Chapter 36: These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world
When Gladys comes back in, tossing a pack of cigarettes casually at Betty and flopping back onto the bed behind you, you don't feel caught out. You don't feel wary of her, you don't want her to leave and you don't want Betty to move either of her hands. Gladys doesn't even seem to notice she's walked in on something.
"So you'll rewrite it for me," Gladys says, like she's asked this a few times. Betty sighs and both of her hands still.
"They're not going to recognize your handwriting," Betty says, and you can tell this has been going on for a while. It feels like an old, comfortable argument. "Alright, but you gotta take her."
"Always," Gladys says, and the hand in your hair is removed and replaced as Gladys slides herself into Betty's spot. Her lap is bonier than Betty's. You turn your head to watch Betty sit at her dresser and start writing. You don't know why Betty thinks you need taking care of right now, or why she thinks Gladys is a suitable substitute but you're glad because you weren't quite ready to leave the safe haven of Betty's bed yet. You haven't woken this relaxed for a while, limbs sleep-heavy and content. No dreams. Betty shoots a few words over her shoulder and Gladys spells them outloud while Betty nods and keeps writing. Gladys' hands are nice and soft but she's not Betty.
Betty reads it out loud when she's done, and her face is warm when she sees you in Gladys' lap. She hands the letter to Gladys and lights a cigarette, sitting beside Gladys. You absent-mindedly take the cigarette from her and when you cough there are two sets of hands that rub your back. You know better than to smoke lying down but moving is the last thing you want to do so you reluctantly give the cigarette back to Betty.
You're drifting off again when you're startled back awake by Gladys' voice.
"Well, what now, Bug?"
"What now what, Princess?"
"What now? You got the girl, do you keep slinking around the halls and hope every other girl in this place is incredibly stupid?" Betty sighs; you can smell the smoke from her exhale.
"I don't know," she says. "Never expected…. this." And there's a hand, gentle, resting in your hair.
"You've got to start thinking about it. It's not just you you have to keep safe now," Gladys says chidingly.
"It's Sunday," Betty says, as if that's an argument. "I'll think about it tomorrow."
That night you invite Betty over to your room. You shut the door behind her and walk to the dresser. You take your little notebook of lies, light a match and set fire to it over your ashtray. You look at Betty.
"I'm not going to settle for less." You tell her. "Not now I know what I can have."
"You can," Betty says a little breathlessly, then kisses you until you're equally breathless.
"Can what?" You ask, finally.
"Have me," she says, head dipped down a little like she's still not sure that you would want to have her.
So you prove her wrong.
Author's note: title from Tim Minchin's 'White Wine In The Sun'; Christmas in Australia. The Kate Miller-Heidke version gave me shivers on a 43°C day in a park with my makeshift family.
I'm sorry this is so very late. This took a ridiculous amount of time to type. Nerveblocker and neural pathways mean typing gets all the right letters in the wrong order. It's like trying to learn how to type again, only backwards, and in heels.
Also. I wrote a letter to SaveBombGirls and they put it on the page and it spooked me. So I went outside.