Chapter 4-
It's Never Too Warm For Turtlenecks
Kathryn doesn't put up a fight. Not this time.
She leaves New York the following day, desperately needed back at the firm. Kathryn promises to be back, and Regina, in turn, promises a coffee date. That seems to satisfy the blonde.
She calls just before boarding time, and in an unprecedented move, Regina accepts the call.
"Please don't go all stranger on me again." Kathryn pleads "I understand your need of privacy, always have, but please don't push me away for caring. I promise I won't ask too many questions, or pry, but I just want to know that you're fine. I sit around in the dark and worry about you like the good Polish lady that I am." She jokes and Regina chuckles, the sound almost foreign to her own ears.
"That you are" she says fondly while picking non-existent dirt off her pants.
"I miss my best friend! I want to tell you things and I can't."
"I said fine, don't you know when to stop?" she bites but it holds no real malice. It's nice to be back, even if partially and at times awkwardly so, to their little banters.
"Of course not, I'm a lawyer" she retorts cheekily and this really gets Regina laughing. It's a sound she hasn't made in a while and it feels like a blessed hot shower on a cold day: warm and comforting, and utterly needed.
She hears the airport announcements in the background and Kathryn goes quiet.
"That's me" she says once the electronic voice that has invaded their call is gone "I've got to go"
"Okay"
"Talk to you later" she says hastily and hangs up.
Regina shakes her head, a small smile gracing her face. Overall, despite the unexpected visit's initial effect, this has been a good thing, she realizes. It looks like cutting herself from people she cares about added some extra weight to the already heavy cargo on her chest.
It's almost evening, and despite her not having any desire to make dinner whatsoever, she decides she'll make one anyway.
Dr. Hopper said it is a good thing, one she should follow through with, even on their off-days. So she makes a mental detour around her reluctance and scans the pantry for optional dishes. After finding all the ingredients needed for Spaghetti Bolognese she rolls up her sleeves and gets to work.
Somewhere along the way it ceases being a burden and starts being enjoyable.
She keeps going to Dr. Hopper, whom she now calls Archie, twice a week.
The progress is slow but at least it's existent.
She still sleeps around three hours a night, but it doesn't take that long to actually fall asleep anymore. She still gets up, petrified, and crawls to the corner of the room with a shaking body, but the time it takes for her to convince herself that it's just a dream and pull herself out of her head gets shorter by the day. She also, and thank god for that, manages to nap for an hour or so on some afternoons. This nap is blissfully dream-free and there's no way of describing, nor removing, the joyous expression that stays intact for the rest of the day on those occasions.
She and Archie conclude that a lot of free time isn't necessarily good for her. So in a notion of filling her schedule a little, she starts volunteering at the library. She doesn't do much since there isn't much to do in the first place, but she helps Mrs. Heathers organize the book sections the other volunteers don't reach. It's mostly the rare-books section and her favorite aisle, overpopulated and utterly disorganized.
It usually takes about an hour or so to arrange them in an order she deems suitable, and then she just fishes out new books for herself to read. She arrives late in the morning and leaves around lunch, forever loyal to her rule not to be outside when it's dark or during the infamous rush hours. It seems like something she can't shake off, the fear from all that is unknown. Everyone is a threat, everything is scary.
She still wears her turtlenecks, acquiring more as the time goes by instead of overcoming that fixation.
It's three or four weeks into therapy when the subject eventually comes up.
"May I ask why are you so fond of turtlenecks?" Archie asks while crossing his legs in what can only be described as a feminine manner. "Is it a fashion choice? Do you just love them?"
He looks at her expectantly while she ponders her answer. They're long past the initial awkwardness but Regina is still, and forever will be, a private person. Hence, no matter how much they talk about her, every question feels like an invasion. Not just his, anyone's, but she isn't really talking to anyone else at the moment. At least not behind pleasantries and small talk, and especially not about her weak spots.
"I wouldn't say that" is what she goes with eventually, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Archie, aware by now of her body language and usual distress signs, glances down to her twitching hands, before looking up at her, frowning.
"Is this related to…" he shifts a little in his chair, finding a more comfortable position "the incident?" he asks gently, more than willing to wait patiently for her to answer.
The window to her right is open, quite a rare case since it's usually closed. She stares at the building in front of her, at the sunlight hitting the glass windows. She sighs.
"I guess so"
The room is quite, the silence stretching, weighing on Regina.
She never understood comfortable silences. Probably since it's directly related to intimacy, something she runs from like it's fire. Silence makes her stressed, uncomfortable, fidgeting until someone fills the void with words, actions, anything. If no one speaks up, she would, in a desperate need to get rid of the uneasy feeling it gives her. People were not meant to be quiet near each other, she's sure of it. She found avoiding people all along is the best way to live life; you either have company that talks or you don't have one at all. Silence when you're by yourself is blessed, but not when there are other people around, it's just unnatural.
Loyal to her custom, she gives in and fills the void.
"It's a layer of protection" she grits out, looking down at the twisting hands in her lap.
"What do you need protection from?" he inquires and she almost winces at the way this question hits close to everything she won't share.
"People" she rasps out, immediately hating herself for the evident vulnerability in her voice.
"Do you feel like you need protection from people?" he asks and there's a smidgen of incredulity in his tone, which is utterly ridiculous considering his profession and field of expertise. On the other hand, she assumes, this type of blind optimism is the one keeping him from giving up altogether upon hearing the horrid actions humans are capable of.
"Of course I do" she spits out, enraged despite her attempts to remain calm "look what they've done" she blames and her chest tightens at the thought of approaching this dangerous territory. But she's in already and she can't stop, not once she's started.
"One man does not define an entire population" Archie counters and she bristles.
"If one man can do it, they all can." She insists, seeing red "this whole society is based upon sexuality and power. Men think they're entitled to everything they desire and they use whatever measure they deem right to get it. This whole society is built upon sexual harassment, sexual aggression, sexual compulsion." She spits out and her eyes water with rage and distress all mixed together.
"Every man that walks in the street is a potential offender, a potential…" she trails off as the tears that build up finally fall, staining her cheeks.
"Of course I'm scared, I'm scared of every single one of them. But there's nothing I can do to change that, to change the way they think, to change the way they act. I can only change myself." The tears stream down her face in a continuous pace. She wipes them off only to wipe again seconds later when a new batch arrives.
She's done talking, immediately regretting everything that has left her mouth; so raw, so real, so uncalculated, so unlike her. But then she realizes it is her, it's what she's become; this pathetic excuse of a human being, throwing away everything she worked so hard to reach, to get, to deserve. But at the same breath she knows she can't be that person anymore, she can't be that Regina Mills, the force to be reckoned with. Now she's just scraps, leftovers of the person she used to be. Now, now she's a broken version of herself, one that gets up every night silently screaming for help but is too damn proud to ask for it. One that can't look in the mirror anymore, that can't help but hate herself, hate everything she loved about herself and took pride in, hate it because she keeps wondering whether it was the cause for him to… whether her behavior was the cause for him to…
She knows in her head that she is wrong and unfair towards herself, she knows that no matter what she wore that day and how pretty and feminine and inviting she looked, he had no right to do what he did. She can never know for sure if she might have signaled something that was misinterpreted on his side, that made him think that she wanted it, that they were on the same page. That doubt, that crippling thought, eats her alive; that maybe, just maybe, it's partially her fault. And that thought kills her. Kills her because admitting it puts the blame, the weight, on her. And she refuses to do so, won't do so. Because if she's the fault for that what is she left with, if she doesn't have something to rage on, someone to blame?
When she finally looks up Archie is examining her, his pad left untouched as his eyes scan her face, searching. For what? She has no idea, she has long stopped trying to understand his thought processes. Then, it all seems to connect in his head. He tilts it a little before saying quietly, understandingly.
"You hide" he concludes and she stiffens "You want to hide yourself from everyone, so you cover yourself up. You try to de-sexualize yourself, don't you?" he asks incredulously, eyebrows up, almost reaching his hairline.
She tries to swallows past the lump in her throat unsuccessfully.
"There are days I wish I were ugly" she admits in shame, ignoring his question "I wonder if it could have been avoided if I looked different, dressed different, acted different." She says defeated, her head hanging low as she admits one of her biggest secrets, one of her biggest doubts, one of her biggest, still bleeding and far from healing, wounds.
She has stopped crying by now, merely sniffing every couple of moments, much to her mother's dismay. She steals a glance at him. He is back in shrink mode, writing down everything, eyes drifting over the room aimlessly as he thinks and analyzes every little piece of her soul. She hates that part, despite the helpful tips and guidance that usually follow. It still makes her feel invalid, inhuman, nothing more than a test subject.
"I think" he starts, eyes still unfocused as he formulates the 'verdict' in his head "It is a legitimate fear, a legitimate notion, to feel unsafe. It's understandable and perfectly normal considering your past experiences. Yet," he motions with his hand "it is not to be expected, for you to live your life fearing everything and everyone. It is to be treated as a temporary shortcoming, invalidation, something to be worked on, worked past, worked around." His face determined as he continues, hands motioning animatedly.
"We need to find a tool for you to use to work yourself around that fear." He says with a nod, both confirming and encouraging himself.
He then falls into silence, hand on his chin, eyes unfocused again as he searches in his educated head for an answer. Regina, on her side, watches passively, almost skeptically, since she can't imagine a scenario in which she will overcome the fixation that by now became an inseparable part of her life.
Eventually he slumps in defeat. Disappointed yet determined, he promises to think about it for their next meeting. She nods, though deep inside she doesn't expect any life changing solutions. Some things can be walked around, sure. This one, that is built on restoring her trust in mankind, probably not.
"Mrs. Heathers?" she calls when she pushes the door open with her elbow, her hands occupied, holding two steaming cups of coffee.
It's a chilly morning, as late October days usually are. Regina is in a particularly good mood today after seeing not one but two turtleneck-clad women on her way here. Silly of course, to feel cheered up by such an awfully random thing but it means something to her. The symbol of being a part of the crowd, finally not the only one to wear turtlenecks, it's incredibly comforting in a bizarre kind of way. Enough to lighten up her mood.
"For the hundredth time Regina," Heathers calls from behind a bookshelf "It's Katelyn" she appears with a stack of tattered looking books and places them on her table with a thud.
"Would you rather I called you Miss Mills?" she teases and Regina smiles before shaking her head.
"Of course not" she says quickly.
"So cut it out" she warns with a point of a finger but her face is warm and inviting in a grandma kind of way. Regina nods her acceptance, handing out a cup.
"Coffee?" she offers and Mrs. Heathers, Katelyn, takes it willingly. She clings to the warm cup, inhaling the intoxicating smell of caffeine and immediately takes a sip.
"No drinking nor eating in the library ma'am" Regina notifies in a low authoritative tone that breaks into a small chuckle when Katelyn sends her a warning look.
"Have a sit" she says while pulling a rolling chair from the back room. Regina grabs it willingly and lowers herself onto it. It's her manners and upbringing that prevent her from falling down, her posture saving her at the last minute from tumbling over with the wheel-missing chair (while holding a scorching cup of coffee in hand). But somehow she manages to stand up quickly, right before the old purple chair collides with ground. She looks at it and then lifts her gaze to meet Katelyn's with half-hearted annoyance.
"Sorry" Katelyn shrugs in response and Regina shakes her head in disbelief. "Go grab one from the reading section" she gestures with her head. Regina rolls her eyes but says nothing as she walks over to the reading area. It's a rather spacious area if you consider the library's location and size. It contains a large table, composed by four square army-green tables joined together. The table is surrounded by at least a dozen chairs, some stacked at the corner of the makeshift cube this section created. The short, hip-height, bookshelves around the table contain mainly school related books and encyclopedias, that in an attempt to encourage learning and regular academic visits to the library. It unintentionally creates a feeling of a closed room in an open space, and usually serves a book club meeting twice a week according to Katelyn.
She grabs one of the chairs and takes it with her back to Katelyn's desk. She sits down with a huff, almost smirking at Katelyn's judging expression.
"You only get to sigh like that when you're old" she criticizes and despite having endless comebacks to that statement, Regina drops it.
They focus on drinking the coffee for a little while until Regina is overcome by the urge to fill the silence again.
"So…" she drawls, grabbing Katelyn's attention "what are these for?" she motions with her free hand to the stack of books Katelyn carried earlier, when she arrived.
"Oh, those?" Katelyn asks and continues to answer without waiting for a response "someone donated those. I still need to check if they're even usable." She shrugs while examining the books from afar "Some definitely look like they would fall apart the minute someone leafs through them."
"Mhm" Regina agrees while examining them herself. She almost tells Katelyn about the enormous library she had, still has, in her abandoned apartment in Chicago. A library filled with classics, controversial statement books, memoirs of famous economists and history books. A beautiful oak library with a matching sofa and a love seat, stationed next to her working desk and booze cabinet; her favorite room in her house. Not a home anymore, she thinks bitterly, even in her own head.
But she doesn't mention all of those things in fear of provoking a discussion on why she left Chicago, and everything surrounding that topic. Instead, she tells Katelyn about her love for books as a child. What used to be her bonding time with her dad, that later on became her way of honoring him when he passed away.
Katelyn, in return, tells her about a different time, a different era where all people cared about was peace and love and fighting the war. Regina's laugh bounces of the walls, combined with Katelyn's as she shares what could only be described as the legendary tales of the flower power generation.