Title of the chapter comes from Human by Aquilo.

Chapter 2: Be human again

Bea grabs an empty plate from the pile of dishes and scans the room. Some women are already eating breakfast. They glance at her, small curious smiles in their face, making sure Bea isn't a threat. She still doesn't feel comfortable enough to sit with any of them. Her crimson curled hair is hiding half of her face as she sits at one of the empty tables.

She's trying so hard to get her shit together even though she feels like she won't ever belong here.

She feels like she's been on autopilot ever since she came back to the shelter a few hours ago. She slept a grand total of one hour and a half before the smell of fresh bread woke her from a restless sleep.

She's exhausted. She can feel her body asking for more time in bed, but she knows too well that it would only end with her staring at the ceiling and secretly wishing that it crashes on her head.

She bites into a piece of bread as her mind wanders back to the mysterious blonde from the park. She doesn't much about her, and the things she does know aren't the most flattering. They probably would have made her run away if it hadn't been for the inexplicable pull she had felt toward Allie. To put it simply, their conversation had been a small miracle.

For a few minutes, Allie had helped Bea think about something else than the mess of her life. She had reached inside Bea's chest, had tugged at her heart gently and made it beat faster, not from fear but excitement. Allie had reached inside Bea's head, had stolen a few poisonous thoughts and replaced them with the memories of laughs and soft smiles.

Allie had cared.

Even just for a moment, she had cared. She had put Bea's needs before hers. She had made Bea laugh. She had made Bea dream a little. She had made Bea's world beautiful, just for a moment.

Bea can't get that simple fact out of her head.

"Hey, Red."

Bea looks up, slightly annoyed at the interruption. She realizes she must have drifted off farther than she thought when she sees Maxine sitting at the table, along with another woman she doesn't know. Dark hair, a tattoo of a naked woman and toned muscles, that's all Bea sees before the woman speaks again.

"Like what you see?"

The dark-haired woman smirks suggestively until Maxine gently pushes her shoulder.

"Don't scare the poor woman, Franky. She's only just arrived."

"Exactly. I have a reputation to maintain."

Franky is irradiating confidence, and her voice betrays nothing of that persona. She's staring right into Bea's eyes and leaning on the table to be as closed to the other woman as she can be.

It doesn't intimidate Bea.

"What reputation?" Bea asks, not missing a beat and meeting the brunette's eyes.

"How about you come in my room tonight and find out?" Franky bites her lower lips.

Bea stares blankly at the woman, appalled by the idea.

"Franky is harmless, but she has no manners," Maxine reassures Bea as she pushes Franky's shoulder again, harder. "There's only one person she wants in her pants."

Franky scoffs and looks at the ceiling for a second before she diverts her eyes to a woman exiting the kitchen with more food to put on the tables.

"That's Bridget. She works here," Maxine whispers. "Franky only has eyes for her."

"Piss off!" Franky protests, still staring at Bridget.

"She proves my point everyday whether she wants it or not," Maxine finishes as she takes a sip of her cup of tea.

There's a lightness in their interactions that suggests they have been friends for a while, and Bea is relieved to have them approaching her. Making awkward conversation with people she doesn't know is the last thing she wants.

Bea smiles absently as she looks at Bridget. She hasn't met anyone but Liz so far, and she's a bit nervous at the thought of having to discuss her situation with someone else. Bridget looks like she doesn't have one evil bone in her body, but Bea knows better than to trust her first impression.

First impressions are deceptive.

She had trusted her first impression of Harry. She had married a loving, caring man. She had received the softest kiss and the nicest touches. Until it had all stopped. Until she had seen the real person behind the masquerade.

Until she had bled and bled and tainted every carpet of the house with her blood.

She reaches for another piece of bread and waits for Franky to continue.

"Anyway, Red, that's for your hair by the way, I'm here to tell you the rules of the house. I've got only three weeks left before I'm kicked out. I've stayed over a month already," she smiles. "I found my own place and I'm ready to put all of this behind me."

Bea briefly wonders what Franky means by 'all of this', but she doesn't ask. If there's one thing she knows, it's to not ask questions about the past. People will come to her if they want to, but she'll never force anyone to talk to her. She knows how much it hurts when she's forced to do something she doesn't want to.

It's the story of her fucking life.

"You probably know the rules already. It's the usual. Don't steal, don't hit, don't yell. Don't walk into someone else's room unless you're invited. You're welcome in mine anytime," Franky talks quickly, not giving time for Bea to answer. "I'm assuming you already know when you can eat here. The washing room is open all day, but you can't use it during the night unless you got permission. The office is open at all time, but there's really no need for you to go there unless you have a request or a meeting."

She points at Bridget and two other people Bea hasn't met yet.

"That's Will Jackson," Franky points at a tall man. "He works mostly on the relationship between the mother and the kids. You don't have a kid here, so you'll probably won't meet him often, but he might talk to you sometimes. He's the nicest man I've ever met, I swear."

Bea nods, her thoughts drifting to Debbie.

Debbie, whose existence is the reason Bea hasn't try to hang herself after so long.

She really needs to talk to her daughter today. She needs to be the one to tell her daughter that she left. She can't let Harry do it. He would lie. He would twist the truth into a much somber version where Bea abandons them to go run a drug cartel.

He would convince Debbie that Bea doesn't love her.

It would kill them both.

"That's Vera. She likes the rules so much, it's annoying," Franky hints at a woman with her hair tied in a flawless bun. "She'll probably tell you herself all the rules again later today, but she's nice enough. She's got our interests at heart."

Just as she finishes, Vera approaches the table, a small smile on her lips. She stands straight as she extends her hand solemnly in front of Bea.

"I'm Vera Benett. I heard there was a new woman with us today. Welcome to Wentworth."

The formality of a handshake surprises Bea, but she does it regardless.

"Thank you."

"You can come in the office whenever you're done. I'll go over the rules with you," Vera adds, glancing at Franky like she accuses her of spreading lies. "And I'll answer any question you might have about us."

As soon as Vera is out of sight, Franky smiles at Bea.

"She likes me. No kidding, she does. She just knows me too well for her own good. And how was I supposed to know that sex wasn't allowed in this place?! It's not my fault she didn't knock on my door first. And she claims to follow every rule, I beg to differ. Oh, and that's Bridget," she points at a tall blonde woman. "She's great."

The way Franky's eyes light up when she mentions Bridget tells Bea that 'great' is the understatement of the year. She can see respect and admiration in Franky's dark eyes. She can see lust and maybe a hint of love, even if the stubborn woman won't admit it.

"She'll make you talk about feelings and shit," Franky mutters, "but that's what she does. She's a shrink. Don't let her get into your head or she'll never leave. Take my word for it, once they get inside your head, you're done for."

Franky shakes her head in disbelief as Bridget laughs at something another woman says.

Bea chuckles. She's never been one to see a shrink. Harry wouldn't have let her, but even if he had, she doesn't think she would have talked that much. Talking meant letting someone into their business. Talking meant risking someone calling the police on them. Talking meant risking someone arresting Harry and scarring Debbie for life. Bea would have done anything to avoid that.

She hadn't realized that being a witness to the abuse had scarred Debbie just as much. Debbie had known about the violence. She had grown with the fear of finding her mother's corpse everyday for years.

"Boomer! Get your ass over here!" Franky suddenly shouts at a built woman with long black hair.

"Franky, language," Maxine shakes her head.

Boomer walks slowly to the table, juggling with a tower of bread and fruits on her plate. She manages to reach the table without dropping anything and sits next to Franky. She turns her attention to Bea and narrows her eyes suspiciously. She doesn't trust strangers easily, no matter where she is. Being in a women's shelter certainly isn't an exception to the rule. She's been hurt countless times by people here.

People who don't get her the way Franky does.

People who judge her whenever she speaks just because she's not as sophisticated as some arrogant pricks.

People who don't take the time to know her.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asks harshly.

"Red, that's Boomer. Boomer, Red or Bea." Franky introduces them. "Booms looks like she could kill you, but she's a softie. Boomer and Maxine are the best people I could ever meet here. So that means, if you hurt them, I'll hurt you, got it?"

Bea looks at Franky like she's insane, but nods.

"Boomer needs some time to trust you," Franky explains. "Her boyfriend was a dick. I tried to convince her to switch teams, but she won't budge. Can't get them all. Once you get her on your side though, there's no one else you'd rather have standing by you."

Boomer eats silently, but Bea sees the way her lips curve up at the compliment. Bea has no idea what Boomer has been through, but she notices the way the tall woman drinks every word Franky pronounces. There's no denying Boomer thinks highly of her friend.

"Some bitch stole from me once," Franky recalls. "Boomer made sure it wouldn't happen again. That's how we met. I gave her a bag of marshmallows to thank her, and there it was, a pact to our newfound friendship."

Franky laughs lightly, and Boomer follows her lead.

"I went bunta on her ass," Boomer laughs harder, recalling the events.

Bea listens as they talk about their plans for the day. They all have somewhere to be. They all have jobs or appointments or something, and Bea has no clue what to expect for her first day.

She wonders where she fits now. She can't go back to her house anymore. She can't stay in her room all day. She doesn't have a job. She doesn't know anyone around here. She isn't even sure what part of the city she's in.

She's trapped between two worlds: her old one, where violence reigns and where punches rained over her every day, and her new one, where everything remains unknown.

Both scare her equally, for different reasons.

Bea hates that she can't figure it out on her own. She hates that she's stuck in-between, trying to learn how to live on her own when she's a grown ass woman. She hates that she hasn't escaped before. She hates that she feels so powerless right now.

A glass shatters on the floor behind her and she gasps loudly.

Her pulse reaches the sky before she realizes the broken glass isn't the result of Harry being drunk and angry. She isn't about to receive a slap in the face. She isn't about to be pushed to the floor. She isn't about to be drag to bed by her hair. She isn't about to feel his weight pinning her body down.

She isn't in her kitchen, messing up a recipe or being late to serve dinner.

She's not with him anymore.

"I- I have to go." She stands quickly with her plate and rushes outside the dining room.

Before she enters her room, she hears Boomer's voice threatening the owner of the glass.

She calls Debbie when her breath is steady, and her body has stopped shaking. She calls her when she finally stops looking around her for someone ready to jump her and end her life. She calls her when the nightmares disappear as she blinks them away.

She cries on the phone when she tells the person she loves most that she's left their house, a place where the best and the worst memories were made. She rants and rambles and swears too much, but Debbie listens and knows her mother needs this.

She plays too much with her hair and throws the covers from her bed in an outburst of emotions. She walks a thousand miles in a few minutes as she paces in her room like it's the only place in the world that will take her as she is, raw and hurt, and forever unbreakable.

She fights with herself and nearly slams her fist into the wall, but her daughter's voice is a shot of morphine in her brain that chases away her torments.

She sits on her bed and speaks softly, whispering secrets to her daughter and promising her to always love her to the moon and back, and repeating it so many times that she wonders if Debbie might think she's lost her mind.

She convinces Debbie that she is safe, and that Harry can't find her, but they both know they can't underestimate the man who had loved them so heartlessly.

Love hurts. Bea had always known it. She just hadn't expected it to be a goddamn minefield too.

She hears the way Debbie hesitates, the ways she tiptoes around Bea like she's afraid her mother might fall and never get back.

She hears the way Debbie's voice is soft, and gently, but laced with regrets, insecurities and a quiet anger about the fact that Bea took her father away from them.

She hears Debbie's detachment, the very same detachment that had ruled their interactions the day that her daughter had left Australia. It still breaks her heart today.

She kisses Debbie goodbye on the phone and when the line cuts, the solitude circles Bea like the sweet embrace of death.

She goes outside at noon, when the sun is high in the sky and the heat makes the invisible weight on her shoulders so much heavier. It's torture, especially when she still wears long sleeves to hide her battered limbs, but she welcomes it.

She walks for hours with no destination on mind and no goal in sight. She wanders in the labyrinth of streets and avoids everyone's eyes. Her feet aches, her eyes stings and her skin is covered by sweat by the time she comes back to the shelter. She's pretty sure she's gotten many sunburns, but she shrugs it off.

She feels cleaner than she's ever been before and even laughs when Franky shots a dirty joke about how hot and bothered she is.

She takes a cold shower before she joins the group for dinner.

"Not hungry?" she asks Maxine, the only woman without a plate at their table.

Maxine shakes her head. She looks like she could throw up from the smell of the food alone.

"Chemo will do that to you," she sighs.

Bea nods silently. She hasn't asked what illness is stealing Maxine's life, but the mention of chemotherapy confirms her suspicions. A quick glance at Franky tells her to not seek more information unless Maxine speaks first. Bea focuses on the food.

Burgers, fried rice, baked potatoes, three choices of salads, soup and bread. All of this, and then what appears to be a chocolate cake waiting for them.

Bea would never have thought that she'd get a buffet by coming here, but she gladly pushes her expectations aside as she digs into the food.

"You have to eat," Boomer pleads.

"I won't keep anything inside," Maxine says gently.

"The doctor better knows what he's doing or I'll punch his tits in," Boomer growls, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork.

"I'll be fine. Treatment's going well," Maxine replies. "You've got more than just me to worry about. What about those apartments you visited?"

"It's not good. The window's been smashed, and I'd need to pay to replace half the furniture."

"What about the other place?"

"It's the arse end of this shit city."

Boomer keeps murdering her food as Maxine gently places her hand on her shoulder.

"I've seen the pictures, love. You sure you're not trying to find a reason to stay here longer? I'll still be around even if you're not. We'll still see each other."

"It won't be the same," Boomer mutters under her breath.

The woman refuses to look up, and underneath the layers of rudeness, Bea finds the familiar fear of losing a loved one.

"Ah, come on, Booms," Franky shakes her head. "She's not dead. She'll still see you. Plus, imagine how great it'll be to be out of here. No more rules to follow! No more shared bathrooms and showers. No more crying babies every morning or night. And I'll be out too. You won't be the only one trying to figure out how to live by yourself after so long."

Boomer's smile is tiny, but it's there, and Franky knows she's managed to turn the conversation around.

"Plus, you know I make the best food. I used to be a chef, you know?" Franky turns to Bea. "I haven't lost my skills. These hands are good at pleasing the ladies in more ways than one."

Bea resists the urge to roll her eyes as Franky lets out a laugh so loud that some other women sitting at a different table turn to look at them.

"Do you ever stop?" Bea genuinely wonders.

"Do you really want me to?" Franky sends her best pleading look in Bea's direction.

"Say yes," Maxine deadpans.

"Always breaking my heart," Franky dramatically places her hand on her chest.

Bea snorts at the reaction and shakes her head. It doesn't matter what she says, she has a feeling nothing can stop the brunette from flirting her way into a conversation.

"That's what I thought," Franky winks. "Can't resist it. But I'm serious! I make a killer meal when I want to. You're all invited as soon as I settle in. We'll have good wine, good food and good company."

Bea wonders if Franky is serious about the invitation. They've just met each other.

It's still vaguely comforting to know that someone considers her worth an invitation to meet outside of the shelter.

"So Red, you had a meeting yet?" The tattooed woman continues. "They go easy on you at first. They let you guide the conversation, but the longer you're here, the more they'll push you to do things and respect the schedule they've set. It's like they want you to know that you'll be kicked out soon. Unless it's Bridget. Then you go straight to the juicy stuff and you won't resist because she just knows how to get you. Have you talked to her yet? She's something, isn't she?"

Bea doesn't answer right away and lets Franky rambles a bit more about the blonde therapist. She hasn't had a meeting yet, but she did talk to Vera about the rules of the house. It had been a short conversation, with Vera nodding every time Bea finished a sentence.

"I called my daughter earlier."

She has no idea what prompts her to reveal some of her personal life, but a part of her is already starting to belong in this group, and she feels confident enough to follow that instinct.

"What's her name?" Maxine's eyes shine with interest.

"Debbie," Bea relaxes as the conversation flows around the joy of her life. "She's studying abroad."

"Does she know you're here?"

"Yeah. I had to tell her. She's… She's always been there when Harry abused me. I didn't want her to worry."

It's like there's a war inside her body as she stiffens and braces herself for the reactions. She's not used to telling people about the obscure truth of her life. It activates her fight or flight response and drives her mad with anxiety.

It doesn't matter that she's in a place where everyone had gone through difficult things, she still worries she'll be judged and rejected.

She receives nothing but understanding looks and respectful glances.

"How did it go?" Boomer speaks, directing a question at Bea for the first time.

"It went good. She's doing amazing. She sounded free on the phone, you know? And she's relieved for me. She told me she's not mad at me. I don't… I don't know if I believe her on that, but I know she's excited for me," Bea enumerates, her eyes betraying how ecstatic she really is.

She can talk about Debbie for days and never run out of things to say.

She can tell them about the different ways Debbie makes her laugh when she is overwhelmed with sadness.

She can tell them about the different ways Debbie distracts her when she is trapped in a whirlpool of toxic thoughts.

She can tell them about the different ways Debbie's touches constantly remind her that softness still exists in a world dominated by tough blows.

She can tell them about all the little ways Debbie has saved her life.

"You're doing good, Red," Franky declares, a newfound seriousness in her eyes.

Bea melts, listening to the words she never knew she needed.

It's five in the morning when Bea opens her eyes and drags herself out of her bed. The floor is hard on her feet and goosebumps form the smallest mountains on her arms. Sleep comes and goes, and she thinks that sleeping four hours on her second night here is better than nothing. She feels the unwelcomed tickle from the scabs on her thighs and the urge to scratch floods her senses again.

She refuses to leave more permanent scars.

She doesn't bother putting a coat on and exits her room as fast as she can, accidently slamming the door. Liz shoots her a kind look as she leaves the warmth of the shelter to enter a world where the sun has yet to rise.

There's a feeling of wildness that inhabits her whenever she finds herself walking outside alone at an early hour. She can dance in the streets or lie on the concrete ground. She can pretend to be a time traveller from outer space or a child lost in a world that needs everyone to grow up too fast. She can go back to where she comes from or she can never look back.

She does nothing, but heads for the park two streets away.

She really doesn't expect her to be there. She really doesn't. As she walks closer to the bench, she finds a million reasons why she won't be there again. She argues with herself that there's no way a stranger she met by pure coincidence last night would be there again, at the exact same place, at the exact same time. She buries her wishes and pretends she's not hoping to see the other woman again.

Hope finds a way to reach for her heart regardless of what she wants, and she shivers with apprehension when she sees the lone figure sitting on the bench.

She tries hard to hide her smile when she sits next to Allie. She tries hard to ignore the way her body reacts to the sight of Allie wearing a tight white t-shirt that fits perfectly around her curves.

The second the blonde turns her ocean eyes on her, Bea is done for.

"Bea! I've missed you. You still hungry?"

The way Allie slurs her words and tries to sit straight hints Bea of a heavier influence of narcotics than the previous night. The last question vaguely sounds like Allie is offering Bea to eat anything but actual food, and Bea is baffled by the suggestion.

It should terrify Bea. It should make her want to put more distance between the two of them. It should repulse her, but instead, Bea finds that she doesn't give a fuck what Allie has taken before coming here, because Allie is here.

She's actually here, and her presence causes Bea's stomach to do backflips in her belly.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Allie jokes as she plays with her hair self-consciously. "I'm not that pale, am I?"

"You're alright," Bea brushes it off like it's no big deal.

"Liar," Allie smirks. "Now, I know why I'm out here, but why is your gorgeous self outside at this ungodly hour again? I didn't expect you to be there again so soon."

"Now, who's lying?" Bea snickers.

Allie lets out a strangled laugh.

"Okay, maybe a small part of me hoped you'd be there. Can you blame me?" the blonde licks her lips hungrily at she stares at the other woman.

While Franky's attention makes Bea laugh and roll her eyes, and forget her worries, Allie's knocks the air out of her lungs and steals her breath away. Franky's attention is a spark in the dark and Allie's is a wildfire. It burns Bea's self control to the ground. It makes her want to pull Allie so much closer, just as it makes her want to push her so much farther at the same time.

She wonders if Allie would even speak to her if she were sober.

"What did you take?" Bea asks, directing the conversation back to Allie.

To say Allie is surprised at the question is an understatement. She moves closer to Bea and their shoulders brush, and Bea jolts back, perhaps unconsciously.

Allie stays firmly immobile for the rest of the conversation.

"Does it really matter?" Allie shifts under Bea's hard eyes.

"Will you remember this conversation tomorrow?" Bea fires back, not mad, but not gentle anymore.

Or is it all just a game? remains unspoken.

"You know I will," Allie winks. "I don't forget the pretty ones."

"What did you take?" Bea repeats firmly, fighting to deny the way the compliment makes the butterflies stronger.

Allie seems to hesitate for a second before she pulls a small bag of white powder from her pocket.

"Ice," she sighs. "too many lines to count, but I have a high tolerance now."

She looks at Bea expectantly, a challenging look in her eyes.

She's waiting for Bea to leave her right there and not look back. She's waiting for the vile laughs and the judgmental looks. She's waiting for Bea to call the cops on her. She's waiting for the punch in the guts and the betrayal from a woman she's known for only two days.

People always leave when she tells them about the drugs.

It's not something she's proud of, but it's all she has. A drug addiction. She doesn't have friends. She doesn't have a family. She doesn't have a shoulder to cry on at the end of the day or a lover to embrace her after the rough touch of a stranger.

She's used to being on her own and she would hate to be dependant of someone else, but it doesn't stop her from enjoying Bea's company.

"It's mine now," Bea declares, snatching the bag away from Allie's hand, ignoring the way her fingers linger on Allie's skin.

Bea pockets the drugs and silently dares Allie to do something about it. She dares Allie to fight her for the drugs. She dares Allie to reach inside her pocket herself and retrieve it. She dares Allie to protest and yell at her and cause a riot in the silent park. She communicates with her eyes and Allie listens.

Allie understands.

"Sure," she concedes.

There are plenty of places she can get some ice from. There are plenty of people who'd be ready to give her more of that magical powder in exchange for a roll of bills or a quick fuck, and Allie wouldn't even think twice about it. Both women know that.

Getting gear isn't the problem. It's the easiest part.

Throwing it away is the hardest part.

Allie can stare at a bag of ice for hours, debating whether the high is worth the price of her life. She can weight all the reasons why she should or shouldn't take it, but at the end of the day, she'd keep the bag, just in case of emergency, just in case the pain in her heart hurts too much. And she'd always have ice around her, ready to give her the strength she doesn't believe she has.

Allie knows Bea can throw the drugs away.

Bea just promised her that. And maybe Allie's putting her life in the hands of the wrong person, but she can't risk missing the opportunity that might just help her leave the streets once and for all.

Bea's helping her in a way no one has ever since Kaz was sent to prison.

Allie lets the silence cover her and bury the loaded conversation they're trapped in.

She waits until she feels the air isn't toxic anymore.

"Tell me something about you," Allie murmurs.

Bea doesn't turn to face her when she finally answers, after another endless minute of silence.

"What do you mean?"

"Who are you? We've met last night, and it was lust at first sight," Allie confesses with a wicked smile, not embarrassed at all.

Bea clears her throat, unable to find the proper answer to yet another sexual innuendo. She wants so badly to brush it off, to let it slide over her back and forget about it, but there's something about Allie's voice that sends Bea right off the edge with all the possibilities.

"Sorry, that was a bit forward. I'm not asking about your whole story." Allie reassures her. "I'm not asking for you to tell me about why you're at Wentworth or why you insist on wearing the longest sleeves possible when it's burning even in the middle of the night. I just want to know who you are."

The need to know more about Bea ravages Allie's soul and her words hit Bea's like a bullet.

And as much as Bea wants to be, she isn't bulletproof.

"There's nothing much to say about me," Bea responds shyly. "I've lived in here my whole life. I had two wonderful parents. I met Harry when I was just a kid and I married him. I'm a hairdresser, but I had to close my salon because of… well, I'm just trying to do what's right for me and my daughter."

Allie drinks every word Bea says. Her body vibrates at the way Bea looks at her, a way that makes her wonder if gravity is strong enough to keep her down to earth. Her heartbeat sails whenever Bea smiles ever so slightly in her direction. Her will is barely strong enough to stop her from reaching for Bea's hand and place it on her chest. Her mouth is dry, and she wonders if it's from the drugs, or the way Bea's voice resonates in her soul.

It's stupid, the way those innocent information leaves her aching for more.

"You have a daughter?"

Bea's smile illuminates Allie's grim reality.

"I do. Her name's Debbie," Bea talks like she's introducing Allie to the eighth wonder of the world.

Allie thinks Bea has never looked more radiant than now.

"Tell me about her."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

And more.

Allie will take any small piece Bea wants to give her, and she swears to treasure every story she's given.

Allie doesn't regret asking when Bea starts narrating the time Debbie wouldn't stop bringing snails inside their house.

"I told her snails needed to be outside! But she said they needed friends and they needed a home. So, I told her, she should make a home out of cardboard."

Bea waits a few seconds, enjoying the way Allie waits impatiently for the end of the story. She can't remember the last time someone was so wrapped in her words. It thrills her to know that Allie doesn't seem bored at all in her company.

"Few days later, I go outside and there's just dead snails everywhere," Bea exclaims. "She'd made a little snail hotel out of a snail pellet box."

Bea has nothing but love in her eyes and Allie would kill for time to freeze.

"Snails check in, but they never check out," Allie chuckles and Bea follows her lead, laughing her anguish away as she throws her head back.

It's a freaking miracle Allie doesn't pass out from the feeling of pure bliss that takes over her when she hears Bea cracking up and when she sees Bea's neck stretching beautifully before her eyes.

"There is it," Allie says smugly.

Bea wears a mask of happiness over her face and doesn't ask Allie what she means by that.

She knows.

She knows she's hasn't laugh like this in a while.

Like her life is one worth living.

"She's smart and stubborn, and mostly, she's kind," Bea continues with a distant voice. "I made her go abroad to study. She's seen enough shit here. She deserves more."

"She has you as a mother," Allie states the obvious, "wherever she is, she'll be fine."

"She's good. She didn't deserve to see me like that," Bea continues with a shaky voice.

Allie knows what Bea refers to.

"She won't, ever again," Allie says with a low voice.

Bea nods, unconvinced, but feeling a balm on her heart from Allie's words.

"Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision. She didn't want to go."

There's an aching guilt inside Bea's chest.

"I just want her to be safe," Bea sighs. "I didn't want her to feel like she was unloved or rejected by us, you know? She's everything to me. And she's everything to Harry too. He never touched her."

Allie doesn't know what it's like to live with a violent husband, but she knows what it's like to grow up with a shitty father. Even if her father had never touched her directly, Allie still feels the consequences of too many others of his actions.

"You're protecting her. You're doing what needs to be done."

There's a pause before Bea's lips twist again.

"You know, she believed every word I said until she was eleven." Bea says mischievously. "I made her believe she was invisible once. Next thing I know, she's eating an entire box of cookies in front of me and when I ask her to stop, she tells me it doesn't count because I can't see her."

"Smart indeed," Allie points out.

"She tried to drive my car too! Took my keys and everything. I had to call the bloody neighbors to help me stop her."

"Is she anything like you?" Allie asks.

Bea scoffs.

If her parents were still alive, they'd tell her that Debbie is an angel compared to a young Bea.

Allie seems to read her mind and she giggles at Bea's lack of answer.

"Wild, aren't you?"

"I don't know about that," Bea dismisses the comment with a wave of her hand. "Things change. People change."

She isn't wild anymore. She's been tamed, reduced to a shadow of her former self.

She's not nearly as wild as she was. She misses that time when she was fearless.

"What were you like?" Bea asks, redirecting the conversation towards Allie.

Allie waits in silence, unsure whether to insist or not.

"I was a kid who just wanted to be loved," she answers heartfeltly.

Bea nods knowingly, looking up at the dark sky.

They fall in a comfortable silence and the next hour flies by as they get lost in their own thoughts.

Allie thinks of how she'd love to spend the entire day with Bea, but she knows she wouldn't make it through half the day without seeking a fix. It frustrates her, the way she can't snap her fingers and magically get off the gear, but she knows the process too well to deny the truth.

It's only a matter of time before the cravings come back and she's back crawling to another dealer to escape the nausea and the dizziness.

She doesn't want Bea to see her like that.

She can only hope to be strong enough to resist the urge to take drugs until her next meeting with Bea. There's something about the red-haired woman that makes all ideas of drugs disappear from Allie's mind when she's in her company.

"You know, I don't know much about you," Bea declares after a while. "Nothing you've told me directly at least."

Allie rolls her eyes. Her life isn't something she wants to share with Bea. She's a junkie, a prostitute, a homeless soul in this big city, and she's sure Bea has already guessed all of it. It's nothing glorious, and she's not nearly as interesting as Bea.

"Don't do that," Bea warns her as she gets up, ready to go back to the shelter.

"What?" Allie rushes to her side, suddenly nervous.

Bea stares in Allie's eyes for a second, and they read each other like open books.

"You know what," Bea claims. "Don't act like you're worth nothing. You're better than that. You're worth more than you think."

Bea might not have known Allie for long, but she notices the way the blonde seems to avoid talking about her. Allie always asks questions about Bea, but rarely talks about herself.

Bea notices the clouds that never quite disappear from Allie's eyes. She notices the small faltering of Allie's smile whenever Allie thinks Bea is looking away.

She notices Allie's vulnerability creeping out from under her almost perfect armor.

"I don't know," Allie shrugs.

"You are."

Bea's words fly around Allie's head until Allie starts to believe them.

"If you believed in yourself as much as you flirted, you'd feel a lot better about yourself," Bea teases.

It's all it takes for Allie to regain her confidence.

Her signature smirk is back in place, and she takes a courageous step forward, so close to Bea that she can feel the heat radiating from Bea's body.

"You like it when I flirt?"

"I don't care," Bea scoffs, taking a step back with half of a smile on her face.

She doesn't insist and the blonde respects her need for space.

"Same time tomorrow? If you're awake, that is," Allie suggests. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Allie is dead serious, but Bea rolls her eyes, unsure whether to believe her or not.

"I'll think about it."

"I'll tell you," Allie promises.

She'll let Bea in. She really thinks she will. She really wants to.

She just doesn't know if she's ready for the moment after all is revealed.

"Maybe I won't ask," Bea adds kindly, allowing Allie to relax.

Allie nods slightly and waits for Bea to walk away.

Bea doesn't move. She stands still, her eyes stuck on Allie's. She finds lust and hunger. She finds respect and apprehension. She finds hurt and anger. She finds hope and despair.

She finds something she didn't expect.

Affection. Genuine affection.

It scares the shit out of her.

"You're so gonna be there," Allie winks as Bea finally manages to pull away from Allie's magnetic field and leaves.

Thanks for reading!