A short reimagining, slightly, of the confrontation between June and Serena in Canada. Rated M for language and vaguely referenced rape (if you're familiar with the show, you know the drill).
Fat tears well in Serena's hollow eyes, doubtless one of the many tricks of the trade she'd learned for her role of matron of the Waterford household. God only knows on how many occasions she's drawn from that well, whether it be to water her husband's idealistic view of the 'weaker sex' or, well…
What else is a woman of Gilead to do?
Treat it like a job.
Smile meekly. Flash your pretty white teeth. Put on that skimpy dress and those six-inch heels and act like there aren't twenty thousand other places you'd rather be. The more she considers, the more June is forced to come to terms with the fact that she can't really blame Serena for barricading herself behind these cheap, shallow theatrics – but she wants to, and fuck, if she doesn't deserve this.
"I came here to tell you, in person, just how much I hate you."
June had rehearsed it in her head for days, weeks, even months. From the first time she'd been pinned down on that fucking bed, willed herself to drown in the sea of blue overhead; to the much-too-short walk through the bone-chilling cold of Canadian winter, staved perhaps more effectively by the inferno ever boiling in her blood. How she's kept it at bay for so long, how she's yearned for the perfect opportunity to Godsmack this woman with every glaring aspect of her character – narcissist; manipulator; raging, self-absorbed bitch.
So why, now that June at last stares down at this mangled tragedy of a woman, just as she'd always pictured, can't she bring herself even to revel in her hard-earned, long-awaited moment of triumph?
The words spill from her mouth with no more leisure than they enter her head.
"The truth is, I don't even know who you are."
For once, a spark of genuine awareness ignites within Serena Joy's eyes, one that June hasn't witnessed since…
Never mind that now.
Spurred on by the rarity, in sorrow and with justice, June secures one final, rusted, iron nail.
"And neither, I think, do you."
