Thanks a lot for the review!
Chapter's title comes from Alone by Beyries, a breathtaking song I'm currently obsessed with.
Chapter 3: I can't let go of my past
Allie is two seconds away from having a mental breakdown.
She feels so incredibly stupid, giving her gear to a woman she's barely talked to. What the fuck did she expect, that the need for drugs would suddenly vanish? That she'd magically be clean? That she'd be back to how she was before?
It doesn't matter how beautiful Bea is, how soothing her voice is or how fascinating her eyes are, because right now, Bea is nowhere to be seen and Allie feels the withdrawal eating her alive.
When Bea is not here, Allie forgets what it's like to have her around. She forgets what it's like to want to impress someone. She forgets what it's like to take care of herself, because Bea isn't here to remind her that the high she's seeking can be found in other ways than by taking drugs all day.
She kicks a rather huge rock with her feet, feels the pain travel up her leg, and lets herself fall on the hard ground. She leans on the wall and her head knocks the bricks behind her. Her hands pull at her shirt and try to tear it apart, but the fabric is too strong, and Allie is too far gone to really try. She's hot and cold at the same time, and the slightest breeze throws off her body temperature and makes her shake uncontrollably.
She yells, but no one is here to help as her body betrays her and tortures her mercilessly.
She insults whoever gets in her way, whoever walks in front of her, and all she receives in return are stares of disappointment and disgust. She throws up and she's miserable when she realizes she might just vomit again. She passes her dirty hands all over her face too many times and asks some men if they want to have a go at her because that's what she does. That's what she familiar with. That's all she remembers when she's lost her foggy universe.
She won't even resist. She won't even care. They can do whatever the fuck they want with her.
That's what will lead her back to the drugs.
She gets up and walks to the nearest hot spot she can find. It's the middle of the day and she still has hours to kill before she sees Bea again. She can't wait longer. She finds her dealer much faster than she expected. She asks him for her usual and he tells her she looks like a car ran her over.
She laughs it off and tries to shut down the unbearable feeling of shame that's being born in her chest.
She gets the gear easily. So easily that she wonders if her appearance is worse than she imagines it to be.
She shrugs it off and practically sprints back to the alley she has made her own.
She cuts line slowly, carefully not wasting a particle of the white gold.
"Fuck!" she screams right after she's emptied the whole pack.
Six perfect lines are staring back at her and she feels a different kind of sickness creeps in her veins. She shuts her eyes and clenches her fists so hard that her nails pierce the palm of her hands. She almost makes herself bleed, but she doesn't.
She tries to resist. She really does. She thinks of Bea and of their future meeting. She thinks of the unspoken promises they made each other. She thinks of Bea's smile and how privileged she is to have witness it. She thinks of Bea's laugh that still haunts her mind like a song she never wants to forget.
Anyone else in the world might look at her and find her pathetic. They might think she gives up too easily. They might see her as an addict who has no willpower, but she knows how hard she tries to resist, to wipe the lines away and make them disappear. She wants so badly for the drugs to be gone when she opens her eyes, but she knows they'll still be there, tempting her like the poisonous sins they are. That's the cruel thing with addiction, it never stops controlling her.
She stares at the lines she's made. They're chanting her name. They're telling her the greatest high of her life awaits. They're promising her that the pain will stop, once and for all. They're everything she's ever needed.
There's right in front of her.
They're winning.
A second later, she's breathing hard and waiting for the high to take over her soul as tears fall uncontrollably from her red eyes.
The sad reality is that she's met Bea forty-eight hours ago, but she's been married to drugs for most of her life.
She can't do this alone.
"My name is Bridget Westfall," the blonde introduces herself. "I've been working here for two years. It's nice to meet you."
Bridget's husky voice resonates in the empty conference room where Bea is having her first meeting. There's an open notebook between them so Bea can read everything Bridget might write about her.
There are no secrets here.
"How are you today, Bea?"
Bea is looking at Bridget with defiance in her eyes. She isn't sure what she's supposed to say, and it triggers her fight or flight response. She wants to say that she's doing fine, but she wonders if Bridget will even believe her.
"I'm fine," she answers with a shrug. "I was wondering when I'd have to meet someone."
"It's inevitable. How have you been settling in? I know coming here can be intimidating at first."
Bea thinks of the sleepless nights, but also of the way she's found a group of people ready to welcome her as one of their own. She thinks of Franky's encouragements and Boomer's strong presence, and Maxine's reassuring voice.
"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," Bea says. "I'm tired, but I found some people to talk to."
"Ah yes, Franky and her crew, isn't it? Boomer and Maxine?" Bridget smiles. "I've had the pleasure of talking to them before. They're quite something."
Bea chooses to ignore the way Bridget pronounces Franky's slightly name differently than the other two. She must have misheard anyway.
"Yeah, they've been welcoming me and teaching me what to do and what not," Bea explains. "I didn't expect that." She pauses, thoughts twirling in her mind. "I'm not sure what I expected. It's all overwhelming."
Bridget nods and writes the word overwhelming on the page. It makes Bea rolls her eyes, but she remains quiet.
"I'm meeting you today to talk about what you might need from us and to tell you more about our approach. We believe that women who have been abused are not to blame. We help them rebuild themselves and find new homes. We accompany them, but we don't do things for them. In other words, we guide them, but they're walking in front of us and making the final decisions. We believe in empowerment and feminism, and we do believe that filing an official complaint against a violent ex-partner is beneficial to the victim."
Bea's attention spikes at the mention of the complaint. It's never been an option for her.
Filing a complaint means dealing with the torturous justice system and having to spend hours in a court room, telling strangers about her stories and hoping that they believe her. It means exposing her daughter to everything Harry had done in the previous years when Bea had tried so hard to shield her from it.
It means having to revisit every memory she wants so badly to forget.
"Of course," Bridget says, reading her mind, "We don't force the women to follow that route. We only suggest it and see with them if that's something they want."
"No," Bea's answer is final. "I won't put Debbie through that."
"I understand. I'm not here to force you to file a complaint with the police," Bridget repeats. "We've had many women stay here for a while and move on with their lives, and they never heard from their abusive partner again."
Bea nods, the panic in her eyes fading a little. It's a large city and she's certain Harry has no idea where she is. Maybe she can finally leave the past behind.
Maybe.
"I do need to make sure that you understand that you are forbidden to have any contact with your ex-husband while you here. You cannot tell our address to anyone, and if you ever seen him around, you must tell us."
"That I can do," Bea promises.
She doesn't want to see him either. She doesn't want to talk to him. She doesn't want to hear his voice or feel his presence. She doesn't want to have anything to do with him.
Still, a tiny, almost inexistent part of her wonders what he is doing, and she hates herself for that.
Should she say it? Bea thinks.
Should she say that she wonders if he's alright? That she wonders if he's looking for her? That she wonders if, after all this time, there's still a possibility that he might change?
It feels wrong. It feels like a lethal thought to have during her quest for change. It feels like it's the opposite of what she's supposed to do.
She wants to say it out loud, but she doesn't know how to voice it in a way that Bridget won't judge her.
Bridget must know something, but to Bea's relief, she doesn't say anything. She looks at Bea in a way that keeps her calm, that tells her whatever worries she has will pass.
She's giving Bea time, something Bea has never had before.
"What can we help you with, Bea?"
"I need a place to stay." Bea sighs as Bridget starts writing keywords in the notebook. "I've lived with Harry until now. I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have a family anymore. I don't know anyone. He… He didn't want me to see anyone else."
Bridget recognizes one of the many forms of domestic violence.
"I need a job. I was a hairdresser before I had Debbie. He forced me to sell my salon when she was born so I could stay at home with her. I don't have much money either. He controlled our bank account. I only have a small amount. I kept it from him."
Working with victims of domestic abuse and hearing what they have been through has never been easy, and while Bridget has been at the shelter for two years, she still hurts for what Bea is going through.
"I need a divorce. I need to have my little girl with me again, but what if he doesn't sign the papers? Will I have to see him?" Bea asks. The idea paralyzes her.
"We can arrange a way, so you don't have to," Bridget explains. "Do you have a lawyer?"
Bea shakes her head.
"We'll set an appointment for you with a place we collaborate with. It won't cost you a cent. Now I understand that you have a daughter. I'm assuming you don't want your ex-husband to see her?"
"I want her to live with me," Bea states.
"We can help you with that. We don't have any power on the family laws, of course, but we'll support you."
Bea breathes out in relief.
"I need…"
Confidence. Energy. Passion. Support. Love.
Gosh. She needs so much.
"How about we just start with finding you a lawyer and looking for places where you could live and work? If you have revenues, then you'll be able to know more precisely what your budget will be for an apartment."
"Sure," Bea agrees.
Bridget spends a few minutes explaining to Bea how long it will take for her to get an appointment with the lawyer and what to expect from the divorce procedures. She takes her time, answering every question Bea comes up with and soothing every fear at the same time.
It takes only a few minutes for Bea to know exactly what Franky sees in Bridget.
Bridget guides the conversation, so Bea never has to talk for too long about something she's uncomfortable sharing. She makes sure that Bea knows that she can voice her disagreement anytime she wants and that there will be no repercussion. She twists the road they're walking on so that they always end up at a place where positivity reigns, and Bea marvels at how good all this feel.
She leaves the conference room with more hope in her heart than she's had in years, but she still senses Harry's voice trying to force its way inside her mind.
Bea is looking at some pictures of Debbie when Franky knocks at her door just before dinner. The brunette's head peaks in Bea's room and, upon seeing Bea nodding, walks in and sits next to her on the bed. Bea wordlessly pushes a few pictures in Franky's direction, encouraging the other woman to look at them, giving her access to the most treasured aspect of her life.
Franky feels privileged, special even.
She hasn't known Bea for long, but Bea has already managed to see beyond her bravado. People always see her as a superwoman, someone unbreakable, unable to feel anything but anger and lust. They always hear the jokes and the sarcasm, but they never listen to the few sincere words she slips in the middle of it all. They'd never share private parts of their life with her like Bea is doing.
She goes through the pictures, surprised at how much Debbie looks like her mother.
"Mini-Bea," Franky grins. "There's no other way to describe her."
Bea hums in approval, recognizing the picture Franky is holding. Debbie, seven years old, face covered with chocolate frosting, wild brown hair flowing around her head.
"She puts her hands right in the middle of the cake and redecorated the house with frosting prints on every wall," Bea says fondly.
"She'll go far in life," Franky states, amused.
"She is going far," Bea chuckles.
Franky looks at the piles of pictures and then back at Bea's loving eyes.
Franky's never had anyone look at her like that. Her dad had been a confused man. He hadn't known how to protect a child. Her mother had been a sick woman. She had had one great love of her life, and it had been alcohol, not Franky.
"I was just checking in, wondered how your first meeting with Gidget was?"
"Gidget?"
"Bridget, Gidget, Gidge… You know, the hot blonde?"
Bea parts her lips slightly in disbelief as she looks at Franky, who's staring at her with the most serious look in her eyes.
"I thought you weren't into her?" Bea smiles slyly.
"Piss off, Red! Beside, I'm not into her! I was simply gifted the great ability to see. Are you jealous?" Franky sticks her tongue out.
"Hell no, I'm not," Bea chuckles.
"I'm meeting her later tonight and I need to know if she's in a good mood. I want to ask her if I'll still be able to see her once I leave here."
There's a need in Franky's words that she can't hide no matter how hard she tries. It's easy to see that she cares about Bridget, and Bea thinks of the way Bridget had said Franky's name.
Like the blonde cares too, on a deeper level.
"It went great," Bea smiles. "At least I think it did. We just discussed what I wanted from Wentworth. She's nice."
Franky's eyes laugh, but her mouth remains a thin line.
Nice is an understatement.
The first time she'd met Bridget, Franky had been a mess. She'd just arrived here, with no bags and no money. She'd called from a public phone after her landlord and chef nemesis Mike Pennisi had kicked her out of her apartment for no apparent reason. She'd vaguely suspected it was because she had rejected him the previous night, after yet another day filled with more harassment than the one before.
The man had been harassing her for months already, and Franky had been close to stabbing him repeatedly.
Bridget had been the one to welcome her at Wentworth.
Bridget and her kind blue eyes, her striking blonde hair and her arms so strong when she'd held Franky for the first time, when Frankly had just collapsed the second she had walked in the shelter.
Bridget and her magical power to make Franky's worries gone.
Franky forever has this moment imprinted in her mind.
"I told you, didn't I? She's great."
"Are you sure that's all?"
"Listen Red, I'm not stupid. I know Bridget is working here. If I said everything I had in mind, I would be kicked out of here so fast, I wouldn't even have time to say goodbye," Franky laughs.
"Wise," Bea points out. "Why her though?"
Franky shrugs, her eyes shifting around the room.
"Why not her? Just because she's working here, I should ignore my feelings? That's bullshit. She gets me. I know what you want to say. That it's her job to get me. But it's more than that, I just know it."
Bea's eyes narrow skeptically at Franky's words.
"Have you ever met someone who just puts a smile on your face for no reason? That's how it feels like," Franky continues.
Allie's face quickly flashes in Bea's mind, but she shakes it away it just as fast.
"Have you ever just met someone and felt an instant connection? It doesn't matter who they are or where they come from, you're just driven by the instinct that you need to get to know them," Franky clarifies.
"You're lucky," Bea says. "I haven't really met anyone like that."
"You're a bad liar."
"Hey, you focus on Bridget, alright?" Bea points out menacingly.
They look at the pictures for a few more minutes before she speaks again.
"Do you think Debbie will be fine if her father isn't around anymore?" Bea asks quietly, never looking away from the pictures.
She isn't sure why she's even talking to Franky about that, but she feels that she can trust her.
"I grew up without my dad," Franky chuckles. "And look where I ended up."
"I'm serious," Bea growls. "I can't have him in my life, but I can't make the choice for her. She's an adult. I… I tried to make a choice for her by sending her away and it's been different ever since."
Frankly stares long and hard at Bea and at the internal dilemma the woman is wrestling with.
"Debbie isn't me. She didn't have a mother who was in love with empty bottles on the kitchen floor. She didn't have a father who ran away from the house as soon as he could because he couldn't face the truth. She has a loving, strong mother, and she doesn't need a father who might ruin that beautiful relationship she has with you. Be honest with her."
"What if…"
What if she hates me?
Bea looks around hysterically, afraid the walls might swallow her alive.
"She won't," Franky states. "Look, I know I can't promise anything, but she won't hate you for trying to protect her. And trust me, Red, she knows everything that's happened. Children know that shit, no matter how much we wish they didn't. They know."
As painful as it is to admit, Bea knows Franky is right.
"I wish I didn't have to do that," Bea breathes difficultly. "I- I was in love with him once."
She clenches her fists and shuts her eyes, exhaling as her chest tightens.
"A long time ago, I loved him," Bea confesses. "I forgave him many times. I thought he would change. I thought I was worth changing for. I blamed myself, and I was convinced that I could help him. I really thought he did change, at some point. But he never did."
Franky shakes her head sadly, thinking that of course, he never changed, or Bea wouldn't be here right now.
"Even today, I- I can't forget about him. I want to forget so badly. I want to move on. I want to go on with my life and be the person I know I can be. But I can't. I can't let him go. I thought he loved me. It's taken me years to admit that he didn't, that he couldn't possibly love me this way. You can't keep hurting someone like that and say that it's love, you know?"
"Red…"
"But Debbie, he never hurt her. He never touched her. He never even yelled at her. He is a terrible husband, but he isn't a terrible father."
Franky recognizes the look in Bea's eyes.
Bea's blaming herself, even today.
She's thinking that Harry loves Debbie, but surely, she isn't worth that same amount of love.
Who could ever love her? She's just a stupid bitch and she doesn't deserve –
"Bea, listen to me," Franky pronounces slowly, snapping her fingers in front of Bea's eyes. "You're spiralling down. It's normal. The way you feel, the way you can't forget him, it's all normal. You have history. He's done terrible things to you, but you have history with him."
Franky remembers that time Bridget had told her about all the subtleties of domestic violence. Victims forgive and forget, and get trapped in a cycle where they are manipulated to believe that their abuser is going to change.
"But listen," she continues, "this man hit you. He hit you and stole your life, and he did that in front of his daughter. He's not as good as a father you think he is."
Bea hears, and listens, and understands what Franky says, and she knows that it's true.
"You're stronger than him," Frankly states with a powerful voice. "You are! You fought your way out of his cage. You've got the scars to prove it. You've got an armor harder than anything he can throw at you. You've got nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of."
Franky's tone is set in stone and she hopes that it convinces Bea.
"Your daughter needs you more than she needs him, trust me on that."
She watches as Bea carefully assembles the pictures and places them in a shoebox on the small desk. When Bea turns around, determination is printed all over her face.
"You really think that?" she asks.
"Fuck yeah, I do."
Bea nods and glances down at her long sleeves for a second.
"Let's go. Boomer will wonder where you are," Bea opens the door and waits for Franky to join her.
Franky sighs, unsure whether she should push more or not, but she settles on the second option. She skips towards Bea and waits for her to lock the door behind them.
They walk toward the dining room and hear Boomer calling their names with enthusiasm.
"You're a fucking queen, Red. A Queen. He can't take that away from you," Franky whispers to Bea before they reach the table and surround themselves with the rest of the group.
Liz isn't surprised when Bea asks her to open the door at five in the morning for the third day in a row. She is, however, stunned when she sees Bea walking outside wearing a t-shirt, exposing her many bruises to the sky. She doesn't say anything, but she hums in approval.
Bea reaches the bench before Allie this time, and despite the warm weather, she feels naked and cold without her sleeves. She had thought she could do it, but now, she feels ashamed, like she's the one to blame for all the injuries, like she's the one who asked Harry to do this to her. She's feeling small and unprotected, prone to receive more punches at any time.
She worries she's made a mistake, and she has time to play a hundred catastrophic scenarios in her head before a familiar blonde walks up to her.
By the time Allie sits beside her, much closer than the two previous nights, Bea is crossing her arms over her chest and trying to hide as much skin as she can with her hands. The maelstrom of colors and lines is still the first thing that catches Allie's worried eyes.
"You look like hell," Bea hisses before Allie has a chance to say anything.
It's something she does. She attacks before someone else can. She stabs and twists the knife, burns and adds fuel, and she prays to the skies that it's enough to discourage her enemy.
But Allie isn't her enemy and Bea regrets her words the second they leave her mouth. She has no right to say that. Other than the thin layer of sweat Bea knows comes from the withdrawal symptoms, Allie looks beautiful. Allie always looks beautiful.
"You don't know about charm, do you, Bea?" Allie chirps happily, knowing too well what Bea is doing.
If Bea thinks she can outsmart Allie, she's wrong. Allie is born for this. It isn't her first try at being clean and it certainly won't be her last. She's received countless comments on her appearance already and Bea's words are a kiss on the cheek compared to others.
"You're…" Allie lets the words vanish. There's so much she wants to say, but no words could ever be enough.
She frowns and her eyes zone in on Bea's poor attempt at hiding her arms.
Bea adverts her eyes and clenches her jaw.
"Wait, I'm- I'm sorry," Allie fumbles to correct herself when she notices Bea's discomfort grow.
She lets her hands gently rest on top of Bea's arms. They both flinch at the contact. It's soft. It's delicate. It's kind. It's the opposite of what represents every mark. It connects them in a profound way that surprises them both.
"I'm sorry. You've got nothing to hide with me," Allie whispers. "You're beautiful."
She tries to convey how sincere she is with every touch. Her fingers trace gentle caresses on Bea's bruises, never pressing too hard. They follow invisible lines and patterns that only Allie can see. They try to heal every wound and erase every awful memory.
The gesture makes Bea's heart skip so many beats that she wonders how she's still alive.
"Are you okay?" Allie murmurs.
She receives no answer, but Bea locks her eyes into hers, and Allie sinks into the sea of resilience she sees.
Allie's fingers keep dancing over the length of Bea's arms until a single drop falls on the back of her hand. Allie's blue eyes gaze at the heartbreaking sight of Bea silently crying and trying to prevent the deluge from happening.
They sit together, so close that their breaths mix with one another. Allie's left hand stays secured over Bea's right arm. They listen to the silent cries fade slowly, taking the pain away with them.
Allie's heart bleeds out when Bea struggles to breathe at some point, but it passes, and Allie makes the quiet vow to never let Bea go through that alone.
She swears to never leave Bea alone because Bea's been suffering by herself for too long, and Allie knows too well how excruciating it feels to be in this situation.
The hurt doesn't go away when Bea's tears stop falling, but there is a lightness in the air that wasn't there before.
In the spur of the moment, Allie lowers her head and gently kisses the largest bruise she can see.
It breaks the spell that had captured them.
"I'm not gay," Bea claims abruptly, loud and clear for the world to hear.
Allie's eyes shine with amusement when she looks up to the other woman.
"I don't care what you are."
And in that moment, nothing is truer than that simple statement.
Allie doesn't care how Bea labels herself. She doesn't care what Bea's past is because it doesn't define who Bea is. She doesn't care what hardships await them or what challenges life is going to throw at their face. She doesn't care what Bea decides she wants, whether it is friendship or more.
She doesn't care about anything but the fact that every time she looks at Bea, her heart flutters and her brain turns to mush, and the urge to protect Bea overwhelms her.
Bea looks at Allie for a moment, trying to read the blonde's mind.
There's a twinkle in Allie's eyes that brightens Bea's obscure universe.
Bea blinks, and it's gone, and Allie shifts back, allowing more space to exist between the two of them. It's the hardest thing Allie's done because all she craves, all she needs to feel alive in this space and time, is to chase Bea's lips, to claim them as her own and to never let them go again.
But she can't.
She won't.
Not when her vision is still somehow blurry from the drugs. Not when her world is still spinning upside down. Not when her ears are still ringing and buzzing with imaginary sounds. Not when her throat still feels arid and rusty. Not when her body is dying despite her spirit being tortuously alive.
Not when Bea deserves so much more than a spontaneous kiss stolen by Allie's impulsive behavior.
And certainly not when Bea focuses so much on labels that she doesn't realize that love is greater than any category people could ever create.
So when they separate, even though they were never really connected in the first place, Allie's heart is crushed by the heavy weight of grief and remorse.
"This is yours now," Allie croaks, lowering her head and handing Bea the bag of ice she got earlier.
It's half full and Bea's brows shoot up.
"I cut six lines. I had three," Allie admits, refusing to look at Bea. "It was earlier today and right now, I just want to take the rest of it so just… keep it."
It hurts. It fucking kills her to admit that she screwed up, that she couldn't even spend a whole day without caving in. It's the vilest blow to her guts, and the fact that Bea's here to witness her failure destroys Allie even more.
It takes a moment for Bea to reach and slowly removes the drugs from Allie's hands, but when she does, her thumb lightly strokes the back of Allie's hand.
She'd dumped the previous bag as soon as she'd gotten to the shelter last morning, and she's ready to do the same again.
"You're doing great," Bea's sincerity shocks Allie's core.
The blonde sends a questioning glance towards Bea.
"I don't expect you to stop using just like that," the redhead frowns.
There's a thunderstorm in Allie's heart and every word Bea pronounces makes the lightning strike.
"How long have you been on the gear?" Bea asks, throwing delicacy out of the door.
"You really don't want to know," Allie scoffs with an unpleasant smile. She keeps her eyes on the ground, fixing something only she can see.
"Try me."
"Yeah?"
"You told me yesterday you'd tell me everything I'd want to know."
Allie nods, remembering their past conversation clearly.
"Years," she decides to answer. "I stopped counting after five."
The first time she'd had ice, she'd thought she could fly. It felt like the best dream she'd ever had.
Bea's fingers gently push Allie's chin up and time stops once again when they stare at each other's soul for the umpteenth time.
"You're going from years of addiction to three lines. Do you not think this is great?"
"I've tried to be clean before. I just can't do it. I don't even know why I'm trying," Allie argues. "I always fail."
Allie knows too well why she's trying this time.
She's trying because Bea looks at her like she's worth a million dollars and Allie refuses to let her down. She's trying because Bea is everything she has ever wanted, and she wants to be Bea's everything too. She's trying because Bea gives her hope, and it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.
She's trying because she's known Bea for just three days, and the woman already owns her heart.
Her high, battered, fragile, loving heart.
Bea's a thief. She steals everything from Allie. Her drugs. Her breath. Her confidence. Her sanity.
"I believe in you," Bea smiles. "It will take as long as you need, but you're not alone in this."
Allie wants to yell that, yes, she is alone, because where was Bea this morning when everything went to hell? Where was Bea when Allie fell down the rabbit hole once again? Where was Bea when Allie was agonizing in the alley?
It's not fair, and Allie hates herself for thinking that way, but she needs Bea in a way she can't describe.
She can't ask Bea to be everything she needs her to be.
She just can't.
It's too much to ask. Bea would fall and break under the weight of Allie's request.
"I had someone look after me once," Allie reveals. "Her name was Kaz. She's in prison now."
"What happened?"
"Do you want the long version or the short one?" Allie asks.
"What do you think?" Bea deadpans. Not only does she want the long version, she also wants the book, the dictionary and the encyclopedia that go with it.
Allie chokes on the lone laugh that escapes her throat because Bea acts like she's about to hear a normal boring story, but Allie knows it won't be that easy.
"It started when I got kicked out of the house when I told my dad I was gay. He'd rather have me being homeless than in love with a woman," Allie starts with a detached voice. "He took me back in when my mom convinced him it wasn't the end of the world, but then he learned I worked as a prostitute and kicked me out again."
Her first client will forever be a part of her. He'd been gentle, taking his time and making sure Allie was okay with the whole situation.
Her second client had brutally reminded her that humanity wasn't something she could take for granted.
"My dad couldn't accept it, and my mom couldn't either."
Bea cringes. No matter what happens, she can't imagine rejecting her child like that. She'd rather give up She can't even begin to imagine how awful it must have been for Allie.
"I slept in doorways and down alleys. Did you know some of them are more comfortable than others? You really learn about the good alleys to sleep in when you're in the street, believe me," Allie shrugs.
Bea shakes her head in disbelief. Of course, she thinks, Allie would talk about it like it's a joke.
"I started taking drugs about a year after I started working the streets. A year is a long time, you know? When you're in the streets, this shit's everywhere. I tried it with a client who told me he'd pay more if we were both high. Best sex with a client, I tell ya. He rapes me, leaves me for dead and doesn't pay. Actually, he leaves me another bag of ice."
A flash of anger appears in Bea's eyes, but Allie keeps going without giving her a chance to place a word.
"I didn't want to take it. I just looked at it, but I figured it couldn't hurt if I just finished the bag."
She remembers the first time she was high. God, she never wanted it to stop. It was like reaching paradise after spending her entire life in hell.
"And then, I met Marie."
Allie's eyes shine at the memory.
Marie Winter.
The first lover she'd had in the streets. The last one too.
"She offered me food when I was just sitting on the sidewalks and wishing I could die. I thought… I thought she'd helped me get out of the streets. But she also offered me ice. And then one bag lead to another, and another, and next thing I know, I was hooked on heroin, shoving it in my veins everyday. This shit's the most addictive. Ready to run yet?" Allie glances at Bea.
Bea purses her lips and listens. There are so many things she wants to say, but now is not the time. Now is Allie's time.
"It lasted about three years. Maybe four. Time is hard to measure when you can't even remember your own name. Then I got hungry. I got to a point where drugs couldn't stop the feeling of hunger."
Allie sighs.
"That's when you know," she clicks her tongue. "That's when you know you're done for. Hunger in the streets isn't so bad. You find some food off garbage bags. You distract yourself with other hobbies. You take drugs. They stop the hunger most of the time, or they make it bearable. And when they don't anymore, you're fucked. It will kill you. It makes people desperate. I kicked a guy in the balls so I could steal his food. A kid."
Allie wishes she could forget about that moment. He was a teenager younger than her, walking down the street with what had seemed like the most appetizing sandwich in the world.
She had probably traumatized the poor kid.
"I ended up on the stairs of a shelter. Not Wentworth. Another one where Kaz was volunteering."
Allie smiles as she remembers her first encounter with the older blonde she considers her sister. Kaz had told her she looked awful, and forced her to take a shower.
"Kaz took me under her wing and got me off the gear. She held my head over the toilet when I spewed and cleaned me up when I shat myself. She held me down when I wanted to claw my way out of my own body."
Allie breathes deeply, her mind overwhelmed by memories.
"If that isn't love, then what is? When I was at my worst, she loved me, and she saved my life. She's family," Allie sighs. "She's my only family."
Bea's chest throbs under the painful truth that Allie hadn't known unconditional love before Kaz.
"She was part of a gang. The Red Right Hand. They… They beat up the bad guys," Allie struggles to find the right words. "They found every single guy who abused me and beat them up. I helped. I got involved in a fair amount of fights. I'm not proud of what I did, but in the moment, it felt like they deserved it, and revenge gave me a purpose. It helped me step away from the drugs."
Bea nods understandingly. She won't judge. In another life, she would have done the same to Harry. She would have killed him for everything he did to her.
Allie's softness when she interacts with Bea clashes with Allie's past.
"We got arrested," Allie bites her lower lip. "Kaz took the fall for me. She told the screws I had been forced to participate and that I didn't have a violent bone in my body. She got 12 years to serve. I had a few months on probation. That was three years ago, I think. I stayed cleaned for probation and then, I got hooked again. Kaz didn't have to take the fall, you know? But she did, and I reacted by taking more drugs."
Allie's voice is trembling with the everlasting guilt that lives in her heart. She's forcing the words out of her mouth even when they make every part of her body burn. She needs to say them. She needs Bea to know every single skeleton in her closet. She needs a clean state.
"I stopped visiting Kaz. I couldn't let her see me like this. She didn't go to jail so I could go back to the way it was before I met her."
Allie needs to know if Bea will run, like everyone did before, or if she'll stay.
Allie needs her to stay.
Allie has been alone for years, and she doesn't want to be anymore.
"I miss her, but I can't go back."
Bea reacts before she has time to regret it. Her arms circle Allie's body and her hands find Allie's back. She pulls the blonde close to her, and soon, Allie's face rests in the crook of Bea's neck.
Allie sighs peacefully, breathing in Bea's familiar scent. She closes her eyes. Bea's neck smells like home and the warmth of her body feels like a balm on Allie's aching wounds.
When Allie moves back, Bea wishes she could shelter her from the lurking evils of the world.
It's a miracle, Bea thinks, that Allie is the person she is today.
Allie is a wildfire.
She thrives through adversity and burns through the dark with a light so strong that she scares the shadows away. She takes the hatred she's received her whole life and she uses it as fuel, never letting it break her optimism. She smiles and laughs, and flirts like she has nothing to lose, because she knows what it's like to hit rock bottom, and she knows she can survive whatever gets thrown at her.
She'll keep burning for as long as she lives.
"I'm fucking proud of you," Bea whispers.
Allie thinks of Bea's bruised existence and of how proud she is too.
She wants to spend her entire life making Bea proud if that's how it feels like; like she's at the top of the world and she'll never go down again.
It feels better than any drugs she's ever taken.
"Do I get a reward for surviving?" Allie winks, getting rid of the seriousness of the situation.
Bea eyes Allie's body up and down, letting her sight lingers on Allie's perfect curves.
"Maybe later," Bea says in a low voice that provokes an earthquake between Allie's legs.
Allie's eyes darken as Bea licks her lip.
"Really?" Allie blurts out.
She curses the fact that she can't, absolutely can't, control herself around Bea.
"I thought you weren't gay," Allie smiles like the Cheshire cat.
"I thought you didn't care," Bea playfully responds, bumping her shoulder to Allie's.
Allie snickers and slides one of her hand up Bea's thigh, hoping that she isn't crossing a line.
"You can't beat me at my own game, Bea," Allie mocks, when she meets Bea's shocked eyes.
Allie watches as Bea lowers her stare timidly and smiles uncertainly at the ground.
Allie's heart is pounding rebelliously in her chest. Who is she kidding? She's most definitely losing.
"Thank you," Bea says quietly. "For telling me all of this."
"I still work as a prostitute, and I still take gear. Not much has changed," Allie smiles sadly.
"Except I'm here now."
Allie hums in response.
"So why did you come back here?" Allie asks. "I thought I'd scare you away even after the first time."
Bea looks pensive for a moment.
"I don't know," she says. "I really don't."
She doesn't know why the need to see Allie again has been so strong recently, and honestly, she wonders if it really matters.
"Yeah, I don't know either," Allie replies cryptically, her mind lost in the clouds as her fingers lightly touch Bea's thigh.
Bea stiffens when she realizes Allie's hand is resting just on top of her scars. Of course, the blonde has no idea, but Bea still feels her body temperature climbing at lightspeed, and soon enough, she's sweating and seeking a way out of this place with her panicked eyes.
Everything comes back to her: the blade, the pressure, the moment she'd sliced through her skin, the thin lines of blood…
The need to find a blade rushes through her mind.
The need to cut.
The need to hurt herself.
The need to forget, no matter how.
"Are you alright?" Allie asks with a worried voice, leaning closer.
"I'm fine," Bea lies, looking away and adding more space between them.
Allie frowns, debating her next move. She doesn't want to scare Bea away, but she can't leave them both feeling painfully aware of the lie.
"You know… Addiction is a bitch," she states calmly. "Knowing that I can't stop, even if I really want to, it sucks. Telling people about it also sucks because you never know if they'll stick around or just leave you there."
Bea nods, the words offering her a distraction from the urge to run away.
"And the shame, it messes me up. I know what I do is bad for me, but I keep doing it anyway. That's not something to be proud of. Every time I take some gear, it's a battle. It's feeling good one second, and then hating myself the next one."
Allie pauses. She's walking on foreign territory and she isn't sure if Bea is going to fire at her or wave a white flag.
"I still do it. I still get high and then hate myself," Allie adds slowly. "It isn't easy, but I've accepted that I do it. And when I tell people, I don't have any expectations. They can do whatever they want, they're not me. They'll never get me."
Allie removes her hand from Bea's thigh.
"It isn't just addiction, you know? Sometimes, it's just the small things that we do because we need to, not because we want to. Sometimes, it's just about finding a way to escape from all the shit thrown at us, and we just take the first road that we see because we're in a hurry to forget. It doesn't mean that we're terrible people. It doesn't mean that it's… forever."
Allie's eyes lock with Bea's and don't let go.
"I'm not here to judge you. Whatever past you have, it won't change anything for me."
"You don't even know about my past."
"I want to. If you'll let me, and whenever you're ready, I'll be there for you. I'll stay, unless you tell me to go."
Allie's eyes shift to Bea's pants, and Bea wonders if Allie can see through them, can see the scars and the scabs, and the marks she coldly inflicted herself. She wonders if Allie can feel the way they itch so badly, even today.
She wonders if Allie can see the pain, the self-hatred and the countless regrets she has.
She wonders if Allie can see the excruciating fear she lives with.
She wonders if Allie really means it when she says she'll stay.
Fuck. She hopes Allie means it.
"Don't go," Bea whispers with a voice so quiet that Allie almost misses it.
This time, when Allie gently places her hand on her thigh, Bea isn't scared.
Thanks for reading!