Thank you all so much for reading the first chapter, I didn't think anyone would to be honest. Thank you especially to those who actually reviewed the story, your thoughts on what I wrote made my day. To answer a few questions, yes, this is a rewrite. It will be in five or more parts, and the basic plotline will be exactly the same as the other 'Broken' the only difference is the writing style and a few added secondary plotlines. And yes, most of the tags (but not all of them) will directly involve Bo and Lauren.
Okay. I'm done rambling.
This chapter is possible because Maggie is patient and nice and never refused to answer my invasive questions, no matter what time of day or night I asked. TYSM.
Trigger warnings for;Depression, Internalized homophobia, Homophobia, Physical abuse. E.D, S.I., Alcoholism, Really bad coping mechanisms, internalized self-hate, Dubious consent, Underlying themes of Transphobia, Domestic violence, Verbal abuse, Suicidal Thoughts &Tendencies.
Part Two; Gasoline.
I feel this emptiness in my chest. It feels surreal, but I'm feeling stressed.
Valerie's mom dies a day before Christmas. Lauren's mom breaks the news to Lauren gently and for a minute after she's given Lauren the news, Lauren wonders why she's being so soft, Lauren's not the one who just lost a parent. Then she wonders if she's being insensitive, if she's a bad person. She wonders if there's something wrong with her. "Is Val okay?" She asks, because that's what normal people are supposed to ask.
"I uh- I don't know, honey. But I don't think she is."
Lauren nods. She plays with the bottle of water in her hands, "can I go over and see her?" She and Val aren't exactly the best of friends. Lauren doesn't really have friends who aren't Bo or Mark. But they're close enough, and it seems like the right thing to do.
"Of course you can. I think she'll need all the support she can get."
There's something that feels a lot like relief welling up in Lauren's chest. It makes her feel warm and sick to her stomach both at the same time. Her dad's drinking hasn't become worse, but it has made him louder and more liable to pick fights. He shouts over everything and anything. And any night that Lauren can get away from him is one she counts as a blessing.
"I'll go pack my bag and see if Bo wants to come with."
Bo does want to come with, which is a good thing since she's better at people than Lauren is. Val's eyes are red and wide when she opens the door for them. She doesn't say anything, just lets them in and walks to her bedroom. They do their best to cheer her up; watch her favourite movies, listen to her favourite songs, and sometimes it seems to work. Her lips lift up in something resembling a smile and she takes one or two bites out of the sandwiches they make her. But most of the time, no amount of cheering up works. Most of the time she curls herself into a tiny human ball, like she's trying to disappear altogether, and sobs so quietly that it hurts more than if she was screaming on top of her lungs. During those times, Bo and Lauren learn that just being there is all they can do. They cover her with their bodies like they're trying to shield her from some of the pain and then they just let her cry.
Valerie doesn't want them to go back home. Bo says she can't stay. Bo's father is big on family holidays. The Dennises always have their house decorated by professionals and all their meals cooked by the best chefs Mrs. Dennis can find in the fancy magazines that she reads all the time. Then they get their family photo taken by a professional and they turn it into a calendar. Lauren thinks it's all too much work and way too showy just to impress Mr. Dennis's colleagues. But to each their own.
"I'll be back as soon as I get the chance." Bo's voice sounds like a promise.
Valerie nods and looks at Lauren, she doesn't even try hiding the hopefulness on her voice. "You'll stay, right?"
Lauren pats her hand and gives her a small smile, "of course I'll stay. I just have to call my mom and tell her, okay?" It might sound like she's doing Valerie a favour, but it's the other way 'round. Christmases at the Lewis household are nightmares. Lauren's mother spends the day cooking and picking after Lauren's father, and the night at Tit-Bits, trying to earn a living. Lauren's father spends it drinking and making jokes that no one but him finds hilarious. Lucy hasn't turned up for Christmas since she left town. In fact, she hasn't been back once since she left. She always has an excuse; assignments, she's saving on money, whatever she can think of really. Lauren wants to resent her for it, but she can't. It would be hypocritical if she did, considering she spends Christmas with her headphones on, waiting for it to be over.
Lauren's mom doesn't seem to care much that Lauren won't be home for Christmas. In fact, she sounds a little relieved. Nowadays Lauren thinks her mother walks around with her breath held in, just waiting for the other shoe to fall.
.
.
.
Valerie's mom is buried on a Saturday, December twenty sixth. Valerie wears one of her mother's old dresses. The black color against her skin looks stunning and her hair is held up in a rare tight bun. Her eyes are big with sadness and her skin is soft with it. Lauren has never seen anyone so pretty with sadness before. She feels sick if she looks at Valerie for too long. Feels like a bad person. Feels wrong.
Valerie insists that Lauren and Bo sit with her up front, with the family. The mass is sad, quiet. People cry into the handkerchiefs and Valerie doesn't cry at all. She looks right ahead with dry eyes and a sort of strength Lauren doesn't think any fifteen year old is supposed to need.
The service is a blur of tears from Mr. Santiago, strangled breathing from people around Lauren, and an almost detached sort of silence from Valerie. Before Lauren knows it, they're taking the coffin from the church and towards the burial grounds. It's almost surreal to think that Mrs. Santiago is inside that box. Lauren had never been exactly close to Mrs. Santiago, but she has known her since she was eleven years old. She has slept in her house and eaten her food and seen her laugh and just be alive and to think that she's just not anymore is almost impossible to wrap her mind around.
The coffin is carried all the way to the burial grounds in silence and Lauren keeps sneaking glances at Valarie, waiting for her to snap, to break down and start crying. But Valerie just remains stoic, looks right ahead. And Lauren wonders if things are piling up inside Valerie like they do for her sometimes, if she too is heaping up emotions the way people stack Legos, and if she feels like one day they're going to become too much and blow up and leave her with nothing inside.
The Vicar's voice sounds like gravel when he speaks. Lauren holds both Valerie's and Bo's hand. Bo's is sweaty, and it occurs to Lauren that Bo has never been to a funeral before, so she squeezes her hand softly to let her know that it'll be okay.
"Earth to Earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life. Amen."
Mr. Santiago's the first to step forward; he drops a flower inside the grave. It's pink, like the kind Mrs. Santiago used to put on their dining table. Once, Lauren found her sniffing one, she said they were her favourite ones, that they reminded her of some sort of youthfulness. She'd said it with a smile; Mrs. Santiago did almost everything with a smile.
Hale steps up next, drops a purple flower. Lauren knows for a fact that it's from their garden. She once helped Valerie tend to them.
Valerie goes right after Hale. Her cold hand slips out of Lauren's hand and Lauren wonders what she'll drop in the grave, she doesn't have a flower. But Valerie just stares into the hole, then she pulls something from her coat pocket and drops it inside.
Then the vicar says something else. Something Lauren doesn't hear. But after that, it's over.
Just like that, it's over.
.
The Santiagos go to Valerie's grandma's on the twenty seventh. Mr. Santiago thinks it'll help, being away from everything. Lauren and Bo help Valerie pack; Valerie hasn't left her bed to go anywhere but to the toilet or said a word to anyone. They pack as many clothes as they think she might need and hug her for almost five whole minutes in front of Mr. Santiago's car. "We'll miss you." They say. Valerie doesn't say anything, she doesn't even look like she heard what they just said, but she gives them a blank smile anyway.
They watch as the car goes away, and that feeling Lauren always has when something big changes creeps up her spine. She holds on tight to Bo's hand, like she's afraid she'll float away if she doesn't.
"You wanna go to Candy Castle?"
They haven't been to Candy Castle in a while. They're fifteen now, candy's been replaced by coffee and Miss. Flynn's smiles have been replaced by boys' smirks. But just for today, Lauren wants to pretend she's seven again; untouched by death and mistakes that aren't even hers. She just wants to be happy, even if it's just pretend.
"Yeah," Bo nods, "should we take our bikes?"
Lauren's lips stretch into a smile. She can't remember the last time they took their bikes anywhere, "could we?"
"Course we could."
Her smile spreads wider on her lips. And for a moment, she feels happy. And nowadays, that's all she can ask for.
.
.
Lauren walks back into her house at around seven. Her limps feel heavy and she has a slight stomach ache from eating too much candy and laughing too loud for too long at Bo's ridiculousness. All things considered, today was a good day and she's looking forward to taking a shower and sleeping 'til tomorrow. Or maybe next year, she hasn't decided yet.
But every single thing goes to shit the minute she opens the door.
The first thing that hits her is the smell; stale and rancid. Like a mixture of sweat and spilled alcohol and milk that has gone bad. The air is thick with it, makes it almost hard to breathe, the further into the house she walks, the worse it gets and at some point, she has to cover her nose with her hand, she'd rather not breathe at all than breathe whatever toxic fumes are in the air.
Her father is lying on the couch, half of his body on the floor, one of his hands holding the remote and the other holding a bottle of beer. His eyes look cloudy, unfocused, Lauren doesn't even think he's actually watching the TV. His hair looks unkempt, wild almost; he's still wearing the shirt he was wearing on the twenty fourth so he evidently hasn't taken a shower in three days.
There are bottles of beer, whisky, vodka, tequila and other drinks Lauren can't even name around him. There's a plate of half eaten chicken on the table and popcorns and crisps strewn all over the floor. There's food on the dining table that looks like its days old, a glass full of soda with bugs floating on top of it.
For a second, Lauren can't breathe. She doesn't know if it's because she's depriving her lungs of air or if it's because her body is so overwhelmed that it's shutting down, but for a moment, she cannot breathe. Her heart feels tired and her eyes sting and burn.
"Lauren," her father's voice floats lazily to her. It's grave and slurred, like he hasn't used it for days. "You're back." He says with a dopey smile.
She's going to be sick.
.
.
First thing she does is go to the kitchen. There are plates in the sink and food peels everywhere. She picks black garbage back and starts throwing everything inside it. Nothing is salvageable and even if it was, she wouldn't care. She just wants all this filth gone. It takes four garbage bags to get rid of all the food and all of her father's used bottles. When she's satisfied that it's all been thrown away, she does the dishes, cleans the fridge then does the laundry. She throws away the bed sheets on her parents' bed because they have a weird brown stain on them that she doesn't feel like questioning the origins of.
By the time she's done, it's almost ten and her body is so tired she feels like it'll shut down on her at any given moment.
"Are you hungry?" She asks her father, not looking him in the eyes. She can't handle looking at his blank stare. It's taking all of her not to just break down right now.
"I could go for a drink." He slurs, she feels bile rise up her throat.
"I meant, are you hungry for food."
"No. No I'm fine."
She doesn't say anything else to him, just stomps to her bedroom. She hasn't even sat down when it occurs to her that there's something she has forgotten, so she walks back down to the kitchen and picks another garbage bag. She goes through every closet, every shelf, any hiding place she can think of, and pulls out her father's beer bottles. She fills one and a half garbage bags and carries them all the way to the back yard.
She opens each bottle using her teeth or her hands and pours the contents into the ground. It takes her about an hour to finish, and by the time she's done, she feels numb. Detached. Exhausted. One of her thumbs is bleeding; she doesn't even recall cutting it. God, she's so damn tired.
She falls face first on her bed when she finally gets to her room. She should probably take a shower. Her clothes smell like an odd mixture of alcohol and bleach and her skin feels filthy. But just the thought of getting out of her bed makes her feel like crying. Her body's done for today.
It has taken all it can take. It's done.
.
.
Lauren doesn't know how long she's asleep, but the first thing her eyes register when she opens them is big, red numbers blinking at her; 10:37.
The next thing she registers is that there's someone yelling and banging at her door. And if she didn't know it's her father, and if she hadn't been expecting this, she would be startled. But as things stand, she does know that it's her father and she has been expecting this, so she just sits up on her bed and schools her features into something hard and infallible.
She hopes she looks as convincing as she intends to. She hopes her nerves don't show.
"Open this door or I'll break it down!" He yells. She sits still, breath held in, her hands holding so tight onto her sheets that it's painful. "Lauren!" It's quiet for a moment after that, and she allows herself a sliver of stupid hope. She allows herself to think that he's gone. But then the door is kicked with such force that it almost cracks in two when it hits the wall. He stands at the entrance, looking mad and not at all like himself. She clutches tighter onto the sheets. "Where. Are. They?" He practically spits out.
She doesn't dare blink. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me you little brat." His face is pale, his brow rigid, his mouth set in a straight line and his eyes red, either from anger or from alcohol, Lauren can't tell. "Just tell me where they are."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Fear bleeds into her voice, she's almost stuttering now. She moves back on the bed, hoping to increase the distance between them. "I don't-"
"Don't lie to me!" He yells and kicks the door again.
She jumps back. Frightened now. He's never been like this. He's usually loud and careless and his speech slurs when he's had as much as three sips of Guinness, but he has never been violent towards her. She doesn't know how to deal with him when he's like this. "I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." Her voice sounds like it's drowning in tears and there's something lodged on her throat. "I really don't." She whispers.
"My drinks. I had- I had a stock of drinks yesterday. I know I did. And now they're gone and you were the last one in the kitchen. So I ask you again, where, are they?"
"Daddy I don't-"
She's not expecting it, and perhaps that's why for a moment after he's slapped her, she just stares at him, her hand on her cheek. Then he slaps her again and she's expecting it even less that it sends her across the room and she hits her forehead.
"Where are they Lauren?" He sounds tired. His face is red and he's panting. She's not very sure she knows who he is right now.
"I don't-"
"Fuck." He kicks the door one last time and stomps away.
.
.
For a moment, she just sits there. Her nose is bleeding and her arm feels like it's broken and there's a throbbing pain on her shoulder that feels like a balloon of pain, just waiting for the right time to pop. But for some reason, she can't really feel the pain. She knows it's there, she can feel its ghost presence like a shadow that won't leave, but she's sort of numb to it.
It's probably due to shock, she thinks. Her mind hasn't yet caught up to what her body is feeling. Her eyes are heavy and they keep drooping. She once read somewhere that going to sleep while in shock isn't the best of ideas. She lifts her hand to rub at her eyes, wade away some of the fatigue, keep herself awake for just a little bit longer. Something wet smears on her face, she frowns and looks at her hand, her wrist is bleeding. She hadn't even noticed.
She should get up and get cleaned. Maybe take a bath, wash some of the blood away, cover the parts that need covering before they get infected. But just the thought of moving even and inch makes her eyes sting and her head roll. She doesn't think she's ever been so tired in all her life. And it's not even a physical kind of tired; it's something else, something more bone deep, something she doesn't know if a few hours of sleep will be able to fix.
"Fuck." She mumbles when she tries to move, her brain has finally registered that her body is in pain. The throbbing in her arm now feels like a heartbeat and the world won't stop spinning no matter how much she wishes for it to. "Fuck." She says again and holds herself up on the wall. She almost falls, three times, on her way to the bathroom, but she finally gets there.
She stands in front of the mirror, holding herself up with both palms on the sink counter, and looks at her face with an air of detached curiosity, like it's not really hers. Like she's looking in on some else's private moment. Half her face is bloody and she has streaks of blood under her eye like she's been to war. Her eyes are bloodshot and small, her forehead is bruised and her clothes are covered in blood and something else she has no energy to decipher right now. She turns to her side and lowers her shirt, her shoulder is an angry kind of red, something's probably broken in there.
She looks a mess. Sadness and hurt don't suit her. Not like they do other people. Not like they did Valerie. The thought makes her chest feel tight and guilt bubbles up her throat like bile. She lets go of her shirt and slowly drags herself to her room, she picks an over sized hoody, one that Lucy gave her and carelessly throws it on.
She can't stay here tonight.
She can't.
.
.
.
She makes it all the way to Bo's bedroom without falling or running into anyone, small miracles.
'One step at a time' she tells herself all the way there and when she finally sees the door to Bo's bedroom, she almost cries. She has been in this room as many times in the past seven years as she's been in her own. Sometimes even when Bo's not there, when she's out having a good time with her other friends or having company dinner with her parents, Lauren just comes here and climbs into Bo's bed and sleeps. Bo's bed is big and warm and it smells like Bo. But most of all, whenever she sleeps in Bo's bed, she knows she'll wake up in the morning to Bo's arms around her, or Bo's head on her chest, and that's probably better than anything else in the world.
She doesn't knock, she never does, not even after that night when she barged in here to find Bo and that German exchange student whose name Lauren can't ever recall, making out on the bed. It had been awkward, looking at Bo's pink cheeks and swollen lips and knowing that they were like that because someone had kissed her. But within days, they were laughing about it. And Bo had promised to put a sock on the door if she ever has 'visitors' again.
There's no sock today. So Lauren just walks in and considers heading straight for the bed. Her bones feel like they've been dosed in lead and she's almost certain her arm is gradually falling off. She just wants to sleep.
"Lo." Bo's voice is high, excited, she's looking at something on her phone and the phone light is hitting her face in a way that makes her look entirely too bright. Lauren can't bear to look at her; she tucks her hands further into her pocket and looks at the floor. "I was just about to call you. I..." She finally looks up; Lauren can hear her frown even though she can't see it. "Lauren? What's wrong?"
Lauren fists her hands in her pockets. Her wrist is still bleeding. It's probably staining her hoody. She should have wrapped it before she came here. "Can I sleep here tonight?" She hopes her voice comes off as steady as she wants it to. She's already been weak enough tonight, she doesn't need to be any weaker.
"Lauren-" Bo's voice sounds closer, Lauren can smell her perfume too. Bo started using some of her mom's ridiculously expensive perfumes this year. These days she smells like someone who's about seven years older than she is. Lauren is yet to decide whether or not she likes it. "Lauren, please look at me."
"I just want to sleep, Bo. Can we please just sleep?" Her voice sounds like it's drowning in tears and her eyes sting. She's just so fucking tired. And her head's so full and her body's in too much pain for her to even try to make sense of anything right now. If she could just sleep and deal with all this tomorrow. "Please."
Bo doesn't say anything. But she does move closer and places her index finger on Lauren's chin and lift her face up. Lauren would move her face away if she wasn't fifty percent sure that any sudden head movement would cause some sort of organ dislocation.
Bo's eyes widen when she looks at her face and Lauren wants to look away. She sometimes looks at herself in the mirror, when she's done helping her mom clean the house, or when she's just bored, she stands in front of the mirror and picks herself apart. Other girls have grown, especially Bo. Bo has boobs almost as big as Stacey's now and she knows how to use mascara to make her eyes look round and big and beautiful. Boys look at her different and she speaks different around them. The only person in their age group who hasn't grown any different is Lauren. Her chest is still flat and no matter how hard she tries, her eyes never look quite as big as Bo's. There's nothing special about her, and she doesn't like people staring into her face, she doesn't want them knowing how plain she is. "Fuck." Bo holds Lauren's chin tighter, "who did this to you?"
Bo's angry. Her first reaction whenever anything happens to Lauren is always to get angry then defensive. And Lauren loves that about her. But she can't deal with Bo's anger right now, not when every part of her body feels like it's soaked in pain. She's so fucking exhausted. "I just want to sleep." She says slowly, the words feel sharp, like needles on her tongue, she wonders if her tongues bleeding too. She wonders if there's part of her that's not bleeding.
"Shit." Bo mumbles. "Shit. Fuck. I- I'm gonna go get something to clean you up with, okay?"
"Can I take a shower instead?" She asks. She doesn't want Bo seeing the wounds on her body. She's going to freak out even more then she's probably going to tell her parents and it's going to get back to Lauren's parents, specifically her mom, and Lauren cannot handle that right now. "I'd like to take a shower."
"Are you sure?" Bo asks with narrowed eyes.
Lauren nods. "Yeah. I am."
"Lauren..."
"I'll be quick. Promise."
Bo nods. She doesn't look like she's okay with any part of this plan, but she nods anyway. Lauren gives her a smile in return; she hopes it looks more real than it feels.
.
.
.
She trudges all the way to the bathroom. The towel Bo gave her to use held carelessly around her body. "One step at a time." She mumbles all the way there. She stands in front of the bathtub for longer than she cares to keep tabs on. She might drown inside the tub. With how she's feeling, it's a very real possibility. But she can't bear to stand under the shower right now. Her shoulder hurts, her wrist hurts, her head hurts, things are still spinny and fuzzy. The probability of her falling and hitting her head on the tiles in the shower is almost one. It should make her skin crawl; the fact that she thinks it wouldn't be such a bad thing if she died in this bathroom tonight. But it doesn't. It makes her feel weirdly excited. To think that it could all be over, and she wouldn't have to do anything but sit in a tub or stand under a shower for it all to just be done.
In the end, she climbs into the bathtub and makes sure to keep her eyes open. It wouldn't be fair to Bo if she died in here. She won't do that to her. She looks at her thumb to avoid slipping into slumber, it looks horrible. Like someone was mutilating it or something. Looking at her thumb makes her think of how she got her wound, makes her think of breaking her father's bottles, makes her think of his eyes, blank and scary, looking at her with such intense anger that her skin burnt with it.
Her thumb comes between her teeth so fast she's not even sure if she thought the action through before she did it. She bites down on it so hard that it bleeds. The taste of warm copper spreads through her tongue but it's not enough. The pain isn't enough. She can still feel the ghost of her father's eyes on her skin, how hard his slap felt on her face. She can see his blank eyes behind her eyelids whenever she blinks.
She looks all around the bathroom. Her eyes frantic and a desperation she doesn't understand bubbling right underneath her skin.
She spots it, right among the toothbrushes. It's silver and sharp and perfect. She climbs out of the tub without caring that she's leaving a trail of water behind her. She grabs it, spilling the toothbrushes noisily into the sink. She doesn't give herself even a moment before she's slicing hard and deep into her wrist, making the cut that's already there even deeper. It's painful as hell. She feels it in her head right to her sore feet. It's heaven.
It's almost like a glass of cold water on a hot summer day. Going down her throat and cooling her as it goes. It's instant relief. Like all the sadness and hurt and confusion drip down with the blood. It's painful too. So painful she couldn't think of her father if she tried. Her mind won't let her.
She loves the feeling. She loves it so much.
.
.
.
The bathroom is a bitch to clean. Wet blood smells disgusting and she can't bear the sight or smell of it. "What if Bo had walked in?" She thinks. "What would I have done then?"
She hadn't even locked the door and she'd been noisy and untidy about it. There's blood almost all over now, tissue isn't that great at cleaning blood. And now almost the whole roll is stained with blood because she touched it while she was still bleeding.
Worst of all, she can't even remember what that feeling of relief felt like. It was so fleeting. Like one moment it's there, and the next it's a distant memory that she can't grasp no matter how hard she tries. She stares hard at the pin when she's done cleaning. It still has traces of her blood on it. It would be so easy, slicing it through her wrist again. The previous cut is still there, deep and throbbing, it wouldn't' take much.
But no. Once is enough. The pain is still there, not as intense as it was before, but intense enough that all she can do is concentrate on it. "This is good." She tells herself, "it'll have to do."
.
.
.
Bo's waiting for her on the bed when she comes back from the bathroom. She has her hands laced together on her lap and she's wearing an over sized tee shirt and long socks that Lauren knows for a fact won't be on her feet come morning. She's so pretty. Probably the prettiest girl Lauren's ever seen. The thought makes her mouth feel odd; she squeezes the cut on her wrist, "hey." She says softly.
Bo looks up and tries for a smile, but she's clearly been crying. "Hey." She says back. "I uh-I got you some pills."
"Thanks." Lauren moves to the bed and takes the pills and glass of water from the bedside table. "I feel a lot better now."
"Lauren-" Bo wants to talk about it. She wants to find out what happened and discuss how Lauren's feeling but. Lauren can't. Not right now. Everything's all jumbled up in her head and the pain in her wrist is confusing her and the pills are already making her head heavy and fuzzy.
"Let's just sleep, Bo. Okay?"
"Okay."
.
.
.
Lauren sleeps all through the night. She'd thought she wouldn't. Imagined herself waking up in the middle of the night, sweaty and her mind riddled with images of blank eyes and raised hands, but evidently, she'd been wrong. The first time she opens her eyes, it's eight in the morning and the sun's already risen.
She groans when she shifts, her body protesting the movement. Everything still hurts; actually, everything hurts about fifty times more than it did last night, especially her wrist. She raises her hand to look at it, but then her eyes land on Bo, and she startles, almost knocking her head on the headboard. "Can we talk about it now?" Bo asks. She looks like she didn't sleep much last night. Her eyes are red and her face is swollen, she's cradling a mug of steaming hot coffee in her hands.
Lauren arches a brow, "can I have that?"
Bo hands it to her without question. "We really need to talk about this."
Lauren cringes. She's never understood why Bo insists on taking such bitter coffee, "we really don't."
"Lauren, someone hurt you." She sounds like the words hurt her to say.
"I'm fine now, okay. It looks worse than it feels, really."
"You're wrist looks fucking infected." Lauren feels like she's been slapped. She bites her lip. Bo sighs. "I don't mean to be pushy. I'm sorry. I just – I think we should talk about this. Figure out how to deal with it."
Lauren recalls the relief she felt when she cut her wrist last night. Remembers some of the overwhelming hurt trickling away with the blood. She lets her lips spread into a smile she doesn't actually feel, "I already dealt with it. Come on, I want to do something fun today, please." She pouts. Bo is defenseless to her pouts.
"Lauren..."
"Please. I need some fun in my life." It's probably the most honest thing she's said this entire conversation.
Bo sighs. She clearly wants to talk about it, but they wouldn't be friends if they didn't know when to let things be. Lauren knows Bo. She knows that Bo knows how to nag. And she knows that they're not done with this talk, not if Bo has anything to say about it. But she also knows that Bo knows her enough to tell that she needs to not talk about this right now. "Okay. Where do you want to go?"
Lauren beams. This time, her smile feels real.
.
.
.
Two days pass before Lauren decides to go back home. Bo lends her some clothes, baggy ones that don't touch Lauren's bruises. She walks back home at around seven at night, it's snowing outside and her hands feel frozen in her coat pockets. Her father's seated in front of the TV, watching the news. He startles when he sees her, eyes going wide, like he hadn't been expecting her back. 'I live here,' she wants to tell him; instead, she keeps her mouth pursed and hangs her coat.
"Hi." His timid voice breaks the silence. He looks more sober than she has seen him look in a long while. Looks like he's taken a shower too. The place doesn't stink and there's no rotting food on the dining table.
She removes her beanie. "Hey." She has no pockets to tuck her hands in now; she pulls the edges of her sweater all the way down to cover her wrists.
He smiles at her awkwardly, "welcome home." She nods. She doesn't know what else to do. She doesn't know how to act around him anymore. "I uh- I made apple pie. Been making one every day. Just in case you came home. It's a- it's a sort of welcome home gift."
Sorry I beat you half to death. Here, have some pie. She doesn't know why the thought's so amusing to her. "Thanks."
He nods and switches off the TV then turns to her with wet eyes, "I'm sorry." He says quietly, it comes out choked, like he's about to bawl, Lauren can't look at him, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I don't know what came over me but- it won't happen again. I haven't touched the bottle in three days and I don't plan on touching it again." He sounds so earnest. And Lauren's sure he believes what he's saying. She sure he thinks what he's saying is the absolute truth.
But she knows better. She knows he'll try and stop drinking; he'll be extra nice to compensate for what he's done. But after a while, he'll miss the taste of alcohol. After a while, he'll remember that night differently. He'll remember hitting Lauren because she threw his drinks away. He'll turn it into her fault. Then alcohol won't be vile anymore, it won't be the cause of his violence, and he'll drink again. He always does.
"Just-" his voice cuts through her thoughts, she blinks twice, trying to bring herself back to the present, her heads always so damn full these days. "Just please don't tell your mother. She'd leave me. I'm trying to change honey and, she wouldn't understand. It was a onetime thing but she wouldn't understand that. Our family would be ruined. Please. Don't tell her."
She doesn't say anything; she just stands there, silent and numb. She grinds her teeth 'til it feels like she's ground them right down to the nerves. Our family would be ruined, he said. That's all he cares about. She wonders if he knows that she's ruined. That he broke something inside her so thoroughly that she feels as if she will never be all right. That sometimes she feels so angry that her throat hurts with it and her lungs burn with it.
"Lauren?"
Her eyes snap to him. Her mouth sets in a stubborn line. "I won't tell her." She says because that's what he wants to hear. She says because no matter how much he says it was a onetime mistake, something inside her has now wired itself to be careful around him. Say what he wants, do what he wants and stay out of his way. Self-preservation. "I won't tell her," she repeats, "I promise."
Dyson's having a pre New Year's party and Bo insists that they should go together and since Lauren doesn't know how to say no to Bo, she ends up agreeing. They get ready at Lauren's since Bo's father is working late in his home office and he doesn't want to be disturbed.
Lauren's mom has a rare day off and she cooks up a feast for them and she even invites Nicklaus the Hippy who's shyer than Lauren pegged him to be. He doesn't talk much all through dinner and when Lauren's mom gives him some left overs to take home because he apparently 'needs some meat on his bones', he thanks her about a million times.
Lauren takes pictures with Salmon and Bo and her mom and even a few with her dad. And if she tries hard enough, she can almost convince herself she has a normal life.
Dyson's party is just a typical Edwardsville teenager's party. There's booze that he probably bought himself since according to Bo, he has a fake ID that says he's eighteen. There's loud music and people kissing in the front porch and a group of people sharing a blunt of weed somewhere at a corner. Stacey waves at Lauren from that group, she waves back and smiles a little because it's the polite thing to do. Bo's hand is warm and a little sweaty in hers as she leads them to where undoubtedly, there's beer.
"Ladies." Dyson yells when he sees them. He looks halfway towards drunk, shirtless because he's a showoff, and he has a straw perched at the back of his left ear. Lauren has never really understood what Bo sees in him. "Thought you guys weren't going to show up."
"Told you we would." Bo says, letting go of Lauren's hand and pulling out a stool for her before taking one for herself. She's been extra careful with Lauren since the incident. They're yet to talk about it, but Lauren isn't under the impression that they won't. She knows Bo too well to think that.
"Well, what's your poison?"
"Whatever you can mix up for me, preferably something with vodka and..." she turns to Lauren, "Lo, what'd you want?"
"Uh...water?"
Dyson frowns like he's disgusted, "people don't drink water at The Thorn's parties. It reflects badly on my image."
"She's going to drink whatever the fuck she wants to drink and The Thorn and his image are going to have to deal with it. Okay?" Bo's voice brooks no room for argument.
Dyson shrugs. Lauren sighs. "Beer. I'll have a beer."
"That's more like it." Dyson hoots and starts mixing up drinks.
.
.
.
Lauren's brain feels fuzzy around the edges, like it's been stacked full of cotton or clouds or something equally as soft. She's not exactly drunk, but she's halfway there and right now that's more than good enough. Bo has somehow found herself at the other side of the house. She's laughing at something Dyson's saying, one of her hand's on his chest and his hand's on her waist. Lauren wonders why he won't put on a damn shirt.
She takes a sip of her beer. It's warm now, tastes disgusting as hell. Bo throws her head back, laughing at something Dyson just said, his hand goes a little higher on Bo's waist, Lauren takes another sip of her disgusting beer and then makes herself pry her eyes from the two of them.
There's a group of people in the middle of the room playing some sort of game that sounds loud and exciting. For some reason, it involves a shocking lack of clothes. Lauren shrugs and starts making her way towards them, anything's better than sitting here, looking at Bo and Dyson act like fools.
"Shit. Sorry." She says when she bumps into someone. She might be more than just halfway towards drunk. "Sorry." She repeats, just in case the person didn't hear her the first time. Her victim, whoever it is, laughs and reaches for her wrist, apparently to steady her or something. She snatches her hand away so fast; she almost hits someone with her beer bottle. "Don't." She snaps.
Her wounds have healed quite nicely. If she moves too fast in the wrong direction, her shoulder still feels like it's going to fall off. But most of the time she's extra careful with it so it's no trouble. Actually, the only thing that hasn't healed is her wrist and that's because she picks at it all the time. Whenever it looks like it's healing, she picks at it until it's bleeding again. It's painful when she picks at it and the pain goes all the way to her head until she can't think anymore. She likes that. Sometimes not thinking is the only way for her to keep her sanity intact.
"Sorry." He raises his hands in mock surrender.
Lauren frowns, "Mark?"
"Hi." He says timidly.
She slaps his chest playfully. "I saw you hours ago. Why didn't you come say hi?"
"You're elusive." He tries with that charmingly confused look that only he can pull off.
Lauren rolls her eyes and grabs his hand. "Come on. I want to see what's going over there." She leads him towards the loud group and in the middle of all the voices are Tamsin and Stacey. Stacey with her shirt off and Tamsin with her mouth on Stacey's stomach, taking a shot off of her.
Lauren feels weird, looking at them. Like there's something settling at the pit of her stomach and a sort of buzzing electricity right at the tip of her fingers. She feels hot for no reason at all. Then she feels guilt prick her skin like hot needles. It's the same feeling she had that day when she looked at Valerie and thought she was the prettiest sad person ever. It's the same feeling she gets whenever she looks at Bo too long and thinks of her too much.
She doesn't like it.
She tags at Mark's hand. He's looking at Tamsin and Stacey with a sort of dopey look in his eyes. Like he might start drooling any time now. She wonders if she looked like that too while she was looking at them, and if someone saw her, saw how wrong she is. Panic surges up her body like a bad rash. She tags harder at Mark's hand. He looks at her with wide blown eyes, "you wanna get out of here?" She shouts into his ear.
He nods.
She leads him towards the exit, handing her beer to someone, she doesn't care enough to take note of who she hands it to. She's done with it anyway.
She only lets go of Mark's hand when they're outside and the cold's seeping into her bones. She sinks her hands into her coat pockets and berates herself for not carrying a beanie. It's cold as fuck. She'll probably end up getting pneumonia, or hypothermia, or something equally as dreadful and life threatening and she'll have no one to blame but herself.
"Cold?" Mark asks, already removing his jacket and draping it over her.
She smiles gratefully at him. For a moment, she considers fluttering her eyelashes. Bo does that a lot around Dyson, it makes her look delicate, boys seem to like delicate girls. But then she thinks she'll end up looking stupid, so she kicks at the ground instead.
"That party's something else, huh?"
"Did you like it?" She blurts out, completely without thinking. She narrows her eyes at herself and rewords her question. "What Tamsin and Stacey were doing, did you like it?"
He shrugs. It looks awkward because his hands are in his jeans pockets and he's all gangly limbed, "yeah. I guess. I mean, it's always hot when chicks kiss, you know?"
Her eyes widen, sudden panic seizes her insides so hard she can't breathe for a second. "No. I don't know. How would I? I've never kissed a girl."
"I know. I mean," he shakes his head. "I didn't mean to imply anything. I know you're not like that. I just- I meant it's like general knowledge."
I know you're not like that.
Irritation crawls over her skin. She stops walking abruptly and waits 'til he stops walking too and turns to look at her. She sets her mouth in a fine line and fists her palms in her pockets. A stubborn kind of determination makes home in her being, she looks straight into his eyes. "Do you want to make out?"
His eyes widen a little, completely disbelieving. "What?"
"I mean, unless you have mono or something."
"No." He shakes his head, he looks a little frustrated with himself, "I mean no, I don't have mono, not no, I don't want to make out with you." A beat, then, "do you really want to make out?"
"Yeah." She shrugs, trying to look careless.
"Well." He scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I've wanted to for some time."
"Really?"
"Of course. You're like the nicest hot chick in Edwardsville. Probably in the world too. Plus your smart. I like that in a girl."
Heat rises up her cheek. She unballs her fists. It doesn't seem like such a vile thing anymore, wanting to kiss this boy. He's smart and he's nice and his complements are so endearingly sincere. Lauren could do a lot worse, she thinks.
"Okay." She heaves in a breath and moves closer to him. It's odd, even thinking of kissing someone who's not Bo or family. But it was bound to happen someday, might as well be with Mark. "Okay." She says again and connects their lips.
Bo usually tastes like whatever lip gloss she fancies that week. Lauren likes kissing Bo on the mouth, likes guessing what she'll taste like with every kiss. Likes that Bo's lips are always soft and warm and that Bo always smells like coconuts.
Mark's lips are cold, chapped, his movements are unsure and he smells like sweat and boy and probably cologne or aftershave or something. Lauren feels vaguely sick.
He pulls back and smiles, he looks pleased, happy. She pulls him back in and kisses him again, harder this time.
.
.
.
They leave the party at around one. Bo's drunk. She keeps singing songs that don't really make sense and Lauren has to support all of her body weight. They end up falling at least three times and they always get up, laughing although they don't really have a reason to.
They try to be quiet when they get to Lauren's, but the more they try, the louder they are. Lauren's mother texts her for them to keep quiet and they end up laughing at the text for five minutes.
"Tonight was amazing." Bo whispers into the skin on Lauren's neck. She's a warm solid weight against Lauren's back and her breath's minty from the toothpaste they used to brush their teeth. Lauren draws random circles at the back of Bo's palm. "Did you have fun?"
"Yeah." She says because that's the answer Bo's expecting.
It's quiet for a moment then, "I think Dyson's finally going to ask me out. Like, for real."
Hurt settles in Lauren's stomach like an ache. She stops drawing random circles on Bo's skin. "I kissed a boy today." Her voice sounds like she's trying to prove a point.
I kissed a boy. I'm normal. Nothing else matters. I kissed a boy.
"Who?"
"Mark."
"Mark's nice." Bo says approvingly, "I like him for you."
"Dyson's a jerk."
"He's layered."
"If by layered you mean jerk, then yeah, he is."
"Shut up." Bo pinches her stomach and Lauren erupts into a fit of giggles then kicks Bo's foot. They end up play fighting for almost a whole hour before finally going to sleep.
.
.
.
Lauren's fifteen. Sometimes she forgets. Sometimes it feels like she's been alive longer than just fifteen years. Sometimes it feels like she's been alive for too long.
But it doesn't matter what she feels, because she is fifteen. And fifteen year olds are by nature naïve, whether they want to admit it or not.
It's the third of January and Lauren's alone at home. Her mom's at work and her dad left earlier, apparently he went to ask around for a job, he hasn't come back home yet. Lauren's seated outside on her porch, texting Mark. They're not talking about anything important, but Lauren sometimes sees Bo texting Dyson random things, so she assumes people who're dating just talk about mundane things from time to time.
Dating. She's dating Mark. It seems so odd to think about. It shouldn't be, not anymore. She has kissed him about five times since that first time. He still smells like boy and cologne and she still feels a little sick after kissing him, but she supposes that'll fade away with time. She's been patiently waiting for those butterflies Stacey and Valerie used to claim people get when they kiss boys, so far they haven't made an appearance. But Lauren's sure they will at some point. She and Mark just have to get a little bit more used to each other.
She's telling Mark about Salmon's new found obsession with pillows, when she feels a shadow looming over her. She looks up. It's Nicklaus the Hippy, holding a bowl in his hands.
"Hey." It comes out more like a question than she intended for it to.
"Hi." His voice is deceptively deep. He adjusts his glasses, "I uh- I brought back your mom's dish."
"Oh." Lauren smiles politely and takes the dish from his outstretched hand, "thanks." She says because she doesn't know what else to say.
He nods and tucks his hands in his pockets. "Tell your mom I said thanks again. And that her food was very delicious."
Growing up, Lauren used to think that Nicklaus was snobby and maybe a little bit of a jerk. One of those Hippies who think they're way too enlightened for this world. But he's really not. He's nice and awkward and probably the shyest adult Lauren has ever met. She gives him a polite, slightly amused smile. She's about to say something to him, but her phone rings, cutting her off.
At first, she thinks its Mark. Thinks he got tired of waiting for her to text back and decided to call. But when she checks her caller ID, it's her mom. Her heart starts beating irregularly for no reason at all. "Hello."
"Lauren, honey, I'm so glad you picked up. I need a favour."
Lauren frowns, she looks at Nicklaus, walking towards his house, she bites her lip for a moment, then, "what is it?" She asks skeptically. Her mom's never asked to ask a favour of her. Usually, she just asks Lauren to do something for her and if Lauren refuses to, she bribes her.
"I need you to go pick your father up from Big Ben's."
There it is. Lauren knew she wasn't going to like the direction this conversation is taking. She holds the bowl in her hand so tightly she can see her knuckles turn white. "Mom," she feels more like a fifteen year old right now than she has in a year, naïve and pathetic for even a second, believing that her father was actually going to change this time. She feels like such a child.
"Please honey." Her mom's voice sounds vaguely pleading and a lot rushed, like she has somewhere else to be and she just wants this conversation done. "You know I wouldn't be asking you this if I had any other option. We're swamped at the club today and Vivian won't spare me for even a second."
"I'm fifteen." Lauren feels like she's going to cry. She bites her lower lip hard, holds her phone tightly in the hand that's not clutching the dish, "how I'm even supposed to get to Big Ben's and get both dad and I back home?"
"I don't know honey. Just find a way. Take a cab, I'll give you back the money you spend."
She's lying. Lauren knows for a fact that she's lying. Lauren has lent her mom money about three times and she has never been paid back. Not that she expects to be. She'd just appreciate not being lied to.
"I have to go baby. But I'm sending you Junior's number. Just call him when you get to Big Ben's, okay? He knows where your father is."
The call is disconnected before Lauren has a chance to say anything back. "Fuck." She yells and throws the dish against the wall. Nicklaus, who'd been doing something on his lawn, watching her in a way that Lauren thinks he thought was inconspicuous but in reality was obvious as hell, looks at her with concerned eyes.
"Everything okay?" He yells.
Lauren runs her fingers through her hair and looks at her mom's broken dish. Her mom's going to be angry, it was one of her favourites. 'Everything's fine.' She wants to yell. But the words get stuck in her mouth, "do you have a car?" She asks instead.
He walks back to her porch, his glasses have slid back down to the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Why?"
"I uh- I need you to drive me somewhere."
.
.
.
Nicklaus spends half the ride telling Lauren about his sister. He says something about her being difficult these days and their parents wanting to send her to boarding school. He might ask something about Lauren's thoughts on boarding schools and their effects on a teenage girls' personality. Lauren's not sure. She's not really listening to what he's saying. She can hear his voice speaking, but her mind's not present. His voice sounds like background chatter, kind of like a dying radio.
She nods at him. She doesn't know why. It's just the only thing she thinks to do.
He doesn't say anything else after that.
She makes sweater paws with her hoody and looks out the window, pinching her yet to heal wrist almost absent mindedly. She doesn't think she has ever felt so stupid in all her life. She knew not to trust him. She knew that he says lies that even he believes to be the truth. She knew, she knew yet she still childishly trusted him like a fucking idiot.
"Hey. Hey. You okay?" Nicklaus's concerned voice breaks Lauren from her thoughts.
She blinks at him, a tear falls, she hadn't even noticed that she'd started crying. "I'm fine." She sniffs and wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, "you know where Big Ben's is, right?"
"Yeah." He says after a beat.
She nods and looks back out the window, then resumes pinching her wrist, harder than before. It's painful as hell and she can actually feel herself start to bleed.
Good, she thinks. Good.
.
.
.
"You want me to come with you?" Nicklaus asks as he switches the car engine off.
Lauren looks up from the phone. She just texted Ben Junior and he said he's bringing her dad out in a bit. She shakes her head at Nicklaus, "no. I'll be fine."
She throws the hood of her hoodie on and steps out of the car. It's cold as all actual fucks tonight and if she'd been smart, she would have put on some damn mittens. But as things stand, she didn't put on her mittens and the probability of her fingers falling off is high. She rubs her hands together and looks around. Big Ben's is dead tonight. There's no one out here other than Lauren and a couple that seems like they can't decide whether or not they want to fight or to make out.
She contemplates reaching for her phone and texting Junior again.
But then the exit opens and Junior comes out, supporting Lauren's almost drunk father's dead weight. "Where's your cab?" He grunts out. Lauren points at Nicklaus's car. Nicklaus already has the back door open. Junior leads Lauren's father all the way to Nicklaus's car and makes sure he's settled in and that the door is closed.
He gives Lauren a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as he's walking back to the bar. Lauren wants to shrug his hand off. Wants to yell at him that she's fine. She doesn't need anyone's pity. But the words refuse to make their way out of her mouth and she climbs into Nicklaus's car and bangs the door closed.
Nicklaus gives her the same pitying look Junior gave her. She narrows her eyes at him. "He's not usually like this," she blurts out without even thinking. "I mean, yeah, he drinks, but he knows his limits. Things have just been hard at home and it's hard for him to deal." The lie flows so easily off her tongue. She doesn't even have to think it, words just come tumbling out.
Nicklaus doesn't seem like he believes her. But he doesn't say anything either. Lauren appreciates it.
It's June.
The sun's hotter than it's been in a while and Lauren wishes she could dim it down a little. She's lying on the grass in front of Bo's house, sunglasses on her eyes and eyelids shut. Bo's beside her, she smells like Armani and a little bit of sweat today. She keeps typing away at her phone. Lauren knows for a fact that she's talking to Dyson. Bo talks to Dyson a lot these days. Somewhere, beyond the sound of Bo's relentless typing, she can hear Salmon's happy barks. He's made a friend in Mrs. Devon's dog, Wendy. He's always taking every chance he can to play with her and lick her and sometimes just sniff her. Lauren thinks Salmon's a little in love with Wendy. Maybe they're going to give her puppies soon.
"Do you think Salmon and Wendy are getting it on?" She asks, turning to look at Bo. Bo's wearing a black crop top and red shorts today. Her legs have literally sprouted in the past months and her face is now all sharp angles and striking eyes. Lauren didn't think it was possible for Bo to ever be even more beautiful than she already was. But evidently, she'd been wrong.
Guilt festers under her skin like a wound. She looks away. She longs to pinch her wrist. But she's wearing a watch to cover her wound since it's summer and she can't get away with wearing long sleeved things all the time.
Bo hums like she's really thinking the question through. Then she shrugs and locks her phone and lies on her side, looking at Lauren, "I think Dyson and I are going to have sex soon."
Lauren's heart stops and from nowhere, a lump rises up her throat. "Why'd you say that?" She tries making her voice sound absent, careless, as nonchalant as it can possibly sound. Tries acting like her blood hasn't turned completely cold. Like her fingers aren't itching to remove the damn watch from her wrist and pinch it until she's bleeding and her head is empty.
"He's just been dropping hints lately. A lot of them."
"That's...good, right?" Her voice cracks. She can hear it. She clears her throat. "That's what you've wanted practically since you were in diapers."
"I wasn't wearing diapers at eleven, you jerk." Bo punches her playfully. "But seriously. I just- I've been talking to Elaine and she says all that talk about your first time being special if it's with the one you love is bullshit. She says first times are always awkward and it's better if you practice first. Get it out of the way and you know, get used to it. So that when you do have it with a boy you like, it's all smooth sailing."
Lauren narrows her eyes and scrunches her nose, "that sounds really wrong. And a little bit gross if I'm being honest."
"Elaine is never wrong." Bo lies back down, her hands tucked behind her head to keep her hair from the grass. "I just have to decide who it is I'm going to practice on."
.
.
.
Lauren looks at the drink in her hands, feels the condensation from the bottle trickle down her fingers, to her wrist before dropping to the floor. She licks her lips and takes another swig of her beer, it tastes vile and a little bit bitter, and not for the first time, she wonders exactly what she's doing here.
Summer's almost over. She's going to be in tenth grade soon. She has a boyfriend who she has kissed multiple times and she even let him slip his hand under her shirt once. She's growing up. She hates it.
When she was younger, she used to think growing up meant making your own decisions and doing whatever the hell you want. Now she knows growing up means headaches and doing things you don't want to do just because 'people your age are doing it'. Sometimes she wishes she could stop time, even just for a second. Just stop time and ride her bike to the park with Bo. Eat candy and spill stupid secrets under her sheets in the dead of the night. She wants to eat ice cream on the pavement, watch their neighbours go about their lives, plot with Bo how best to make Lucy's life miserable, maybe run into the house and convince her mom to make them pink lemonade.
She just wants her life to be something else other than what it is at the moment. She wants her head to not be full and her chest to not feel like someone is gradually squeezing it in order to inflict maximum pain.
Mark whispers something into her ear. She turns to him and hums, wordlessly asking him to repeat whatever it is he said. He smiles and leans into her ear, "I said, what's on your mind?" He yells to be heard above the music.
Lauren wishes he wouldn't. Her head feels like it's throbbing from its very core and having someone shout in her ears isn't really doing much to help with that situation.
"Nothing." She says and shakes her head, letting her eyes wander around, looking for Bo. Bo's the reason Lauren's even at this damn party in the first place. She's seemed a little out of it tonight –Bo, but she wouldn't tell Lauren what's going on.
"We should go out." Is all she'd said when Lauren tried to pry information out of her. "In fact, you should invite Mark and I'll invite Dyson. Make a double date out if it."
Lauren had half the mind to say no. But then she'd looked at the way Bo couldn't keep herself still for more than five seconds, something she only ever does when something's bothering her, and Lauren had nodded. The idea of a double date was about five different kinds of repulsive to her. But she couldn't let Bo go out alone, not in the state she was in. Bo tends to do things she'll regret when her mind's full, and Lauren just couldn't let that happen.
"Have you seen Bo?" She asks, leaning into Mark's space. She can smell his cologne mixed with sweat. Sometimes she wishes he wouldn't smell so much like a boy.
"I think I saw her and Dyson walk out a few minutes ago."
"I'm gonna go look for her. Keep an eye on my drink for me, okay?" She kisses his cheek before he has a chance to reply, and then she makes her way through the crowd of bodies towards the front door. Lauren doesn't even know whose party this is. Bo just said it's for a 'friend of a friend' and Lauren didn't bother to ask any more questions.
She pulls the sleeve of her shirt lower, making sure to cover her wrist. She doesn't want people looking at her funny. She takes a moment to catch her breath when she finally gets outside, breathing in the cool air, unclogging her lungs of the smell of sweat and alcohol that she'd inhaled in the house.
It takes about twenty minutes to find Bo. Lauren finds her in the car, at the back seat, feet propped up and music blaring. It's literally the last place she thought to look, she'd been just about to give up and go back in to Mark.
She raps at the window, Bo looks at her lazily, "there room in there for one more?" Lauren asks, making sure to keep her voice soft. Bo wordlessly opens the door for her and Lauren climbs inside. She turns the volume down almost completely and lets a little bit of quiet fill the car.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Lauren asks after a considerable amount of time has passed. She doesn't even bother asking if something's wrong. She already knows the answer to that, now she just needs to know what's wrong and how she can fix it.
Bo shrugs carelessly. "Not really." Her voice sounds rough around the edges, like she's been crying for a while.
"Okay." Lauren says carefully and pulls a coil of cherry licorice from her pocket. It's warm now, she's been meaning to eat it since earlier today, but she keeps forgetting. "Want some?" She asks, cutting a piece and offering it to Bo.
Bo snorts, just like Lauren knew she would, and takes the licorice. They chew in silence, Lauren props her feet on the seat too. She kicks Bo's foot lightly, Bo steals some more licorice from her, Lauren sticks her tongue out at Bo. For a moment, things are okay. They're easy, simple.
Then, "I feel like getting high," Bo looks at her, her eyes shining in the semi darkness, her normally pink lips red from the cherry licorice, "do you mind?"
"Where did you even get weed from?"
"Bought it." Bo says carelessly. "So," she lifts her butt up and pulls a small baggie from her back pockets, "can I?"
Lauren nods.
Bo's careful with the way she rolls the joint in a way she's not with a lot of things. She lights it up while it's between her lips, not even bothering to roll the window down before she lets out the first puff. Lauren wonders exactly how many times she's done this, it seems to come so naturally to her. "You want?" She offers graciously.
Lauren wants to say no. She's not really a pot kind of girl. But it would be weird just sitting there, watching while Bo smokes, so she takes the joint, pinching the thin paper between her fingers, her hands are shaking.
"You want me to show you how?" Bo's voice is gentle and warmer than it was before. It's softer around the edges now, like the weed's already doing away with her sadness.
Lauren nods.
"Okay just- pull it in, like you would a cigarette," Bo instructs. Lauren does as she's told, her hands feel clumsy, inexperienced, "then let it settle in your lungs for a bit, then let it out."
Lauren doesn't feel any different after she lets the puff out. But Bo's looking at her with bright eyes and a proud smile. So Lauren smiles back.
It's easier to smoke after that first drag, and they pass the joint silently between them. The car is filled with smoke and almost quiet music. Lauren feels like she's floating. Her thoughts are fleeting. She cannot hold on to one thought long enough to dissect it, everything just seems so slippery and passing. It's the best feeling in the world.
"My dad's sleeping with his secretary." Bo says evenly, like she's stating the weather or the day of the week. Her voice is tight, measured, "I walked in on them today in his study. My mom was in the kitchen. Literally three doors away from him."
Lauren blinks, she tries to find a proper response to what she just heard, but everything inside her head is hazy and she can't find the right words no matter how hard she tries. "That sucks." She ends up saying.
Bo huffs out a laugh, it sounds mirthless, empty. "Do you know the first thing he said when he saw me, don't tell your mom. Apparently he thinks it'll kill her. You'd think he'd think of that before fucking someone else."
Lauren lets her hands pool on her laps, her sleeves have ridden up, she didn't put her watch on today, she can clearly see the cut on her wrist, and she can feel a ghost pain on her shoulder. She licks her lips, "my father hit me." Bo opens her mouth to say something but Lauren beats her to it. "He's the one who hit me that night. It was my fault though, I poured his drinks out. Pissed him off."
"Lauren-"
"It only happened once though. And he said he was sorry."
Bo looks at Lauren with something that looks too much like pity. Lauren looks away. She didn't tell Bo because she wants to be pitied, she told her because she didn't want her to feel alone. Because she wanted her to know that Lauren understands. Pity isn't something Lauren likes directed at her, it makes her feel weak.
Bo laces their hands together, her soft, warm hand curling around Lauren's, "your dad sucks." She says like it's some sort of secret.
Lauren feels a smile curve on her lips. "I know."
"And my dad sucks too."
"I know."
"We kinda got the short end of the stick when it comes to dads. Maybe we should sue someone."
Lauren snorts. "I hate you."
Bo laughs. She moves closer to Lauren, using her free hand to touch Lauren's cheek, "I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"
And the thing is, Lauren knows that Bo's words are innocent. They've been kissing each other for comfort since they were little. It's their thing. Other friends hug, they kiss. But, Lauren's brain doesn't know that. All Lauren knows is that Bo's lips are soft and warm and Bo's kisses light her skin on fire.
She knows she should stop Bo, she should say no to Bo's kisses. At least until she sorts herself out, until she learns how not to turn innocent things into something they're not meant to be. But she's selfish. She's selfish because she can't say no to Bo's lips on her skin although she knows she should.
She really should.
Bo kisses the back of her eye lids, her nose, her cheeks, "better?" Her voice is warm, her tongue is red, she smells like weed and candy.
Lauren swallows. She wants to nod, say that yes, she's feeling better, but instead, she leans in and pecks Bo's lips. She tells herself it's the weed and the alcohol, tells herself she can't control her actions.
There's nothing wrong with her, she's just high. Everyone does weird things when they're high. It doesn't have to mean anything. She leans in and kisses Bo again, this time, it's more than a peck. Bo kisses her back, dragging their lips together, her palms now holding the sides of Lauren's face, keeping her steady.
Lauren doesn't know how Bo moves from where she was seated and onto Lauren's lap. Everything's moving so fast and before she can fully grasp one thing, something else happens. "Can I?" Her fingers are on Lauren's shorts. Her eyes are blown wide and dark, she's the most beautiful thing Lauren has ever seen in her life.
Lauren bites her lip and nods.
Everything feels panicked and rushed and almost a little desperate. Bo's fingers move fast, like warm oil, never stopping, not even when Lauren needs them to stop so she can grasp what's going on. It just feels like there's so much Bo all around her. Warm and solid and beautiful and it's like Lauren's brain can't process the overload, can't make sense of everything's that's going on.
Before she knows it, it's over and Bo's slipping off her lap, lips swollen and hair all over the place. She runs her fingers through her hair once and zips up her shorts. "I should go," she says, not looking Lauren in the eyes, "Dyson's probably looking for me."
Lauren's blood freezes, she can't breathe, but at the same time, it feels like her hearts beating too fast. There's just so much going on inside her and she feels like she's coming apart at the seams, "w- what?" Her words trip over themselves, her tongue feels heavy and her eyes burn.
Bo doesn't answer, just slips out of the car and walks away.
Lauren watches her go. The inside of the car suddenly feels cold. Her head is fuzzy, and not in the good way and there's something stuck in her throat that make breathing feel kinda hard. She can taste tears on her tongue, they taste like bile, kind of rancid really and more than just a little bit bitter.
She opens her side of the door, doesn't even bother stepping out of the car, just leans her head out and throws up almost everything inside of her.
End of part two.
Thank you so much for reading. For the people asking me to update other things, I will, once they're ready and I'm satisfied with what I've written. But you have to remember that I have priorities, I have school, and an original and a club doccubus fic that have priority right now. So please be patient. Thanks.
