I decided since it has been so long since I have been on here that I was would post the first two snippets back to back! I would not label this part of the story a trigger warning BUT there are brief mentions of attempted suicide and Paige's quick regards to the matter may not be the most appropriate however with Paige's sad thoughts about herself at this point in her character development I believe the comments fit. Hope you like! Please rate/review!
Gay. Emily is gay. Emily is gay and swims faster than you. Emily is gay, swims faster than you, and may be elected team captain. You are angry, maddeningly angry. Why could you not be better? Especially, why could you not be better than her? In reality, who were you to kid yourself into thinking you would be rewarded for your talent when she was also being considered. Emily. She who had the luck to rise high within the clicky social standings, ruling the school alongside her group's totalitarian leader; she who had the strength to come out both inwardly to herself and outwardly alongside a beautiful girlfriend; she who had enough popularity pull to surround herself with people whom distracted her away from you. You have never had many people in your life so you could not forget. You tried to remain her friend throughout the early part of high school. You still remember those times you were the reason behind her smile, her laugh, her good moods, but, you no longer dwell as much on whatever interaction you once had- Alison made sure of that. Crude jokes became teasing which became bullying which became blackmailing which became torturing. You could not take it anymore. You tried to end everything, end yourself, but you were too cowardly to even succeed at that. So you went to your sanctuary, inside yourself. You cut off your connection with Emily, not that she really noticed, and you have been hiding ever since (during some of the rare hidden moments of honesty you will admit you have been hiding a lot longer than high school). Even with Ali gone you are still hidden, and still quite tortured.
Sometimes when the burden of self-shame becomes so overwhelming you black out because the guilt is so blinding you cannot even remember your own name. Sometimes you wish you could just remain in a state of blackout because there is always a mess to clean when you reenter consciousness. Normally, you lash out: at a wall, at your bike, apparently at Emily. You are not sure how your hand ended up on her head. You just knew you were angry. Angry because you are so scared and she is so not; she is everything your parents think you should be but nothing like you actually are. When you let go, when you run away, when you hide in your room and when you let yourself cry, wail, sob you are reminded of how much of a coward you are. You bike as fast as you can over to her house. You feel like a monster and you cannot have her thinking that too, not Emily, not the one person who used to make school feel doable. So you apologize. For freaking her out, for putting her in harm's way, for letting her take the punishment that you know you deserved instead. You do not notice the rain, but you do notice her forgiving eyes that have somehow, in mere seconds, penetrated your walls to start healing wounds. But you cannot let her crack your defenses so you apologize once more, so that she may fully understand how deeply gutted you are at your poisonous behavior, and you ride off.
You are angry again (what else is new). You should have known he would overreact, you should have been there to intercept his frustrations: you know your father and now, unfortunately, so does the rest of the school. As you wait for Emily to get into her car you are not sure which words will right another wrong you have committed, but by the time you finally have her attention any ideas you may have come up with are gone. All you see is her understandably surprised expression complete with a full lip pout and shining eyes so without thinking you grab her face and do the one thing you have secretly wanted to do since the day you bumped her in the hallway. You kiss her like the world is ending, and since this is the first time you have actually acted on any hidden feelings it may. The bliss you feel is overwhelming, the electricity from the contact is all-consuming, but the elation quickly turns to freight as you realize what you have done. So you sprint out of the car.
Emily wants to talk; you cannot. Yet, you also are incapable of forgetting the kiss. So you hope and pray that she will meet you somewhere secluded; somewhere you can show her who you are underneath the hesitation while still actually remaining hidden. As your nerves pile on she walks into the bar and all reservations you held were nullified. Even with your fear pumping through your veins you cannot help but think that there is nowhere else you would rather be; no one else you would rather be with. Funnily enough, after the conversation picks up you start to get the idea that Emily feels the exact same way. You may be too scared to admit who you are, but you are definitely not too scared to grab a microphone and coerce Emily onto the stage. The success you achieve at getting her to sing will forever hold a high standing place in your list of accomplishments. The smile she gives you will forever hold a high standing place in your list of best things ever. When all is said and done you are both reeling: clinging to each other's words, laughing at each other's jokes, and not so subtly checking out each other's appearances. When she goes to kiss you your heart stops; The Emily Fields is leaning in towards you without any outside motivation. As your lips connect you swear you hear the fireworks in the background (you hate being cheesy but at this point you cannot really help it). She tastes of coke products and hope; desire and future. As you both break apart you can see she is just as taken aback by the connection as you are. All you can do is smile.
You ask her to have a picnic with you, as friends of course. You are not ready but you cannot stay away. She has already enveloped your bloodstream, and by her eagerness to come along you are starting to let yourself think you have a similar effect. Sandwiches and snuggling; laughing and lemonade: perfect combinations. You think you can get used to it, to this, until she pushes you to do more than you are ready for. You cannot do an actual date at a concert, even if you secretly wish to spend all of your free time together. A date with a guy, on the other hand, is still totally acceptable. That is until you actually go on said date and spend the entire time wishing you were somewhere else with a certain brunette. When you go to her house for the second time ever everything feels as it did the first visit: you are still scared and you still feel as though you hurt her. But as she looks at you with sympathetic kindness reflecting in her brown orbs, you cannot help yourself when you say out loud your biggest secret. Maybe she will never know that this is the first time you have said it aloud, maybe she will never know that she is the witness to the moment your life changed forever, maybe she will never know how she has cemented her place in your heart all thanks to the safe space she created for you; maybe she will never know but you pray that one day you can tell her. You are grateful that after such a hard moment you are rewarded with a kiss, a cuddle, and a smile.
You try again. You have secret hangouts and laugh until your tummies hurt. You enjoy training in the pool and bike riding around the town (keeping safe distances between each other). She texts you constantly and has even jokingly yelled at you when you forgot to respond punctually (you did not actually forget, you could never forget, but sometimes math tests take precedence). You are happier than you have ever been, she is happier than you have seen her in a while (or at least you think she is happier). Then you go and ruin everything. You want to make up for the concert you both had missed. You get other tickets and pay off a swim mate who will join you in case anyone gets the wrong idea (technically the right idea but you are not ready for the world to know that). She gets mad: she is not anyone's secret nor does she ever want to be. You understand, you do, but it hurts. You were starting to break down your once impenetrable walls for her, you were letting her into your sanctuary. When she does not respond to texts, when she yells at you in public you get nervous, assuming you have used up all of your chances, but there is nothing you can do. You are too scared. You let her go, and go back to hiding.
