. She won't fall apart anymore. She's strong. She must stay as strong as she can. It's the only way she can get out of this.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket and stares at the black screen for a few seconds before she turns it on. The light nearly leaves her blind, but it's a small price to pay for freedom. She takes a deep breath and dials the number she knows by heart.
It rings twice before someone answers.
"Hello?"
"H-Hi," she stutters, taken aback by the softness of the feminine voice, "is it Wentworth shelter?"
After living with a beast for so long, she's forgotten what it feels like to interact with humans.
"Yes, it is. What can I do for you?"
The words are twirling in her mind. She doesn't know how to ask for help anymore. She doesn't know how to tell her story in a way that make people understand that she isn't just a victim. She's also a woman. A mother. A warrior.
Wentworth shelter is the only place that had caught her attention when she had done research for help, days ago. They welcome women for two months, a perfect amount of time for her to gain her life back.
"I need somewhere to stay," she admits. "Do you have a place?"
"Do you have any children with you?"
Her thoughts travel to Debbie. Her daughter had just left to go study on the other side of the planet. They had fought intensely about it, but Bea had won in the end. Knowing that her daughter is safe is the only thing that brings her comfort these days.
"It's just me."
It hurts to admit that she has no one.
"Are you in a situation of domestic violence?"
"Yes."
She has been in a situation of domestic violence for a while, but it still feels strange to share that information with someone else. She feels judged even though she has no reason to.
"We do have a place for a woman. Are you in a safe environment? I need to do a quick phone assessment with you to determine if we're the right place for you. It'll take about thirty minutes."
She looks behind her. All the lights are out in the house and Harry is nowhere to be seen. Still, she feels nervous, like she's committing a crime and she could be arrested at any moment. She stares at the street, expecting police cars to show up at any moment.
"I am," she whispers.
She hears papers rustling on the other side of the line and imagines someone sitting at a desk, waiting to hear about a story she isn't sure she wants to share.
"What's your name?"
"Bea Smith."
She has a name. She isn't a 'useless bitch'. She isn't a 'worthless cunt'. She isn't a 'stupid whore'.
"Bea Smith," the gentle voice repeats. "I'll need you to tell me a bit about your situation. Where are you now? Why are you asking for a place? Who's your abuser? All of those details matter."
Bea swallows the lump in her throat. She expected those questions, but she is still unsure on how to organize her story.
The other person must sense her hesitation and before Bea can place a word, the woman continues.
"Bea, I know it's hard. I wouldn't ask you to speak if it weren't necessary. I need to evaluate your request fairly because if we're not a match for what you need, then we'll have to send you away. It will only be more difficult for you. My name's Liz. I've worked here for many years. Everything you tell me is confidential."
Bea battles the urge to hang up and give up. It would be so easy to forget this has ever happened, but she knows it's too late for that.
"I'm at my house. I live there with my husband," she starts.
During the next minutes, Bea narrates her life to a stranger and she feels the weight of the world slowly being taken off her shoulders.
She tells Liz that she has lived with Harry for years, but only stayed because of her daughter. She tells her about the blows and the punches, the burns and the scars, the insults and the constant manipulation. She tells her about the sexual assaults and the economic abuse. She tells her about the isolation and the death threats.
She tells her about the way she feels like she could die, and he would keep beating the shit out of her lifeless body.
"He locked me in my room for a month. I couldn't contact anyone, not even Debbie," Bea speaks slowly. "That's why I'm calling tonight. I can't live without my daughter. If he tries to lock me again, I might not let him."
There's a silent promise in her words, but Liz doesn't point it out.
Liz asks questions every time Bea finishes a part of her story. Where is her husband now? Where does he work? Does he know she's calling the shelter? Does her daughter know? Does Bea work? Does she want to work? What's her income? What does she want to do if she gets a room there? Are child services in their life? Have they ever been before? Has she ever been to a shelter before? Does she have anyone she can stay with tonight?
For what feels like an hour, Bea answers and tries her best not to hide behind an armor of lies and embellished facts about her life.
She wants so much to pretend that everything is fine, but she knows Liz would see right through her words.
"Thank you," Liz says, "I know it's not easy. Let me explain a bit more about the shelter. You'll have a maximum of two months here. You'll have support from our team for everything, whether it is to find a new place to live or to find a job, or simply to talk about the abuse. You'll have to contribute everyday. We can find you a specific task later, but it could be to help prep the food for example. You'll have to share the house with the other women and children. You'll have your private room, but shared bathrooms and common areas. Is everything clear for you?"
"Yes," Bea says.
It really doesn't sound as bad as staying with Harry.
"You'll have weekly meetings to make sure you're actively working toward getting your life back. You'll also have to attend mandatory activities on the weekends. These are group activities we organize to make sure every woman in the house goes out and socializes. Is that alright?"
Bea accepts. She doesn't really want to make new friends, but she can minimally engage with others.
"Alright love, I just have a few more questions to ask. Do you take drugs or alcohol?"
"No."
All the empty bottles belong to Harry.
"Have you ever consulted someone for a mental health issue?"
Bea closes her eyes as she thinks of the scars that are still healing on her thighs. She remembers the way it had felt when the blade had traced lines on her skin, just days ago. There are twelve of them. She'd done it quickly, not giving herself the chance to change her mind or doubt her actions.
The scabs are itching like crazy, and she would like nothing more than to scratch them until she bleeds again.
"No."
"Do you take medication?"
"No."
"Do you have any allergies?"
"No."
"Are you ready to come right now? We don't take reservations."
Bea's heartbeat increases at the question. She's so close to a new life. Stupidly close, and yet, she still hesitates.
Bea hasn't had hope in forever.
It's exhilarating, but she has no clue what to do with it.
"Yes," she declares.
Bea waits and listens anxiously to the sound of a pen sliding on a piece of paper. She looks behind her many times, jumping at every small noise that reaches her ears. If Harry joins her now, she'll never escape.
She'll be dead before she can even hang up the phone.
She hears muffled voices before someone gets back to her.
"Bea, one last thing. If you come here, you're only allowed to bring two suitcases. We have limited space and you can only bring the essentials. The suitcases will stay in the garage, and for sanitary reasons, we'll ask you to clean all your clothes once you arrive. We have washing machines at your disposal. We'll lend you some clothes in the meantime, but you'll have to change as soon as you step in the house. Is that something you're comfortable with?"
Bea thinks of all the times she was forced to remove her clothes to please Harry. The fact that she is asked her opinion about it this time comforts her.
"I am," she replies.
She already knows what she'll bring. Her entire life fits in one suitcase.
"Alright, love. I can't give you the address now," Liz explains, "we welcome women in difficulty or who have been abused in the past. Our location is strictly confidential until we are sure that you're coming to us."
Bea nods silently. She doesn't expect anything less than severe security measures.
Liz tells her to go to a specific neighborhood in the city and call the shelter from there. She'll only give her the address if they have the confirmation that Bea has moved closer. If Bea changes her mind, she must also call to let them know.
They exchange a few more formalities and Liz gives Bea two hours to call back to update the shelter on her situation before her request is cancelled.
Bea feels hot by the time the call is over. She's sweating despite the cool air of the night and she quietly enters her house to pack.
As she delicately piles her clothes inside her suitcase, she prays that Harry doesn't wake up, and for the first time, her prayers are granted.
She calls to get the address just an hour later and Liz guides her to find the place with reassuring words in her ears. The suitcase is heavy with the remains of her old life, but she drags it through the streets relentlessly. She won't let Harry take any more of who she is.
It's the middle of the night, but she isn't scared. Nothing scares her more than Harry, and he is nowhere to be seen.
The moon is looking down at her and she thinks of Debbie. She hasn't told Debbie about her plans to move out. Her daughter won't be back for another month. Bea plans to have her own place by that time. She'll never allow Harry to hurt them again.
The house is located at the corner of two narrow streets illuminated by street lamps. It's big enough for Bea to be impressed by its stature, but small enough to go unnoticed amongst the other houses. Bea imagines that not many cars must come around here during the day, as they are far from the center of the city. Nothing indicates that this is a shelter for the women.
She's alone, but she sees lights shining through the windows. She walks to the door and rings the doorbell, hoping that this is the right place. Her heartbeat is so loud that she's afraid she's giving a free concert to whoever might be lurking around.
She sees a silhouette approaching the door and braces herself. She's ready to run away at the first indication of danger.
"Yes?"
The voice comes from the intercom next to the door and Bea whispers her name as if it is a bomb ready to explode in her face.
The door opens, and Bea finds herself staring defiantly at a woman who appears to be in her mid fifties, smiling at her like the world isn't such a terrible place to live in.
"Bea? I'm Liz. We spoke on the phone. Come on in," she gestures.
Bea hesitates. It's one thing to talk on the phone, but it's another to step into this strange building that she has never been in. Still, she figures it's that or the street, and she can smell the sweet scent of tea emanating the hallway. She closes the door behind her and her eyes search everywhere for a sign of threat.
She finds none.
She's standing in a large hallway that stretches to the other side of the house. She also sees many doors with large numbers on them. She knows immediately that these are the rooms for the residents.
To her left, there is a large office with many tables and desks, and she assumes this is where the work gets done during the day. She spots a screen displaying various views of the entrance of the house. There is a total of five cameras, all covering different places around the house.
She steps in the office and sits at a table where she notices Liz patiently waiting for her.
"How are you, Bea?" Liz asks with a small smile.
Bea's eyes are fixed on the woman, unsure of how to answer that question. She isn't good, but she isn't bad either. She doesn't want to appear weak and incapable of taking care of herself. That's not who she is.
"I'm fine," she declares with a convinced voice.
Liz sees right through her.
"You won't have to tell me anything tonight. It's late. When a woman comes here, we give her a moment to settle in before we start working with her."
Bea feels a wave of relief washing over her. She'd always thought that she'd be forced to share everything on the very first night, and that had been one of the reasons she had hesitated so much before calling here.
"I only have a couple of papers for you to sign and then I'll let you go. How about I give a quick tour of the house and you get some rest? I'll let one of the women explain the rules to you tomorrow."
Bea nods.
The papers are simply a written version of the rules along with a few personal information. She signs them after making sure all the information about her is right. She gets the key to her room, but nothing else.
"If you ever need to go out," Liz explains as she stands in front of the entrance, "you just come here and tell me, or another employee. As you can see, our office is right next to the entrance. We open the door for you. It's a simple procedure. We'll never stop you from going out and we'll never ask about our whereabouts. Many people think shelters are places where we control everything you do, but that's not true. We just make sure that someone always locks the door after you leave. We also ask that you come back here to sleep and that you never tell our address to anyone, no matter who they are."
"How many of you work here?"
"We're four. Me, Vera, Bridget and Will. Usually, there are three of us during the day, and one stays for the night shift. It's a rotation. This week, I'm only going to be there at night. We also have someone to work during the weekend. There's always someone if you need anything."
Bea follows Liz as the older woman shows her around the house. The suitcase rolls quietly on the wooden floor as they walk by the many closed doors. She stops briefly in front of door number 1. It'll be her room for her stay. It's large, way larger than she had expected before coming here. She has a bed, a small desk and a place to hang her clothes.
"Most of the women are sleeping right now," Liz whispers, pointing at the clock on the wall that indicates it is three in the morning.
Liz shows her where the bathrooms and showers are before they reach the end of the hallway.
They enter the kitchen where two stoves are shining so brightly that Bea wonders if they are new. She thinks of the old stove she has at her place. It barely works, but Harry refuses to buy a new one. It's a miracle she was able to cook in the previous days.
"This is the kitchen. We have someone cook all the meals, so you don't need to worry about that. If you buy things for yourself, we have scheduled hours for you to cook."
Liz guides Bea to another room where many tables are lined up neatly.
"This is the dining room. We all eat here. Breakfasts are before nine in the morning. Lunch is between noon and one. Dinner is served at five thirty until six thirty in the evening. You just come here, grab a plate and serve yourself. You can't eat in your room. We encourage all women to speak to each other."
Bea listens and mentally notes the hours to eat. She's starved. She hadn't had dinner tonight. She had been too focused on her plan to leave the house to think about anything else.
She eyes the fridge next to the tables with hunger in her mind and she hopes she doesn't start drooling on the perfectly cleaned floor.
"This fridge is for the women. The one in the kitchen is for the cook," Liz adds. "If you buy things, we recommend you write your name on it."
They move to the living room before heading to the basement. Liz tells her about the play room, where kids come during the days they don't have school.
"We welcome women with children here too. It might be quiet at night, but I'll assure you it'll be a different thing in the morning."
Bea smiles lightly as she remembers Debbie as a young child, a firework on two legs.
They walk to a small room where two washing machines and two dryers are awaiting her.
"This is where I'll leave you," Liz says. "You must wash all your clothes, even if they are already clean. It's standard procedure for everyone. You can start now or in the morning. The soap is here. In the meantime, you can wear these."
Liz points to a teal hoodie with matching sweatpants.
"It's not much, but it'll keep your warm until your clothes are good. If there's anything you need, you can come reach me in the office. Do you have any question?"
Bea shakes her head and opens her suitcase as Liz leaves the room. A variety of clothes are thrown in the washer. She changes into the teal outfit and feels ridiculous. At least, just like Liz had told her, it's warm and soft on her skin.
Bea watches for a few minutes as the machine spins, washing away the violent memories she has come to associate with the clothes.
The shirt she was wearing when Harry pushed her down the stairs is squished between the pants she wore when he forced her to have sex with him for the first time and the top she wore when he poured his beer over her head.
Her clothes never feel clean enough, and she wishes she could be the one inside the machine.
She closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Debbie would not want her to think that way.
Bea walks upstairs. She's about to go past the dining room without a second glance when a voice catches her attention.
"Hi. You're new here?"
Bea jumps in surprise and turns to face the stranger. She receives a warm smile in exchange for her skeptical glance.
"I'm Maxine. It's nice to meet you."
Maxine is drinking a cup of tea and her eyes are full of hopeful wishes and broken promises. She looks like she's lived a million lives before coming here and Bea immediately feels she can trust her.
"Bea Smith. Its late," Bea states.
She hadn't expected to meet anyone tonight and the sudden presence of another woman surprises her.
Maxine chuckles quietly.
"One would argue it is really early in the morning."
Bea remains quiet.
"I can't sleep," Maxine adds. "My doctor changed my meds a few days ago and I'm all over the place."
Bea doesn't ask what the meds are for, and Maxine doesn't elaborate. They communicate with their eyes and the untold truth navigates between them.
Bea doesn't point out the paleness of Maxine's skin, the exhaustion in her eyes or the absence of hair under her bandana. Maxine doesn't point out the way Bea keeps the end of her sleeves in her tightly closed fists, as if she was afraid the long sleeves were going to disappear suddenly and expose her bruised arms to the world.
"I just arrived," Bea sighs. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep."
"Well, come have a cuppa with me then," Maxine offers, pushing a chair so Bea can sit next to her.
"I don't know what to talk about," Bea replies as she takes place next to the other woman.
She feels like she doesn't know anything anymore. She can't even remember who she is, who she was before Harry came into her life.
"Anything at all," Maxine says. "I'll let you in on a secret. We don't even have to talk."
Bea scoffs lightly, but realizes Maxine is serious. For the next minutes, she sips her tea slowly, sometimes letting her eyes wander on Maxine's thin figure, sometimes staring at the table with no clue what to do now.
Maxine just lets her be and Bea is thankful for that.
"It's just intimidating, you know?" Bea breaks the silence.
Maxine looks at her like she can read Bea's mind.
"Yes, I know. The first day always is. You'll find your rhythm. I've been here for two weeks and I can't see myself anywhere else."
"Do you feel safe here?"
"Safer than I've been in a long time," Maxine murmurs.
Bea thinks she is having a panic attack.
The walls are too empty. The mattress is too hard. The light is too bright. The silence is deafening. The air she breathes is suffocating her. The blanket is setting her skin on fire.
The tea had helped her satisfy some of her hunger, but not anymore. The hole in her stomach is spreading to other parts of her body.
The only things she recognizes when she looks around in her room are the items she brought with her. A few papers. A few books. Her phone. Her phone charger. Her wallet. Many pictures of Debbie. Everything else is in the laundry room and Bea suddenly feels like she has nothing with her.
She's truly alone now. At her house, she had Harry. He was terrible. He was violent. He was a predator looking down at her like she was nothing but his prey. But at least, he was there, and she could listen to his aggressive voice rather than her own inner demons.
The reality that she is truly out of her house, in a place where Harry can't reach her, crashes onto her and it's too much. She feels like the walls are closing in on her. She is going to be crushed any second now if she doesn't move.
She races through the main hallway as quietly as she can, the floor creaking loudly under every step she takes, and reaches the entrance within seconds. She hasn't slept at all and it's close to five thirty in the morning, but she couldn't care less.
"I need to go outside. Just a moment," she breathes heavily, hoping that no explanation will be asked.
She knows Liz had told she wouldn't be asked to disclose her whereabouts, but she doesn't know what to believe yet. It is a strange hour to go out after all.
Liz stares at her with compassionate eyes as she gets up and unlocks the door.
"Just ring the doorbell when you want to come back in."
Bea runs outside and gasps for air as if she'd spent the last hours underwater.
She puts some distance between her and the shelter but doesn't venture far. She stops at a small park, two streets away from the shelter. She sits on a bench and looks up to the black sky. Slowly, the pressure in her chest goes away and the hurricane in her mind passes.
She takes a few deep breaths. Her stomach growls and she winces at the familiar pain. She's taken back to the many times Harry had prevented her from eating just because he wanted to punish her for something she'd done. The nausea doesn't get easier to ignore.
She wishes she could buy something, but she doesn't know the neighborhood well enough to go farther without the sun to guide her. Even if she did, she only has two dollars in her pockets. Only a few hours until she can go back and get breakfast, she thinks.
She's survived worst, she tells herself over and over.
She didn't bring anything with her and she fiddles with her curled red hair while she waits for the present to become the past. She can't stop thinking about Harry's reaction when he'll wake up. Would he go after her? Would he go to the police? Would he spread more lies about her? Would he reach Debbie? Her heart aches at the last option.
She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't notice the shadow walking toward her until it's too late.
Bea feels the bench bend under the weight of someone else sitting on it and she jumps ten feet in the air.
"What the fuck?" she blurts out.
Bea glares at the stranger. The park is completely empty. There are many other benches to sit on.
"Wow, jumpy, aren't we? You looked so lonely, I figured I'd keep you company. I just got off work," an amused voice answers.
Bea is still trying to keep her heart inside her chest when she notices long blond hair peaking out from under the stranger's hood. She can't see what the woman looks like in the dark, but she thinks she recognizes the color of the hoodie. It's the same as the one she has.
"You're wearing green," Bea declares loudly.
The woman laughs loudly and pulls down the hood from the top of her head.
"It's teal, you dickhead," she smirks, finally looking up to meet Bea's eyes.
Bea has received several insults in her life but getting one from this estranged woman doesn't hurt her the way she thought it would. Piercing blue eyes are staring at her and Bea finds herself unable to pronounce a word.
The blue is taking Bea hostage. The dilated pupils make it clear that the stranger likes what she's looking at and Bea is paralyzed by the unknown.
"I'm Allie Novak."
"You're at Wentworth?" Bea asks.
"What's your name?" Allie replies casually, ignoring the question thrown at her.
Allie's eyes are sparkling with desire, amusement and an amount of energy that Bea thought impossible at this time of the night. Allie crosses her arms over her chest and waits for Bea to answer, oblivious to the way Bea's blood is rushing through her veins at lightspeed. The meter that separates them does nothing to calm Bea's nerves.
"Bea. Bea Smith."
Allie nods convincingly, letting Bea knows that her answer has been forever saved in her brain.
"Well, Bea, I'm not at Wentworth. I was, weeks ago. Then I got kicked out. They just couldn't handle me."
Allie pronounces those words like she couldn't care less about her situation. She speaks as if it isn't the middle of the night, but rather a sunny afternoon. She speaks as if she isn't wearing dirty clothes, but rather a clean outfit freshly off the fanciest store in town. She speaks as if they aren't complete strangers, but rather best friends who have known each other for years.
"You got kicked out?"
Bea is about to ask why when she notices something else about the other woman. Her clothes aren't only dirty. They're filthy. They look like they've been dragged through all the dirt on earth before they were thrown on Allie's body. Bea also sees the faint traces of white powder on the teal fabric and feels the blood drains from her face when she realizes what they are.
"They're not mine," Allie says carefully when she sees Bea staring at the white traces.
For a strange reason she can't identify, Bea believes her.
"I mean, don't get me wrong. I got my own gear for later."
Allie stops talking, waiting for Bea to react to the revelation. She's high, but not completely off her head tonight. She'd just finished with a client when she'd decided to wait until her next fix. Sometimes she's capable of controlling her urges, sometimes not.
The need to go and get a dose had increased in the last hour, but when she had seen Bea, sitting there on that bench, with nothing but Wentworth's clothes on, Allie's priorities had shifted.
She knows Wentworth. Not everyone ends up there. Only those who do have no other choice left.
She waits for Bea to react, expecting her to get up and leave at any moment. She wouldn't be surprised, and she wouldn't follow her. She'd learned a long time ago that having friends was a luxury she couldn't afford.
It never stops her from trying.
She waits for a full five minutes before she accepts that Bea won't speak again.
"They don't accept junkies at Wentworth. It's dangerous for the kids. I was clean when I got there, but then I slipped," Allie adds.
Bea hums, but doesn't pronounce any words. She's looking away in the distance, simply listening to Allie. She isn't running away, but she isn't quite here anymore.
It drives Allie insane.
She wants the Bea to react. Everyone does. Everyone reacts, so why isn't Bea? There's something about her that pulls Allie in and she needs to know what it is.
"Lucky for me, I got that beautiful piece of clothing before I left," she gestures to her hoodie. "And I got my own place now. It's a five stars alley, a few streets from here. You're welcome to visit anytime you want."
Bea scoffs. She has no idea what to reply to that. She has no idea why this Allie is even talking to her, confessing so many personal details of her life. She could never do that. She wishes Allie was lying, because living in the streets sounds like a horrific idea, but something in the blonde's tone tells her it's the truth.
The sudden confession makes her want to trust Allie.
She turns her head to face the blonde.
"Thanks for the offer," Bea smiles gently.
There is no judgement in her smile. There is no harshness in her voice. There is no trace of fear in her eyes. The pity Allie is expecting to see hasn't appeared yet. Instead, Bea stares at her like she would anyone else. The moment of absence, whatever it was, is gone, and Bea is here, fully here with Allie.
It leaves Allie speechless.
"So… you'll consider it?" she grins widely as Bea rolls her eyes slightly.
It's subtle and Allie almost misses it, but she doesn't, and the playfulness of the other woman sends a shock to her heart.
She loves it.
"I didn't hear you deny it," Allie persists, pushing her luck and moving closer to Bea. "I'll be expecting you soon."
"What do you want?" Bea asks suddenly, changing the subject.
Allie stares at her for a moment, wondering whether to answer seriously or not, before she decides on the first option.
"A friend," Allie declares, brutally honest.
There's a vulnerability in her voice as she pronounces the words. She's still waiting for Bea to judge her. She's giving Bea an out and even though she would like nothing more than to stay here for longer, she's ready to respect the other woman's wish.
Still, she hopes that Bea won't make her leave. After having sex with nameless faces all night, Allie craves humane interactions. She craves the simplicity of having a normal conversation, away from the cruelness of some strangers.
She wants a connection that isn't related to the exchange of fluids and well calculated touches.
"You looked like you could use one too," Allie adds softly.
"I don't know you."
"But you want to?" Allie assumes with a sly smile.
"I don't know," Bea breathes out.
Allie nods, as if she knows everything Bea has on her mind.
She remembers her first day at Wentworth. Everyone either had looked at her with pity in their eyes, or worse, fear. Maybe they had known, just by staring at her, that her history was too heavy for them to bear. When she had left, she had known no one would remember her the next day.
"You don't have to decide tonight," Allie says. "It's your first night at Wentworth, isn't it? The new ones always have the same look on their face."
Facing Bea's silence, Allie continues.
"They all look like they've reached rock bottom. Or like lost puppies, your take."
"I'm fine."
"Of course, you are. Aren't we all?"
"Aren't you tired?" Bea interrogates, a frown in her face.
It doesn't take long for Bea to guess what Allie's job is. Judging by her swollen lips, the marks around her neck and the way her hair looks like a complete mess, Bea imagines Allie's body reacting to foreign touches while Allie's soul wanders somewhere else.
Allie opens her mouth to answer when she's interrupted by Bea's stomach howling at the absent moon.
The blonde's smile almost splits her face in half.
"Aren't you hungry?"
Bea doesn't reply. She looks down, unsure of how to react. She's starved, but she'll have a meal soon. The hunger is temporary.
"Here, take this."
Allie reaches inside her pocket and pulls out a granola bar. She hands it to Bea, who stares back at her like Allie's just grown a second head.
"Take it, I don't need it," Allie insists, grabbing Bea's hand and placing the bar inside.
Bea shakes her head in disbelief. She knows what it's like to go without food. She doesn't wish that on anyone. She has no trouble picturing Allie needing food later in the day while Bea would be inside with a full stomach.
"You need it more than I do," she whispers, giving it back to Allie while trying to ignore how soft Allie's skin is.
The blonde takes it back, only to throw it at Bea a second later.
"It isn't a competition. Right now, I'm not hungry. Well, not for food at least," Allie's eyes travel up and down Bea's body shamelessly. "But you are, so take it. Feed yourself before you pass out."
There's something about Allie's boldness that makes Bea accept the food this time. The first bite tastes like she's coming back to life and she feels the sugar rushing through her veins. She moans at the faint taste of chocolate and dried fruits and licks her lips as she devours the granola bar.
By the time Bea is done, Allie is nearly undressing her with her eyes.
"Good?" Allie asks innocently, with a much less innocent twinkle in her eyes.
"Great," Bea replies softly, ignoring way Allie's stare makes her skin crawl.
Allie chuckles as she gets up.
"It was nice to meet you, Bea."
Bea's smile drops so fast that Allie wonders if it was even there in the first place.
"You're leaving?"
"You'll miss me?" Allie winks.
"No."
It sounds like a lie and they both know it.
Allie is the first normal conversation Bea has had in a while. She feels normal. She senses Allie must know about her situation because of the teal outfit, but she hasn't been asked any question about it. She hasn't talked about the abuse. She hasn't talked about Harry.
It's like Allie had known what Bea needed.
A pause from her life. A pause from her mental turmoil. A moment to remember what it is like to feel close to someone, no matter how ephemeral it is.
Bea has never been more grateful.
"What a shame," Allie pretends to be hurt. "I'll miss you. See? Easy to admit. Now, your turn."
Bea shakes her head silently, the ghost of a grin haunting her lips.
Allie laughs again, unfazed by Bea's stubbornness, and Bea thinks this is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.
"I'll see you around, Bea," Allie wiggles her eyebrows as she walks away.
Bea watches as the distance grows between them. Just when Allie is about to disappear from her sight, Bea yells.
"Hey Allie!"
She thinks she sees the blonde's body turns around to face her through the dark.
"You're an Allie cat!"
She knows Allie heard her when the heavenly laugh reaches her ears once again.
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